More on Six Feet Under vs. Homicide: Life on the Street

Let's compare the opening credits sequences:

Six Feet Under's cute little ditty: I am so clever as I sip on my wine spritzer.

Homicide's percussion-driven white-knuckle ride: I'll have a bourbon neat with a beer back. And keep 'em comin'.

They Say Your Memory Is The First Thing To Go, I Forgot What The Second One Is

I'm reading David Carr's The Night of the Gun, a remarkable book. Much of it deals with memories, and how Carr remembers events from the eighties differently than do his friends and former co-workers. One line I read last night grabbed my attention: "The power of a memory can be built through repitition, but it is the memory we are recalling when we speak, not the event. And stories are annealed in the telling, edited by turns each time they are recalled until they become little more than chimeras."

Memorial Day weekend, my two best friends Scott and Joel and I stood on Joel's Dad's front lawn and had a beer as we stared out at the lake. We three grew up together at the lake. Scott pointed to the opposite shore to where his aunt and uncle used to have a cabin. Almost immediately, the "get the hell out of there" story came up.

It was in the early or mid eighties. We were in a boat in front of Scott's relative's cabin fishing for sunnies. At some point, we heard a car door slam behind a neighboring cabin. Then two little boys wearing life jackets came running down the stairs to the dock and the boatlift. They hopped in the parked boat and started playing like they were driving it, yelling and having a gleeful time. Soon after, a man walked down, stood on shore, pointed at the boys, and said: "Get the hell out of there." The boys had shut up once they saw him, and upon his command quietly and dutifully left the boat with their heads hanging and went back up to the cabin.

It was quite a sight and we three laughed over it. We imagined the two tykes riding the hour's drive from Fargo, wearing those life jackets the whole way, just dying to go for a boat ride once they got there. "Get the hell out of there" became a favorite catchphrase, and the story has been repeated endlessly over the years.

But on this afternoon in 2009, we started to notice discrepancies in our individual recollections of the incident. For instance, we differ over the exact gesture used by the man. Did he point with just his index finger or was it the index finger and the middle finger together? I see the man as an older guy in his fifties, probably the boys' grandfather but Scott and Joel see a younger man, a father. We realized the exact details were foggy after twenty-five years or so, but the gist of the story remains true: The boys ran down to the dock and into the boat with life jackets on and the man did say "get the hell out of there."

And my favorite part of this bull session was when Joel said: "You know, I'm not even sure if I was with you guys that day. I might just be convinced I was because I've heard this story so many times."

Ibuprofen Is The Fifth Food Group

Pick a moment during any week, and the odds are good that I will be sore in my right wrist/arm, neck, lower back, or feet. Thankfully, the pain generally is more of a nagging nature than a chronic one. Here's the history of why:

Right wrist and arm - Pain from tendinitis caused by computer mouse. Went through hand/wrist therapy in 1995.

Neck - Pain caused by improper workplace ergonomics. Went through physical therapy (after chiropractor and acupuncture were busts) in 1998 and 2002. Due to mixup between health provider and insurance company, scored a $700 home traction unit for free - meaning I inadverdently contributed to the need for health care reform.

Lower back - Pain into my right hip, leg, and knee via a bulging disc caused by sitting at a desk for twenty years. Went through physical therapy in 2006/2007 (didn't work in the long term) and 2007/2008 (different place that was effective.)

Feet - Pain caused by flat arches. Orthotics prescribed by podiatrist in 2009 (to make them they took a plaster of Paris of my feet, and then a hot nurse washed my feet - very steamy in a New Testament way) alleviated the pain, though the cost was straight out of pocket as insurance didn't cover them. But doctor advised me to never take up running, giving me all the more reason not to.

So like I said above, one of these areas of my body tends to be sore at any given time but not in the severe way when the condition first surfaced. It's more of a nagging pain that can be treated with iboprofen, ice, and stretching. And thanks to Justin Morneau for finally giving me a term for what afflicts me. He sat out Sunday's game. The reason? "General soreness." I hear ya.

What Do You Want On Your Tombstone?

One of my top-five favorite clients is a caterer, and I am constantly amazed at their ability to come up with various menus and to prepare and present the meals. Sometimes they give me leftovers and I am in eating heaven. But I am not a foodie. I enjoy eating, but don't like to cook. At all. Being a single guy, you can likely imagine the heights of my kitchen wizardry: 1) Spaghetti - I amaze myself as I boil up some noodles while at the same time heat up some Prego sauce. 2) Tacos - This one is tough as it involves both browning the ground beef and remembering to buy the shredded taco cheese. So invariably I fall back into: 1) Cheeseburgers on the George Foreman Grill, and 2) Stauffer's.

Yeah, I'm pathetic I know. And also lazy. I just want to have something quick and simple to eat with supper while I read the sports page. All single guys out there absolutely KNOW what the staple of such a diet is: The frozen pizza. While you thought that the Tombstone pizza couldn't get better, I am glad to tell you that it can be better. My friend Melissa turned me on to the Presto Pizzazz Pizza Oven. I scored one from Amazon for forty-five bucks a few weeks ago. Why a pizza oven rather than your regular oven? It cooks the pizza evenly, meaning the crust tastes better and the cheese and sauce won't conspire to scorch the roof of your mouth. You won't have to leave your pizza to cool for five minutes or so before you can take a bite, not to mention that this pizza oven involves no preheating so your pizza will be ready many minutes quicker than conventionally. And you get to impress your non-foodie buddies with your best food boast since that time you scored Taco John's down in the TCF Building/AT&T Building skyway: "Hey, I bought a pizza oven!"

Another Reason To Stay Home

I got a postcard from Qwest in the mail today. It offers free services to those with their high-speed Internet service. I don't have that service, I get my Internet service from Visi but do get DSL via Qwest. (The postcard was specifically addressed to me, not "occupant.") They promote their free Wi-Fi at "thousands of coffee shops, bookstores, and restaurants nationwide." Having recently bought a laptop, I was curious as to what was available in my neck of the woods. I entered my zip code (55408) into Qwest's Wi-Fi search engine. The results? A Barnes and Noble store which doesn't serve coffee or other beverages, two Starbucks (I find their coffee mediocre), and three McDonald's locations. McDonald's? Hey, I frequent the Golden Arches but honestly can't remember the last time I sat down in one and ate a meal - I'm a drive-through guy: Get the gutbomb home and eat it while reading the sports page.

I entered a downtown Minneapolis zip code (55401) and got similar results. While tempted to sit down and have a meal at McDonald's to see if folks are working on their laptops while scarfing down their extra-value meals, I think it'll be easier to just throw this postcard into recycling. Real nice effort, Qwest.

Latest Exiled Radio Podcast Now Available

Show #19

Exiled on Main Street #45 Outtake

Note: I compile each issue of Exiled to run a certain number of pages in print. Due to space constraints, I ended up cutting the following essay. I think it's weaker than what the made the grade anyway - I'm trying a little too hard in this one. At times I think I pretty much wrote it so that I could throw the last sentence in there. Yes, 750-plus words, all in the service of one final sentence.

Five Bozos Who Ruined A Perfectly Good Tuesday Afternoon


Due to unforeseen circumstances I was recently forced to listen to the classic rock monolith KQRS for three hours straight. Hence:

John Mellencamp. I have come full circle with this guy. In high school, I thought he was one of the biggest dorks on radio. I still find "Hurts So Good" and "Jack and Diane" grating. But a few years later I genuinely enjoyed the Scarecrow album. By 1989, I totally loved the Big Daddy album. So I gave Big John a pass when he was dismissed as a sub-Springsteen heartland rocker. But then a couple of years ago he sold "Our Country" – a boring and bad song – to Chevy and in tandem they tainted months of sports-on-TV viewing by blasting the ad featuring the song constantly, so much that I pined for the days of Bob Seger's "Like A Rock" domination. I damn near got tendonitis from hitting the mute button during every commercial break on Sunday afternoons. And I advise listening to the Impressions "This Is My Country" as an antidote to Mellencamp's song.

Phil Collins. He's five feet tall, bald, and of no exceptional talent in singing or drumming. Somehow he was a superstar a couple of decades ago because: 1) "In The Air Tonight" used echo and was used on the pilot episode of Miami Vice, and 2) He was edgier than Rick Springfield. Man, the eighties were fucked up and we're still paying the price.

Joe Cocker. One thing classic rock fans are real stuffy about is the post-Beatles claim that artists have to write their own songs. Sure Little Richard, Chuck Berry, Bo Diddley, and the Everlys all wrote their own songs long before the Beatles, but nobody seems to acknowledge this. It's pretty much become accepted history that the Beatles were the first rockers to write their own songs, probably because part of being a classic rock snob (I think this might be the same as being a "rockist," but I'm not sure) is ignoring fifties rockers and kissing up to old British acts. But what Cocker songs do you hear on classic rock stations? Diminished covers of great tunes like Traffic's "Feelin' Alright" and the Box Tops' "The Letter." Plus The Wonder Years intro song, which wasn't so hot in its original Beatles form and the only good thing Cocker did with it was have Jimmy Page play on it. Yet classic rock fans never seem to complain that Joe Cocker became famous by singing other people's songs. If he were black and American, he wouldn't get the same free pass.

The Doors. Jim Morrison is summed up best by the Lester Bangs character in Almost Famous: "A drunken buffoon posing as a poet." Truly, there is not much more to add with this clown and his band, they are so boring they're almost beyond my vile. Does anybody over the age of fifteen actually buy into their mystical/mysterious/Jimbo-as-shaman shtick? I guess the Doors could be described as "lounge act buffoons posing as a rock 'n' roll band." My first draft of this contained the line: Who still listens to this crap? But a version "The Doors" surfaced a few years ago with Ian Astbury of the Cult doing the vocals and they did a tour. Who exactly paid money to see this, I'm not sure … Hey! Finally, the Doors are actually mysterious!

Eric Clapton. He sounds like he has a cold when he sings. He makes the blues mind-numbingly boring. And he has come up with just one great musical idea: The opening riff to "Layla." Oh wait, that was Duane Allman. The only good – actually it was great – thing this joker ever did was to quit the Yardbirds because they were "too commercial." (This is the same man of integrity who: 1) would go on to join Blind Faith in a transparent attempt at creating a supergroup to sell mega amounts of records and, 2) would title an album Money and Cigarettes and then promote said album via a tour sponsored by Camel.) The result of his leaving the Yardbirds was that Jeff Beck replaced him and instead of simply being whiteboys playing the blues, they became one of the most daring, exciting, and innovative bands of their time. Claptonheads claim E.C. has passion and Beck is all technique, but when Beck's technique is so powerfully awesome – "Mister You're A Better Man Than I", "Heart Full of Soul", "Shapes of Things", etc. – I gotta quote Joan Didion: "Style is character." If you're still a big-time fan of Eric Clapton you are the whitest person on your cul-de-sac.

And What Evenutally Happened To That Empire?

The Strib's headline about the Windows 7 operating system?

"The Empire Strikes Back."

I think I laughed out loud when I first saw it last night. I love the part about "making Apple look stupid":

Windows 7 also could be Microsoft's long-awaited chance to strike back at Apple, whose PC guy vs. Mac guy advertisements lampooned Vista as hopelessly complicated and flawed.

"Windows 7 also is designed to make Apple look stupid, because it's much better than Vista and much leaner, too."

But here's the part that's truly stupid:

The installation process isn't a simple matter of popping a disk into the PC. Data files and programs may be eliminated during the upgrade, so consumers must first copy their data onto external disk drives or finger-sized flash drives.

Windows 7. I'm sure it'll be so much better.

What A Twit

I think I know how Twitter works now ... maybe. Anyway, my lack of knowledge didn't stop me from setting up a Twitter account. You can find links to my Twitter updates on the sidebar to the right. Oh boy.

Cult Of Aloneness, Continued

Back to the joy of having no regular coworkers. When I had a corporate job, I had a photocopied excerpt from Douglas Coupland's Generation X taped to the in/out box on my desk:

Air Family: Describes the false sense of community experienced among coworkers in an office environment.

I used to try not to laugh out loud when people I worked with said "the people in this office are like another family" and a couple of these people were miffed that I had this Air Family definition out in the open. (Actually one of these people was almost visibly upset, sheesh.)

Being one that usually comes up with witty rejoinders ten minutes to twenty-four hours too late, this time I was only fifteen years late:

Coworker: "The people in this office are like another family."

Tuomala: "Yeah. The Manson Family."

You Don't Know If Mad Is Going To Do A Parody

Why sit through four-plus hours of Che when you can get the same story in 96 minutes? Plus Omar Sharif as Che AND Jack Palance as Castro?

Latest Exiled Now Available

Exiled on Main Street #45

The Union Forever

Friday afternoon I finished watching Ken Burns' Civil War, which I consider required viewing for all Americans. It's that great.

Then an hour or so later, I turned on MSNBC to hear that Texas governor Rick Perry declared that Texas could secede from the USA. Hey doofus: Maybe you heard - Once upon a time, some southern states seceded and declared war on the northern states. A war was fought that left 620,000 Americans dead and one of the verdicts left was that no, states can't secede. Another verdict is that the south got its ass kicked, big-time.

But Perry is a Republican governor of Texas, and we know how bright those guys can be. And as Jay Leno pointed out, if they become their own country we can always invade them for their oil.

Apparently Doug Was A Close, Personal Friend

Craig Leipold, the relatively new owner (he's had them one year) of the Wild fired general manager Doug Risebrough yesterday. Today's Strib sports page shows the perfect example of the contrasts between Patrick Reusse and Sid Hartman. Just check out the headlines:

Reusse: "Feeble spin, wafer-thin skin spell end for Risebrough"

Hartman: "Leipold turns on GM after one year"

Reusse refers to the prior owner of the team, Bob Naegele, as "an eccentric Florida taxpayer." Hartman claims that Naegele wouldn't have made this move and refers to Leipold as "the billionaire from Wisconsin" and a "johnny-come-lately." Reusse mocks Risebrough's efforts as GM while Hartman calls him "one of the best hockey executives in the game."

Both of these columns are fun reads for totally different reasons.

Tax Day Chaos? No Problem In The End!

Wednesday night I left my class at The Loft shortly after 7:00 pm and decided to head over to Surdyk's to buy some booze. I saw a few latecomers on a nearby sidewalk walking to Metrodome for the Twins game. I made a mental note to tune in the game when I got in my car. As I headed west/northwest (whatever direction it is) towards 3rd Avenue, traffic was backed up in the far-right lane of Washington Avenue. What the hell, I thought, I'm driving away from Metrodome ... what's the problem? Geez, I shoulda taken Chicago home and stopped at Chicago-Lake Liquors! Assuming it was an accident or road construction, I figured things would be better once I got onto 3rd Avenue. But no, things were still backed up there. WTF? I thought, All that's over here is a Dunn Brothers, a hotel, and that funky building that Joel used to work in!

Then I realized why traffic was so slow: There was a long line of cars taking left turns off of 3rd to get to the big ol' Postal Service facility that is open until 8:00 p.m. And this was tax day. I shortly got over the 3rd Avenue Bridge into Northeast and was able to get to Surdyk's. The eventual payoff? Surdyk's is now stocking Rittenhouse 80-proof rye and it was on sale for the same price as Old Overcoat! And its regular price ain't much more than the Overcoat. This of course means an Overcoat vs. Rittenhouse taste-off during my now-started staycation. Heavens.