Living Dangerously with Mason Jennings

Today after work I was on a mission. The work was illegal, and if I got caught… well… let’s just say I didn’t plan on getting caught. This mission was important to me, and I would not be deterred.

I was set to cross the state-line, cross-over into the land of cheese and full-throttle pyrotechnics to secure premium fireworks for the weekend. And I was excited. For a self-admitted pyro, a trip to a fireworks store is better than Christmas, Thanksgiving, and Spring Break combined.

And while I fantasized about being an ole’ time-y bootlegger, Mason Jennings’ new album “Boneclouds” kept me entertained. Boneclouds represents a marked evolution for Jennings. A positive evolution, similar in many respects The Red Hot Chill Peppers transition to “Californication” style.

Mason is still the same solid songwriter: brilliant lyrics, catchy riffs, and soulful performance. This time around Mason turns to his razor-sharp perception and trains his refreshing wit on: long-term love, fatherhood, and religion. While Boneclouds contains more mature subject mater than past albums, it shares the same beautiful and understated song craft that has made Mason Jennings one of my favorites.

I cannot recommend it enough.

It will be in my play-list for a long time.

I Don't Hate Dogs... Really

Anyone who has lived with me (or heard me rant about my neighbors) knows how I feel about the dogs next door. (There are at least two, but I’ve counted as many as five at one time in a small Minneapolis backyard) For the benefit of those who don’t know, the dogs have a nasty habit of incessantly barking every time they are let out. It doesn’t mater what time of the day, sometimes they wake me as early as 7 am on the weekends. Anytime I walk from my garage to my door, the dogs run full speed to the fence and bark at me like I killed their mothers.

Now, I’ve entertained numerous schemes to rid myself of my four-legged problem. But I’m a typical passive aggressive Minnesotan when it comes to these types of situations. And I know too many people (friends and family) who love dogs who would disown me or question our relationship if I did anything too drastic.

On top of it all, my neighbors are not your ordinary dog owners. They take rescued dogs in on a revolving basis, sort of “dog foster parents.” Their “big-hearts” put me in a bit of a dilemma. How do you make a stink about something so noble? I would feel terrible playing the role of neighborhood Scrooge. Even worse, I would have to fight this battle alone. The rest of my neighbors have do not appear to mind, they are all getting their own dogs, which has only increased the barking.

I know I can’t blame the dogs for being dogs. Typically, a dog’s poor behavior is a reflection of their owners’ lack of care and concern. Owners who fail to discipline their dogs are no different than parents who fail to control their children. Those who do not take the time or put forth the effort to properly train their dogs, do a disservice to their pets. Poorly trained dogs grow-up with anti-social tendencies, tendencies that could ultimately cost them their lives.

So while I laud my neighbors for taking on the difficult task of rescuing dogs that have been neglected by their previous owners, I cringe at the fact that I have to deal with the negative externalities of their decision. It wouldn’t be so bad if the negative aspects were off-set by some sort of positive pay-off. I’m not asking for my name in lights or the “Worlds most tolerant neighbor award.” But it is utterly frustrating to consistently deal with very vocal dogs, and yet feel completely constrained from saying anything about it.

And now, not even my office is safe from barking dogs: “Take your dog to work day” Is this really a good idea? How much work will a person be able to do if they have to: a) chase their own dog around the office, b) have to continually command their dog to “be quiet,” c) clean-up Foofie’s “accident,” d) separate Cuddles and Spike, or e) deal with their co-worker’s barking dogs all day.

Serenity now!

Sven Sundgaard: Twin Cities Phenomenon

This kid is hot right now… he’s popping up everywhere. Women want him, men want him. Even KQRS is taking notice.

Opium: Grandma's Little Helper

Today I read a police report that described a recent child welfare check. Social services asked the police to check on the welfare of 5 siblings. When the police showed-up they found the five young children outside playing, and discovered grandma (the only adult on the premises) lying on a beaded mat on the floor inside in a bedroom. Opium and related paraphernalia were strewn about her.

The officers asked her what the little black balls were. She freely admitted it was opium and that she had been smoking it...

"I smoke opium to take care of the children," she volunteered as if it was ok as long as it was "for the kids."

Unbelieveable, you can't make this stuff up

Quarter-Life Crisis

Children often have no concept of how daily life functions. Friends, family, school, and a room full of posters comprise the entirety of a child’s conscience existence. You bounce through life unconcerned with trivialities, mostly insulated from the harsher realities of life. Dreams are allowed to spiral out of control in your mind. Serious thoughts rarely invade your imagination.

Kids understand “being a fireman” as little more than sliding down a pole and jumping onto the back of a big red truck with a Dalmatian named “Spike.” “Being a doctor” is more about wearing a long white coat than realizing it takes a tenth of your life just to get through medical school. Careers are seen as idealized caricatures, sanitized for youthful audiences. You can be whatever you want (or so your told) to be when you grow-up, and the choices seem endless. One day a boy wants to be a carpenter, the next a racecar driver. Or a girl wants to be an architect on Monday, but by Wednesday she’s dead-set on a career as a concert violinist.

My observations on childhood are not earth-shattering and are fairly obvious. But as I look forward to starting my career, I cannot help feeling a little nostalgic. I have chosen a path, a path I do not regret. But no mater how excited I am about my future I am still mournful of all the things I will not get the chance to become. Like Kevin Arnold once bemoaned, (slightly paraphrased):

“When you are a kid you are part artist, part athlete, part musician, and part scholar. Growing-up is a process of slowly giving up parts of yourself until you are left with one, what you were meant to become.”
My nostalgia does not have anything to do with any sort of personal hobby-shortage or that I feel short-changed in the grand scheme of things. It is the end of summers off, the loss of infinite possibilities, and the steady creep of time that make me long for those simpler days. I know I’ll never get a chance to learn to hit a major-league curve ball, master pottery, or set foot on the moon.

It does not bother me that I will not get to do everything I’ve ever dreamed. But knowing that I will not get to try every exotic profession is somewhat depressing. What’s that saying?

Ignorance… something.

A Weatherman and His Goat

*Photo credit to Sven's page on Flicker. Apprently there are at least a couple of people who think that Mr. Sundgaard is "Soooo cute."

This afternoon, Ambular and I explored St. Louis Park’s shopping scene. There were a couple of “high-end secondhand” stores I wanted to check-out. (An oxymoron if I’ve ever heard one.) The stores disappointed a bit, although I did see a pretty sweet couch for $249.

But the best part of the afternoon; Ambular and I saw local TV weatherman “Sven Svenerson.” For those who don’t know, he’s the new weekend weather guy on the KARE 11 news team. (He also has a blog.) His real name is Sven Sundgaard. The first time Ambular and I saw him on the KARE 11 I cleverly twisted his name into our personal pet name for him. It is hard to believe how authentically Swedish he is.

We realized how ridiculous it was to get excited about seeing such a minor local celebrity, and that made it all the more hilarious to us. It is not that we were awestruck. Instead, we were more geeked about the fact that we knew where he lived, what he drives (a Kia Sportage), and what he looks like off the camera…

just in case we wanted to stalk him.

Lifestyles of the Rich and Morally Ambiguous

I had a busy weekend. There was a two-day tournament at the course Friday afternoon and Saturday morning, plus I managed to pick-up an early morning loop today. I spent a lot of time with the rich and the powerful.

Time and time again, I learn the lesson that the privileged members of society are not all that different from regular folk. While wealth can open doors and provide a means to improving a person’s character, it is equally capable of eroding virtue and masking the innate ugliness of human nature. Undesirable characteristics fade into the background when covered in a nice suit or fine dress. Society treats the peccadilloes of the affluent with kiddie gloves, idiosyncrasies are dismissed as mere eccentricity.

The most successful and publicly righteous people can be the most hypocritical and ironic. (See: Bill McGuire) The rich are not any more hypocritical than the poor, but their wealth illuminates and highlights some of their inherent internal contradictions. Some very powerful individuals show contempt for the rules and feel no shame about it. Their money protects them, and they expect to be handled differently.

Many of these “grey-area dwellers” would not hesitate to correct a wayward member of the “great unwashed.” Caddies, for example, have been reprimanded for such atrocities as calling members by their first names, (at the member’s request no less) and for selling retrieved golf balls to members (“it’s stealing club property”). Yet it would be completely unacceptable for any person of a (perceived) lower status to scold socially deviant behavior of a CEO or any other member of the bourgeois.

This post was not meant to be a Marxist populist rant. As usual, it is the 1% that gives the other 99% a bad name. It is the few bad apples who allow social constructs to define right and wrong, thereby marginalizing morality. It is utterly frustrating to see those who seem to have it all act as if they are entitled to live by different standards, and be powerless to say anything about it.

Sure, in theory I could say something. After all I am physically capable of speech. But anything I could possibly say/do would not only be utterly ineffective, it would likely cost me my job, and would be hypocritical on my part. I’m neither entirely worthy of, nor ready to wear the Moral Police badge.

Instead, I’m just going to post this rant and watch the revolution on TV.