“Marxism is the opium of the intellectuals.”

- Edmund Wilson

It's "All Hallow's Eve", or Halloween, and I'm manning the door with treats and hot cider. Since 2001 I've set up a fire pit in my front yard and served hot cider along with the treats to warm the kids and their parents that come by. Tonight however it's cold and very windy, and while the idea of a fire sounds good in concept I know that in practice it would be colder than a witch's mittens.

This year then I've set up in the house, but I'm still offering hot cider, which has been enthusiastically received for the most part. A couple of people have looked at me like I was some kind of weirdo for offering a hot drink, as if it might be spiked or something. Well, I guess if you have a holiday that revels in the scary and even demonic then people are right to be a little paranoid.

We didn't have a lot to do with Halloween when our girls were little because of the occultic overtones, especially since these have seemed, to my eye, to be even more pronounced in later years. More recently however I've come to the conclusion that what is really being celebrated is the profit motive as Halloween has become one of the most lucrative merchandising opportunities in our culture. I'm not sure how it ranks in comparison to another emerging holiday — Super Bowl Sunday — but I know they sell more Halloween paraphernalia than they do for Thanksgiving. And at that some part of me takes a certain satisfaction in knowing that those who take the Samhain traditions and meanings seriously can now be just as offended at the commercialization of their holiday as I may be during Christmas.

For the most part, then, I'm not as concerned that people are being lured to the dark side by Trick or Treat. At least, I'm sure it doesn't happen any more often than somebody becomes a Christian by watching "Santa Claus is Coming to Town." I know there is real darkness out there, however, even more chilling than tonight's wind and much more destructive. I also know darkness hates the light, so I'm not going to lock the doors and turn the outside lights off while hiding in my basement tending my own little beacon. No, the darkness likes to be where the people are, and that's where I need to be as well. I am not willing to cede an inch of ground.

So, while the girls are at Hallelujah Night at church I've spent the last few years stoking the fire and heating the cider and smiling at and making eye contact with each visitor, complimenting their costumes, and dispensing goodies with a liberal hand — and no one leaves without hearing a heartfelt, "God bless you."

Update:

Hey, I even got a couple of "God bless you's" tonight in return! A couple of people have even said they miss the fire and hope I'll have it back next year.

We haven't had much traffic for 30 minutes or so, and it's been a pretty slow evening. I didn't think a little thing like the weather could slow kids down from the annual candy crawl, but maybe people really are getting smarter. I think I can turn off the porch lights and settle down to some real work on the laptop. I know, of course, that just as soon as I get everything just so, the doorbell will ring (lights on or not).

What a great day we had yesterday. We didn't start with the usual smush of mother and daughters on the Big Comfy Chair for breakfast and the comics since the Mall Diva had to leave for church early to rehearse with the band, but I did get the joy of opening my eyes to the smells of fresh bread and hot coffee. That, plus being fortified with an extra hour of sleep after "falling back" to Standard Time was a good head start on a lovely autumn day.

We got ourselves organized and off to church (sans Bonita, who was spending the day with her friends and youth group) to hear the Reverend Mother preach for the first time since being ordained late last year (ministry is so much more than preaching and teaching). With her at the lectern, the Mall Diva singing during Praise & Worship, Tiger Lilly working the slides with the song lyrics and me ushering it might seem as if the church couldn't survive without us, when in actuality just the opposite is true. Afterwards we went over to our friends' house for brunch where we were gloriously overserved with pumpkin pancakes hot off the griddle with spiced butter and real maple syrup, sausage and egg casserole, croissants, lox and bagels and more coffee in cups as big as our heads. "Uncle" Ben accompanied us, learning that membership does have its privileges (sorry, inside joke), and it was tremendous fun to sit around the table afterwards as the conversation seamlessly wove between the Bible and Monty Python (yes, it can be done).

When we at last took our leave it was then time to head over to St. Paul to hear Ben's sister play in a wind ensemble. It was a delightful and stirring musical performance that caused me to remember my own school days of playing tenor saxophone in school bands and the satisfaction, and even the thrill, of being part of a large group of people all playing in perfect rhythm and synchronization (well, maybe less than perfect in my case). The best part, however, was meeting Ben's parents for the first time — and *blush* then hearing how much they had been looking forward to meeting us (and how much they already knew about us). After Marjorie and I were introduced to Ben's dad, Chris, I started to introduce my daughters but there was no need. Chris turned immediately to the red head and enthusiastically said, "You must be Tiger Lilly!" Then, turning to my other daughter, "And the Mall Diva, of course — and are those wrist sweaters you're wearing?" I'm used to being addressed in blogging circles by my blog-handle, but it is kind of a strange sensation to hear your children recognized by their aliases, especially by non-bloggers. Maybe it's just one of those little things that sneak up on parents from time to time to tell you that your children are on about the business of making their way.

Events up to this point would have made for a full and memorable day, but there was still more to come. After the concert and a brief visit with Ben's folks it was time to head over to Minneapolis for a costume party with Surly and Sweeter Half. Since the Reverend Mother is on-call as a police chaplain this week, that became her "costume" (if she received a call it might be less than effective to arrive on the scene in her official capacity but wearing a fright wig or bunny ears.) The Mall Diva easily reprised her birthday gown and tiara into "Ice Princess" regalia, and Tiger Lilly enthusiastically donned pirate garb with a plastic sword being a satisfactory, temporary trade-off for her new nunchaku which otherwise seldom leave her hands of late (believe me, it pays to keep your eyes open when walking around my house). I went as the unoriginal guy-too-busy-to-create-a-costume, but this was remedied upon my entrance to the party when I was presented with a rakish musketeer hat that I was later loathe to part with.

We met some more new, fun people and had more great food and the Rev. Mother even found the desire of her heart — a baby to hold. This one in particular was special because, even though he was a male infant, his long, dark hair and round cheeks bore a strong resemblance to the very young Diva. I double-clutched when I came into the room and saw the baby cradled in her lap; it was like looking through a rip in the time-space continuum. As discombobulating as it was for me, I think it's more of a challenge for the Diva, who, beneath the pointed, longing, "When are you going to give me grandchildren" looks of her mother, usually responds with something along the lines of, "What are you looking at me for? You don't even let me date!"

It was a very pleasant evening and then we had to leave early because it occurred to us that no one had told Bonita the security code for getting back into the house. Later, when Bonita arrived she curled up with the Rev. Mum to download the events of her weekend as well. When it was my turn to bid Marjorie good night we talked about what a fun and full day it had been, but how, strangely, it hadn't felt stressed or hurried. We decided that it was because other people had done all the work and all we had to do every step of the way was just show up!

I could almost get used to that!

A commenter here (with whom I share a close blood relation) introduced a word to this blog the other day that, while very familiar to the two of us, may befuddle some readers. Here's the word:

Pee-wadding.

That's probably the proper grammatical spelling of the construction, but in its actual use it comes off as a single word, peewaddin (pee' wad din, noun). You'd be hard-pressed to find an actual definition of it anywhere, but it is one of those special words that when you hear it in context you are immediately able to understand the meaning, if not the definition — even if you're very young when you first hear it.

When I was a kid and we got together with all of our cousins we'd often end up with five boys within about three years of age of each other. This was an invariably loud and often quite physical conglomeration. One time when we were creating a cloud of dust in my aunt's front yard she flung the front door open and silenced the assembly by threatening to "slap the peewaddin out" of us if we didn't knock it off. This was also the aunt that frequently vowed to "snatch a knot" in us, so we took her seriously. (She was much more likely, however, to make us home-made doughnuts or cake.)

Even though I was only seven or eight at that time, I knew instantly that my peewaddin was something I definitely wanted to hold onto.

Hi guys. How's it going? Guess what? I got my hair colored today. Just thought y'all would like to know what's going on in my little world.

There's a question that's been burning in my mind for a week or two, and I'd like to know what you guys think.

What (or who) should I be for Halloween? I've had a couple of suggestions already, like Cleopatra or a hockey player (so's I can whack people who don't behave with my hockey stick). Those are pretty good ideas, but I want to know what else you would come up with. And no, don't tell me to go as myself because I'm scary enough, or you're going the right way for a finger-wag.

Here's a super-interesting useless fact about me: I've never been trick-or-treating. Nope, never. Every Halloween our church has a big party with games and candy and costume contests and candy and prizes. And candy. They call it "Hallelujah Night", and that's where I went every year. It's super fun!

There's usually a theme for the costumes, and then whoever has the best one wins. One year the theme was "the farm", and my cousin dressed up as a milking machine. She wrote "Acme Milking Machine" on a white shirt and wore a hard hat that had "milking" tubes coming out of the top. Her costume was so awesome! Everyone thought she should have won, except the judges who chose a little girl who was "Princess Kay of the Milky Way". C'mon! She didn't think of that herself! She was only like seven! Whatever- we're over it.

What is everyone else going to be?

No post yesterday, and light posting today as I'm preparing a teaching for church tonight. Thanks to an article in the Wall Street Journal (subscription required), however, I am happy to direct you to a new video site chock-full of helpful videos of how to do those supposedly basic things that you may not have picked up on life's journey. You know, things like folding a tee-shirt, boiling an egg, taking a shower. There are also more arcane topics as well, such as how to care for Emperor Scorpions, or how to eat sushi and, just in time for Halloween, how to carve distinctive jack-o-lanterns and how to make marshmallow and popcorn "brain balls".

The site is called VideoJug, and at the time I visited the "10 Most Watched Videos" in the past hour were as follows:

1. How To Fold a Tee-Shirt in 2 Seconds



2. How to Tie a Half-Windsor Knot



3. How to Use the Shower



4. How to Kiss Someone Passionately



5. How to Tie a Full Windsor Knot



6. How to Become Breast Self Aware



7. How to Iron a Shirt



8. How to Perform the Perfect Golf Swing



9. How to Get Out of a Car Without Showing Your Knickers



10. How to Clean a Window

Personally, I didn't even know you were supposed to fold tee-shirts. Even at just two seconds a pop, I estimate I've probably "freed up" nine and a half months out of my life so far. Time, no doubt, that I probably should have been utilizing by watching the other videos.

Anyway, other similar and helpful sites mentioned in the article include eHow, ViewDo, WikiHow.

If you want to know how to create a quick blog post when you're otherwise very busy, go back to the beginning of this article.

The birthdays have been rolling in hot and heavy here lately, and Saturday was the 17th for Bonita. I set up the fire pit on the back patio where the kids could hang out and The Reverend Mother baked the Cafe Latte chocolate and pecan layer cake. We had some of our family over while Bonita invited her friends from the youth group at the church where she has grown up. These youth were all Hispanic and spoke mostly in Spanish. I know a little Spanish, but this can be disconcerting. At one point I think they were mocking our curtains, but I can't be sure.

The kids were a good group, each was gracious and respectful when they arrived and they all thanked us for having them over when they left. In between they were a pretty exuberant group without the sulky faces and attitude you sometimes get with teenagers when they have to be around adults (yeah, yeah, I know adults can put on some pretty strange faces and attitudes when they have to be around teen-agers, too). We pretty much left them alone and they hung out outside near the fire for awhile but the Mall Diva and Tiger Lilly eventually lured everyone into our basement for the infamous "Dance-Dance Revolution" game. Sometimes I think these two sit around trying to think of ways to get people to come over so they can stomp them into the game's vinyl dance pads.

Well, it wasn't long before the young men in the group had to call for reinforcements, and five more gentlemen soon arrived. These were introduced with names such as Israel and Rueben (Gad and Napthali apparently couldn't make it) They were soon flung into battle, but Bonita and the girls had reinforcements of their own: the Reverend Mother was summoned to the basement and she continued the humiliation. Her domination of one of the young men greatly amused his comrades, one of whom called out, "She's whipping you like your mother!" No wonder these guys have learned to be respectful!

The place was definitely rocking, whether from the loud music and loud voices, or all the youthful exuberance (or hormones) bouncing off the walls. The next generation certainly has some advantages over us older types, however; for instance, no matter how loud it got, you could always see at least two of the youngsters talking on their cellphones as well. I can barely operate my cell phone when I've got 50 feet of air space around me.

It was a really fun night and Bonita was thrilled. We were delighted to meet her friends and we'll be happy to see more of them in the future. We don't have too many photos from the party because the room was so full there wasn't room to squeeze a digital camera in there, but I may post a few in the updates later.

I saw the ad, but I don't remember what they were selling. Well, of course, we know what they were selling, it's just that I can't remember what this particular product was, or how it was going to help me achieve whatever it was I didn't know I was missing. The picture was a young couple in bed in their underwear. He was underneath her, boxer shorts and rippling abs, even lying on his back. She was poised above him, long, lithe legs and pastel scanties and an intense but sensitive look upon her face.

They are young and fit, of course, and they have to be as the unseen photographer says, "hold it, just like that...a little longer now...now turn your hip slightly" as the lights flash stark and artificial like the supposed intimacy they are illuminating. In reality he may be thinking of his boyfriend and she's probably thinking how great it will be to get home and put on some comfy flannel pajama bottoms and a sweatshirt, or about the mole on the back of her thigh that they will airbrush out. But all that is necessary is that we buy the illusion, buy the sandwich, buy the toothpaste, buy whatever is pictured in the corner of the ad and not think about the artificiality of it all.

Except.

Except, my dear, that this is how you look to me, this is the way you look at me, this is the moment that never gets old. This is the way we were, this is the way we are, this is the way I will always see us. Illusions, allusions, I care not. Whatever you're selling, my love, put me down for a whole case.

I was going to do a follow up on the conscience post from earlier in the week, but that's going to be a rather serious and reflective effort. It just doesn't have the right feel for a Friday post.

Friday's are more for things like this:



This is one of the images from www.Despair.com, a site that looks at all those beautiful, inspirational posters with motivating sentiments liberally scattered throughout corporate America — and gives them a big raspberry. This is one of the funniest web-sites I've ever visited, especially if you work in an office. It's like reading Dilbert but with production values. Check them out; you can even create your own customized 12 or 16-month demotivation calendar. (To view the dozens of images available go to the "Demotivators (by name)" tab.)

An op-ed in today's Wall Street Journal (subscription required) somewhat incredulously questions the credulity of the reporters and editors disseminating without question last week's Washington Post article about the John Hopkins study (published in the Lancet) that attributes 655,000 excess deaths in Iraq as a result of the war (emphasis mine):

"We have no reason to question the findings," the Post quoted a Human Rights Watch official as saying. The article was fairly typical of reporting on the Lancet study, which has also been all over television and radio, as well as Internet sites such as Google and Yahoo! news.

All of which leaves us wondering if reporters and editors have enough sense anymore to ask basic questions about such enormous numbers, or whether they are simply too biased against the Bush Administration and its Iraq policy to do so. The 655,000 figure is more than 10 times higher than previous estimates of violent deaths in Iraq since the U.S. invasion, and it is larger than the number of Germans killed by allied bombing during all of World War II and larger than the number of Americans who died during our own Civil War.

While it's obvious that Iraq has a terrible problem with sectarian violence at the moment, we find it hard to believe killing on the scale of Antietam or Gettysburg has been going on without anybody having noticed until the statistical wizards from Johns Hopkins showed up.

The 655,000 figure turns out to be an extrapolation based on a very inadequate sampling process. Pollster Steven E. Moore, who has worked extensively in Iraq, pointed out in an op-ed on this page yesterday that the Lancet study is based on information from a mere 47 "cluster points" around Iraq and 1,849 total interviews.

By contrast, a 2004 U.N. survey of Iraq used 2,200 cluster points for more than 21,000 interviews. The Johns Hopkins researchers also appear to have collected no demographic data on their subjects, so the group cannot be compared to census data to check if it is representative. "I wouldn't survey a junior high school, no less an entire country, using only 47 cluster points," Mr. Moore wrote.

Iraq Body Count -- a nonpartisan outfit that keeps track of Iraqi mortality figures -- has also issued a devastating critique of the Lancet/Johns Hopkins survey. It points out that the study implies that a thousand Iraqis died violently every day in the first half of 2006, with fewer than a tenth of them being noticed by "public surveillance mechanisms" and the press, as well as "incompetence and/or fraud on a truly massive scale by Iraqi officials in hospitals and ministries."

Wow. Extrapolation like this makes even the people behind the Minnesota Poll look like pikers.

When you get in trouble and you don't know right from wrong
Give a little whistle! Give a little whistle!
When you meet temptation and the urge is very strong
Give a little whistle! Give a little whistle!

Not just a little squeak, pucker up and blow
And if your whistle's weak, yell, "Jiminy Cricket!"
Right!

Take the straight and narrow path
And if you start to slide
Give a little whistle! Give a little whistle!
And always let your conscience be your guide

An MTC bus driver asks to be excused from driving buses that advertise a local gay magazine. Muslim cab drivers at the Minneapolis airport refuse to transport passengers carrying alcohol. Some pharmacists refuse to dispense "morning after" pills. Why does an individual bringing his or her conscience into the workplace make headlines?

Actually, someone's conscience is at the root of just about everything that makes headlines, whether it's the story of a liquour store being held up, domestic abuse, egregious stock options or lieing about an opponent in a political advertisement. In each case someone has made a decision about what is right or wrong for them and pushed his or her morality on others, usually with negative consequences. Most will agree that the examples I just cited reflect bad behavior but shrug it off as just the way things are; perhaps we'll even feel a little personal smugness becuase "I wouldn't do something like that." But what about when someone acts out of his or her desire to do what they think is right, even if it stands in opposition to society's norms? Why is it easier for us (or the pundits, anyway) to shake their heads at those who act badly out of their own self-interest, but shake their fists at those others for being self-righteous?

In a free society and a free market these actions should not be a big issue. True, it can lead to inconveniences and even some perceived injustices, but these can be managed by the market. If a taxi-driver at the airport doesn't want to take a passenger carrying booze (or even, by their same reasoning, an unveiled or unescorted woman), so be it, but suffer the consequences of the market. If there's a sudden surge in the numbers of women or alcohol-carrying passengers waiting at the airport, other cabs can move in. If the airport, in an effort to serve it's passengers, passes a rule that says a cab either takes the next waiting fare or goes back to the end of the line, that's fine, too. Everyone gets to make a choice. It's not too different from telling the taxi captain that you want a cab that accepts credit cards, which is already common practice at the airport.

In the case of the pharmacies and birth-control or morning-after pills, women have a right to buy these things, just as I have a right to buy ammunition. Nevertheless, I can't walk into any drugstore or sporting goods store and expect to find bullets. If a business-owner decides it is personally important not to offer something, it is his or her choice — and he or she can live with the business consequences if enough people choose to go elsewhere. Or the businessperson can hire some pharmacists who are willing to sell these items and some who won't, or even decide to hire only pharmacists who will.

In the bus driver's situation, allowing a reasonable accomodation to the person's beliefs shouldn't be that big of an issue, especially if the bus company decides that it is worth it in order to keep a skilled or experienced employee. For all I know, the same bus company may aleady allow Muslim drivers to take time out from their routes to pray at the prescribed times (though this seems difficult to work around). If the bus company doesn't want to do these things, the drivers have a choice of what is more important as well.

I've had some experience with this type of situation myself. I once worked for a small advertising and promotion agency that landed a large account with a brewery. There was great rejoicing by the owners of the agency. It was also a great creative opportunity to do some high-profile work that would look good in a portfolio. I was asked to be the copywriter for the client's main brands. This was an issue for me in that, while I'm not going to try and stop people from drinking, I believe it is wrong for me to encourage them to do so. At the same time, I had a young family to support. It wasn't easy but I told the creative director that I couldn't work on those brands. This was not well received because, after all, it was a "legal product." I asked the CD how he'd feel about working on a cigarette account. It was then arranged that I would work instead on the non-alcoholic beer and bottled water brands for that account. Would I have quit my job of been fired if that hadn't happened? Most likely. It wouldn't have been a challenge I embraced, but I trust that God is my source and not the job I happen to hold. Others might have chosen differently, but that too is their choice.

While I may find situations where I am inconvenienced or offended by someone exercising their conscience, I am not going to try to ban it (this does not extend to someone who feels it is his religious duty to kill me, however). We all need to just deal with it; shop somewhere else, work somewhere else, we'll find the place that makes us happy. There is nothing so intolerant as laws requiring "tolerance" as we've seen this week with certain groups advocating for an international law against criticizing global warming theories (this applies only to the global warming theories that agree that there is such a thing, that is).

Tonight at dinner, my dad started singing a song to the tune of "Was a farmer, had a dog, and Bingo was his name-o". Tortellini almost came out of my nose. That, apparently, was his objective. You sicko.

.........

.........

In other news, my dad has informed me that I've been generating controversy on this blog for a bit over a year now. I can look at this two ways:

It's been a year already??

or

It's only been a year?

There have been some darn good times here. I have come to think of the MOB as kind of my extended family, complete with older brothers* (like Kevi-Wevi, Andy and Benny-Wenny), the 'Volunteer Maternal Protector' (Cathy in the Wright) who helps me keep them in line, and the weird uncle (Strommy).

I always have fun at MOB events. Would it be really sad if I said they were the highlight of my social season? It would? Ok, never mind...

And to all of my faithful public, where would I be without you? I've written about some interesting things that have happened to me this past year, and I've posted dumb things that I made up on the spot, and you guys stuck around through it all! How do you do it? Seriously?

*Sniff*...Hold on, I've got something in my eye...*sniff*



*That occasionally drive me crazy, like big brothers have a tendency to do...I'm told.

The Writer's Almanac had this poem today by Linda Pastan from her book, Queen of a Rainy Country. It's an apt description of the way I often feel about blogging.

Rereading Frost

Sometimes I think all the best poems
have been written already,
and no one has time to read them,
so why try to write more?

At other times though,
I remember how one flower
in a meadow already full of flowers
somehow adds to the general fireworks effect

as you get to the top of a hill
in Colorado, say, in high summer
and just look down at all that brimming color.
I also try to convince myself

that the smallest note of the smallest
instrument in the band,
the triangle for instance,
is important to the conductor

who stands there, pointing his finger
in the direction of the percussions,
demanding that one silvery ping.
And I decide not to stop trying,

at least not for a while, though in truth
I'd rather just sit here reading
how someone else has been acquainted
with the night already, and perfectly.
— Linda Pastan

Some of you may be aware of a raging controversy over at the Hammerswing 75 blog regarding what to call those knitted things the Mall Diva wears over her wrists and palms (but not her fingers). MD calls them wrist sweaters, which some find outrageous, and others, insidious. (Read the comments at the link for details, and vote here to register your choice).

Some, however, think they are a great fashion accessory, as well as being practical, no matter what they are called. The ever-entrepreneurial Kingdavid , however, wanted to know how I, as a marketing guru, would package this great new product. Since he's thrown down the gauntlet, so to speak, I'll share a few details here.

What you need to do today in these times of diffused media is build product awareness through so-called "viral" methods. You can't use one-way broadcast bombardments any more in the hopes of beating down people's defenses or ambivalence. You need to use the so-called viral network marketing. For example, find a young, charismatic trend-setter that people naturally want to emulate, and position that person in a niche market that is still well connected. Then, with a few strategic moves you generate a mini-controversy to generate additional buzz; with any luck you'll get a poll going, leading to more strong feelings.

I love it when a plan comes together.

With all of our Sunday afternoon activities I missed seeing any of the afternoon football games, so I worked the tv remote pretty hard Sunday night, flipping between the Denver-Oakland game, "The Blitz" on ESPN and the scoreboard show on the NFL Network, trying to catch highlights of the games and "my" fantasy football guys. In the process I saw many views of the University of Miami vs. Florida International University football game.

At least, it started out as a football game. You've heard the old joke about going to a professional fight and a hockey game breaking out? This was like watching a football game ... and jihad breaking out. Either that or it was group auditions for Riverdance.

You can see for yourself here.

I took the awnings down off of the house this weekend and stowed them in the garage attic without incident or injury but that doesn't necessarily mean I escaped a beating. My car is due for some new tires and with the first flakes flying this past week I knew I shouldn't put it off very much longer.

I'll usually go just about anywhere that has a coupon to get commodity-type car service such as oil changes, but for any serious auto work we go to Weinhagen's, a family-run business in St. Paul across the the street from the Wabasha caves. They may charge more than the chain places, but we've used them for nearly ten years and trust their work and advice. We don't usually need a lot of work done, but the Weinhagens always remember us by name when we come in or call and they don't have to look us up in a computer to do so. We only buy used cars and always take any vehicle we're considering buying to them for a thorough check out first.

I think it's worth paying a little more for service when it's with people you trust, especially when safety is involved. When the Mall Diva started driving I took her in there to introduce her to the guys and told her if she ever had a "check engine" light come on or any other problem while she was driving she was to come directly to this garage (heavens knows, it's no use calling me — I can't do anything to fix a car unless it somehow involves swinging a rubber mallet); I told the guys if they ever saw her they were to see she got what she needed and I'd settle up at the end of the day. Everyone was cool with that.

Tires fall into that "commodity" category, however, so once I found out the size I needed I went on-line to check prices and available brands at Tires Plus, Firestone and Discount Tire. Ouch! Everyone was running about $200 higher than I was expecting. Just to be thorough, I called Weinhagen's to see what they had to offer. Not only did they greet me warmly by name when I called, but they offered me a set of 50,000 mile warranty tires in my original price range and vouched that they were the same brand and make of tire that they put on all their company vehicles.

With that taken care of, and the awnings stowed, it was time for some more important maintenance: the Reverend Mother and I went out to Muffuletta for dinner Saturday night to celebrate our anniversary. We've only been here a couple of times, but we really like it. The menu changes every day but it's always imaginative and first rate. It's a great place for a "special" event or to indulge yourself when you're looking for something beyond the usual meat and potatoes. When Marjorie and I go out to eat she maintains her lithe figure by only ordering a cup of soup or salad and saving room for dessert, while eating the vegetables I won't touch from my entree. Saturday night, however we shared the basket of homemade bread and crackers (yes, they make their own crackers, too) which came with a sweet pepper dip, an appetizer of sweet potato croquettes (delicious!) and a salad, and then she had an order of gnocchi with squash and pine nuts while I had the pan-seared Dijon chicken breast on a bed of bacon, apples, leeks and some kind of purple potato that I can't remember where it comes from. Then she had an espresso custard with whipped cream for dessert (ok, I helped a little). Everything was fantastic! Fortunately I had won a $25 American Express gift certificate at work the week before, so our evening was merely indulgent but not excessive.

Sunday there was no Vikings game on tv, so we joined a large group and went out to lunch after church. That's not a typical weekend expenditure for us, but it was fun outing, and it's okay to stretch the budget a little every now and then, right? Then it was time to go meet up with some other friends to have our annual family Christmas card photo taken. Our friends are a husband and wife team of talented photographers who have been able to draw out some cool "album cover" photos of us over the years (credit goes, too, to the Rev. Mum, Diva and Tiger Lilly for being so photogenic). New this year to our group is The One Who Came to Stay, or, as I'll refer to her on this blog, "Bonita". You can see she's a good fit.





Afterwards the kids all went home to bake cookies ... awww, how sweet! That is, until the stove died during the first batch. We think it's really dead, too, but it's been a good stove for a long time; it was in the house when we moved in nine years ago and has an older look and style to it. We'll be searching out replacements this week, which isn't exactly something we look forward to spending time and money on. Still, we're not discouraged. We are, and have been, very blessed. Though there have been times in our marriage when suddenly having to replace a stove (and buy new tires) would have dampened our weekend considerably, and when going out to Dairy Queen was a treat we allowed ourselves only after carefully counting out the nickels and dimes we had between us, we appreciate the favor we've had with God and with man even then. God has blessed us so we can bless others; even if I end up rubbing my neck and writing a check this week, I am grateful that I have the means to do so, and certain that the new tires will get me to the places where God needs me to be, and the new stove will feed those who need a hot meal, or even something more.

Hazing, booze, sex led to Wisconsin band probation

Head-shaving, semi-nude dancing, girl-on-girl kissing required to use the bathroom ... well, it is the Vikings bye-week.

Wait, this was a bus, not a boat? What would Wellstone do?

Port McClellan, via Drudge, links today to a nighttime satellite photo of North and South Korea that is, well, night and day.



The article featuring the photo is from the Daily Mail of London, not exactly the New York Times of credibility (though the NYT isn't exactly the NYT of credibility any more, either). The story begins:

North Korea might now have The Bomb, but it doesn't have much electricity

As the world grapples with how to rein in the "axis of evil" state which this week conducted a nuclear test, this spectacular satellite photo unveiled yesterday by US Defence Secretary Donald Rumsfeld shows in stark detail the haves and have-nots of the Korean peninsula.

The regime in the north is so short of electricity that the whole country is switched off at 9 p.m. - apart from the capital of Pyongyang where dictator Kim Jong-il and his cohorts live in relative luxury. But even there, lighting is drastically reduced.

The result, as shown in this picture taken one night earlier this week, is a startling contrast between the blacked-out north and the south, which is ablaze with light, particularly around major cities and the capital, Seoul, in the north-west of the country.

Mr Rumsfeld showed the picture to illustrate how backward the northern regime really is - and how oppressed its people are. Without electricity there can be none of the appliances that make life easy and that we take for granted, he said.

A Hoax?

While the photo is illuminating, the absolute darkness in North Korea outside of Pyongyang is almost too absolute. Then there were some things in the Mail article that kind of tweaked my antenna. Reading over it again, I couldn't find any reference to just where Secretary Rumsfeld was and who he was talking to "yesterday" when he showed that photo.

Could it be a hoax? It's easy to be alert to fake or misleading information coming from the left, and in fact this skepticism has had to become standard procedure. I hope, however, that I can be as sensitive to similar bad vibes even if the pictures or news line up with my own expectations or world view. A lie is a lie, whether "left" or "right"; in fact I'd be even more outraged if I discovered a lie that was from "my side". The truth is sufficient for our arguments.

Therefore I did a little checking. I couldn't find anything about a similar speech by Secretary Rumsfeld on the CNN, Fox or Snopes sites (or anything about "Rumsfeld North Korea Satellite Image"), but a Google search did turn up a presentation he gave that included this satellite imagery — on December 23, 2002, linked on GlobalSecurity.org.

It appears the image is authentic, even if the latest reporting is suspect. I'm glad I took the time to poke around a bit before passing it on.

As for the conditions the people of North Korea are living under, I suggest that the not give up on Kim Jong Il just yet. He is showing that he won't rest until his whole country is glowing in the dark. (But that's just my opinion).

He's back. (And here and here.)

Or maybe not.

Doug's been away so long it's almost kind of hard to remember his style. The new posts are very good, so they could easily be from Doug. But there seems to me be a bit of, oh, Tucci-ness to them, too. That guy gets around the MOB quite a bit (keep your doors locked, people), but he's mostly been associated with a certain group that's been known to play a good-natured blogging prank or two.

I'm hoping it's the real deal. Welcome back, Big Fella.

The weather is a tease. She blows in my ear but I know that before long she'll slap my face. This morning is "brisk" and "crisp." I stepped outside in my shirtsleeves to get the newspaper and saw the first frost on the ground and felt the pleasant half-shiver as the cold finger ran playfully up my spine.

Walking across Hennepin Avenue later my long leather jacket felt good across my shoulders as the puffs of my breath in front of me said, "You're alive!" Dry leaves scratched across the pavement beside me, running before the inevitable. For today, though, it is at bay and the hot cup of coffee feels good in my hands.

You magnificent bitch.

Actually, I don't think that that was what the AARP set out to poll, but the stereotype of Baby Boomers as shallow and self-absorbed couldn't help but be burnished by an article I saw in a daily news bulletin put out by the A.M. Best company. This article (subscription required) covered a press release from AARP describing the overwhelming support among voters for national health care coverage:

Most Baby Boomer-Era Voters Support Universal Health Insurance, AARP Poll Says

WASHINGTON October 10 (BestWire) — Most voters say they are likely to vote for candidates who express support for the concept of national health-care coverage, according to a poll of 1,500 likely voters commissioned by AARP.

More than three-quarters of likely voters — 77% — said they are "very likely" (41%) or "somewhat likely" (36%) to vote for a candidate who supports a plan for national health-care coverage, the seniors' lobbying group said. Nearly eight in 10 of all of those polled — 78% — said the federal government should ensure that everyone has health insurance. Sixty-one percent strongly agreed.

David Sloane, AARP's director of government relations, said the polling data show that most baby boomer-era voters are reacting to health insurance becoming less affordable and less accessible. "The voter anxiety reflected in this poll is the result of a system that is inefficient, at the mercy of uncontrollable costs, and is leaving tens of millions of people without health insurance," Sloane said.

... (snip) ...

AARP's poll surveyed likely voters age 42 and older, finding that nearly all (93%) are registered to vote, and that an overwhelming majority (86%) say they plan to vote next month. Fifty-six percent said they "always" vote, and 31% said they "nearly always" vote. Older voters show up at the polls more consistently than younger ones, according to the poll data, with 65% of those older than 60 saying that they always vote, compared with 50% of those aged 51-60 and 44% of those aged 42-50.

More than half of those surveyed said they are "very interested" in this year's election. Yet as of Oct. 2, only 47% said they had given "quite a lot of thought" to their choice of candidate. Many remain undecided about both House (60%) and Senate (50%) races.

When asked about health insurance, older voters were more likely than younger ones to vote for a candidate who supports national health insurance. Forty-three percent of those aged 61 and older said they would vote for such a candidate, compared with 46% for those aged 51-60 and 32% of those aged 42-50. More younger voters, those aged 42-50, said they would be "somewhat likely" to vote for a candidate supporting national health care. Only small minorities said they would be "not very likely" to vote for candidates who support such a plan, with 9% of those aged 42-50, 6% of those 51-60, and 9% of those older than 61 agreeing.

I'll leave it to more experienced poll-busters (Mitch, David, King?) to dig into this, but I have to seriously wonder what kind of sampling went into selecting these 1500 likely voters, and just what questions were asked (and how they were worded). This information wasn't offered in the original AARP press release, but I'm speculating it was along the lines of "Would you rather use your own hard-earned assets to pay for your healthcare when you're older or would you like an ice-cream sundae with whip cream and a cherry?" Hmmm, tough choice. Ice cream?

Of course, just about everyone likes ice cream, but the reality of a single-payer, national health insurance system is more like sour cream, neither of which are that good for you. It hasn't worked in Cuba (unless you're Fidel Castro, in which case you can apparently live forever), and in Great Britain and Canada it may even kill you, as I posted a couple of weeks ago. Sure, these programs always sound "fair", especially if you don't realize how much you're paying for it (which is the reason our current flawed and counter-intuitive health system has managed to keep tottering forward). The Boomers, most of whom are beginning to realize they've underfunded for their dreams of golden retirement (at least they've got a killer sound-system and the big-screen plasma tv) are looking for another answer. The problem is they're only being given a choice between two systems, one just slightly less imperfect than the other. They're ready to jump at the "something for nothing" deal because that's what they've come to expect as their due, but just wait until they need that hip replacement and have to wait more than a year to get it — or even find out that the government has decided that they're too old or incapacitated to justify spending any more of its resources on them. This is not a generation that reacts well to being denied.

Okay, I'll admit that that's an unfair and extreme characterization of a generation that I find myself in (although at the tail end). What really gets me upset, however, is the proposition that if what we currently have doesn't work then there's only one other option. We shouldn't have to keep propping up this misbegotten and artifical system we currently have, but we definitely don't need to switch to an even more oppressive and inefficient model (especially when it's been proven not to work). What we need is a market-driven healthcare system that takes the purchasing power out of the hands of third-party payers or the government and into the hands of the consumer, allowing us to buy healthcare the way we buy groceries or auto insurance.

Will it be easy? No. Will it be painful? Yes. Has this generation ever taken the path that wasn't easy or that offered pain? Anecdotally, the evidence doesn't look very good. There's a lot to be unlearned, and special interest to be overcome, but we've got a chance to bite the bullet and do it — and leave a lasting legacy (instead of a curse) for those that come after us.

Update:

Along these lines, Policy Guy recommends a book, The Cure: How Capitalism Can Save American Health Care.

The sulfur Hugo Chavez said he was smelling recently was most likely coming from the burn rate of his country's prodigious spending, which is outpacing even the vast oil reserves of Venezuela. From the Wall Street Journal (subscription required for full story):

Venezuela Has Deficit As Chávez's Spending Outpaces Oil Gains
By RAUL GALLEGOS
October 10, 2006; Page A6

CARACAS, Venezuela — Venezuelan President Hugo Chávez's spending has exceeded his government's gains from oil sales this year, resulting in a deficit that many believe will grow in coming months. The Andean country's accumulated deficit stood at 4.9 trillion bolivars ($2.28 billion) at the end of July, according to the latest central-bank figures.

Venezuela's oil industry accounts for about one-third of gross domestic product and one-half of government revenue. "We expect to see a deficit of $7.7 billion this year," or 4.3% of gross domestic product, said Andreas Faust, an economist at Banco Mercantil in Caracas.

Mr. Chávez has continued to fund popular social programs that include free health care, education and subsidized food, as he seeks another six-year term in office in December elections. He has raised salaries of state workers, continues to fund state enterprises and gives soft loans to favored industries. Many analysts expect total spending to surpass 120 trillion bolivars or almost 40% of GDP by year's end.

State spending has pushed up prices for goods and services, resulting in 12.5% inflation as of September.

Maybe Chávez is racing his North Korean friend with the mushroom-cloud hair to see who can run their country into the ground first.

I work for a company in the risk assessment business. There are elements of our business who take more than a casual interest in the weather, as it can mean billions of dollars in claims and millions of dollars in capital that has to be set aside as reserves. One of our industry publications had this report today:

The climate phenomenon El Nino made an unexpected return this year, and its influence on world weather patterns could have an impact on the property/casualty insurance industry — including fewer hurricanes for the rest of the 2006 season.

El Nino is a large-scale ocean-atmosphere climate phenomenon linked to a periodic warming in sea surface temperatures across the central and east-central equatorial Pacific. Steve Smith, an atmospheric physicist and senior vice president of Carvill's ReAdvisory, said "a weak El Nino" formed about a month ago and appears to be affecting hurricane formation.

"I wouldn't expect too many hurricanes for the rest of the season," Smith said.

The Colorado State University-based Tropical Meteorology Project was even more blunt, lowering its tropical storm forecast to below-average activity for the rest of the season and predicting no tropical cyclone activity in November, "largely due to the rapid emergence of an El Nino event during the latter part of this summer." Hurricane season ends Nov. 30.

"A hurricane is kind of like a heat engine in the atmosphere," said Peter Dailey, lead meteorologist for catastrophe modeler AIR Worldwide Corp. "It can be disrupted by mixing the atmosphere. When we have an El Nino event, it tends to increase the wind shear in the Caribbean."

So far, there have been nine named storms this season, and not one hurricane has made U.S. landfall.

Robert Hartwig, senior vice president and chief economist of the Insurance Information Institute, said El Nino's influence on hurricane formation is "a beneficial impact."

Ahhh, warming water means fewer hurricanes and, according to the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA), the typical El Nino effect on global weather means warmer than average winter weather in western and central Canada, which translates to a warmer than average winter for western and central U.S. — including our own Minnesota. Maybe I didn't need to buy my wife the new pair of flannel lined jeans and microfleece long underwear at Cabelas for her birthday after all. Maybe I can negotiate a lower fee upfront with the guy who plows my driveway.

Of course, El Nino weather patterns also usually mean more storm activity in California and more nor'easters in the northeast. Oh, those poor blue states. I bet Karl Rove had something to do with this.

The Twins were on their way to winning their first World Series ... and the Bride (not yet the Reverend Mother) and I were on our way to 19 consecutive winning seasons, with good prospects for many more and a great farm system producing future champions. I'm even happier today than I look in this picture. Looking back I can honestly say I'd do it all again the same way ... except for the photo, and those glasses.

I was supposed to take the canvas awnings off the house over the weekend so they can be stored for the winter. It was sunny and warm on Saturday, which would have made for ideal conditions — except for the 20-25 mph wind gusts. My family says I worry too much about things, but if I do it's because I have a good imagination that makes it easy to envision worst-case scenarios taking place before my eyes. So, take stiff winds, a 40-foot extension ladder, large canvas surface areas and my own natural grace that has put me on the losing side of disputes with gravity many times and I had no trouble picturing myself doing a Flying Nun impersonation somewhere over my back yard. The clincher in my decision for staying earth-bound, however, was that the University of Minnesota Golden Gophers were playing football Saturday afternoon.

No, I had no desire to shirk my chores and actually watch them play against Penn State; it's just that when the Gophers play football against ranked opponents, spectacularly bad and nearly unexplainable things happen. When such eery forces are afoot in the land it is wise not to take any unnecessary chances. In recent years the Gophs have found ways to blow a three-touchdown lead in the last 8 minutes of a game, snatch defeat from the jaws of certain victory with a botched punt and many other comical indignities I've tried to repress. This time they scored a touchdown in overtime and missed the extra point. Then, just when they had turned Penn State away with a fourth-down, game-winning play they get flagged for a phantom pass interference call, you knew it was going to happen again (and it did).

I did manage to get the leaves in the front yard mulched, but about half of them are still on the trees despite the winds. It's a good feeling to get things accomplished, but I spent most of the time I was doing that thinking about another "Dad" responsibility that was coming up. We've just added another teenage daughter to the family for the forseeable future, to go along with the Mall Diva and the near-teen Tiger Lilly (anybody got a spare bathroom you're not using? Can I borrow it?) It's been an unexpected, but not unwelcome, event though it is a bit different to assume responsibility for someone just a few days short of 17 years old, especially when she comes equipped with a would-be boyfriend. The young swain was to present himself to the Reverend Mother and I for the first time Saturday afternoon for our "little talk" and I spent my leaf-collecting time pondering the proper accessories.

In the end, I decided to go without the gun or the knife, but I think I still got it across to the young man that I take this seriously, and clearly laid out my expectations and his responsibilities if he wants to have the privilege of spending time with one of mine. He listened very respectfully, and had her home only one minute late. Do you think I should also have him fill out the application? (There'll be more about our new daughter as time goes on, but first I have to decide on a proper blog nickname for her; these things have a way of suggesting themselves, so be patient).

Saturday night the rest of us watched the movie, "My House in Umbria", starring Maggie Smith, who was excellent. It's a mystery movie, which we like, but it had the added appeal of being set on location in the Italian countryside. Umbria looked very much like Tuscany where we were back in May, and we were all wistful at the views of the scenery and the house and the garden. I liked the movie a lot, but the girls weren't as impressed. I thought it was an interesting movie with a twist on the mystery genre in the way it went about unveiling its clues at a leisurely, sun-washed pace.

Sunday morning we made our usual preparations for church and we even got home in time for the kick-off of the Vikings game. I'm getting pretty frustrated with the Vikings offense. It's supposed to be some version of the West Coast Offense, but it looks more like a "Let's Coast" offense. When you hear "West Coast" you think sunshine, sporty convertibles, tanned blondes who wink at you and a diverse, high-powered style of offensive football that combines the power and grace of surfing. The Viking's version is more like ice-fishing. In Cleveland. In February. While you're sitting on a plastic bucket. The problem as I see it is that the defense knows the quarterback can't get the ball deep without it hanging up there like a pinata, so they cheat up and crowd the passing lanes, making it even harder to complete the short passes. It's boring, turgid and as predictable as Brad Johnson throwing the ball five yards on third and nine. Thankfully the defense is awesome this year, and it actually outscored their offensive counterparts this week as the Vikings defeated a Minnesota coach's best hope for job security: the Detroit Lions.

When our golfing partners cancelled on us later in the afternoon I got a chance to flash back to the good old days of Denny Green clock management by watching the Cardinals-Chiefs game on one channel while also monitoring the over-hyped return of Terrell Owens to Philadelphia as the Eagles hosted the Cowboys. If there's anything I enjoy in sports — even more than watching Phil Mickelson kack up a big lead or having the Yankees bounced from the play-offs early — it's seeing Terrell Owens get his feelings hurt. Ahhh, it was a good day. Time to kick back and reflect and enjoy the evening — oh, hey, don't I have a blog?

Billingsgate (BIL ingz gate)
noun

Billingsgate is foul and abusive language, coarse invective. The word comes from Billingsgate, London, for hundreds of years the site and name of a fish market where fish sellers and porters were notorious for their foul, coarse language. The market was near a gate in the old city wall named after a property owner, Billings. To talk billingsgate (sometimes capitalized) is to indulge in vituperation and vilification. The women who worked there were particularly offensive; from the Middle English fisshwyf we get fishwife, a term applied to coarse, vituperative, foul-tongued women who belie the traditional gentility of their sex. These lines appear in The Plain Dealer, a play by the English poet and dramatist William Wycherley (c. 1640-1716):

QUAINT: With sharp invectives—
WIDOW: Alias, Billingsgate.

My example: Rosie O'Donnell's billingsgate tendencies have been on view since she joined "The View."

From the book, “1000 Most Challenging Words” by Norman W. Schur, ©1987 by the Ballantine Reference Library, Random House. I post a weekly “Challenging Words” definition to call more attention to this delightful book and to promote interesting word usage in the blogosphere. I challenge other bloggers to work the current word into a post sometime in the coming week. If you manage to do so, please leave a comment or a link to where I can find it. Previous words in this series can be found under the appropriate Category heading in the right-hand sidebar.

Yes, it's that beautiful time of year; with leaves changing colors and the air getting colder*...

Time to break out the wrist sweaters!



This is the very last of the 899 pictures we took in Europe. We were at the airport to go home, and my carry-on luggage was so stuffed that I couldn't fit my wrist sweaters anywhere, so I had to wear them.


*The air is supposed to be getting colder, right? Though I personally am not opposed to 70 and 80 degree weather for fall...
My mom and I support global warming!

Buffy Holt from plain simple english is back stateside for awhile, which means having to re-test for her driver's license. Her account of taking this exam under the supervision of an examiner who looked like John Coffey from The Green Mile is here. Her story reminded me of the many stresses that accompanied my driver's training.

Way back in the day I took my driver’s ed training through a 6-week program at my high school. There’s probably a book and a half worth of material right there, but one thing I especially remember is a question on the final written exam: What is the most dangerous animal to hit when driving?

You know, I’m sure I never saw that covered in the text book or heard it in the lecture portions, unless it was slipped into those horrendous road accident movies they showed to freak you out, in which case I no doubt blocked it from my mind. Anyway, I gave it about two more seconds of thought and wrote “Rogue Elephant” and moved on.

Turns out I was wrong, but I had enough points to pass the test anyway. According to the instructor the correct answer was “hog” as its low center of gravity can flip your car. I've seen some pretty fat squirrels on the road (who's center of gravity got progressively lower) but I’ve never seen a hog on the road, dead or alive. You can be sure that if I ever do, however, I’m pulling a bootlegger turn (definitely not taught in class) and going the other direction as fast as I can just to be safe. I don’t know what I’d do if I had to choose between hitting a hog, an elephant or driving into a ditch full of alligators.

Sometimes I've wondered since then: do you think they perhaps gave me the written test for Arkansas by mistake?

The paragraphs above were the gist of a comment I left for Buffy. I ran them here as well for fun and maximum "mileage", and because it gave me a good excuse to run this picture of the girls again:

More posting soon. I'm working on a piece that started with a Nick Coleman column over a week ago and keeps expanding; I hope to get it organized very soon. Simultaneously, the entire family has been involved in a situation that has been very intense and absorbing. Everyone has played a part and I have to admit to a little surprise, and not a little pride, at the spirit and composure of the Diva and Tiger Lilly in all of this. We are so blessed. Then again, maybe I shouldn't be surprised at all.

We're all fine, healthy and happy but it is a situation that certainly makes me appreciate the things we so easily take for granted. I don't know that I'll ever be able to blog about it directly, but it is certainly giving me some deeper insights that will no doubt be reflected in future writings.

And those will resume shortly, I promise.

The 1987 Twins surprised me, and that was hard to do. Since '82 I'd worked as a scoreboard operator at the Metrodome and had seen some fairly mystical things. Things such as a Dave Kingman foul ball literally getting lost in the roof, catcher Dave Engle forgetting how to throw the ball back to the pitcher, and Mickey Hatcher playing the outfield. The bulging, striped Teflon sky had made the Dome seem like our own surreal patch where we had waited each year for the Great Pumpkin, Godot and blue-chip pitching prospects Jeff Bumgarner and Steve Gasser. None of whom ever arrived.

When '87 rolled around my passions had expanded to include the future Reverend Mother and we started looking around for a wedding date. October 10 looked to be a pretty safe choice. My wedding to Marjorie wasn't to be the only astounding miracle in Minnesota that fall, however. The Twins snuck into the playoffs with 85 wins, and my friends kept sneaking out of our afternoon wedding reception to try and catch the score of the Twins/Tigers ALCS game from Detroit. (If McFly had come back from the future and shown up at the church in the De Lorean we wouldn't have been impressed with the car, but we'd definitely have wanted to know more about those cell phones and Internet thingies he was talking about — and who to put our money on, of course, though we probably still wouldn't have believed it). I didn't mind my friends' absence because they were relaying the scores to me while I was stuck cutting cake and grinning until my ears nearly fell off. My bride and I ended up honeymooning through the rest of the ALCS and the first games of the World Series, but I made it back to my Dome job in time for Game 6.

That '87 team was the most surprising ever for me — until this year. This year began as if we'd all crammed into the De Lorean for a trip back to the early 80s as the team tried to patch together something that might look respectable from a collection of not-ready-yet youngsters and used-up veterans in the handy four-pack size. The left side of the infield had the look and range of Mount Rushmore, and the "professional hitters" that had been added to the squad were as stiff as the Tin Man stepping out of the whirlpool. The results were about as pretty as the floor of the Twins dugout after a game, the spit-out sunflower seed husks commingling with tobacco juice in fetid puddles. Gross, yes, so you tried not to think about them, though the stench was strong.

Desperate plans are sometimes the best ones, though, so when the decision was made in June to stack the deadwood out of the way and bring in the frisky youngsters things began to look up. Manager Ron Gardenhire installed Nick Punto into the lineup, even though the most noise he'd made in the majors up until that time was the sound of his hamstrings twanging or his bones cracking. Gardy put him out there at third and asked him to try not and sprain anything until he could find a replacement. Then they brought up Jason Bartlett from the minors, the kid who'd been thought to be not assertive enough in spring training, to play shortstop — and barely took him out of the lineup the rest of the season. Suddenly balls that were passing through the left side of the infield like it was the U.S.-Mexico border were being caught and redirected to Canada, or at least toward Canadian first baseman Justin Morneau. Perhaps being able to see more balls thrown at him in the field sharpened Morneau's eye-hand coordination because right about that time he started smashing balls hither and yon at the plate, while Johann Santana and Francisco Liriano began to compete with each other to find the most humiliating ways to make opposing batters take their seats. Meanwhile the young catcher, Joe Mauer, kept stringing together more hits than sentences and the team won 19 of 20 games — and failed to gain ground on the Tigers and White Sox ahead of them.

Well, we thought that was interesting, and that it bode well for next year, but someone had sent the future by Fed Ex and they were looking for somebody to sign for it. The Twins kept up the pace and gradually started to draw closer to the leaders bit by bit. Of course, they were still too far back to even be considered for a wild card spot with the Chi-town and Detroit, and with former Twin Big Papi in Boston plucking a hair out of Twins GM Terry Ryan's head with every homerun he hit because the Bosox liked him to go yahhd and didn't care if he used his glove for a doily. Surely the Twins weren't even going to get a sniff of either of these Sox for the Wild Card, and yet they kept coming. Somewhere up ahead Jim Leyland and Ozzie Guillen were like Butch and Sundance, squinting back into the distance and asking, "Who are those guys?" who kept chasing them no matter what tricks they played or how they tried to run and hide. Then Torii got hurt, and Radke and Liriano, and each time we thought, "Well, that does it, but it was a great run...and wait until next year." But nothing seemed to throw the Twins off stride. They kept eating at the difference and the teams ahead of them started to choke, their hands so tightly around their necks that they couldn't adjust their cups at the plate.

First the Red Sox and then the White Sox fell into the wringer and were hung out to dry, and amazingly the Twins were guaranteed a play-off spot with a week left in the season. Sublime, but still not enough and on the last day of the season they won one last game and then sat with their fans inside the suddenly cozy Metrodome and watched the big color scoreboards as the even more unlikely Royals defeated the Tigers in extra innings, putting the Twins all alone in first place in the AL Central Division for the first time all season, nearly one hour after their regular season had ended.

Now it's onto the playoffs and the unknown players aren't so unknown anymore. They've got the AL batting champ, the probable Cy Young winner, a serious league MVP candidate, the veteran Gold Glove centerfielder showing new-found power and poise in the clutch and, if there's any justice, the Manager of the Year. They've also got a #2 starter named Boof, a game three starter with a torn labrum and stress fracture in his shoulder and a game four starter who sometimes acts like he's got a stress fracture of the brain.

I'm not betting against them.

Abjure
(ab JOOHR) verb

To abjure something is to renounce it, retract, repudiate, forswear it. Abjure comes from the Latin verb abjurare (to deny under oath); abjuration from Late Latin abjuratio (recantation); both are based on ab- (away) plus jurare (to swear). Reformed sinners abjure the errors of their ways. A number of American communists abjured their allegiance to the Communist Party and informed on their former colleagues. The noun abjuration (abjoo RAY shuhn) implies renunciation upon oath, or at least some measure of solemnity and formality, something more than a mere change of mind. Born-again Christians abjure their former unbelief. The English poet John Donne (1572-1631) wrote:

The heavens rejoice in moiion, why should I
Abjure my so much loved variety

In Paradise Lost, the English poet John Milton (1608-1674) says:

I waked To find her, or for ever to deplore
Her loss, and other pleasures all abjure.

My example: The Minnesota Twins abjured the lousy baseball they played in April and June and came back to win the American League Central Division title on the last day of the season.

From the book, “1000 Most Challenging Words” by Norman W. Schur, ©1987 by the Ballantine Reference Library, Random House. I post a weekly “Challenging Words” definition to call more attention to this delightful book and to promote interesting word usage in the blogosphere. I challenge other bloggers to work the current word into a post sometime in the coming week. If you manage to do so, please leave a comment or a link to where I can find it. Previous words in this series can be found under the appropriate Category heading in the right-hand sidebar.

Alright, I've heard that some people have been clamoring for a post from their elusive Diva, so here I am. Bruise-free, might I add.

But this is a special post, as it is about a special person. I would not be here if she hadn't been here first. It's my mom. (Insert your "awwwww"s here)

It was her birthday on Friday. Earlier in the year I asked her what she wanted to do for it, and she said "Nothing, and no flamingo's!".

So I threw her a surprise party. Actually it was me and our home church group that meets on Friday nights.

A couple of weeks ago, my parents went on a little golfing vacation weekend thingy (yes, I did use both "golfing" and "vacation" in the same sentence, and no, I'm not crazy). So that Friday night we decided to plan the party and got all the invitations out on Sunday, which I thought was pretty slick.

The usual Home church schedule is everyone one comes around 7p.m. and just walk in, then we do a couple songs. We had our guests walk in around 7:15. The house was packed and my mother thoroughly surprised.

Direct quote from my Aunt Carol (HI CAROL!),"I've never been to a birthday party that broke down into a dance party." Which it did. Even ask Benny.

Thank you to everyone who came and would happen to be reading this! I swear that her party was better than mine.