how many random shootings/mass killings can YOU list?
why isn't gun control--or gun law enforcement--being discussed?
[other than the fact that tomorrow is texas]
Monday, 3 March 2008
guitar titans
i tell ya, when they fall, the silence is deafening. it's been fun, jeff.
BLIND GUITARIST JEFF HEALY DIES AT 41_TORONTO(AP) Blind rock and jazz musician Jeff Healey has died after a lifelong battle against cancer. He was 41.Healey died Sunday evening in a Toronto hospital, said bandmate Colin Bray, who was in the room with Healey's family when the guitarist died.The Grammy-nominated Healey rose to stardom as the leader of the Jeff Healey Band, a rock-oriented trio that gained international acclaim and platinum record sales with the 1988 album "See the Light." The album included the hit single "Angel Eyes."Healey had battled cancer since age 1, when a rare form of retinal cancer known as Retinoblastoma claimed his eyesight.Due to his blindness, Healey taught himself to play guitar by laying the instrument across his lap.His unique playing style, combined with his blues-oriented vocals, earned him a reputation as a teenage musical prodigy. He shared stages with George Harrison, B.B. King and Stevie Ray Vaughan.Bray said he and many others expected the guitarist to rally from this latest illness."I don't think any of us thought this was going to happen," Bray said. "We just thought he was going to bounce back as he always does."Healey had undergone numerous operations in recent years to remove tumors from his lungs and leg.Bray and fellow bandmate Gary Scriven remembered their frontman as a musician of rare abilities with a generous nature and wicked sense of humor.Healey's true love was jazz, the genre that dominated his three most recent albums.His love of jazz led him to host radio shows in Canada where he spun long-forgotten numbers from his personal collection of over 30,000 vinyl records.
Sunday, 2 March 2008
perspectives and priorities
it's been an interesting week for the mostly reverend.
a week ago friday, i officiated at another wedding [still batting 1.000, by the way], did an actual bike ride with lippold last saturday, after playing with the grandkids [nyla envisions herself as a dynamic blend of michael jackson from "the wiz" and shawn alexander, and everything is a potential balance beam, while jabari is struggling to perfect forward movement--he has developed enough strength to get and hold his "significant" seven-month-old body up to hands and toes] during the day, i managed to feel sick again sunday night. by monday, bike collective things started rolling: a couple of very productive meetings yielded some very fortuitous developments which culminated with a workday yesterday at our home at 617 grand avenue. this is not a "kudos" post, but i do want to thank boesen's the florists, and tom boesen in particular, for making our wonderful prime downtown space available to us FOR FREE. i also want to thank dan venter and all the folks at venter-spooner, inc. for the work they will be doing this next week to help make this work space for all of us.
this is the view from the front porch of the orphanage this morning. it has looked like this for, what, six years this winter? and yet, every time i step out there in the mornings [today, i had just a couple sips of coffee outside], i think about it looking and feeling like
this, taken last summer. it won't be long, it won't be long........
but what i realized this week, in very short order, is that there are LOTS of folks--individuals, groups, organizations, kids, adults, older folks, crazy people like me, people with money and people with more energy and time than money, and people who love to ride bikes and already know it, along with people who are GOING to love to ride bikes but haven't had the chance to fall in love for the first time or again with our two-wheeled buddies.
as i said yesterday a couple times, an old bike is a good friend.
and in that sense, i see myself as a match-maker. one friend and co-helper said yesterday that this bike collective is allowing people to feel good and do good things. i was actually thrilled yesterday as i realized the incredible street notice we generated. folks who slowed as they walked by, people who came up and stuck their noses in...we are going to have an amazing presence and impact on the attitudes of people--motorists, pedestrians, visitors, legislators, and more.
i can't recall the number of groups who have stepped up and offered to join us, to either help us, or to have us help them, to achieve their group's goals. and, in brief, the thing all of us have in common is that we want more people to ride bikes, safely, for whatever reasons or purposes [recreation, commuting, racing or training, family fun, shopping, trail riding, street riding, in des moines, the out-lying suburbs, the surrounding counties, mountain biking, bmx-ing, stunt riding, whatever], we all share some level of passion and interest in increasing the viability and visibility of bikes and the people who ride them.
.....
the little mishap i had in january has been well-timed, as it has given me, yet again, a chance to reflect on just how important cycling is to me. i can't live well without riding a bike. starting when i was in junior high, i was a member of a group, "future teachers of america." pretty noble name, eh? basically, it got me out of my classes to go be a teacher's aide. i continued my involvement through high school. it allowed me to ride my bike during the day to my classroom assignment, which was always cool. my undergrad degree was in elementary education. living in iowa city, i rode my bike to my classroom assignments on the west side at ernest horn, and to a few other schools scattered around the city. when i was student teaching, i rode my bike to my first placement in north liberty. this was up 218, back before there were bike trails or lanes. rain, sleet, whatever, that's what i did. when i did my student teaching overseas, in the lake district of england, i took my bike. i rode it to my school some 20 km down the coast of the irish sea, and all over england.
i've had the opportunity to reflect, this past few weeks, on how important it is that i share this love, this infectious passion, with my grandkids, and with other folks. the collective is helping me do this. the job i used to have was rewarding because of how it made me feel to help the people i worked with. i'm getting the same warm and fuzzy right now, too. i've encountered very few skeptics thus far; i'm bound to, i know it. but with the growing numbers of people who have enthusiastically jumped on board, it will be increasingly difficult for the public and "the powers that be" to ignore the rights of bicyclists to safely enjoy and use the streets and byways of iowa. i'm delighted and excited to have the chance to continue to educate people, young and old, about the joys of bikes.
p.s.--steel is real.
Saturday, 1 March 2008
jack and the magic bean bus
Chapter 17 -- you can't go home again [but you CAN go to someone else's home]
Jack peered over the dashboard of Brendan’s car and watched the two men who had been arguing in the gas station get into their car and pull away. Their car was a rental, splattered with mud and covered in dust,
and Jack could see the men arguing with each other about turning left or right out of the parking lot. Thankfully, there were no signs of any raccoons.
The parking lot was quiet again as Brendan returned to the car with two cans of soda pop
and a couple of big sandwiches in plastic wrap. “Here, take your pick,” said Brendan, and he handed it all to Jack as he got back in the car.
“All I have is 99¢ and I should help pay for gas,” said Jack as he stared at the feast.
“Don’t worry about it,” said Brendan. “I was making this trip anyway, so I’ll take care of gas. As far as the food, you can pay me back later or buy me a meal sometime.” Then, with a wink he added, “I love barbeque ribs.”
Jack mumbled a thank you and handed Brendan a can of soda pop and one of the sandwiches as they pulled back onto the interstate. The miles passed by quickly and before lunch was over they had passed from Iowa into Nebraska.
Hour after hour Brendan and Jack cruised over flat roads that curved gently along the Platte River. Brendan’s Chrysler 300 raced the sun to the west, but even though the sun seemed to hang motionless in the sky, it somehow managed to gradually pull ahead of them. They finally had to use the sun visors, and Brendan put on his sunglasses to cut the glare. Nebraska seemed to go on forever.
A brief stop at a gas station in the little town of Cozad broke the monotony, especially for Jack, who was on high alert because he still wasn’t sure that he was safe. But thankfully, no raccoons appeared and they were soon on their way again, with more sandwiches and drinks, compliments of Brendan.
The sun was hanging low in the sky when Brendan and Jack finally crossed into Colorado. The scenery hadn’t changed much, but it seemed to Jack that the uphills outnumbered the downhills as they drove along. The land felt like it was tilted up toward the mountains just over the horizon. The sun may have won the race to the west, but it was now sinking lower as Brendan’s car climbed above it over the top of each hill.
A sign by the side of the road showed that Denver was 180 miles away, and Jack realized that he hadn’t yet followed up on asking Brendan about Kelby. Just two days ago, Sister Kim had told Jack to find Kelby in the great mountains to the west, but Jack didn’t know who Kelby was or where to find him. Then earlier this afternoon, Brendan had mentioned knowing Kelby when they stopped for gas in the town of Shelby, Iowa.
Jack tried to ask in a casual way, “So, what’s Kelby been up to these days?”
It turned out to be the perfect opening. Brendan answered, “He’s a doctor out in Fort Collins now. Riding and racing his bike, same as ever.”
“That’s cool,” said Jack, as he considered his next move. The bike comments were a sure sign that this was the Kelby he was supposed to find. “Have you seen him lately?”
“Not in Fort Collins,” said Brendan, “But we’ve met up in Boulder a few times. We’ve done a few rides and had a few beers.”
“Are you headed there this time?” asked Jack hopefully.
“Nope,” said Brendan, shaking his head. “I’m going to see my parents this weekend, and I’ve got to take care of a few things downtown, but then I have to get back to Iowa City by Monday for classes.”
“Oh,” said Jack. He dropped the subject. It was enough to know that Kelby was a doctor in Fort Collins, but Jack would have to find his own way there.
They stopped once more for gas just before sunset and reached the outskirts of Denver before continuing on to Brendan’s parents in the nearby city of Arvada. They pulled into the driveway just before ten o’clock that night, nearly a thousand miles away from Jack’s troubles of the last few days.
Brendan’s parents welcomed them both, and they were soon sitting down to a late-night meal of leftover spaghetti and homemade sauce, garlic bread and a big pile of chocolate chip cookies. After supper, Jack was shown to the guest room. It didn’t take long for him to fall fast asleep, partly because of the exhausting last two days and partly due to the food-induced coma brought on by eating too much.
to be continued...
[a serial by little orphan dbax]
Jack peered over the dashboard of Brendan’s car and watched the two men who had been arguing in the gas station get into their car and pull away. Their car was a rental, splattered with mud and covered in dust,
and Jack could see the men arguing with each other about turning left or right out of the parking lot. Thankfully, there were no signs of any raccoons.The parking lot was quiet again as Brendan returned to the car with two cans of soda pop
and a couple of big sandwiches in plastic wrap. “Here, take your pick,” said Brendan, and he handed it all to Jack as he got back in the car.“All I have is 99¢ and I should help pay for gas,” said Jack as he stared at the feast.
“Don’t worry about it,” said Brendan. “I was making this trip anyway, so I’ll take care of gas. As far as the food, you can pay me back later or buy me a meal sometime.” Then, with a wink he added, “I love barbeque ribs.”
Jack mumbled a thank you and handed Brendan a can of soda pop and one of the sandwiches as they pulled back onto the interstate. The miles passed by quickly and before lunch was over they had passed from Iowa into Nebraska.
Hour after hour Brendan and Jack cruised over flat roads that curved gently along the Platte River. Brendan’s Chrysler 300 raced the sun to the west, but even though the sun seemed to hang motionless in the sky, it somehow managed to gradually pull ahead of them. They finally had to use the sun visors, and Brendan put on his sunglasses to cut the glare. Nebraska seemed to go on forever.
A brief stop at a gas station in the little town of Cozad broke the monotony, especially for Jack, who was on high alert because he still wasn’t sure that he was safe. But thankfully, no raccoons appeared and they were soon on their way again, with more sandwiches and drinks, compliments of Brendan.The sun was hanging low in the sky when Brendan and Jack finally crossed into Colorado. The scenery hadn’t changed much, but it seemed to Jack that the uphills outnumbered the downhills as they drove along. The land felt like it was tilted up toward the mountains just over the horizon. The sun may have won the race to the west, but it was now sinking lower as Brendan’s car climbed above it over the top of each hill.
A sign by the side of the road showed that Denver was 180 miles away, and Jack realized that he hadn’t yet followed up on asking Brendan about Kelby. Just two days ago, Sister Kim had told Jack to find Kelby in the great mountains to the west, but Jack didn’t know who Kelby was or where to find him. Then earlier this afternoon, Brendan had mentioned knowing Kelby when they stopped for gas in the town of Shelby, Iowa.Jack tried to ask in a casual way, “So, what’s Kelby been up to these days?”
It turned out to be the perfect opening. Brendan answered, “He’s a doctor out in Fort Collins now. Riding and racing his bike, same as ever.”“That’s cool,” said Jack, as he considered his next move. The bike comments were a sure sign that this was the Kelby he was supposed to find. “Have you seen him lately?”
“Not in Fort Collins,” said Brendan, “But we’ve met up in Boulder a few times. We’ve done a few rides and had a few beers.”
“Are you headed there this time?” asked Jack hopefully.
“Nope,” said Brendan, shaking his head. “I’m going to see my parents this weekend, and I’ve got to take care of a few things downtown, but then I have to get back to Iowa City by Monday for classes.”“Oh,” said Jack. He dropped the subject. It was enough to know that Kelby was a doctor in Fort Collins, but Jack would have to find his own way there.
They stopped once more for gas just before sunset and reached the outskirts of Denver before continuing on to Brendan’s parents in the nearby city of Arvada. They pulled into the driveway just before ten o’clock that night, nearly a thousand miles away from Jack’s troubles of the last few days.
Brendan’s parents welcomed them both, and they were soon sitting down to a late-night meal of leftover spaghetti and homemade sauce, garlic bread and a big pile of chocolate chip cookies. After supper, Jack was shown to the guest room. It didn’t take long for him to fall fast asleep, partly because of the exhausting last two days and partly due to the food-induced coma brought on by eating too much. to be continued...
[a serial by little orphan dbax]
creative funding sources
here at the orphanage, in the face of recession-like economic conditions not seen since the 1930s, we have had to rely on a variety of means to generate the cash-flow necessary to keep this tiny ship of state afloat, or at least from going completely under. thank goodness for the tight presidential campaigns on both sides of the aisle, AND for the addition of the independent candidacy of perennial loser ralph nader!! we have dusted off our vintage switchboard equipment, and have been working 'round the clock sending out what many recipients think are computer-generated calls on behalf of all the major candidates for president. it's not much, but it helps. want to read transcripts of our calls? read here. the collective: before
our first clean-up day begins in less than three hours at 617 grand avenue. i'm getting ready to head to zanzibar's to brew some coffee [kenya aa dark, maybe? french roast? we'll see], and will meet kent about 845, and be ready to start hauling this stuff out, and start spiffing it up.
above is the front room, complete with a couple of very nice built-in counters, and great tile floors. plus other big items that have to go.
here is the work room. lots of elbow grease is required here.
another work room and storage space. this carpet MUST go.
a nice, large clean-uproom. more tidying and cleaning required here, too. i look forward to meeting our friends here soon. thanks to all who come, and to those who can't but have indicated their support just the same. we appreciate ya!
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