Dead Man's Curve

   The daily commute has its regular reminders of mortality. Places where, in the last sixteen years or so that I've been doing this trek, horrific crashes have ended in death. Now that there is a nice glazing of ice on the roads, the messages seem more tangible, due to the slipping and sliding of the over-zealous traveler. (In fact, fatalities tend to go down a bit in winter- speeds are slower, and there is a tendency to slide when hitting another vehicle.)

   There is a particularly dangerous curve on the way home, I've seen many vehicles spun out (one even flipped) there- even when conditions are fair. On a two-lane blacktop road, you don't have many options when something big crosses the center line at 60 mph. It is a matter of time. That's why I take that route. To save a few minutes each day. If there is an equation for time saved/deaths on that stretch, I don't want to know it. Hop in, turn that key and take a chance! You're on a roll. You bet your life.

The Confession

"Father forgive me for I have sinned..."
-"...And haven't been to confession for quite some time, as well."
"Yes I've fallen away, but I need your counsel now."
-"Speak then, make known your sins."
"My sin is of desire."
-"Lusts of the flesh are common, the Devil has many snares..."
"No, my desire is not that of a base urge."
-"But it is a woman that you desire, yes?"
"A woman it is, but it is not the want of carnal union that is my transgression."
-"But surely when you see her, you want to touch her, to possess her..."
"Father, I have never seen her."
-"What is this, a joke, a dream?"
"A dream perhaps, not a joke."
-"A movie star? Some magazine model?"
"A star, but not that many would know it..."
-"Regardless of who it is, this kind of thing is best left for a schoolboy's infatuation. Let it go."
"I have father, and that is what torments me."
-"Three Hail Mary's and I want to see you at mass tomorrow. Go, and sin no more..."
"Thank you, father."

Summer Room

The side porch off the kitchen is cold now. All spring and summer and into the fall (as long as it stays warm enough), our house is about 100 square feet bigger when that "summer room" is used. Breakfast taken in the morning sun is a day brightener that is sorely missed in the dark season. I look out the window and it looks the same, there's even an unfinished Sunday crossword (from September) lying on the sofa, waiting for the last few answers to be filled in. The coasters are in place on the end tables next to the benches, each eager to support a a steaming cup of coffee.

It isn't the room's fault. It's just that I'm such a wimp. When I stayed in Reykjavík in March, the breakfast room in the guesthouse had a door open, it was about 0 degrees C... It didn't bother me a bit- (the secret word is layers.) But I'd just rather crank up the thermostat and sit in the kitchen. When I get the next gas bill, I might have to rethink my approach.

Moving Day

Got up early to help my friend Dan move. I'm really too old to do this kind of thing, but I just had to. You see, Dan is a collector, and Dan's interests are beyond the norm. There were the usual 100's of boxes of kitsch, kitchen and household goods. That old standard- patio bricks and boards for shelves- was there too. But very little furniture! (I learned later that there was new furniture at his new place.) But then we got into the esoteric. A box marked 'carburetors'. Three boxes of "Rollins" (as in Henry.) Photographs, of course. A half-dozen fine commercial doors (walnut and heavy brass hardware.) A full-size lathe ("Just put it in the front room") and to top it off, a half-dozen crankshafts (from large diesel engines.)

You never know when you might be wanting a few of those.

To Talk With A Woman

The old men that come into the lab often don't want a reprint, or an roll of film developed. They come in to speak with the counter help. When Marilyn worked here, she had a group of regulars, men about her age (other side of fifty) or older, who walked in, bent and aged, but upon seeing her grew in stature and aged in reverse. They came in to talk to a woman. And they still do. To talk to a woman, and have her respond, as if they were on a date, and the cruelty of their passing years was forgotten. Then they leave, perhaps to go to the fast-food restaurant down the street, and engage in the same routine, paid for with a cup of coffee. The old men are still boys inside, and still have the hope of finding a new love, a secret love, it gives them a reason to live. If there was no hope, no belief in a benevolent feminine principle, all would be lost.

I am an old man.

Thanks Given For Large Favors

When I worked with bands in bars in the late 70's and early 80's, there was one holiday that you did not want to work.

Thanksgiving.

Think about it. The only people who went out on Thanksgiving were people without friends or family, or who were outcasts from same. Not a pretty crowd. That being said, if you did well on Thanksgiving, you would probably get asked back- for Christmas night!

The worst was a place called The Cabooze. Here's a hint to judging drinking establishments: If the name of the place has some vulgar reference to liquor in it, you'll know exactly what you're getting into. Truth in advertising, you might say. A bar full of losers, loners and misfits- a sure-fire recipe for holiday frivolity.

This reminds me of some of the other fine watering holes in this area, past and present:

The Viking Bar has had a consistent clientle for the last thirty years, the same crowd, and they aren't looking any better after thirty years. They've added approriate live music awhile back- blues, blues and more blues.

Moby Dick's (now demolished) was so hard-core that, as legend has it, any A.A. member having a "sobriety pin" could swap it for a free drink—and the wall behind the cash register held hundreds.

Palmer's Bar is the champ. Open for Breakfast, 365 days a year. No food served. If you just couldn't wait until 10 or 11 a.m., you can go here. Professional drinkers only, amateurs and dilettantes need not apply.

I've been fortunate. I managed to avoid being sucked into that mælstrom. So I give thanks for that, and wish the best for those who have not, and are doing their "bit" to keep decadence and despair alive.

Afternoon Delight

   A paid-program for a "Hits of the Seventies" cd collection caught my eye, or rather ear, as I was surfing TV aimlessly the other day. It was pretty saccarine stuff: Leo Sayers, Andy Gibbs, hair bands and other cultural deterius. And then, there they were- The Starland Vocal Band, with their big hit "Afternoon Delight". As a song about fucking, it was better than most. The very next day, I caught a Simpsons rerun wherein Carl and Lenny were line dancing to that very tune (I'm not going to try to explain that!) And then last week at the thrift store- the LP in vintage vinyl (mint- condition!) offered itself to me, almost as if it were saying, "Come join us! Return to the hedonistic seventies, you are one of us!"

   When that song was on the charts in 1975, I was involved with a very nice young woman who lived in an Uptown apartment. Working odd shifts, as we both did, oft-times we were found together there at midday, before the afternoon shift began. It being summer and the apartment was without air conditioning, our clothing was minimal. Or optional.

   Directly beneath her place was the rehearsal space of an aspiring combo. They were really quite good at the only song they knew. Which was (you already know the title, don't you?): AFTERNOON DELIGHT!

"Skyrockets in flight! Afternoon delight!"

        Or, if you still didn't quite understand:  

"...Rubbin' sticks and stones together makes the sparks ignite...And the thought of rubbin' you is getting so exciting..."

   We got the hint.

River Reverie

The coffee shop is busy for this time of day.

The regular Wi-Fiers are by the window, hunched over their laptops, talking jargon and typing between sips of java. A young woman sits in the corner, reading the newspaper and nibbling on a pastry. The music drifting down from invisible speakers turns spare, with simple piano chords, it’s Joni Mitchell…

It’s coming on Christmas
They’re cutting down trees
They’re putting up reindeer
And singing songs of joy and peace…

A different kind of holiday music, to be sure, a sad song…

I wish I had a river
I could skate away on…
I wish I had a river so long
I would teach my feet to fly
Oh I wish I had a river
I could skate away on
I made my baby cry…

Sometimes a good thing doesn't last.
I think about an old love and how I ruined it.
I just couldn't let myself go and surrender to her…

He tried hard to help me
You know, he put me at ease
And he loved me so naughty
Made me weak in the knees
Oh I wish I had a river
I could skate away on

The woman puts down her paper.
The regulars stop talking.
It becomes quiet, the music is now quite distinct:

I’m so hard to handle
I’m selfish and I’m sad
Now I’ve gone and lost the best baby
That I ever had…

Is the woman thinking of a love that she once had, then lost?
Are the net-workers in a similar mood, thinking about what might have been?

Oh I wish I had a river
I could skate away on
I wish I had a river so long
I would teach my feet to fly
Oh I wish I had a river
I made my baby say goodbye...

I made my baby say goodbye.
She's done alright for herself since then.
I guess I have too.
Why does my mind bring up these old memories, and for what purpose?

It’s coming on Christmas
They’re cutting down trees
They’re putting up reindeer
And singing songs of joy and peace
I wish I had a river
I could skate away on…

The song ends and the woman resumes her reading.

The laptops' keyboards are softly tapping again.

I get up and walk out the door.

Out Of Sync

I just couldn't get it together this morning. After almost getting rear-ended three times by the same person on the way to work, then walking in to the usual Monday Madness- machines broken, plots out of whack (don't ask what that means, trust me it is not a good thing) and then I fill up another machine with the wrong chemistry. I struggle through, trying to make amends, finally I give up and go over to Mac and Don's to get an ice cream cone. The cone machine is broken. I trudge over to the thrift store, everything there looks even worse than usual since they've installed the new, brighter, lighting. I toddle over to the coffee shop, and then it hits me-

"...If you wake up
And the day feels broken
Just lean into the crack
And it will tremble
Ever so nicely
Notice how it sparkles down there..."*

I'm out of sync. A mental switch gets flipped somehow, and I'm on the outside, looking in at the Sturm und Drang that the world is struggling with- and I am not, not now. Instead of coffee, I get a muffin (even the name muffin is comforting and pleasant) and return to work, at half-speed, as the caffeinated denizens of the shop race out, clutching their instant karma lattes. I go back in to work, eat my muffin and the rest of the day just falls into place. Everything works, I'm cruising and the morning fades into a distant memory.

"...Its not up to you
Oh it never really was
Its not up to you
Oh it never really was
Its not up to you
Well it never really was
Its not up to you..."*

No, not today, I got lucky and fell into the crack, and out of sync with a bad day and into the groove of a good one.

*"It's not up to you" - by Björk

My Resistance Is Futile

i can refuse you nothing
i thought of my strength
you overran with a smile
was found wanting wisdom
no match for your charms
i thought i had hardness
softness became softness
i thought i had my pride
it was a child's charade
living as one, satisfied
you come and then i find
i can refuse you nothing

A. I.

Much has been written about the development of artificial intelligence; NO, not the Dubya WMD deception- but computer generated response to stimuli. The brilliant computer pioneer Alan Turing proposed a test (which bears his name) that states a machine (i.e., computer) will be considered intelligent if it can answer questions put to it in a manner indistinguishable from those given by a human.
There is much controversy surrounding this field, many say that it will never be fully realized, others say that it is only a matter of time.

I say it has already happened, and it is already on most computers and browsers, right after that G in its little box. Of course, I'm talking about Google. The beauty of it is not that it is a precise index of facts, but is that it can be vague, off the mark at times, and other times surprising with an accuracy that can be frightening. Just like a human brain! It might lack a bit in language parsing ability right now, but that will change, and soon. When further refinements to context and meaning develop, things will get very interesting, especially in the area of foreign languages and translation.

There are other browsers (MSN, AOL), of course. They seem to be cruder and more subject to erroneous returns. In some respects they are even MORE human, it seems as if they have sex or other sex-related terms in all of their responses - does Bill Gates have a dirty mind?

In Denial II

"Hi sis, you up and about yet?"
-"Oh, a little, I'm off the ventilator, but still in ICU"
"So the old appendix gave out on you?" ...she needs a tube three days after an appendix operation?
-"Yeah it ruptured, they had to go in deep, I've got a nasty incision that will heal from the outside in, I wonder who'll clean it when I go home?"
"No more cigarettes, being in the hospital?"I wonder if she's snuk one yet?
-"No but I'm going to ask them for a patch or something...its been six days, its pretty rough" ! She still won't quit?!
-"I've been coughing up stuff, I had this bronchitis for the last month" No you haven't, you've had it for years, you have coughing fits every day, your lungs are ready to shut down...
"Its time to stop smoking..." Your girls have already buried their father, now they have to watch their mother die a horrible death...
-"Oh, this time is it..." Yeah, right, lie to my face..."But it's so hard"It's just as hard watching you kill yourself...
"Well, take care of yourself, that was too close for comfort..."What cold comfort you get from those weeds is beyond me-, you get six days off, and you're telling me you want back on again... "...be seeing you..." ...not for much longer...
-"Yeah, bye..."

In Denial

"Winter's comin'! Three to five inches of the 'white stuff' by tommorow night..."
Three to five millimeters, that's more likely"
"Bundle up now! The wind chill is dropping to below zero by morning..."
My fall jacket will do quite nicely for now, thank you.
"Accumulations may be severe with winds causing near white-out conditions"
I'll believe when I can see it. You weather-forecasters have lied to me before.
"This blast from old man winter is expected to continue throughout the weekend"
Bah! Humbug! Hmmm...now where did I leave my window scraper?

She's Changed...

So cool with those powder blue accents
They're not the only things that are new
Her old dæmons gone, for now at least
Breathing fresh air, drinking pure water

My telescope is an imperfect instrument
But some things are seen quite clearly in it
Her radiance increases
As it recedes from my view
As it should be
As it must be

She doesn't need any man's help
She's thinking for herself
And she will decide for herself
What the next steps will be

And she must be doing
Some very good things
Things that shine with such a radiance
That they can be seen clearly
Through an imperfect instrument
From so far away

Tough Girl

Twelve is an akward age. Especially when you are a skinny, clueless nerd with a big mouth. There was a group of kids playing on the sidewalk across the street. for some unknown reason I never played with those kids. Today there was a new girl with them. She didn't care a whit about neighborhood protocol, so when she saw me she yelled "Hey!"

I was smitten. Was it the poetic greeting? Was it the cute way her ears stuck out between her long, greasy tresses? Or was it just eye contact? I strolled cooly across the asphalt (musn't appear too eager) and tripped over the curb (I meant to do that.)
"Hey do you think you could 'take' me?" She was crazy about me! Or maybe just crazy?
"I don't fight girls." Was she serious?
"Now you do!" And then she had me in a headlock, tring to force me to the ground. She smelled of bubble gum and sweat and something else. I was a wimp, but not that much of a wimp. I wriggled out of her grasp, she reached for me and we gripped each others' hands. She had a bit of a smile and her eyes were blazing as we grappled pointlessly in the summer sun. Then a voice came from the screen door "Linda, quit that foolishness and get in here!" She gave me a parting twist of the wrist as she stuck out her tongue.

Who was that, and what was that all about? Must have been somebody's visiting cousin- never saw her again, and I had no idea. I've got a little bit of an idea now- sometimes the war between the sexes starts early- with random skirmishes, rather that later- when the heavy artillery is brought out.

"Limited Time Offer!"

That's right, my friend, this offer is for a limited time only!. Eternity is not available with this solicitation. You will receive a limited amount of time, to do with as you want (subject to certain limitations) and once it's over, it's gone for good.
"But how can I get in on this amazing deal?", you may well be asking yourself. That's the beauty of it! You're already in! Because you have been born, your offer of limited time has already begun, there is no examination, no hidden charges, no waiting period. Just start using your 'Limited Time' and you will be able to benefit from this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity! 100% compatible with all belief systems (excepting Sci*nt*l*gy). Act today! Send no money!, Remember, you are already taking advantage of your own, personal, limited time!

Looking For My Grandmother

The reasons for our behaviors are not always self-evident. Food, water, shelter, clothing, sex- these have biological imperatives behind their pursuit. But other things: one's taste in culture, lifestyle trends, the arts- often these can only be understood dimly, if at all. Over the years, my interest in things of Scandinavian origin, (excepting Ikea) has led me to experience numerous films, books and other cultural experiences. What drives me to watch a morose Ingmar Bergman film (in the dead of winter, of course) and enjoy it? What is it about these cultures that is the trigger? Why not Eastern Europe, or the Orient, or Africa?

While attending the movies the other night (see previous post) it hit me. I am looking for my grandmother, or at least that part of her that is expressed in speech patterns, mannerisms, and personality traits that she possessed. Is it a part of my childhood that I'm missing, a void that needs filling? I found that I was watching the older women in both movies very closely, trying to make them fit with the image I retain (somewhat tenously as the years go past) of my mother's Swedish-born mother. Of course, it is an impossible trick. Still, it gives me some solace, even joy to have even this small grace, some way to allow her memory to be refreshed or even expanded.

Dís and Cold Light

Saw an Icelandic double feature last night- Dís and Cold Light (Kaldaljos), not an easy thing to do in this part of the world. The Icelandic film festival comes through about once a year, I have to make sure to catch them while I can (or else invest in a PAL video player!)

The subject of Dís was a twenty-three year old Icelandic woman with an existential crisis. Is it my imagination, or I have been focusing a lot of my attention on that socio-ethnic-gender group lately? It was fun to to get a taste of some of the cultural interactions from the “other side.” It was also nice to see the interior shots of the Hotel Borg. There is a cameo by Vigdís Finnbogadóttir, Iceland's first female president. Lots of attractive scenery, both urban and rural, and an excellent score from Jóhann Jóhannsson makes this slight film enjoyable. The woman who wrote and directed the film, Silja Hauksdóttir, actually was a receptionist at the Hotel Borg right about the time I stayed there!



Cold Light concerned itself with an artist, Grímur, who could foretell the future with his drawings, and switched between his adult life and troubling childhood memories. Very dark at times, and most thought-provoking. Hilmar Oddson’s film has a lot of the grim, gray scenery that doesn't usually make it into the travel brochures, yet is just as much a part of Iceland.

Both films are well worth a look.

Nesting Habits...

...or, what shape is your bed in?
I'm one of those people who could care less if the sheets were straight, or if you could bounce a quarter off the spread, or if you were properly tucked in all around. I'm a nester, and with cold weather coming, the bedroom is kept quite cool. I compensate by piling more things on. Not necessarily blankets either- a bathrobe is a good foot warmer, an old hand towel is an excellent head covering. Lest you get the wrong idea, my s.o. sees to it that total chaos does not triumph (at least not on her side!) Still, after a bachelor week-end, my sleeping accomodations definitely trend toward "pile-like" and I'm not refering to the nap of the sheets. Are your linens in order?

New Slogans

As the more critical reader may have noticed, there is no catchy slogan or phrase on the Flippism Is The Key masthead. In giving the matter some thought the problem is thus; Flippism is not intended to be limited by definition or defined by limits. Still, the lure of a snappy catch-phrase is too strong to resist:

"Some Posts Are Better Than Others" -not exactly stirring...but true!
"Dispensing Wisdom And Whimsy Since 2004" -Neither stirring nor true.
"E Pluribus Unum" -now where have I heard that one before?
"It's Worth What You Paid For It" -does one's time count?
"Well, It's Different" -I hope so!
"It's Better Than Watching TV" -in the eye of the beholder...
"No Carbs! No Fat! No Calories!" -no content?
"Minor Philosophy In A Major Key" -too clever by half...
"You Could Be Reading A Book" -you already are...

Professor Batty's Lecture To Young Men

At a dinner with relatives, a nephew announced that "he'd like to get a wife." I hoped he was actually thinking of finding one, although there are catalogs for those who would rather dispense with courtship. However, if you are the old-fashioned sort who would actually like to have some sort of relationship with someone of the opposite sex, you may have to adjust your outlook to find success in these endeavors.
Easier said than done, you may posit. Never fear, the professor has prepared a list to help you along on your way to matrimonial bliss:

#1. Talk. Unless she really desires a Neandertal, speak up. Find some topic of conversation that is not: A. You. B. Sex. C. Money. You'll find that these subjects will be covered at length later, don't wear them out now.
#2. Listen. To what she says. Think about what she is saying. There is a pretty good chance you might actually learn something you didn't know. If you don't like what you're hearing, you've already learned enough about that person. Try again.
#3. Learn to cook, and feed her. Take a class if you have to. You will never regret it.
#4. Be sociable. Ties in with #1,#2,#3. The idealistic rebel quickly turns into a cranky loner.
#5. Wash your own clothes. You aren't Momma's boy anymore.
#6. Don't wash her clothes. Ever. You will ruin them.
#7. Clean the toilet. It's your turn.
#8. Get to know her Mother (and her Mother's Mother, too, if possible). Mitochondrial Chromosomes are stronger than blood.
#9. Sexual etiquette: Simply stated- Whatever she wants, whenever she wants, only when she wants, only what she wants. Don't ask why, just do it, it works. The "Golden Rule" doesn't apply here. LIFE IS NOT A PORN MOVIE!
#10. Don't fuck other people. Love is tricky enough, without adding needless variables into the equation.

Now, that really wasn't so difficult, was it? Any questions?

Drifting Away...

...across the naked forests, to the hunter and her brood...over the polar ice and over a storm-swept rock, through troubled skies over the Seine, and even more troubles in the desert...and on...through the monsoons over the sub-continent, and then down, down to the antipodes, and then back up, over the wide ocean, drifting down to catch a glimpse of someone mid-ocean...back through the northwest, where another part of me now dwells...and then over the great western plains, and finally back, in my room, in my town, where I can rest until tomorrow...

Campus Cinema

Went to the Oak Street (nee Campus) cinema tonight. There is an Icelandic film festival going on and the Weaver and I caught several short films and a feature, Niceland- which wasn't exactly Icelandic in theme- but a fine film nevertheless, with a good part of the production and the direction Icelandic. We got to the university area early, to grab a bite, and as we strolled among the shops, cafes and bars, I was reminded of my college years, spent on this same campus, with most of the same buildings still here; indeed, most of the buildings were nearly a hundred years old. Almost all the old businesses have turned over, but there are still a few that remain the same: Stub and Herb’s bar, a medical book store, the Army recruitment center and, of course, the cinema itself.

The cinema, despite all the technological changes of the last thirty-five years, has changed very little. The short films were actually projected video while the feature was traditional film. There currently is an intense pressure in the movie industry to convert all film-making to digital video, due to its cheaper cost of production. When this does come to pass, I fear that the movie-house may be phased out also. Why would you want to go to a theater to see what you can see at home?

I've seen projected video for a couple of years now, and it still is lacking in quality to film. If you make anything cheap enough, it will saturate the market and drive out any higher quality competition. And so the rule of the least common denominator wins out, and we are left the poorer.

The Hidden Room

I have a recurring dream of a hidden room.
The house has an attic, enormous and unfinished.
Looking carefully, I see a panel that opens into a room.
Sometimes this room is furnished with cast-offs from a previous owner.
Sometimes it is very neat- with tiles on the floor and walls.
And sometimes there is a trap door in the ceiling
that leads to another, smaller room.
Its so cozy, with an easy chair, books and a lamp.
A perfect hideaway.
On other occasions the hidden room is found in the basement.
In a corner, past a cluttered workbench with the floor
sloping down, with only a bare light bulb showing the way.
Ending at an underground stream.
I have a recurring dream of a hidden room.
A place in my mind that needs exploring.

Guarantors' Concert

The Minnesota Orchestra holds a concert each year for its benefactors.
I managed to get my hands on a pair of tickets (thanks Paul!) and the weaver and I attended. This concert usually features 'safe' works (no Bruckner!), and tonight was no exception. Peter and the Wolf, Prelude to Hansel and Gretel, and six Slavonic Dances by Dvorák.

Also by Dvorák was a romance for violin and orchestra. The piece was indeed romantic, delicate and subtle, most appealing. After an opening flourish, things quieted down and the soloist, with exquisite tone, elevated the whole proceedings. In the corner of my eye I noticed a woman slip into the hall, a woman carring an infant; this couple stood in an alcove and gently swayed with the music. Not a peep was heard from the wide-eyed babe, who seemed to be as enraptured as the rest of us were. After the piece ended, several gasps of delight could be heard from the throng, and the dancing couple in the shadows were gone..

"It must have been the soloist's wife and child" ventured the Weaver, and I agreed. Indeed after the intermission, the soloist, now in his civvies, came and sat down, with another, older, child in tow, and was joined by his wife and infant. What impression did this concert make on that baby? If it is true that everything we experience is stored somewhere in our memory, then those children must have quite a head start in music appreciation.

Antonín Dvorák...Romance in F minor for Violin and Orchestra, Opus 11... Vali Phillips, violin

Tickle Me...Don't!

Tickle me...
Don't.
I can't wait for your insistent fingers...
I can't stand it when you touch me that way.
Ravage me helpless, show no mercy...
Stop it right now I hate that.
Oh, oh oh, I'm on the brink...
Oh, oh, oh, I can't breathe...
Stop! Stop! Stop!
Yes! Yes! Yes!
Help me, help...
Ha ha ha ha...
No, no no...
HUH-HUH-HUH...
Don't.
Tickle me...