History Unmaking

I guess only time will tell us just how significant Benazir Bhutto was to the history of the world, but I fear that we are currently underestimating her, even as we mourn her and praise her. I suspect this is the beginning of some enormous moment and this relatively small act of violence on the worldwide political stage will telegraph to impact just about everyone everywhere. Sort of an Archduke Ferdinand-Gavrilo Princip.

Still Here

I am looking at shafts of clear sunlight stabbing through the woods behind the house, silhouetting trees draped in a fresh fall of dry snow, and I find myself back here apologizing for the lack of recent entries. It is disappointing to you, my loyal readers, I am sure. How did you cope with my absence over the long Christmas break I took?

And there is so much to talk about.

- I have discovered which of my two dogs will remain loyal and at my side after the Apocalypse.

- Benazir Bhutto will not survive the Apocalypse. In fact, she hasn't even survived her triumphant return home. I could say a lot about it, but I don't think I have the stamina, just as you do not have the desire, probably, to read it all. But what else can happen in this world to destabilize that entire region? From the ongoing strife between the Israelis and Palestinians, to our bungling management of a war without reason in Iraq, to the border conflict between Turkey and the Jurds of northern Iraq to little Hitler in Tehran to the Afghan-Pakistani region of turmoil, a huge swatch of the earth rumbles.

- Presidential campaigning. Would everyone just step aside and let John Edwards lead us, please?

- What are the impediments to my writing? Three of them are hovering about right now.

- You folks need an excerpt from MARVEL AND TWAIN.

So plenty to come, once a few little people let me.

Where have you gone Joe DiConfucius?

Our nation turns its lonely eyes to China. Woe woe woe. Whoa. Wait a second. Are you about to take a bite of that delicious tilapia dish?

Think again.

When you consider the sheer number of people birthed out of mainland China, and all the headaches the world has endured as a result, you have to stop and wonder why no one sees what is bad about the Sleeping Beast of the East.

The fact that WalMart is basically an outlet store for China-made goods doesn't stop the slack-jawed masses from flocking there everyday. "So my new winter coat was made by a political prisoner who doesn't have adequate winter clothing to call his own? Ah, well, his loss. If he wasn't a commie, he'd be driving a Hummer just like me."

And when you need to buy a car for your son before he gets his own Hummer? Maybe a nice Chinese automobile.

China. Stop the madness. Boycott France? Hell no. Boycott China.

Tell Me Why I'm Just OK With Mondays

It's one of those prototypical New England December days. The ground is white, the air is gray, the trees look made of a combination of gunmetal and lichens. In your skin you can feel a memory embedded in your DNA -- it's the memory of cold mornings waking in the cave, the fire is out, the animal furs have slipped off or been hogged by the hairy young lovely you dragged back after a skirmish with the warring tribe, and there's something falling from the sky that makes you very confused and angry. It's neither raining nor snowing. It's some kind of slushy ice falling from the sky. And today as in the days of the cave, you can do nothing but grunt and shiver and try to move on.

I am glad my cave is insulated and that the fire never goes out. It's cold and raw and when I turn the doorknob to let the dogs out I can feel the ice right in the palm of my hand. If it weren't for the kids, I'd be typing from bed. Dressed, of course, but on the bed wrapped in a blanket with a hat on.

Speaking of ice (as in snow as in cocaine), I get the sense that Amy Winehouse is in big trouble. I'm no superfan, mind you, but I do like her singing. She's going to need to do a lot more singing and soon if she is going to keep spending every penny and pound of her recording and touring profits of blow, crack, and smack. Have a look at The Superficial today to see what I mean. Winehouse is wasting away to nothing.

Speaking of wasting away to nothing, as each new sunrise graces the eastern seaboard, I am reminded of just how much more hair has fallen from the top of my head never to be seen or heard from again. It goes without saying that, at the very least, I am losing my hair to the ravages of male pattern baldness and not the side effects of some high-intensity chemical treatment to stave-off a dread disease. And that, Martha Stewart, is a good thing. Furthermore, I was never all that happy with the hair I had before. Sure, all the negative remarks and tirades I blustered in my hair's direction probably had something to do with its decision to take early retirement, but I would do a lot to have it all again. And why? Well, I'm not exactly tough enough to deny that the cold weather makes my head cold.

So what I am looking for this winter is the perfect hat to wear indoors all day. When I go out these days, I always wear a hat. In the spring and fall and on milder summer days, I wear the ubiquitous baseball cap. Red Sox. I also switch off to a sweet Wyoming cap (purchased five years ago at the gift shop in Little America) that is actually a little small or a Yellow Dog Outfitting cap. I have a slew of other baseball caps, but they do not appear frequently in the rotation. And anyway, let's face it, wearing a baseball cap all day indoors is a little too much like being Mike Love, the Hated Beach Boy. At some point, kids, we have to stop wearing baseball hats all the time.

I know I know I know. Gentlemen do not wear hats indoors. Thank you, Sister Irene. I am on that etiquette like a nun on the rosary, but you have to understand two things: One, I am trying to keep the heat turned down this winter to keep the utility bills lowered. Two, I sit typing with my back to a cold, north-facing window in a room that opens onto the outdoors many times throughout the day. When people are around, besides the kids, I'd doff the cap. But during the day when no one else is around? A nice, indoor hat would do.

Baby, it's cold outside. And I am okay with that. I like winter. I like snow. I like the raw, bare-tree desolation of winter. It is food for the creative soul. Hell, I am even a tad melancholy for the days when I had to walk the dogs in this four, five, and six times -- or even more. It brought me a certain defeatist joy, like this was the world in which I was supposed to suffer and isn't it serenely beautiful?

So Mondays are okay, as long as you have the right hat. And as long as you aren't addicted to blow, crack, and smack.

It's 10 pm

Do you know where your brain is? Jesus, I wish I could find mine. I need to get working on Marvel and Twain, but I just can't seem to find the thread for the second half of chapter seven. So I am killing a little time here, and hoping I won't have to slaughter the hours until inspiration comes along.

Interesting things of note today? 2002 Mazda MPVs seem to have a major transmission problem. Duly noted. Elliot's bottom is the site of some horrific diaper rash. Duly noted. Cream obsessively applied. Pine Mountain fire logs outlast Duraflames by several hours. Duly noted. A dusting of even 1/4 inch of snow is enough to freshen the world. Duly noted. Being cold is 50% mental, at least for a while. Went out without a coat or hat and traipsed around the yard this morning filling bird feeders. It was 20. It didn't faze me. Duly noted. Got cold sitting in the kitchen at lunch time because I let it happen. Duly noted. Got the Montana/Yellowstone itch really bad.

Really bad.

Need to sell this place and move out there. Tomorrow.

So, uh, I was sitting on the floor waiting for Toby to collect blocks so that I could build him the tower he requested when Hoover came along and climbed into my lap. She wanted to be pet, she wanted to know I still loved her. I obliged, because she is a big lap dog and a big brown dummy and her eyes make her irresistible. When she eventually got up, there was a weird and very stinky wet spot on my leg the size of a quarter. I don't really want to know what that was because I know enough: It was gross. I need to go put my freshly washed jeans in the dryer now.

Ick.

Even Jigsaw had to check it out and then run away.

Dear Sox

Please do not trade away Jacoby Ellsbury. I'm not even comfortable with the thought of losing Jon Lester for Johan Santana, to tell you the truth. But please, do not trade away Jacoby Ellsbury. He is the next great Dirt Dawg. You cannot let him leave Boston.

You stuck it out with Lester, and he is a fine starter. And Cla Bucholz, well, please, I think you've got a sly, wily pitcher coming up there. It's not always about the burning, not always about the smoke. Sometimes your best pitching can be sneaky.

So, please, don't waste the future to grab Santana now.

End transmission.

Because No Seals Are Available

Well, seal harvesting time on the ice floes off the coast of northern Canada must be months away and I don't know where I left my Arctic Slugger anyway. So what am I to do from now until it's time to bash some little seal pup's head in for a nice, white (with blood red accents) fur coat?

I guess I could play Penguinball. And you can, too.

My best distance has so far been 301.5. But I've been stuck at 200 for a while now.

Isn't it almost time for Santa to start bowling for elves?

Getting From Here to Anywhere

One of the things on my mind right now involves the family transportation. If you read the travel blog (To Glacier and Back), you know that the transmission in the Volvo wagon is not original to the car. In fact, it is a used transmission installed by the capable folks at Celtic Motors in Kalispell, Montana. There were other problems with the Volvo along the way, several of which just keep coming back -- recurring, if you will.

Not long after we left for Montana, the latch on the back door of the wagon must have been bent or knocked-out-of-whack because the warning light for an open tailgate stays on all the time now. The speed sensors on the ABS and the transmission do not always stay in sync, and the looming issue of a new throttle body is always on my mind. Really, the Volvo V70 XC is not long for this family. I think. Also, it needs new tires. Soon. Very soon, especially with the threat of a snowy winter.

Last weekend we had the three boys and the two dogs with us in the Volvo to go for a hike at Beaver Brook in Hollis, NH. We're talking about a lab-border collie mix, a chocolate lab, and three boys ages 1, 3, and 6. While the dogs have stopped growing, the boys refuse it. Beer, coffee, cigarettes -- they'll have none of it. They eat and eat and grow and grow and, looking in the rearview mirror, I saw a rapidly shrinking station wagon.

How did people do it in the past? Before the advent of the SUV and minivan? Well, I guess you either let luck play a part -- by ignoring common sense, seatbelts, and personal space -- or you bought a big car or a van. Back when vans were vans. I look out the window at that black Scandinavian metal and see something that is no longer suitable.

So what to do next?

Well, I have been adamant a long time about no SUVs, no minivans. But is this a viable stance? Couldn't I either swallow my pride and become a minivan-driving middle-aged soccer dad or join the ranks of swollen-headed gas-leeches and buy an SUV? And which would I rather do? Or do I just sink some more dough into the Volvo and tell the boys to suck-it-up and keep their hands to themselves?

When it comes to SUVs, I have been leaning toward the Honda CRV and the Dodge Nitro. Drawbacks? While the CRV gets respectable gas mileage, you're still talking about a vehicle that seats 5 and would there really be any sort of upside to that? Is the backseat any wider and the flat-floor any roomier than the Volvo? The CRV is a Honda and that means longevity in many ways, and it also means a price premium. There's a front wheel drive and an all-wheel drive. Both are coupled to a mediocre 4 cyclinder that may or may not be comfortable getting 5 people up and down hills and mountains.

The Dodge Nitro briefly became a front-runner when I fell for its more aggressive looks and seemingly larger interior. Certainly it looked as if the dogs would be happier than in the CRV. Again, you're still just talking a 5 seater, but the engines and transmissions varied, and 2 and 4 wheel drive versions are also available. Is the backseat any wider? Who knows. The mileage is definitely weaker. And I read a slew of user reviews that portrayed the Nitro as mechanically questionable. Of course it's a new vehicle (in 2007), so there's always that. But they are pricier than the CRV and that plants a few seeds of doubt.

I've given brief consideration to RAV-4s, the Ford Escape and Edge, the Kias and Hyundais, and -- gulp -- even the Chevy Equinox. Nothing grabs me.

Going any larger in an SUV is doscomforting to the conscience. Sure, you start seeing 7 passenger options, but at a cost to the wallet, the environment, and the ego. Really, I don't want to be a road hog.

But is a minivan any better? Or any less a road hog? The so-called full-size minivans, to me, are bathtubs too large to park effectively and maneuver adequately. My sisters-in-law have Honda Odysseys, very nice minivans, but, having driven them, they leave a lot to be desired. No minivan of the sort has ever struck me as something capable of getting out of its own way. Visibility is bad and the options that make a minivan a true friend drive the price skyward.

So you could go to the small minivan. Mazda 5 or Kia Rondo? I like the Mazda, but Kias scare me. Plus there's the old sister-in-law bugaboo. My brother's ex-wife drove a Kia Sportage that she is reported to have hated from the moment she took delivery. Plus, I never actually liked her, so, why would I ever want ANY Kia? Kia will always be associated with Paula, and any association of the sort is a bad one. As in, "Why don't you just buy the VW Bug Ted Bundy drove when he abducted his victims?" Or "Hey, Jeffrey Dahmer's apartment is available!"

The Mazda 5 is a nice little wedge of driving pleasure. I have never test-driven one, but I have sat in one on several occasions at the nearby dealer. You're talking three rows of seating -- two rows of bucket seats and a single bench. It's a nice people mover. But I have two reservations. The first is the complete lack of storage space behind the third row of seating. When I think of carting the family of 5 plus the 2 dogs, I wonder how that would work. Half the rear bench would have to cold down to give the dogs any room and then you'd be left with minimal interior storage for any kind of travel gear. All luggage would need to go on the roof. My second reservation is the engine. Would the small 4 cylinder be enough to haul us all?

Granted, we are not always on the go together. But, then again, we are. There are not many other - if any - cars in this category. Honda is reportedly bringing a 6 passenger mini minivan to the US in 2009. That's a bit of a wait. I think I might have a kid in college by then.

Back to station wagons. What are my alternatives? The Volvo. (A new one is too pricey.) Heather is against getting another, and she no longer trusts the one we have. Ford Focus wagon? Again, the backseat will have to accomodate three BOYS. Growing boys. For a quick jaunt across town? Sure. Roadtrip to Aunt Jen's? Ugh. Subaru? Several family members have the Forester and like it, but, having just been in the backseat of one, I think 3 GROWING BOYS will kill each other after an hour. Ditto the Outback. And the Tribeca is too pricey, especially if you go for the optional 3rd row.

There was some promise in the 2009 Ford Flex. It looks cool. Seats 7. Isn't a minivan. Isn't an SUV. Decent mileage. All wheel drive optional. Nice. Nice open interior, lots of skylights. Sweet. BUT. It's built on a Volvo platform AND it's gonna start around $27K.

No thanks.

The VW Jetta we drove in Montana was nice, but will there be a station wagon version? Signs point to YES, but. . . For how much? And will there be any more room, really? Because if you try to upsell me to the Passat, my wallet will explode.

What else?

Well, I'll tell you where my sick mind is leading me. A used Mazda MPV. The MPV was the only minivan I ever really liked. Smaller than most minivans but larger than the current Mazda 5, you're talking about a 7 passenegr station wagon upsized slightly to provide the tall ride of a minivan. Plus decent rear-storage. A nice engine, good look, and great visibility. I drove one just before I opted for the Volvo. The only problem here is that Mazda stopped importing this minivan two years ago. They still make them, but they're not available in North America. So the only choices are used.

And that's where I am currently leaning. So unhip. So unwise. So what do I do?

The Beginning

For a long time I've considered doing this: Blogging everyday. I tried to do it everyday during our roadtrip out west last summer (see toglacierandback.blogspot.com) and it went fairly well, even if I didn't manage to a.) blog everyday or b.) find an internet connection everyday. Before that and since then, I have blogged with varying degrees of success. Primarily, I'm thinking that blogging as often as I can will keep the writing pump primed, which I could definitely benefit from.

So who am I and what do I do?

Well, I suppose many of my initial readers will know the answers to those questions, but if you stumble across Existential Cheerleading quite by accident and for some reason stop to investigate, here it is. Try to stay awake.

Stay-at-home dad/husband. Three kids, all boys. Writer who has tangled with publishing and met with varying degrees of success. First published short story appeared in On The Water magazine in February 2005 and another has been accepted by Gray's Sporting Journal. Hard at work on what will be my first published novel (fingers crossed), "Marvel and Twain." Details forthcoming. Fly fisherman. Lefty-commie-pinko-liberal. Recovering Zen Buddhist. Autodidact. Photographer. Former teacher, marcom writer, labor movement foot-soldier.

More to come, I suspect. There's certainly no limit on the material for blog entries floating out there in my life.

Comments always welcome.