10.4.11

.............................Sandhill Cranes..............................

Peach colored rivers flow like autumn
moving the freighters of Fertile, MN
The land is wet and brown
full of invisible life
Even the birds sing
under a sky
dripping with rain
grey with cobalt
like Sandhill Cranes
off-loading freighters
Their booms
a tiny monument
in this flat world

5.4.11

Flies

I would like to take this time to tell you of my love for flies. Houseflies, especially. What a wonderful animal that beckons at every window, constantly notifying me of the glorious sunshine that awaits outside. Stuck inside as I may be, I am rewarded with their accompanying buzzing and aimless flights. Their bodily display of mottled black and grey adorns much of my home. The lifeless bodies add a burst of color to my floors. Eventually their crunchy little bodies dry out and turn into a fine dust which I probably inhale with every breath as I write this.

28.8.09

For My Family

Child's Song by Murray McLaughlan




Goodbye momma goodbye to you too pa
Little sister you'll have to wait a while to come along
Goodybye to this house and all it's memories
We just got too old to say we're wrong
Got to make one last trip to my bedroom
Guess I'll have to leave some stuff behind
It's funny how the same old crooked pictures
Just don't seem the same to me tonight
There ain't no use in sheding lonely tears mamma
There ain't no use in shouting at me pa
I can't live no longer with your fears mamma
I love you but that hasn't helped at all
Each of us must do the things that matter
All of us must see what we can see
It was long ago you must remember
You were once as young and scared as me
I don't know how hard it is yet mamma
When you relaize you're growning old
I know how hard is not to be younger
I know you've tried to keep me from the cold
Thanks for all you done it may sound hollow
Thank you for the good times that we've known
But I must find my own road now to follow
You will all be welcome in my home
Got my suitacse I must go now
I don't mind about the things you said
I'm sorry Mom I don't know where I'm going
Remember little sister look ahead
Tomorrow I'll be in some other sunrise
Maybe I'll have someone at my side
Mamma give your love back to your husband
Father you've have taught we well goodbye
Goodbye Mamma goodbye to you too pa

14.8.09

Romance

A song by Tom Waits that I think is so incredibly romantic. Enjoy.



They bought a round for the sailor
And they heard his tale
Of a world that was so far away
And a song that we'd never heard
A song of a little bird
That fell in love with a whale

He said, 'You cannot live in the ocean'
And she said to him
'You never can live in the sky'
But the ocean is filled with tears
And the sea turns into a mirror
There's a whale in the moon when it's clear
And a bird on the tide

Please don't cry
Let me dry your eyes

So tell me that you will wait for me
Hold me in your arms
I promise we never will part
I'll never sail back to the time
But I'll always pretend you're mine
Though I know that we both must part
You can live in my heart

29.7.09

Little Metal Objects

I went to my left-hand pants pocket today for keys. I didn’t have any and I always have keys there, always.
Keys are tied to strings that are tied to items that are tied to life. Keys to the Car, the house, work. Funny, the blip of panic I felt, realizing that I had no keys. No keys! Nothing tying me to anything, anywhere. Then, followed autonomy from sticky things: bills, leases, and contracts. From panic to tranquility in one half-second. Wonderful.

Bobby pins. I love them. I pick them up, like dimes on the floor. Irresistible. Thinking that they have been embedded in the hair of some woman, somewhere, thrills me. I picked one up yesterday in the hospital elevator, stuck it in my left-hand pants pocket. Fantastical, then soothing - this bobby pin in my pocket. I’ll put it with all the others in my collection. Each one connected with someone else, unknown, but somewhere. Fastened to imagination. Fastened to life.

20.7.09

I'm reposting this because I think it's funny,...still.

Instructions For the Operation Of a Clothespin
(A) Spring Type Clothespins

1. Grasp clothespin by the open end(the end that’s shaped like a V) between your thumb(if you do not have a thumb one can be purchased at your local Home Depot) and your forefinger.

2. Squeeze the clothespin ends together causing the opposite end of the clothespin to open(At this point we recommend using extreme caution. Clothespins are not toys, the open, spring-loaded end could come in contact with unattended body parts and cause severe discomfort. Keep all children, pets, and baby unicorns away from open clothespins). Aim away from face.

3. Place open clothespin over clothing article and pinning apparatus(We strongly encourage using certified clothes line cable in any clothes hanging situation. Poorly anchored or weak clothes line cable could result in clothing falling from dangerous heights; creating a hazard by landing on and/or covering up important items such as car keys or the entrance to a really cool cave.). Wait 5-7 minutes after eating before pinning clothing to a clothes line. Do not hang clothing while you are on fire.

4. Remove fingers from the clothespin releasing the spring tension onto the clothing and cable(release speed is critical during this step; releasing to fast could result in a loud SNAP sound startling nearby wildlife and/or napping grandparents. Releasing the clothespin too slowly could result in finger fatigue and cramping - the leading cause of accidents during the picking of noses, ears, and kickball teammates.). Practice responsible clothes pinning; avoid using clothespins while under the influence of alcohol or hallucinogens.

(B)Friction Type Clothespins

1. Place clothespin over clothing and clothesline. Enjoy!

18.7.09

Exerpt.

During the following summer, while he was picking up his mail in the lobby, Ron met Marie, a new tenant moving into the apartment directly above his, into apartment 4. He was instantly frozen with delight and ferocity when she came gliding through the lobby door. Marie was a vibrant and shining woman, to Ron she was the apex of emotion and desire, never had he been so struck by another’s presence. She was a slim woman with fair skin, light freckles on her nose, and auburn hair that was drawn back in a pony tail. She had refined features which made her appear ‘expensive’ to Ron, but her mild demeanor told otherwise.

As he stood there with mail in hand, she walked in with a basket full of folded clothes, smiled, and said hello. He was speechless and fully aware that his mouth was propped open with astonishment, though he could do nothing about it. He managed a cordial greeting, then she introduced herself. Sweat felt as though it was about to drip from his hand as he extended it for a handshake. He hadn’t thought it through well, and placed the hand back at his side when he realized that both of hers were occupied with the laundry basket.

Several seconds passed before Ronald became aware of his gawky posture and in an effort to rectify the awkwardness of their meeting he magnanimously offered to help her carry a few things inside. Marie agreed, stating that she would need help with her desk and box spring. Ron knew that keeping his hands busy with this task would help to allay his nervous and trepid thoughts about her, allowing him to carry on a decent conversation, much in the same way that occupying his mind with math helped him curb a bouncing knee or tapping pencil.

Moving the desk was effortless, while they moved it across the lobby floor Ron imagined that rather than moving a desk together, the two of them were sitting across from one another at a small table, at a small coffee shop, in Italy. He managed to carry the box spring into her apartment on his own and proceeded to pick items out of the trailer and move them in until there were no items left to pick. This was his chivalrous way of letting her know that he was smitten by her, this was Ron’s way of buying Marie flowers.

14.7.09

Return to the Infrared Life

Along with my return to the hum-drums of Infrared Thermography comes the dreaded return of the 'airy whistle'. This morning I was entertained with the likes of "We Built This City" by Starship. True to form, i was only privy to two phrases from the chorus for much of the morning.
We built this city
We built this city
We built this city
We built this city
We built this city on rock and roooooooooooll
...
We built this city
We built this city
We built this city

and so on.

To relive my agitation from last year with me, please read on...

13.8.08
Rattle and Whistle
It may be true that you will learn to despise any person after you’ve spent enough time with them. Reason is thrown to the wayside in that moment of hate when you have finally reached a breaking point with your unavoidable companion. You even contemplate murder, or at least imagine an unfortunate workplace accident, alien abduction, or spontaneous combustion. We’ve all had this happen, no matter how nice you are.
My morning routine is beginning to try me. I’m working on the road, spending most of my waking moments with one man, my boss, essentially. He is charismatic at the outset, funny, jolly, even fascinating at times. Now, however, after weeks with him and only him, my toleration is begging for rest. He’ll show up at my hotel door, 7.30am, bright and bubbly. I on the other hand, am grim, groggy; bracing myself for his cheery morning comment and shit eating grin. His words annoy me for no good reason.
We eat breakfast.
I ignore as many conversation starting comments as I can muster without distinct insolence.
We drive to the AFB.
I ignore as many conversation starting comments as I can muster without distinct insolence.
I begin to wake up. I begin to be more cordial.
We arrive at the AFB hospital
The song that was last playing on the radio of our rental car as we park at the hospital becomes the absolute bane of my workday.

He whistles it.

It’s not even a whistle, it’s that feeble, airy, seemingly unobtrusive, half whistle. It’s weak and in my ear for the duration of the morning. I’ll try to defer him by singing a catchy tune of my own, or by whistling like any decent person whistles.
No dice.
“WHISTLE LIKE A MAN, YOU TURD!” I utter in my head.
The worst part?
The worst part is that it’s never the entire song. In fact, it’s not even close to the entire chorus! It’s one part of it, over and over again. Nonsensical parts of the chorus spliced together, made into a death march chant. “whooh whowhooooooo, whooah, whoooooooooooo”
A small list is building inside of my mind now of songs that are ruined forever as a direct result of this phenomenon.

Today, at lunch in the cafeteria, we watched coverage of the Olympic Games.
….
Do you have any idea at what speed the Olympic theme music can become annoying?
Imagine hearing it continuously on a loop for nearly an hour and a half after your lunch break.
Now, instead of hearing noble trumpets blasting it in perfect tune, replace it with a dry, pathetic, reaching for life ‘whrrrrroooooaaah’.

Add the tooth-gnashing intensity of 1,000 mosquitoes hovering around your head.

I wanted to jam #2 pencils into my ears.

“Whooo WHOO wh whoo wha wha wha, wh wh wh wh WH wh whwhWHWHwh wh whooooooaaaahh”
Again.

And again.

And Again.

I now harbor the same hate for the Olympic theme music that the Menards employees harbor for the cheery, banjo driven “SAVE BIG MONEY AT MENAAAAARDS!” theme music that plays every 45 seconds in their stores.

25.6.09

Laundr-O-Mat

Everyone has been to one. You know what it’s like. It’s like waiting in waiting in line at Wal-Mart. No one dares to make eye contact, you just mind your own business. Or better yet, it’s like waiting outside of the principals’ office, because when you’re at the Laundromat you feel like you are not nearly as good as the world you came from. You don’t even have your own washer and dryer. Hell, you don’t even have a friend with a washer and dryer. So, instead, you drive somewhere and pay a big, silver machine to hold your hand, or make fun of you; of whatever it is you happen to be feeling on laundry day. The few hours you spend there, staring at the wood-paneled walls, obliquely connects with your mind so that you can remember being to the Laundromat, but you can’t remember a thing about it. It’s like trying to remember something distinguishing about Grand Forks, ND, or Winnipeg. You remember being there, but if someone asked you what it was like, you’d just shrug your shoulders and say I guess it was like a regular town….

23.6.09

Cover of Independence Day by Ani DiFranco

Although this song is hardly specific to July 4th, I thought that it would be appropriate seeing as Independence day is nearby. I can't relate especially to the tune, though I really love the sounds of it. I hope you like it! It's from the album, Little Plastic Castle by Ani DiFranco

we drove the car to the top of the parking ramp
on the 4th of july
we sat out on the hood with a couple of warm beers and watched the fireworks
explode in the sky
and there was an exodus of birds from the trees
but they didnt know, we were only pretending
and the people all looked up, and were pleased
and the birds flew around like the whole world was ending
and i don't think war is noble
and i don't like to think that love is like war
and i gotta big hot cherry bomb, and i want to slip it through the mail slot
of your front door

don't leave me here
i've got your back now
you'd better have mine
cause you say the coast is clear
but you say that all the time

so many sheep i quit counting
sleepless and embarrassed about the way that i feel
trying to make mole hills out of mountains
building base camp at the bottom of a really big deal
and did i tell you how i stopped eating?
when you stopped calling me
and i was cramped up shitting rivers for weeks
and pretending that i was finally free

don't leave me here
now that your back
you'd better stay this time
cause you say the coast is clear
but you say that all the time

we drove the car to the top of the parking ramp,
on the 4th of july
and i planted my dusty boots on the bumper and sat out on the hood,
and looked up at the sky

13.6.09

Helicopter!

I’ve never flown a helicopter and really, really doubt that I ever will. I’ve always been under the impression, through snippets of sporadic conversation, that helicopters are difficult to fly. It seems that there are so many things to control at once. Earlier this semester, during speech class, I wrote in my notebook; ‘Flying a helicopter is like being in your kitchen and operating the stove, refrigerator, toaster and microwave all at once’. Then, I found this:

“The first time I ever flew a helicopter I thought to God I was trying to stir a cake.

The second time I flew a helicopter I was convinced I was stirring a cake. The helicopter seemed to have a mind of its own because no matter what you did on the controls it took a helicopter about a second and a quarter to make up its mind that your command on the controls is what you really wanted. This is called a time the lag common to all helicopters. You don't know how long a second and quarter is until you've flown a helicopter.”

-John Angus Carter

So now I think that flying a helicopter is like being in your kitchen and operating the stove, refrigerator, toaster, microwave, and baking a cake at the same time.

7.6.09

A Speech About a Guy(100th post!)

“We’d never know how high we are,
Until we are called to rise;
And then, if we are true to plan,
Out structures touch the sky-”

-Emily Dickinson

I was on the balcony level and a small display, tucked into one small corner, caught my attention. There was a white capsule big enough for one person there, a gondola once connected to a helium balloon that reached the heavens. I was at the Wright-Patterson AFB near Dayton, OH in the base museum and I was looking at the exhibit that celebrated the efforts of Col. Joseph Kittinger and the crew of Project Excelsior. It was a little known AF mission that extended human limitations and pushed the very boundaries of our sky. In an effort to record the effects of high altitude on the human body, project excelsior’s helium balloons lifted Joe Kittinger to enormous heights, whereupon he jumped from his craft, freefalling and then parachuting back to the earth. These acts of skydiving shattered all skydiving records and remain today, nearly 50 years later, as truly remarkable efforts that are unsurpassed. Kittinger is even considered, by some, to be the first man in space.

Joe Kittinger was a Colonel in the U.S. Air Force. Though his military career began in 1950, he wasn’t involved in high altitude testing until 1957 when, as a part of operation Man High, he set an interim balloon record of 96,760ft, for which he was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross medal.

Shortly after the completion of operation Man High, Kittinger was assigned to Project Excelsior, a series of 3 high altitude parachute jumps that challenged his body’s ability to withstand physical forces never experienced by any other man. The purpose of these jumps was to develop systems that could ensure the survival of a pilot in the event of a high altitude ejection from an aircraft. On each of the high altitude jumps Kittinger was outfitted with a pressure suit that weighed twice as much as he did to protect him the ultra thin atmosphere and staggeringly low temperatures. The merciless high altitude environment was fierce enough kill an unprotected man instantly.

Kittinger’s first jump, in 1959, was from 76,400ft above the earth, about 8 miles into the stratosphere.

This first jump wasn’t a successful one. Because of an entanglement with his parachute rigging, Kittinger’s body went into a flat spin, spiraling uncontrollably at 120rpm causing him to lose consciousness. The spin created g-forces 22 times that of gravity at his extremities, thereby unintentionally setting records. If not for an automatic opening of his backup parachute at 10,000ft, he would have certainly fallen to his death.

Despite near tragedy with the first, Kittinger went ahead with another high altitude jump less than a month later at the same height. This time setting a freefall record of 55,000ft before pulling the ripcord for his parachute.
Eight months later, in 1960, Kittinger and the crew of Project Excelsior performed their third and most remarkable test. Excelsior III was to be the final word on high altitude survival. However, while ascending in the gondola, Kittinger discovered a problem with the glove on his right hand. It wasn’t pressurizing due to a small leak. With no pressure on his right hand, it pooled with blood and swelled to twice it’s normal size. Though extremely painful and causing him to temporarily lose use of said hand, he continued on with the mission without notifying his ground crew for fear of the mission being called off. Then, after 1 hour and 31 minutes, Excelsior III reached it’s maximum altitude, far above the reach of clouds, and Kittinger vaulted himself into the darkness of space.

He said he had ‘no sensation of falling’. This was because he was in a place where scarcely any air existed to create a whistling of wind or a rustling of fabric. When he jumped from the gondola, Kittinger thought he was suspended in space. It was only when he turned, freefalling with his back towards earth and watching the gondola rapidly disappear from view, that he realized he was surely falling. He fell at a top speed of 614mph, breaking the sound barrier and he experienced temperatures as low as -94 degrees F.

At nearly 20 miles above the earth, 102,800ft, Col. Joseph Kittinger broke all previous manned balloon records and set skydiving records that remain unbroken today. He kissed the very edge of our atmosphere, he touched space.

The most remarkable thing about it: Kittinger and the crew of Project Excelsior never set out to break any records. After deploying his parachute at 18,000ft and safely returning to earth, Kittinger and the ground crew simply packed up their gear and returned to their offices with the information they had gathered. What they had accomplished was for the sake of research, it was for the sake of bettering aeronautics technology. The members of Project Excelsior had performed astounding tasks without the presence of a limelight, receiving little more than a pat on the back. The members of Project Excelsior had merely done their jobs; they had achieved greatness whilst doing their jobs.

So there you have it. Joseph Kittinger; an all American hero, if you will, who was given an opportunity to do something absurd and made it absolutely conceivable. An AF Colnel who, one day, went to the edge of the known world and came back with a big stupid grin on his face. A man who, upon finding himself in the most lonely of places; jumped.

I will leave you with this, from Jalaluddin Rumi, who says:

“This is love:
To fly toward a secret sky,
To cause a hundred veils to fall each moment.
First, to let go of life.
Finally, to take a step without feet.”

4.6.09

I Love Your Hair, Guy.

This is painted on a bridge that I traverse on frequent bike excursions.(click for bigger)

Missing hands and feet. Check
Invisible bicycle. Check
Whitewall tires. Check
Kickass hairdo. Check

This guy is a hipster extraordinaire.
All he is missing is some neon sunglasses and a PBR tallboy.
Upon closer inspection I realize this is more than some average Minneapolis hipster.
There is only one man I know that can pull off a hairdo like that.
It’s our founding father! Georgie Washington

I’ve created this mock-up to demonstrate my point and reveal the true George Washington to the world!

Thank God for my fine abilities in MSPaint.

2.6.09

Just a Song to Share

This is called "The Ballad of Love and Hate" and it's originally by the Avett Brothers. I like it and hope you like it too.

Love writes a letter and sends it to hate.
My vacations ending. I'm coming home late.
The weather was fine and the ocean was great
and I can't wait to see you again.

Hate reads the letter and throws it away.
"No one here cares if you go or you stay.
I barely even noticed that you were away.
I'll see you or I won't, whatever."

Love sings a song as she sails through the sky.
The water looks bluer through her pretty eyes.
And everyone knows it whenever she flies,
and also when she comes down.

Hate keeps his head up and walks through the street.
Every stranger and drifter he greets.
And shakes hands with every loner he meets
with a serious look on his face.

Love arrives safely with suitcase in tow.
Carrying with her the good things we know.
A reason to live and a reason to grow.
To trust. To hope. To care.

Hate sits alone on the hood of his car.
Without much regard to the moon or the stars.
Lazily killing the last of a jar
of the strongest stuff you can drink.

Love takes a taxi, a young man drives.
As soon as he sees her, hope fills his eyes.
But tears follow after, at the end of the ride,
cause he might never see her again.

Hate gets home lucky to still be alive.
He screams o'er the sidewalk and into the drive.
The clock in the kitchen says 2:55,
And the clock in the kitchen is slow.

Love has been waiting, patient and kind.
Just wanting a phone call or some kind of sign,
That the one that she cares for, who's out of his mind,
Will make it back safe to her arms.

Hate stumbles forward and leans in the door.
Weary head hung, eyes to the floor.
He says "Love, I'm sorry", and she says, "What for?
I'm your and that's it, Whatever.
I should not have been gone for so long.
I'm your's and that's it, forever."

You're mine and that's it, forever.

1.6.09

Your mouth is open Dude. Dude, your mouth is open.


Seriously. Your mouth is still open.
Are you about to say something? No.
Does having your mouth open make you a better driver? No.
Are you taking a bite out of a big sandwich? No.
Why, oh why is your mouth always open!? Is your nose plugged?
Maybe your jaw is too heavy for your face.
What if I just give it a boost with my hand?
Oh, I’m sorry, is shutting your mouth for you with my hand inappropriate?
Yes, I guess it is.
But, the open mouth makes you look stupid.
No, not at all. I’m sure you’re a very intelligent individual.
Still though, it looks dumb.
I mean, it’s gotta dry out in there, right? Are you over-hydrated?
Attempting to shed excess body temperature like a dog?
Seriously dude, your mouth is still open.
You probably don’t even know.
I want to walk up to you and say “Hey man, your mouth is open”.
Because, um. It’s open.
And it doesn’t need to be open.
A bug could fly in there.
Did you ever read “There Was an Old Lady That Swallowed a Fly”?
Yes, I know it’s a children’s book, but still, it could happen.
The book says they “don’t know why she swallowed the fly”.
But I know that she swallowed it because her mouth was always open.
And now she’s dead because she swallowed the horse.
So….go ahead and close it.
Go ahead, it’s okay. You’ll still be able to breathe, and drive.
Seriously man, your mouth is still open.

31.5.09

Dusty Lavender

I’d say it was purple, but violet garners greater reverence and deeper imagery. So violet is the color she wore, or rather it wore her. It lived on her, swam in the carefree rivers of her silken skin and slumbered on the covers of her eyes. Her body gave violet body, her character gave violet character, her breath made it breathe, her speech made it speak and it spoke directly to me in words that I could only understand on the very inside of myself. She called it dusty lavender tonight, so that now dusty lavender is folded up on a make believe handkerchief and in my front shirt pocket close to my beating heart.

30.5.09

Dirty Elegance

The dirt on an elegant woman’s arms. Look at it. Do you know what that looks like? It looks like a real flea circus with real fleas in it. Not one with motors operating the trapeze. REAL fleas, friends - doing real tricks. It’s also like the trick where your uncle grabs your nose. Placing his thumb between his index and middle fingers showing you the underside of his thumb and claiming that he has your thumb in his hand. Except this time he has it. This time he actually pulled your nose from your face and is holding it in his hands. No more charade, just the real deal that you always ached to believe in. Come here you lovely queen, without washing up. Let me touch the dark spots, let me feel the sand in your hair. Walk on these flower petals that are disingenuously thrown on the ground before you on your way to the cigarette shop. It only makes your aura more holy, more saturated. I liked the way your hands felt last night. In the same manner that you yourself like them. The scars on your cheek; all for glory. The scars on your cheek; all for glory.

29.5.09

This Must Be What Being an Adult is Like…

Something about the idea of cooking. I took it for granted, I guess we all did. Why would she choose to make this dish one night and something different, tacos perhaps, another night? I imagine her startled with the thought of some food she hadn’t made for some time during her midday routine. That, or thinking of a dish that one of us liked, probably Dad, and preparing for it a day ahead of time. I wonder if she had a small schedule in her head, mapping out the elements and procedures until the night of the meal. This could be the way she stayed so creative. Maybe cooking dinner was her exciting outing for the day. Maybe making a meal was a trip to another country; a vacation. Or maybe it was just cooking dinner.

28.5.09

Nectarine

While she finished filling the pillbox, snapping shut the little doors from Sunday to Saturday, the fruit, in a bowl on the counter, caught her attention. Birg was transfixed by the single nectarine nestled in the bottom of the bowl, domineered by the apple resting on top. The nectarine, she considered the nectarine was named by a man who was in love with it.. As this thought scrolled through her head she knew that it must be true, even though it was a vague and wishing thought. She associated the word nectar with ‘nectar of the gods’ and so hailed it as the utmost in juices. In her head she illustrated an old man at a small wooden table methodically eating the new fruit that he had raised and announcing to himself “I’ll call it the nectarine, for it’s flesh is fit for the gods.”

27.5.09

The Wonder of Engines

I’ve always loved internal combustion engines. I cannot explain exactly why, though the thought of thousands of little machines working together to make one incredible powerhouse baffles me. Think about it, your car works because hundreds of explosions are occurring each second under the hood.


My first experience with an automobile engine was with the Volkswagen air-cooled 1200cc, found in the VW beetle that my Dad bought for me in high school. You would be hard pressed to find an engine more versatile, rugged, abundant, and charming. It’s a rear-engine, flat-four design; meaning a 4 cylinder motor that is horizontally opposed in the rear of the vehicle. The engine in my beetle was rated at only 40hp and had so many unique and innovative parts like; aluminum heads, aluminum/magnesium block, low compression ratios, slip-in cast cylinders, and heat-exchangers in the exhaust for cab heat. Anyway, I just wanted to talk about it since it started my love affair with engines.