Beware the wolf who bites back

The Minnesota House of Representatives has passed a bill that would allow wolf hunting and trapping in Minnesota. A state Senate bill also has been approved in its originating committee, apparently has widespread support and full Senate approval is expected. According to news reports, farmers and hunting groups favor the plan while animal rights and conservation groups oppose it. If the bill clears the legislative process, its final stop would be on the desk of Gov. Mark Dayton, who could either sign it into law or veto it. Now, look at the handsome fellow in the photograph. How do you think he would look with his leg -- broken and bloody -- in a trap, or with his head half blown off by a bullet from a high-powered rifle? The adorable fellow shown here smiling at you is cousin Arcady. He really is a sweet guy when you get to know him. Do you really want wolf hunting and absolutely barbaric trapping in Minnesota?

An interlude from the "ages of man"

My mind is not ready for Part 2 of 2 regarding the "ages of man," but my fingers cannot stay away from the keyboard. I often think everything I am resides within my fingers: They type, they hold pens and pencils, they pull triggers, they grip the hand of another or squeeze the body of another, they feed me .... well, you get the picture. Maybe. But, what I actually am saying is that my memory, my intelligence, reside in my fingers. They can spell words and know things my mind has forgotten. Anyway ....

My fingers always are ready. This is not the case with my mind. My mind, for a variety of reasons, is in some manner of time warp at the moment.

Mind/Manner/Moment .... hmmmm. There is a song there, or a poem .... Maybe-e-e-e.

We will add another "M" to the list, this one for Minnesota. The liberal, progressive governor of Minnesota probably will permit the renewal of hunting and trapping wolves in Minnesota. I thought liberals/progressives were supposed to be the environmentalists among us, and conservatives, like me, were the ones who wish to destroy the natural world for the sake of building another shopping mall and mega-parking lot.

Guess again, folks. These questions always revolve more around monetary greed and personal advantages than they do around political philosophies.

Apparently, the bill is sailing through the legislative process with widespread support. It appears to me most members of both political parties in Minnesota are witless fools. Well, I guess that really is no surprise. Anyway, I am "mad as hell" about this hunting/trapping plan, to borrow a line from a film, and I hope enough other people will be angry enough to contact the governor and tell him to kill the bill that would kill the wolves.

For the record, I once was a very prolific, avid, efficient hunter. I quit for a couple of reasons, not the least of which was that it became too easy. Why do anything that is easy? (If a human being is not bright enough to successfully hunt a poor, dumb deer or duck, then I hope he is not employed in any position which requires more intelligence and skill than is needed for digging ditches.) And, to be honest, killing anything when it is not necessary literally began to sicken me. It comes down to a matter of determining when necessary is necessary.

I am not quite anti-hunting yet or anti-meat eating yet, but it would not surprise me if I reach those points someday. I can tolerate hunting as long as the hunter eats what he shoots. I doubt many would be willing to eat roast wolf for their Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner.

By the way, hunting and gun ownership are two very separate issues for me. I might march in an anti-wolf hunting demonstration or in any anti-hunting demonstration, but I live with a belief in the philosophy of Thomas Jefferson regarding firearms: "Those who hammer their guns into plows will plow for those who do not."

Beware the Ides of March & idle thoughts

Did this rune stone mark the final resting place of Fram the First?

This thrilling saga may end in Minnesota ....

Many people know the story of the Kensington Rune Stone. It was found in 1898 by a Swedish farmer, Olof Ohman, near Kensington, Minnesota, and is purported to be the record of a Scandinavian expedition from Vinland westward into the heartland of the American continent.

Here is a version of the generally accepted translation of the runes carved into this stone:

[we are] 8 Goths (Swedes) and 22 Norwegians on a journey of discovery from Vinland to the west we had camp by 2 skerries a day's trip north from this stone we went and fished one day after we came home we found men red with blood and dead. AVM save from evil have men at the sea to look after our ships 14 day's journey from this island year 1362

Here is a version of a newly-completed translation of the runes carved into this stone:

[we are] 8 Goths (Swedes) and 22 Norwegians on a journey of discovery from Vinnie's cabin after trying to sack Rome we had camp by 2 skerries a day's trip north from this stone we had fish fry and beach party one day after we came home we found Fram the First had been left behind with the Skraelings AVM save him from himself have men at the sea to look after our ships 14 day's journey from this island winning lottery number 1362

Now then. There are many who believe this stone to be genuine and many who do not. Needless to say, being directly descended from Fram the First, I have absolutely no doubt as to its authenticity. Just to engage in theory for a moment, perhaps the disappearance of Fram the First is directly related to the accounts of blue-eyed, blonde-haired, Mandan Native Americans. These accounts, of which there are a few, arose from the French fur traders who penetrated the region in the early 18th Century. Mandan "bull boats" and lodges have design similarities to Scandinavian counterparts. Just possibly, Fram the First was the first, and found eventual happiness with a Mandan bride along the banks of the Missouri River.

On a more ominous note, there has been speculation that the Kensingson Rune Stone was more than a simple message left for posterity. It might have been placed to mark the gravesite of Fram the First. Rumors surfacing around Norway a few years after the sack of Sarzana in Italy were that Fram the First met his end shortly before his 28th birthday while trying to lead his merry band of raiders home. The date, March 15, was suggested as his final day upon the surface of the earth and his first day beneath it. Even more chilling was the suggestion that he was assassinated by disgruntled Swedes, who wanted his gold and were jealous of his seafaring skills.

Furthermore, it is well known in literary circles that no less an author than William Shakespeare was aware of this tale regarding Fram the First's demise, and was torn about which assassination he would commit to writing: Fram's or Julius Caesar's, since they both happened on the Ides of March. We all know which death Shakespeare chose to memorialize in the end. Personally, I think Shakespeare made a bad decision.

Just as a precautionary move, we will continue to examine archaelogical and other records in case still more information might become available regarding the saga of Fram the First.

Random things about things ....

I carry two cell phones. (Sometimes, I forget to carry two cell phones.) One is for plain stuff, where the number is known to half the population between Canada and Mexico; one is for personal stuff, where the number is known to few. The one for plain stuff has a loud, straight ring. The one for personal stuff sings out, "Don’t Cry," by Guns n' Roses for its ring.

I stopped at a music store yesterday. I looked at and priced guitars. Man, that would be a kick. I'll see how I feel about it next fall when the November gales confine us seafarers to port. Other than for writing, I'm pretty much ambidextrous. From which side should I learn to play a guitar?

I have a friend who has been to 23 Bob Dylan concerts. She and her eventual husband followed him around the country the summer after they graduated from college, back in the 1990s, just to experience the event in different places. Such an adventure would be fun, wouldn't it? But, which band would be worth listening to that many times these days?

I am not looking to escape life, rather to throw a noose around it, gather it in, and put together the material for a new run at it. A thousand jobs in a thousand places will not happen, but there is every reason to roll the dice again and no reason not to.

I do want to learn how to do the Tango, and to do it with the right person, in the right place and with the right people on the floor doing it along side of us. No phonies allowed. A blogger in Poland who calls himself Epicurious wrote this a few days ago: "Dancing is the most intimate self-dialogue. When we dance, we drop our ego and freeze the moment of time to be in the now. We move to the rhythm of our heart while listening to the whispers of our soul." I think he got it exactly right.

Stepping up to the plate, in a manner of speaking, I began making a calendar. I have commitments I plan to keep in April, May and June, which means Independence Day would be a reasonable date to make a jump. That seems like a very long time from now, but at least the days are getting longer and the air warmer.

Music Note: Listening to Cream ....
Specifically, "Strange Brew / The Very Best of Cream" ....
("White Room" & "Sunshine of Your Love")

London, courtly love & another pair

And, before reaching the Seine, there was this.

Cruising the Thames with Fram the First ....

As I promised yesterday, I have delved further into the previously unpublished travel journals of Fram the First. And, what can I say? His travels began as a bad boy. His journals indicate that he was among the rampaging hordes that swept into Britain before moving along and searching for greener pastures and brighter gold in lands to the south.

By all indications, Fram the First did enjoy cruising on the Thames and bobbing in and out of coastal towns, as well. He thought the folk friendly, the girls beautiful and the ale adequate. He did, however, mention in his journal that he preferred traditional, realistic art to the modernistic stuff finding its way into the Saatchi Gallery in London town.

My assumption is that had Fram the First been heard of beyond his 27th year, he would have grown to enjoy art ranging from blue girls to green girls. There might be more to be told regarding Fram the First's frantic existence. Apparently, he did make one earlier, civilian trip in, about and around the Continent, however, he was traveling with tintype camera gear during those voyages, which makes it difficult to relay the sights he saw.

There also exists a legend that he was among the first Norsemen to arrive in present-day Minnesota. I shall check into it.

The lover is bewildered, helpless ....

I became wrapped up in the notion of romance a few days ago, even to the point where I began studying it again in literary terms. (What can I say? English majors, i.e., witless fools.) By study, I mean examining how writers and literary movements over the centuries have viewed romance and recorded it. I have discovered that I probably am a "courtly love" man. A brief description:

"According to the system, falling in love is accompanied by great emotional disturbances; the lover is bewildered, helpless, tortured by mental and physical pain ... He agonizes over his condition and indulges in endless self-questioning and reflections on the nature of love and his own wretched state. His condition improves when he is accepted, and he is inspired by his love to great deeds. He and his lady pledge ... and must remain faithful in spite of all obstacles ... C.S. Lewis has made a detailed study of courtly love in 'The Allegory of Love'."

I did not stop there. I continued by adding historical study of romance to the mix. In this instance, I was thinking primarily in terms of how my Scandinavian ancestors viewed it. From the "The Poetic Edda," specifically within the "Hovamol -- The Ballad of the High One:"

"Soft words shall he speak and wealth shall he offer
Who longs for a maiden's love,
And the beauty praise of the maiden bring;
He wins whose wooing is best."

and this:

"The head alone knows what dwells near the heart,
A man knows his mind alone;
No sickness is worse to one who is wise
Than to lack the longed-for joy."

and one more:

"Fault with another let no man find
For what touches many a man;
Wise men oft into witless fools
Are made by mighty love."

Technology races forward, but wisdom and knowledge were born long before any of us. It is there to assist us if we wish to look for it. No date can be ascribed to the "Hovamol" but, undoubtedly, parts of it are relics of ancient Germanic poetry.

There are women who make me shake in my boots, but .... time to stop writing and to resume my studies before I get any deeper into trouble. To be continued ....

Night run & the magic girl ....

Here are two more true tales told in column form rather than in paragraph form. This is sort of fun.

Night run ....

I miss seeing the stars at night
beneath clean, clear, country skies,
while running along a graveled road
at midnight in January,
with the temperature below zero,
dressed in insulated clothing and boots,
smoking a cigarette, as I run.
I did not dream after such a night,
after running the frozen road beneath the stars.

Magic girl …

I look at her face, I stare into her eyes.
She is there yet, the girl from long ago.
Her smile has dimmed only a slight degree,
but her face shows scars from tears,
a lonely expression there for all to see.

I sense her there, the girl from long ago,
I know she is she, and once she was for me,
but how do I know what is left inside her?
Is she magic still, or has life changed her?
Can a woman return, a magic girl to be?

Music Note: Listening to and sort of watching David Bowie ....
Specifically, the "Glass Spider" tour ....
(Third time in about four or five weeks .... why?)

Who would guess their descendants would be cousins? & "the great battlefield tour"

Family details can be an absolute mess ....

I am fortunate in the sense that I have had relatives who devoted a considerable amount of time delving into genealogical records. One of my father's cousins traced the male lineage (young ladies, do not blame me for that) back to the 1500s. If you want the precise date and location, tell me, and I will pull out my copy of his papers and check.

On my father's side, I have a direct ancestor who fought in the Civil War. Meanwhile, moving on over to my mother's side, I have three non-direct ancestors who fought in the Civil War. Now then, who has the edge in that competition, indirect ma or direct pa? (All wild-eyed northern boys, by the way.)

Another absolutely, positively fascinating element (at least, to me) in this maze is on my mother's side of the coin. One of those ancestors who participated in the Civil War did so only briefly before becoming a volunteer in a militia unit riding against the Dakota in the wake of the 1862 uprising in Minnesota. At this time, I should like to mention that I have a relative married to an individual who carries Dakota blood, as well as another relative whose spouse has French-Canadian/Ojibwai ancestry. Beyond that, I have been a participant in an Assinaboi initiation ceremony, have sat in a few sweat lodge ceremonies and been among the honored guests at a wacipi. This simply is to say I have extended family members among the Native American community, and am aware of some of their customs and beliefs.

Back to the story before I forget it. This 1862 rider of vengeance later returned to the regular U.S. army cavalry. He did not last long. He was among troopers killed on a patrol in Kansas by a party of Sioux and Cheyenne in 1867. (The Seventh Cavalry on a search and destroy, with George Custer in the lead, discovered the bodies.)

The element which makes the events uniquely special to me is that I visited the exact site (no more than a few meters away, at the most) of his death during what I designated my "battlefield tour." Have you ever stood on the ground where an ancestor went down fighting nearly 150 years ago? Then, scarcely before you have taken another breath, wondered if the ancestor of a modern-day relative might have done the killing? Ain't life a mystery?

Maybe I should have signed on as a deckhand ....

Whether you know or not, it snowed in Minnesota on Thursday. I had about six inches of heavy, wet stuff to throw from my driveway into my neighbor's lawn. He does not care, since his boys build forts and caves in the heaps of snow. Here is a glimpse of my neighbors. Sorry, Diva. (I already told her this one.)

On one side, my neighbor is 97. She still shovels a path through the snow to her mailbox by the street. On the other side, my neighbors have two little boys (nine and four), who frequently are trying to sell me things, mostly stuff from their dad's garage. I usually buy it. Real bargains. A dime here, a quarter there. Is there more to these stories? Never mind. Write the endings yourselves.

Now, where was I? I certainly have a tendency to drift off topic.

Snow. And, cold. (Three degrees Fahrenheit above zero this minute.) Winter has returned to me again and, again, I have become immensely bored with it. The last time this happened was during the winter of 2000-2001. (Time flies when most of it has been spent in the same routine, as mine has, for a couple of years now.) In February 2001, I briefly toyed with the idea of flying to Florida for a week of sun and whatever. I was within the punch of a keyboard button to close the deal. But, I did not.

I decided, instead, to save the money and to spend it (and more) on a "decent trip" that summer. In May, I took an "unpaid sabbatical" from work, departed Sanctuary/Refuge and left on a driving tour (the aforementioned "battlefield tour") that ranged from Canada into Mexico and lasted until well into October.

Much camping with many nights under the stars, a few good motels, a few bad motels, much canoeing, much brandy, some days spent walking and some nights spent sleeping on old battlefields from the days of the "Indian wars." Too much tequila, dancing and a bar brawl across the Rio Bravo del Norte in Ciudad Juarez. (We won; locals, including me, against outsiders. Weird, hah? You fit in where you fit.) Too much money spent on gasoline and potato salad, many historic sites seen, kissed the Alamo, a great sun tan and uncut hair bleached blond once again by the sun -- well, you get the picture. Free Bird.

This is the most beat-up by winter I have felt since then, and I continue to wonder if this, again, will be the year of the traveler. (Do not panic; I think I may have passed beyond the bar brawl stage of life.) Greece and the "wine dark sea" of Mediterranean waters linger on in my mind.

I think if I could be age 18 again, I would skip the Marine Corps, skip college, skip newspapers and a few other distractions, and sign on as a deckhand on a Great Lakes ore carrier. Once upon a time, after an hour or so of drinking beer and mingling with a group of Great Lakes sailors in a Lake Superior waterfront bar, I was asked "what ship I was from." To me, that was an enormous compliment, and another occasion of fitting in where you fit.

Music Note: Listening to 38 Special ....
Specifically, "Live at Sturgis" ....
("Hold on Loosely" -- wanna dance?)

Spies, writing and step-dads on my mind ....

Here, in the photo to the left, we see Ziva making short work of an agent for a terrorist organization. That's her on the right, coming in low with the "knockout" punch. What a woman. Never have to worry about muggers with her around. And, in the photo to the right, we get a better look at her. Rather petite, but a guy does not want to get on her bad side. It would be nice if she'd be willing to leave the ball cap in the closet.

Ever dated an Israeli Mossad agent?

While my mind is in turmoil and I struggle to remain cohesive in the fog somewhere above San Francisco, I think it is time to turn my attention toward determining exactly what type of woman would suit me the best. (Yes, I know it's a two-way street, but a guy has to start somewhere, and this hardly is an exact science. It takes time.)

How about someone like Ziva David, a character in the television show NCIS (Naval Criminal Investigative Service)? Ziva is an Israeli Mossad Liason Officer attached to the American unit. Her persona is that of a woman who has been around men all her life and is not afraid of men under any circumstances.

This is a young lady who can throw a knife better than anyone since Jim Bowie and can shoot a handgun better than anyone since Dirty Harry. She can take out at least three guys in 30 seconds in hand-to-hand combat, she speaks three or four languages and she looks great in an evening dress. On a quiet Sunday afternoon, we could go outside into the yard and practice knife throwing or a bit of judo. I'll bet the neighborhood kids would love to have someone like Ziva around to play with -- rough and tumble and cute. Many fine attributes, indeed. A Ziva-type has a lot to offer, however, this does not mean she would not also have to be a bookworm who loves history and has no fear of canoeing into the middle of nowhere.

Well, while I contemplate the Ziva-type, in days to come I'll think of a few other possibilities which might match up well with me. (This is more fun than thinking about politicians.)

I don't care what you say, writing is work!

When I began this blog, I had no idea whether it would last more than a single day. (I think that happens to quite a few people.) So, I decided that no matter what, I would write at least a few words every day for the first month. I think I will make it, and then maybe swing into a "write as the mood strikes me" pattern. That is how many, if not most, bloggers seem to be doing it.

Writing has always been work for me, never done for pleasure or relaxation, as seems to be the case for many bloggers. Writing under deadline pressure or being limited to a certain number of words to explain all the relevant details of a particular event can take the fun out of the exercise. That probably is another reason I periodically will scout around for a "mock sabbatical."

Remembering old "step-dad's" music ....

My step-father (an informal title in this instance) lived on Long Island in New York for a decade or so before returning to Minnesota and settling down in the "old home town." While in the vicinity of the "The City," he managed to attend a number of Broadway productions, mostly musicals, and also more than a few operatic performances. He particularly enjoyed stuff from the 1940s and 1950s. The music caught on in my head from hearing his albums being played once or twice a week. Tonight, his influence is being displayed through the music to which I am listening.

Music Note: Listening to Mario Lanza ....
Specifically, "The Student Prince" ....
(Drink! Drink! Drink!)
(To eyes that are bright as stars when they're shining on me)

Beatles, Boy Scouts & mock sabbaticals ....

Quote the Beatles:
"You say you got a real solution"

One thing seems explicitly clear to me. Other than corruption, the economic problems facing the U.S. today stem from a "shop until you drop habit" by individuals and, most particularly, by government (local, state and federal). To compound the problem, the shopping has been done largely with credit rather than real money.

Now, the President and most members of Congress actually think that having government extend and expand the shopping spree with still more credit buying will solve the economic problems. Well, maybe, maybe not.

The fascinating (one of my favorite words) element here is that neither the leaders nor the followers can accurately predict what the end result will be. The design of the scheme reveals an obvious step toward the massive redistribution of wealth, and there is nothing new about that. The Greeks did it successfully; the Romans did not fare so well and suffered 100 years of civil war. (Had redistribution gone well for the Romans, Julius Caesar might not have been assassinated, therefore, Shakespeare would not have written his play and, therefore, we would not have his most excellent piece of theater to enjoy.) The U.S. did redistribute wealth to a moderate extent in the 1930s, the 1960s and, some would say, resumed doing it again in the late 1970s and early 1980s.

Personally, I think a revolution has begun. I hope I am around to witness it fully to the finish, to learn what shape of government evolves from it. (This might take a few decades.) As historian and philosopher Will Durant put it: "Civilization is not inherited; it has to be learned and earned by each generation anew; if the transmission should be interrupted for one century, civilization would die, and we should be savages again."

Truly risky business and, for sure, the next few years could be absolutely, positively fascinating. In the meantime, my "real solution:" Buy gold and diamonds, and vote historians to Congress rather than attorneys.

Like a good Boy Scout, "Be Prepared"

A few days ago, someone commented that my words had a cynical tone to them. My response was to say that I was born cynical.

I don't suppose I actually was born that way, but close, and my opinion is that working as a newspaper reporter has fostered a deepening cynicism. Think about it. I've covered a couple of murder trials, been to numerous crime and accident scenes, and become of aware of many instances of corruption, malfeasance, incompetence and conflict of interest in government and business. Sometimes, as a general news reporter, you are a witness to the best in people but, more often, you are exposed to the worst.

Some people lead very sheltered lives and try to avoid hearing or reading negative news. They might go so far as to block out the words of someone who disagrees with them on political, religious or any number of issues. Fine for them, but between natural curiosity and a measure of cynicism born from exposure to the world as it is, I want to be aware of everything and anything which might affect my life. I know, from experience, that lightning does occasionally strike, harshly, mercilessly, sometimes in the form of nature, sometimes in the form of another human being. I want to be prepared physically and mentally as best I am able should such a thing happen near me.

I guess that means while some might consider me a cynic, I would say I utilize my cynicism as a tool to be a realist. Remember the Boy Scout motto.

It might be time for a "mock sabbatical"

Just to find out what is going on in the newspaper employment market, I checked out "JournalismJobs.com" today. Six openings in Florida, six openings in California, no openings in Minnesota. This website has been filled to the brim with newspaper openings in the past. What does that tell you? It tells me that any changes for me might involve another "mock sabbatical," which, actually, would be welcome.

Music Note: Listening to Scorpions ....
Specifically, "The Best of Scorpions" ....
(One of my favorites, "Still Loving You")
(Deutsche kennen gute Musik)

The price of romance might be high ....

But first, cold water prepares one for California

I did a lot of swimming while I was in California. The water of the Pacific Ocean was pretty cold, but I was prepared for it. Anyone who thinks the Pacific Ocean is cold ought to try a Minnesota, spring-fed, gravel pit. Now, that is really, really cold water, and I grew up in it. And, even before California, I'd dumped a canoe a couple of times in Lake Superior. Try holding a rope between your teeth and swimming ashore in "The Lake," towing a canoe filled with water and an idiot hanging onto it, dodging mini-icebergs along the way. (There he goes, sidetracking again.) "The Lake" has cold water, but I think the old gravel pit has both it and the Pacific Ocean beat. By the way, most old gravel pits are great places for moonlight parking, too.

Some of my California swimming was close to shore. Some of it was 90 miles off shore, give or take. Either way, if I would have known at the time great white sharks liked to prowl the California coastline, I probably would have stayed in Minnesota. Well, not really. Who spends any time thinking about sharks, anyway? I saw live sharks and dead sharks, cute sharks and ugly sharks, smiling sharks and sinister sharks, and I didn't give any of them a second thought. They really weren't very frightening. The ones I saw, that is. It's sort of like, "beware the ides of March."

Pretty obvious, isn't it? I've got California, especially San Francisco, on my mind. Or, is it princesses, divas and contessas I have on my mind? Or, is it something else altogether? With those questions hovering above us like ethereal spirits, it is time to wind down the exercise.

The Ideal Couple: Episode III

Moving to San Francisco and wearing flowers in my hair? I don't know about that. Maybe I'll just head down there long enough to find a princess or a diva or a contessa, and use my powers of charm to convince her we should settle down on neutral ground. Not in San Francisco. Not in Minnesota. Concentrating once more on great romances in the wonderful world of motion pictures, but this time not just movies confined to San Francisco, one possibility would be for us to find a peaceful, middle-class town and to live our lives as normal, ordinary, the-kind-of-couple-you'd-want-next-door people. People like Marge and Norm Gunderson.

Remember "Fargo?" You betcha. Great place to live, and it's a hotbed of entertainment up there in Fargo, Nort Daakotaa. I saw Don Dokken actually live on stage up there last summer. What's San Francisco got that Fargo doesn’t? And, isn't it preferable to be "up there" instead of "down there?" I'd even be willing to change my name to Gunderson if I found the right princess or diva or contessa, or reasonable facsimile thereof. Maybe she would want to become a sheriff. You have to confess, there is something compelling about a woman wearing a badge. Just check out Marge.

I'd even make breakfast for my contessa. Ya, you betcha.

I suppose I must admit that it would be possible some very few young ladies would soon grow disenchanted living in the midst of potato and sugar beet fields, and yearn for a more glamorous, adventurous existence cruising the highways and byways of Europe in the footsteps of Jason and Marie in "The Bourne Identity." Yes, I suppose members of the fair sex might prefer that to the simple life of touring the badlands, hunting antelope and visiting the grounds of General George A. Custer's last duty station. I suppose Europe would be ok. Sometimes, to win a princess or a diva or a contessa, a man must compromise. All right, we'll do it your way, but you have to drive.

It costs how much in euros? Well, I suppose, if you say so.

With apologies to Geoffrey, here ends the new Pardoner’s Tale -- except -- maybe -- for an epilogue tomorrow to complete a circle.

Music Note: Listening to (and, again, sort of watching) Queen ....
Specifically, "Live at Wembly '86" ....
(Wish I would have seen them perform live .... little late now)

Romance, through the eyes of Hitchcock ....

But first, there are many things to do in California

I've only been to San Francisco once, and that was in the winter, February, as a matter of fact. My California time otherwise has been during warm-weather months, and my excursions largely ranging between San Diego and Los Angeles.

I tried to learn how to surf (on big waves, really, in the actual ocean) when I was in California. The only thing I learned was what it feels like to be a basketball -- tossing, tumbling, bouncing and bouncing and bouncing. Among my favorite California places were a bar called Maynard's in La Jolla and a nearby six-floor hotel, in which only the first floor was occupied. (The other floors, most likely, were condemned.) I cannot recall the name of the hotel, but I have come to refer to it as the "Hotel California." Most certainly, you remember the Eagles' song:

... "So I called up the Captain,
'Please bring me my wine'
He said, 'We haven't had that spirit here since nineteen sixty nine'
And still those voices are calling from far away,
Wake you up in the middle of the night
Just to hear them say ...
Welcome to the Hotel California
Such a lovely place (Such a lovely place)
Such a lovely face
They livin' it up at the Hotel California
What a nice surprise (what a nice surprise)
Bring your alibis" ...

Is this relevant?

Of course not, but I thought I'd mention it, anyway. Now, to the subject at hand:

The Ideal Couple: Episode II

Continuing our seminar regarding some of the great romances of San Francisco as depicted in the magical world of motion pictures, Alfred Hitchcock has produced a pair of my favorites. First, let us turn to the "The Birds." Notice here how gently Mitch is holding Melanie after she single-handedly fought off an attack from the feathery fiends. My assumption is that the woman on right is from PETA, and is trying to steal Melanie's fur coat during the confusion.

Mitch must be a wimp to allow Melanie do the fighting.

None of us, I am certain, will ever forget Scottie and Madeleine in Hitchcock's San Francisco classic, "Vertigo." I've never figured out how such an old dude like Scottie could land such a hot, young chick like Madeleine, but I guess that's just the way "old Alfred" envisioned the story. Anyone else besides me keep getting dizzy all during that movie?

So, men actually once wore hats instead of caps? How classy.

To be concluded tomorrow (barring the unforeseen) as Episode III

Music Note: Listening to (and sort of watching) David Bowie ....
Specifically, his "Glass Spider" concert ....
(Unbelievable guitar work, especially when five on stage at once)

Waiting for the howl of romance ....

Winter doldrums require diversions

This blog (god, what an ugly, unappealing word) was started as a distraction from winter, and as a bit of a farce.

January and February have become more-or-less a period of winter doldrums for me in recent times. Some years I go on a reading binge. Other years I try to spend a few weeks on a sunny beach. This year, for a diversion, I began randomly "cruising" the sea of blogs -- reading, reading, reading.

What began last August as "following" the writing of an individual turned into sifting through a gamut of thoughts, ideas and expressions produced by countless people. Such is the experience of surfing upon the sea of blogs. As a result, I have grown sort of attached to a couple of writers -- at minimum, feeling empathy, at most, feeling attraction. Empathy is fine; attraction is not what I want or need at this point in my life.

By that I mean while I do very much enjoy a pretty face, I find intellectual stimulation and commonality of interests more fascinating right now. And, on that note ....

The Ideal Couple: Episode I

My mind has been wandering lately, of that you can be sure. It's been drifting southward from cold, snowy Minnesota to the foggy, damp climes of San Francisco, California. "Why?" I just heard someone ask. Thank you, for asking. Because there are princesses, divas, contessas and other assorted wolf-loving ladies by the thousands, listening and waiting there impatiently for the howl of romance to pierce the silence of their drab, soggy lives.

Inflating my memory, some of the great romances of San Francisco as depicted in the movies float to the surface. Who can forget Chris and Walker in "Point Blank?" See Chris gripping Walker during a confrontation with "Archie Bunker?" See Walker calmly gripping his Model 27, Smith & Wesson, .357 magnum, with a four-inch barrel? Nice piece. That is true love.

Chris holds Walker while Walker holds his revolver. A man's got to know his limitations.

Near the top of the list among the more attractive couples of San Francisco movie fame must be Matthew and Elizabeth from "Invasion of the Body Snatchers." Here we see Matt clutching Liz in a rather informal manner. I'm not certain if the action in the photograph is related to the title of the movie but, since we’re all pretty much adults here, I won't worry about it.

There’s Matthew. There’s Elizabeth. Don’t use your imagination.

To be continued tomorrow (barring the unforeseen) as Episode II

Music Note: Currently listening to Alice Cooper ....
Specifically, "Mascara & MONSTERS" ....
(Never a fan of Alice, but I think every boy/man can relate to "Poison")

Liberalism run amok .... what's that, you say?

I am approaching my one-year anniversary since visiting San Francisco. Recently, I described my trip there in the following manner to a young lady who resides in the city by the bay.

-- I stayed at the Sir Francis Drake, and thought the bartenders were adequate.

-- I walked on the Golden Gate and cruised under it. I resisted temptation to jump off of it.

-- I stormed the Haight-Ashbury district and laughed a lot.

-- I inspected China Town, but stuck to bacon-cheeseburgers.

-- I prowled Alcatraz prison and island, and spotted three ghosts, as well as Clint Eastwood's shadow.

What else could I or should I have done in San Fran?

Officialdom in San Francisco appears to hate the Marine Corps. Makes a guy feel really welcome. Apparently, they who rule the city hate everyone associated with the military. Recruiters are virtually banned from San Francisco. The city school board does not want them in the schools; university officials do not want them appearing at the so-called institutions of higher learning, and protesters literally have attacked recruiters on campuses; city officials, elected and appointed, say, "go away, soldier boy."

Marines, soldiers, airmen and sailors put their lives on the line for every American citizen, yet are figuratively spit on for wearing a uniform in service of their country by the gentry of San Francisco. My viewpoint is that such crude, rude, hateful and contemptible behavior is the legacy of liberalism run amok, and that same radical left attitude seems to be taking over Minnesota. Just look at "what" probably is going to be the next senator to represent the once great state of Minnesota. Absolutely shameful ....

Music Note: Currently listening to Cheap Trick, a giant of rock ....
"Cheap Trick at Budokan" is the best ....
By the way, I studied for a few months at the Kodokan ....
Know the difference? Budokan & Kodokan? Probably not. Who does? Fascinating times, anyway ....

The keys tell all ....

Fram's primary set of keys ....

Fram's secondary/spare set of keys

I have heard that what a woman carries in her purse reveals a great deal about her personality.

I wonder if the same is true about what a man carries on his key chain?

I carry two sets of keys with me 99 percent of the time. The primary (top photo) is pretty much a complete set of just about everything I might need a key for, while the second (bottom photo) holds spare keys only for the vehicle I usually drive and for my house.

Do keys reveal their carrier? What do you think about my sets of keys?

What do these comments have to do with San Francisco, California or Minnesota? If you gotta ask ....