EXISTENTIAL CHEERLEADING

PAD 3

2009-04-03T14:22:00.001-04:00

The Problem With Rain

I'm afraid it starts from the very beginning
vast floods, ruined dresses, disasterous hairdos

And remember how it was
flushing away the baseball game
any six year old would have been excited for
We didn't travel that far to eat four dollar pretzels
in the catacombs of the park

And remember how it was
darkening the sugar sands
any vacationing family would have longed for
No water-resistant sandcastles
no rain burns
not to mention no flying kites

And remember how it was
closing down the joy
any beating heart would render
for the new and limitless thrill
of love
that second date in the city washed out

And remember how it is
the insurgent contemplation
harvested with chaotic perturbation
wanting to claim
a love of the rain
when only manifesting irritation

PAD #2 - Drifter

2009-04-02T10:36:00.002-04:00

Drifter

drifting

off course

alone

without

compass

on rough

and swollen

seas

So today's Poem-A-Day Challenge was writing an "outsider" poem. I thought about it a while and decided to submit one of my favorites, one I consider a classic, and one which I have included in the blog with a picture (not my own).

Poem of the Day

2009-04-01T16:49:00.003-04:00

April is National Poetry Month. Over at Writers Digest.Com, they're running a Poem A Day Challenge. Today's requirement: Origins.

Swiss Cake Roll

From Heaven you descend
cradled in cardboard
wrapped in celophane
boxed and protected under the eyes of our saviour
Little Debbie.

We give thanks when we lay eyes upon you
delight in the sweet nothingness of your scent
let you guide us to the rim of our milk glass
smiling, as if all life were, indeed, good.

Factory, wherever you are
factory, kind and benificent
factory, a world unknown and yet so well known

Delivery truck, Hell on Wheels
Delivery truck, the angel on wing
Delivery truck, driver, restock those shelves

Eggs, butter, sugar, butter cream
rolled upon the table, log of delicious dreams
with a will that is absurd
we love you dearly, swiss cake roll,
unless you're filled with lemon curd.

Random

2009-03-31T13:01:00.002-04:00

Wow. The world has become a very difficult place for all concerned. Who has it worse? The polar bears? The amphibians? The poor? The downtrodden? The Wall Street money-types? Octo-Mom? You? Me? The neighbors?

I don't know.

What I do know is that joining the Army simply to get money for college is like becoming a prostitute to end totalitarianism. Or not. Sex is a powerful drug, more powerful than a Ph.D., so anything's possible.

Another thing that's possible is warm weather arriving.

Limerick (hiccup)

2009-03-23T22:52:00.002-04:00

What was that first person thinking
when he or she decided to invent hardcore drinking?
Not just the slurping of water
or the milk before slaughter
but the invention of fabulous fermenting?

Enough Already

2009-02-25T22:35:00.003-05:00

It's 20 degrees outside. Farenheit. I have had enough. Today, for you religious types, is Ash Wednesday. Well, who cares about that, really, except the fatuously ignorant? But I reference Ash Wednesday because it is an indicator of something else. Ash Wednesday means there's 40 days until we land on the next ridiculous Christian nonsense day, Easter. You know, white rabbits and resurrected shamen. Or some such thing. Candy, egg hunts, ham, and the ascension to heaven and the right hand of god of some unshaven Jewish guy who had studied enough with the Buddhists in western India to know a thing or two about how to treat people nicely.

The geeks shall inherit the earth, right?

Well, the point I am getting at is that this Easter hullabaloo does do a fine job of coinciding with the true kickoff of spring -- a little more effectively than the start of the baseball season, which can sometimes fall at the same time snowstorms are dumping the cold white stuff on The Jake in Cleveland.

I am ready for Spring. Easter? Well, I just hope, for the kids' sake, that the snow has melted enough to make the egg hunt interesting this year. It sucks when the bunny has to watch out where he steps so no one sees his boot tracks in the snow.

If the polar bears are looking for a little extra ice in their gin-and-tonics this year, I have some I can offer. I'd rather have a soiree with them than those freaks giving shit up for 40 days like it'll save their souls or something.

And whatever happened to fish on Fridays, Mayor McCheese?

Thinking About You

2009-02-25T22:25:00.002-05:00

Your daughter might end up posing for nude photos. Or worse. Girl-on-girl stuff. Or worse yet, she might do full-on porn. But there's a deeper and wider scary possibility. Your daughter might end up in a Girls Gone Wild video. I know. I know. How about that for creeping you out? Now that's a thought that might keep you up at night.

Because. Well, you know. How would you react to all that? The first three possibilities carry with them the hope that the decision to pose nude, do girl-on-girl, or hardcore porn was deliberate and well-thought-out. There was nothing spur-of-the-moment about it. Whether or not she needed the money to pay for college or the abortion (did I menion that?) or a new car or that sweet-ass BlackBerry, it would seem that the aforementioned options would result less from duress or stupidity and more from some deeper well of reasoning.

Girls Gone Wild? Drunk and stupid. And advertised on cable throughout the night. Flashing her boobs and making out with some other dumb/drunk girl came about because the brain was not engaged. Or the results now, impact later processor was turned off.

Sorry about yer daughter.

Sonofa. . .

2009-02-02T11:35:00.004-05:00

First, let's get this important fact out of the way. January 2009 lasted about eleven days. Sure, the calendars indicate otherwise. Thirty-one days. Yeah. Right. What. Ever. Did you live through January 2009? Were you there? Did you enter 2009 with the rest of us and exit January 2009 like everyone else this past Saturday night? Then you know.

You know January was supersonic. Or megasupersonic. Or whatever the quadrupling of hypersupermegasonic might be. January came and went faster than an American kid's virginity. Ridiculous. Came. Went. Like AIG and their bailout money. Here today, gone tomorrow. That was January.

Point: Belabored.

Worse yet, of course, is the awful news from Pennsylvania. I thought I had enough "issues" with Pennsylvania. You know, how it's nothing more than a backwoods slum. The place where all the colonial revolutionaries sent their bastard children. The place where the only thing uglier than the Allentown landscape is the face of an Allentown beauty queen.

Now: Punxsutawney Fargin' Phil.

It's counter-intuitive, I say. If the bloated mole sees his shadow, that would indicate either the glare of klieg lights or the warm light of the sun. Meaning: He's either in Hollywood, where it's perennially summer. Or the sun's out and, logically, summer is on its way.

No. Phil, that sack of egomaniacal rodent puke, thinks and feels with all his chunky being that seeing his shadow means six more weeks of winter. Six more weeks! Sweet Baby Jesus and all His Merry Widows! Phil saw his shadow! Everyone, back inside! Leave the children, save yourselves!

Ugh.

"I see my shadow. Is that really me? Am I really that chubby? I am. Therefore, I'm going back inside to hibernate another month or so, shed some pounds. Grab some shut-eye. Be ready for bathing suit weather on the Jersey shore."

I hate that groundhog.

Back inside people. Might as well have another Christmas while you're at it.

EDIT: Photo -- Miss Allentown, 2009

Goodbye, Sucker.

2009-01-21T12:51:00.002-05:00

Well, out with the old. In with the new. As I've stated elsewhere, if the hope President Obama brings to the nation and the White House is repaid at even 5%, we'll be in good shape in 4 years.

Meanwhile, thanks to David Rees, author of the now-discontinued "Get Your War On" comic, I offer these key phrases from the Financial Times final editorial on George Bush:

“Executive hubris”
“Imperial overreach”
“Epic incompetence”
“Preternatural ebullience”
“Fathomless lack of curiosity”
“Disdain for empirical reality”
“Most fiscally incontinent (!!!) of presidents”
“Terribly wrong”

Oh, they are so right. Goodbye, jerk. I hope your life in Texas is a miserable one.

Curse You, Pinewood Derby.

2009-01-14T21:49:00.002-05:00

This is my son's second year in Cub Scouts. He's not all that into it. Neither am I. I never was a scout, and one of my brothers was, but only for a short time. Anyway, today's scouting just doesn't seem like the scouting I seem to recall from -- gulp -- decades ago. Where's the outdoors? Where's the skills-development? Where's the casualness?

Well, I get the feeling it's all gone the way of the Dodo. Like most other activities for children these days, it is designed only to reward those who can give it 100% of their already over-scheduled time. Go here, do this, take this seminar, be at that meeting, drag your kid out into the cold for a lame-ass gathering at 7 p.m. that consists mostly of rowdy, un-supervised children with fewer manners than a rabid wolverine.

I complain too much.

Nevertheless, I threw myself (for a moment) into the carving of a nice Pinewood Derby racer. Yes, threw myself into it. Even busted out my 13 year old carving knives. And all was going great.

Until I carved halfway into my index finger with a nice, sharp knife. For a while I worried about permanent nerve damage or whether I needed stitches. I probably do, really, but am trying to avoid an ER trip. Band-aids will do.

The Pinewood Derby racecar has become a Pinewood Derby station wagon.

Suh-weet!

I Have My Doubts

2009-01-08T10:22:00.003-05:00

The knuckleheads at Planters Nuts have some 'splainin' to do.

Less than 50% peanutes? I heartily disagree. Unless these sneaky bastards have discovered another small nut that tastes just like a peanut but that isn't actually a peanut.

If they keep up with these lies, I'll be forced to get scientific on their asses!

Two Public Faces

2009-01-08T09:45:00.005-05:00

Our world (well, the United States, at least) seems to have settled upon two public faces for itself. I noticed this this morning and started thinking about it. A little.

Face Number One: Mall face. Also known as George Bush Face. The slack-jawed, glazed-eye, had-to-much-to-shop-last-night face that is most commonly found at your nearest indoor recreation center (i.e. shopping mall). It's the look that says, "I inhaled too much Yankee Candle." The look that says, "Too much PacSun music." The look that says, "Somewhere I have three brain cells functioning to decide if I need to upgrade my cellphone or my cellphone plan." The look that says, "Yes, Victoria's Secret is the answer, not the gym." The look that says, "I eat a diverse diet of Sbarro, Panda Wok, Au Bon Pain, and Popeyes. I am healthy."

Click once if you think you've seen this look.

Face Number Two: Angry Face. Also known as "White Guy in Oversized Pickup" Face (seen in your rearview mirror as he rushes to no place important with nothing in the cargo box and nothing in tow). It's the look I see on most women when they're talking on their cellphones whilst driving. The look I see on the guy in the electronics section at Wal-Mart on those two occasions each year when I find myself in that god-foresaken place. Other places you'll commonly see angry face? Children's soccer matches (on the parents). NFL fans come Sunday. People waiting in line -- just about anywhere. Poltiticians not kissing babies.

Click twice if you think you've seen this look.

After realizing that clicking does nothing, you'll find one of these two looks on your own face. Now wipe it off, go outside, and present a different face to the world. As the old saying goes, "Smile, and other people will think you're up to something." I'm not all for smiles and happiness and light, but something different seems in order.

Some Things Considered

2009-01-08T09:35:00.004-05:00

Every once in a while it's nice to read something positive. It happens so rarely. The following snippet, via BoingBoing, holds some promise, although I am sure the "good" news contained in the complete article is tempered more than just a little bit by continuing hard and dire facts about the environment. To wit. . .

Sea ice area returns to 1979 level

"Based on satellite observations, the University of Illinois' Arctic Climate Research Center reports that the amount of sea ice on the planet is the highest in 29 years, when satellite record-keeping began.

"Earlier this year, predictions were rife that the North Pole could melt entirely in 2008. Instead, the Arctic ice saw a substantial recovery. Bill Chapman, a researcher with the UIUC's Arctic Center, tells DailyTech this was due in part to colder temperatures in the region. Chapman says wind patterns have also been weaker this year. Strong winds can slow ice formation as well as forcing ice into warmer waters where it will melt."

BoingBoing is one of the first sites I hit in the morning when I am cruising the intertubes. I highly recommend it as a clearinghouse of awesome, odd, exciting, insightful, and delightful news and observations. Not like BoingBoing is home to only the good news. There's always something negative to remind you taht there's a real world out there. In fact, I'd say there's an even balance of the good and the bad. Their coverage of bloggers and blogging inside authoritarian states is always top-notch, as is Cory Doctorow's updates regarding web privacy and worldwide copyright battles, among other stuff. I can't do the site justice here, but a quick peruse by you, the reader, will reveal what I'm talking about.

New Year, New You (meaning: Me)

2009-01-02T21:11:00.002-05:00

So let's get this straight. I'll be 41 this year. About three and a half months ago, for the first time in my life, I began giving a damn about my health and physical well-being. With a seven year old, a four year old, and a two year old, it was about high time. And since then, by going to the gym on average three days a week, I have lost over twenty pounds. Probably more, but I wasn't all that worried about exact numbers when I started.

Anyway, my plan is for 2009 to be about a number of things. One of them is my physical health and well-being. The other thing is that I need to write more. My novel, "Marvel and Twain," has been stalled for a while around the 120 page mark, and so I have also decided that 2009 is to be the year I get the first draft done, and the second or third or fourth draft underway. Plus, writing, revising, and submitting a raft of short stories, completed or underway.

Also, I intend to be a more mindful and sympathetic parent, as well as a more rewarding spouse.

Finally, it's a year to pay down debt and get the financial house in order.

So, as a means of getting some of these things accomplished, I thought that paying more attention to the Existential Cheerleading blog would be a smart thing. Here's a place where I can keep track of my progress, perhaps keep myself more accountable, and maybe the blog will grow into something that matters.

Best of luck to us all. The world teeters on the brink moreso than ever before (thanks, G.W.! You were awesome, for a complete jackass!), and focusing on myself can seem foolhardy, if not downright conceited, but it all begins right here.

See you next time.

Survival In All Things

2008-12-16T13:49:00.003-05:00

The Ice Storm of 2008 (because I hope there will not be any others in 2008) has been and gone. Left is the detritus of the storm's wallop. Broken tree limbs and the sawdust from the chainsaws used to cut them down. We survived, as everyone else did, and learned a little in the process.

The power went out at 1:15 on Friday morning. The oldest son woke up almost immediately, his body sensing the complete absence of light from his room. On top of it, he must have heard the shearing of the wind, the pounding of the rain, and the explosion of tree trunks and limbs as they gave way to the weight of ice. For a while, it sounded like World War I out there. And we were at Verdun.

By morning, we had descended below 60 degrees in the kitchen, and though the children were growing accustomed to the lack of television and light (and had not yet realized the implications of an ever chilling house), my wife was still trying to get to work. But her way out of the neighborhood to get to any major road was blocked by downed trees. Eventually, her boss texted her to stay home.

Late in the morning, we went to Nashua to our gym -- a workout and, more importantly, a hot shower. Then a hot meal. Then back home. The kitchen was 56 degrees.

Stay tuned for Part II.

Observations While Rigging-Up for the Season

2008-03-31T11:12:00.003-04:00

Jim Teeny sink-tip floating fly line is soft as butter and smooth as silk. Supple, in a manly way.

Teeny sink-tip floating fly line cost me $52 for about 82 yards. Not so bad. Not like it’s a new spool of Sharkskin or anything, but still, when that sucker unspools on you as you’re trying to wind it onto your empty reel, it’s a major scare. I’ve had 9 foot leader unspool on me, ending up in a bird’s nest of fat-to-fine monofilament. But leader seems like a trifle, just a few bucks that can be tossed in the trash if the tangles are too much. Fifty-two dollars worth of fly line on the kitchen floor in a glowing green and impossible-to-see black rat’s nest, while dogs are lurking nearby? And kids are coming and going? That’s flat-out heart-attack-inducing. I have never worked harder or faster to untangle a tangle than I did with that Teeny line yesterday afternoon.

Teeny fly line lacks a built-in loop. So I tied my first nail knot to connect some 7 ½ foot leader to the black, sinking tip. Any trout worth his or her ancestry is going to spot that big, ugly nail knot at fifty feet in tea-stained water. I am doomed. But I positively cannot wait to try that line out.

How about a new spool of Scientific Anglers willow green weight-forward five weight GPX floating line? Yes, please. So that was the other line I spooled up on my new L.L. Bean Quest II reel. Bean calls it a large arbor, but it’s more mid-arbor to me. Not that it matters. I now have one reel, two spools, and I am ready for some fish-fighting action. Put the spare, Tenny line spool in the back pocket of my vest, and have my sights set on being a trout-snaring machine this season.

Beulah

2008-02-03T23:35:00.000-05:00

Here's an excerpt from Beulah:

The gaping engine compartments of the trucks on display in the jam-packed car lots of North Glenbury were making her head swim. Big fat trucks with big fat mouths and big fat tires driven by big fat liars who tell big fat lies to keep their big fat egos living free and easy in a twisted landscape constructed of lies built on top of lies.

“What’re ya thinking about?” Gary finally asked, switching off whatever crap music he’d been listening to.

“Nothing,” she lied. She closed her eyes tight, then spat out, “Everything. Just about everything. There’s so much now.”

21st Century is Jetsam

2008-02-03T23:31:00.000-05:00

Facebook, iTunes, the Zune, HDTV, blogging, social networks, the relief of technology. It is all as unrelentingly artificial and empty as a styrofoam cup caught in roadside litter.

Nothing has yet improved our lives. And I am left taking a dim view of progress in all its form.

Feeling lonely, Universe. What have you got to say to that?

Bueno Nuevo Anno, Yo

2008-01-03T11:05:00.000-05:00

In case any of my egalitarian, Esperanto friends come around to check out my blog, I want them to feel welcome. So I have ushered int he new year with a blg entry titled in my own unique style of Esperanto, the language spoken in 97% of the world.

What is Esperanto, really? Well, to find out the truth, you could look here. But more precisely, Esperanto is the language that happens when you can't speak your own or any other language all that well. Some people in the U.S. call that language Spanglish, others call it slang, and still others call it the tripe spewed forth by undereducated, slack-jawed mouth-breathers who fell asleep some time in the third grade and awoke in full adulthood to find themselves running the country.

Didn't see that coming, did you?

Me neither. But like all good writing serendipity, it just sorta happened.

So happy new year to you, anonymous reader. I hope this next passage around the sun finds you alive and cancer-free.

History Unmaking

2007-12-28T09:48:00.001-05:00

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

2007-12-28T08:40:00.000-05:00

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?

2007-12-17T08:44:00.000-05:00

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

2007-12-10T09:59:00.000-05:00

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

2007-12-07T21:58:00.000-05:00

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

2007-12-06T10:22:00.000-05:00

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

2007-12-06T10:13:00.000-05:00

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

2007-12-05T11:20:00.001-05:00

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

2007-12-05T08:48:00.000-05:00

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.