Satire R Us

I know what I do is illegal, but it’s justified by my desire to provide for my family.  It’s not my fault that it illegal.  I didn’t make the laws.

I’ve been breaking the law for years.  Everyone does it.  Why should I be arrested now?  My family will suffer tremendously if I am incarcerated or otherwise forced to leave them.  I’m just doing it to keep them housed, fed, and clothed.

Illegal Shoplifters have rights, too.

Another Fine Job

Rumsfeld is doing a “fine job” directing the war in Iraq.

Just like Brown was doing a “fine job” helping the victims of Hurrican Katrina.

“Fine job” is now my new code phrase for “very poor performance”

“Fine job on that roast tonight, honey”

“Fine job you’re doing raising your child, Mrs. Federline”.

"Don't worry, dad, your did a fine job raising me."

Another fine job on this posting, don't you think?

Memory Triggers

I paid my daily visit to dooce.com and read her story about allowing her dog to enjoy the last few drops of ice cream out of a carton.


My wife and I have owned 2 dogs, the late great Lexie and our current pup, Lacey.  We are the kind of dog owners that don’t allow the dogs to be fed any people food.  This policy pays off by reducing all that begging that goes on when you are trying to eat dinner, or enjoy an evening snack, etc.  I know that other dog owners don’t share our views, and that is okay by me.  It’s your dog.

Lexie pre-dated our children.  She was our first dependent.  She came to us at a crucial point in our marriage, and I think she had a lot to do with our marriage getting through years 3-7.

We spoiled Lexie.  She was a lovely Sheltie, a bit large for the breed, but as high-strung as any other Sheltie.  She would bark at passersby, rotating ceiling fans, reflections on the ceiling, leaves blowing across the patio….  Yet, she was a very smart dog and gave me lots of tips at tax time each year.  Her favorite treat was something called “Frosty Paws”, which was a frozen, non-dairy treat made for dogs.  It came in a little sundae cup, which she would take from my hand and go to her special “treat spot” to enjoy.  We have several photos of her on each birthday, posed with a Frosty Paw with a candle in it.  We’d have some ice cream, and Lexie would have her Frosty Paw.

At some point, Lexie began suffering from various allergy-type symptoms.  She would lick her paws raw.  For a while, we would absorb all sorts of vet bills trying to find out what was wrong with her.  After our daughter was born and we decided to operate on one salary, we had to stop all the diagnostic testing and just try to keep her comfortable.  For a while, I tried shaving her down, thinking that she would be more comfortable with less fur.  It seemed to work for a while.

In the months before our son was born, Lexie was getting worse.  She was licking and gnawing at herself, and her behavior was turning also.  After our son was born, it became apparent that there was no way that we were going to be able to tend to a newborn and a dog who was not going to get better.  A decision was going to have to be made.

I always believed that the only time you should put a dog down was when it was very old, non-ambulatory, and incontinent.  When it hit that trifecta, it was time to go.  Lexie was almost 8 years old, she had another 6-8 years left.  But she was suffering.  Was it thyroid-related?  Our vets could never determine what was causing her “allergies”.

I won’t go into the details of our last trip to the vet.  The very thought of it brings tears, even now.  (Hope no one is walking by my cubicle.)   After reading dooce today, I recall that just before I took Lexie to the vet, I spooned some Breyers ice cream in a small bowl, set it down before here (I’m crying as I type this) and said, “Here’s what you’ve been missing”.

Putting the Indian in Indiana

I was in Second Grade in 1970-1971. It was my third school in three years. We lived in St Louis when I went to Kindergarten, and moved to Ft Wayne in the summer of ’69 (cue Bryan Adams) where we rented a house for a year while I went to first grade. We moved to a different rental house in ’70, which my parents eventually purchased and where we lived until 1977.

I was a very bright kid back in those days, before gifted programs. School was not terribly exciting for me. I knew how to read already, and I could to the basic math (I was not a math savant like my son). I remember telling my first grade teacher (Mrs. MacIntosh, bless her heart) that I just didn’t want to go to school anymore. I remember that during quiet time, I would go to the bookshelf to find the “L”encyclopedia that had the neatest entries about Robert E Lee and Abraham Lincoln. I loved the Civil war as a 7-year old. Man was going to the moon, and that’s what I was going to do on the way to being President of the United States. I loved reading about Presidents.

In second grade my teacher was Mrs. (Ruth) Cochran. I recall that she was 64 and very grandmotherly. As most teachers do, she would read from a book out loud to us almost daily. One of the first books she read was “Little Turtle, Miami Chief.” It didn’t say “Miami Chief” on the cover, so my first impression of the book, before she even opened it, was this was going to be a lame book about some turtle that talks and has adventures with life lessons along the way.

She started reading. The Miami Indians lived throughout the Midwest, including Ohio, Kentucky, and Indiana. One of their principle villages, Kekionga, was near the present site of Fort Wayne. Chief Little Turtle was one of their greatest and wisest War Chiefs. He was great because he killed a lot of his enemies so the Miamis could keep their land. He was wise because he knew that eventually the Indians would be defeated and when he saw that defeat was coming, he tried to convince the other chiefs to negotiate. He was ignored, and shortly later proved right.

He was cool because he adopted a 12-year old white boy, William Wells, who he loved very much but later allowed to re-join the Whites.

After defeat at the Battle of Fallen Timbers, Little Turtle helped to negotiate a treaty between the United States and the Indian nations. It was considered a good deal for the Indians. And we all know what happened to any treaty the favored the Indians.

This book entranced me. I imagined that the Indians must have lived in my very neighborhood. I would convince my pals to explore the woods that were near our homes, looking for artifacts and maybe even an old Indian who didn’t know that civilization had come to his land.

Thankfully, our school library had lots of local history books. I learned about Frances Slocum (who my First Grade school was named after), who was abducted by the Indians as a youth and as an old woman declined to return to her family after they found her. I learned that William Wells, the beloved adopted son of Little Turtle, was killed at the Fort Dearborn Massacre just weeks after Little Turtle passed away. Wells was killed by Indians while trying to escort white settlers out of the fort, and had fought so ferociously that when finally vanquished, the Indians who slew him cut out his heart and gave slices of it to warriors to eat, hoping that his courage, bravery, and skill as a warrior would be transferred to them. I learned this at age 8.

I would find out about many Indian battles. I never thought about who was right and who was wrong. I understood that the Miamis had to kill settlers and soldiers to keep their land. And I understood the Americans sometimes and to kill Indians to get the land they thought they deserved.

Mrs. Cochran was my favorite teacher. No one (until Steven Smith at A&M) turned on the lights for me like she did. This was back in the days when a teacher could take students out for supper, one or two at a time, and get to know them. Mrs. Cochran took me twice, once on a weeknight with another student, and once on a Saturday, just me. She took me to lots of the battle sites around Fort Wayne. She showed me the place where the Maumee River emerges from the St Joe and the St Mary’s, where Little Turtle won a battle in which the bodies of the dead created a bridge across the river. She took me to Little Turtle’s grave. It was right between a couple of houses in an older part of Ft Wayne. This was before “Historic Fort Wayne” was rebuilt in the late 1970’s. This was before Little Turtle’s gravesite was cleaned up and turned into a park area.

To this day I can’t pass an historical marker on the side of the road and not think of her.

A couple of weeks ago, I tried to find a copy of “Little Turtle, Miami Chief” online. It is long out of print. But thanks to the power of the Internet, I found a copy on Amazon and ordered it. It arrived last week, and now I’m reading it to my son. When I told him that I wanted to read a book about Little Turtle, he expressed the same skepticism that I did 36 years ago. What could be interesting about a little turtle? For the last week, he has found out.

Thanks, Ruth. Thanks for turning the lights on for me. The Social Security Death Index tells me you passed away about 10 years ago, but your memory and love of books lives on.

Rusty Remarries!

(AP-Houston) Rusty Yates married Laura Arnold, 41, during a private ceremony Saturday at the church where they met.

The church minister said Yates chose to move on with his life while resisting temptation to pity himself.

Congratulations to the newlyweds. I hope Laura enjoys the isolation and control as much as Andrea did.

Reaching Out...Part 1 1/2

An update.

Nita has removed herself from the WIU Alumni Directory, and is no longer listed in Yahoo! White Pages.

I’m really hoping this isn’t my fault.

It was not a creepy letter.

And no, I’m not stalking her.

Lent me, baby!

I gave up Diet Coke for Lent. Yes, it’s a little extreme. My Diet Coke consumption averaged about 4 gallons a week, or about 42 twelve-ounce cans, or 25 twenty-ounce bottles. My devotion to Diet Coke is famous, almost notorious.

There was no over-arching spiritual reason for giving up Diet Coke. I heard that a relative’s chiropractor suggested that aspartame was contributing to her back pain. Now, everyone has opinions about chiropractors. I happen to believe and respect them a little more than I believe and respect L. Ron Hubbard; which is to say, it’s a nice way to earn a living, but no thank you.

Still, I’ve been suffering from back pain for many years, and lately it is a lot worse. Conventional Medicine (CM) has diagnosed the problem to some extent, but is unable to find a solution to managing the pain. In other words I’ve been told to just “buck up”. The long-term solution to my back pain is to strengthen my abdominal muscles, which involves exercise. My fitness trainer sister says I should “engage my core”. I understand this. I’m not opposed to exercise. I need to make it a priority, and I’m sure to move it up on the list as soon as I stop hurting. In the meantime, if not drinking Diet Coke can help the pain go away, I’m willing to make that sacrifice.

It’s been two weeks, and other than a mild headache after Day 2 (relieved with Equate brand Headache pills -- a wonderful combination of caffeine, aspirin, and acetaminophen) I’ve had no ill effects. My craving for fizzy drinks has been resolved by drinking seltzer water. I bring a half-liter bottle to work, and then re-fill the bottle with bottled water throughout the day. I sleep better at night, and can probably focus a little bit better.

The only downside that I’ve found is that Mount Gay Rum does not taste so good with seltzer water. Their website suggests Tonic Water, but I’m not sure I would like that.

This has revealed something to me: I always thought it would be very difficult for me to quit Diet Coke, and it’s actually been quite easy. However, I always thought it would be easy for me to quit alcohol, and it hasn’t been as simple. If I do drink, it is on a weekend, and I’m don’t get ‘rip-roaring’, but when offered, I can’t say no.

The things we find out about ourselves

My back is still killing me, by the way. Each Friday night, I am in agony. Why it’s on Fridays, I don’t know. I can tell you this, three ibuprofen, three naproxen, three aspirin, and I feel a lot better. I’ll have liver failure, but I won’t be in pain.

Achilles' Heel

Living in the shadows of the things that might have been
Torn between the blessing and the curse
You may stop the hunger but you'll never slake the thirst
For the nectar you remember but you'll never taste again

Dan Fogelberg, from ” The Lion’s Share” on The Innocent Age album.

ADRIAN MISSBRENNER IS AN ASSHOLE!

If you want a piece of me, let me know.

Adrian, or may I call you Asshole for short, perhaps someday you will have a daughter. Then you might understand why everyone (with the exception of your asshole parents and your asshole friends) thinks you are a gaping asshole.

Just so we are clear, Asshole. After all, I wouldn't want you to ever feel victimized because you were charged with rape:

No girl or woman who is so drunk that she is vulnerable to having sex with 4 guys while being videotaped is ever "consenting". You were lucky this time to be found "not guilty". That doesn't make you innocent.

Where is your father? And why hasn't he kicked your ass yet?

Climate Psychology

In early December, when Northern Illini get their first serious snow (or, when we're most likely to get our first serious snow), we are quick to grab our snow shovels or fire up the snow-blowers and clear not only our driveways and sidewalks, but we also go an extra 20 feet or so and clear some of the neighbors sidewalks as well.

In March, when we get snow, our attitude changes. Looking down our street, I see that NONE of the neighbors (including me) has bothered to clear the 2 inches of late winter snow. Heck, it'll get up to 36 degrees today, let it melt!

I have a very long list of things I want to accomplish around the house (exterior projects), but all I can do is pace in front of the windows, because it is just too damn cold!

Ten Years!

As much as I gushed over your brother yesterday, you remain my precious princess. You’ve inherited my smart-ass mouth, and it gets you in trouble with mom on just about a daily basis. On some level, I’m proud of that.

You are a great example to your brother. I give all the credit for his love of learning to you. You, too, love to read, and that is my greatest accomplishment as your father. I don’t know if I could give you a greater gift than the love of reading.

You remind me so much of my younger sister, so tall and lanky, and so beautiful. Your heart and spirit are even more beautiful. You are very thoughtful and concerned about the world around you. So much, in fact, that I find myself being mindful of what you see on the TV news each day. I try to help you make sense of all the bad things that happen, and reinforce the good that we are all capable of. You went with me to serve breakfast to the blind people last month, and I think you learned a lot about how fortunate you are, and how not having sight doesn’t seem to slow down these people. They cope, adjust, and succeed.

You are in a phase where you don’t seem to be interested in Girl Scouts or Cheerleading, or other group things. You want to stay home with Mom. I guess this is your adjustment to her going back to work…she’s home for you, but her focus isn’t completely on you like it used to be.

Now at age 10, you want to be a schoolteacher. I’m behind you completely. You love to learn, and you’ve taught your brother many things, including the “invisible elbow to the head” move that you have perfected. I can’t see it, but I know it happens. You can be very bossy and love to supervise. You will be a good wife to some lucky man some day (hopefully, after you are 40 years old, if I have anything to say about it!).

I am thankful that we have such a great relationship. I know that 5 years from now, you’ll hate my guts, but that will be temporary.

I still marvel how such a wonderful person could be the product of our love. I learn something from you every day, and look forward to tomorrow.

Connor-Bonnor Now 6!

Well, now you are six years old! You are, without question, the smartest six-year old boy I know. Your mind is screamingly fast. You have a deep sense of humor, if only to please your father. You devour Captain Underpants books, you even got the Big Melvin BM joke. You are awesome.

You are a thoughtful boy, too. You emptied your piggy bank to help Katrina victims. Although you like to tease, you get a little sensitive when someone returns the favor. You listen to what others say to you, and are concerned about how people think about you.

You don’t know this yet, but you are probably going to skip First Grade. It offers nothing for you. You won’t learn anything in First Grade. You already can do the math, you can already read, you write complete, complex sentences about both silly and serious things. You will miss your pals, but you will make new ones. I want you to do this, I need you to do this, because if you don’t, you will learn to hate school, you’ll be bored by school. I know what this is like. I know it will be a difficult transition, but I’ll support you.

Every night we read books that you bring home from school. I am thrilled that you are interested in so many things. We gave you the “Big Book of How and Why” for Valentine’s Day, and it is your Bible. You learned right away to look in the index for topics, and now you ask me for topics to look up. When was the first Comic Book published, anyway? You won’t leave the house without this book. I am so happy for you.

You are adjusting to Mom working. You get along with your older sister much better than I got along with mine.

A large part of you is just six years old. But in many ways, you are so much older.

You are a great son, and I am a truly fortunate father.

Yates Redux

I will have a lot to say about Andrea Yates as she is being re-tried for the deaths of her children.

Let me fire across the bow by asking if it is possible for Rusty Yates to be busted, cuffed, and called Shirley and tried as a co-defendant.

If anyone needs to do jail time for the deaths of those children, it's Rusty Yates.

That's RUSTY YATES.

Yates with a "Y".

Andrea needs help. Rusty needs a kick to the crotch.

I'll pay my own way to Houston to administer said kick.

Finally, a Regular Gig

One of the “reforms” our new priest has instituted is improving the liturgical music for Mass.  To that end, he has hired a Music Director, Paul by name, who has a Master’s Degree in Vocal Performance and whose “real job” is music teacher at a Catholic School.  Paul knows his liturgy, and for the first time in a real long time, our parish utilizes seasonal Mass Parts with regard to music.

In many parishes, Mass Parts such as the Kyrie, Gloria (G-L-O-R-I-A), Sanctus, and the Amen are either spoken or sung to the same melody week after week.  I think the reason for this is because it’s just easier to use the same melody instead of taking a few minutes for the parish to learn a different melody every 12 weeks or so. Our new practice of paying heed to the changes in the Mass Parts makes for a richer, more meaningful Mass; and the it the whole point of attending, right?

Being a former professional-musician wannabe myself, I would look over to the choir section of our church longingly, wondering if there was any place for my formerly-somewhat-formidable skills.  I felt some resistance from my wife, who would prefer that we all sit together in Mass as a family (and this is a valid point).  I kept my ambitions and desires in check, because, after all, I am Catholic.

In the course of practicing and practicing (or, as we former professional-musician wannabes call it, “rehearsing”) for a CD I am working on, I have all of my instruments on display in our office/den located off the living room.  On one of his “priestly visits” to watch a football game this fall, Father Tim noticed the three guitars, violin case, Honolulu Guitar Harp, etc and asked me why I wasn’t in the choir.  I deflected and parried, and pretty much just said that I wasn’t ready to do that just yet.

Last week, Paul, the Music Director, cornered my wife and told her that he heard that I played guitar, and really wanted to add a guitar to the 10:30 Mass.  Jill made some sort of excuse about me thinking that I wasn’t good enough to play (we will seek marriage counseling because of this comment – I may or may not be good enough to play, but I would never THINK I wasn’t good enough), but said if I were interested, I would talk to him.

So the following Sunday, Paul waved me over to confirm that I played guitar.  We had a five-minute discussion about my ability, and we both believed I could handle the music.  I gave him a brief verbal resume, (violin at 10, switched to tuba at 14 when we moved to a school district that did not have strings-thanks, Dad - guitar from 14-26 to either cope with adolescent loneliness or avoid college studying- sporadic playing since then, etc).  Paul is a great vocal teacher, and he says he can allay any concerns I have about my singing with some training and practice (rehearsal).

I attended my first choir practice (rehearsal) last night and was very happy.  I’ll practice (rehearse) my ass off for the next 3 days to get caught up, but come Sunday morning, I’ll play in front of a real live audience for the first time in 20 years.  For the longest time, I’ve been searching for an outlet, and now I’m getting plugged in!

Where Do I Start the Riot?

Mock my God, will you?

Walking across the aisle

I'm on the verge of changing political affiliations, and it's all Al Franken's fault. I just need to reconcile/rationalize a few things. Stay tuned.

Homage to Fogelburg: Home Free 1972

Home Free (1972)

To The Morning
Stars
More Than Ever
Be On Your Way
Hickory Grove
Long Way Home (Live In the Country)
Looking For A Lady
Anyway I Love You
Wysteria
The River

Dan Fogelberg - acoustic and electric guitars, piano, organ, Moog, vocals
Norbert Putnam - bass, cello
Kenny (Buffalo) Buttrey - drums, percussion, red & green
Weldon Myrick - pedal steel, dobro
Buddy Spicher - fiddle, viola
Farrell Morris - vibes, percussion
David Briggs - played piano on "More Than Ever" and "Anyway I Love You" and organ on "Long Way Home"
Glenn Spreen - String arrangements on "To The Morning" and "Wysteria"
Bill Purcell - String arrangements on "Hickory Grove"

After dropping out of the University of Illinois to pursue a career as a singer/songwriter, Fogelberg followed Irving Azoff to Los Angeles. Azoff shops a demo around to several labels, and Fogelberg eventually signs with John Hammond at Columbia Records. Hammond is building a stable of singer/songwriters that will include Bruce Springsteen and Billy Joel.

Fogelberg goes to Nashville to record with Norbert Putnam. While working on his album, he works as a session guitarist and singer and the experience makes a profound influence on not only his musicianship, but his songwriting as well.

This record transcends anything that was being recorded in Nashville in 1972. The big hits coming out of Music City that year were “Baby Don’t Get Hooked on Me” by Mac Davis, and probably “Happiest Girl in the Whole USA” by Donna Fargo.

“Home Free” opens with a lush, string-filled arrangement that leads into the sparse “To the Morning”, a piano-based song with a string arrangement that shores up the refrain.

This album was not going to be a typical Nashville-made record. But it was also ahead of the curve of anything coming out of LA, as well.

“Stars” follows “To the Morning”, continuing with the sparse arrangement style. Vocally, Fogelburg’s in the higher registers here, again, much different than what is being recorded next door. This may be a result of Fogelburg being a better vocalist than your typical Mac Davis type. Both songs are thematically introspective, which is in line with the singer-songwriter style of the day. “Stars” is more guitar-based, a basic acoustic style.

The next song heads straight to the edge of country. “More Than Ever” again features Fogelburg’s strong tenor, and his soon-to-be trademark harmonies are present as well. Lots of steel guitar, piano, and guitar on this song.

We head back to “singer-songwriter land” with “By on Your Way”, piano and synth shoring up this ‘break-up’ song. No trucks, dogs or trains here, though.

“Long Way Home (Live in the Country)” goes Nashville from a music standpoint, however lyrically, we have themes of the evil city and the idyllic country. Lots of fiddles and basic bluegrass instrumentation.

The mournful “Looking for a Lady” with its basic acoustic guitar and understated harmonies jumps us back to singer-songwriter land. We seem to be going from ditch to ditch with no middle ground. There are all good songs, but thematically, I’m not sure what was being accomplished.

No sooner do we go from small (guitar, vocals) then we go to large (fiddle and steel guitars) with “Anyway I Love You”, a cute little jaunt back down the country lane. Fogelburg is up to this vocally and lyrically. And now that you are in that sweet country groove, we go back to…

“Wysteria”, a brooding study of a psycho-chick. Well, that’s a bit heavy-handed, but it features classical guitar, strings (not fiddles) and keyboards with a haunting melody featuring the full range of Fogelburg’s voice.

The leads us to the last cut, and it seems that we have one of these songs in every Fogelberg album…the extended story-song that features movements and solos and all that neat stuff that every extremely talented singer-songwriter must have on at least one song on the album. “The River” has dark lyrics and musical theme that is well served by Fogelburg’s vocals. No fiddles here, just piano, guitar, bass, and perhaps some strings hinting in the background.

This is a nice song, heck, they are all nice songs, but you kind of get the impression that Norbert Putnam wasn’t sure which direction he wanted to go with Fogelburg. This is no knock on Putnam, I think Fogelburg was showing such prowess from both sides of the fence that it was difficult to find one theme to go with on this record. Also, “thematic” albums weren’t being produced out of Nashville in the early ‘70’s. Perhaps my expectation of wanting all the songs to be thematically linked is a bit of a stretch.

To appreciate Fogelburg’s growth as a songwriter and musician, I really think you need to listen to “Home Free”. While it might not be a balanced record, it showcases the tremendous potential that Fogelburg in his early 20’s. His strong vocals and technique were just emerging, and his talent for writing, singing, and playing were far beyond anything the industry had seen.

After the album was completed, Fogelburg went back west. I’ve read that John Hammond was not happy with the “country-ness” of the album, which led to Joe Walsh producing the next Fogelburg album, which I’ll get around to appreciating soon.

The First Cut is the Deepest

My two favorite blog-gals , flea over at One Good Thing and frog from frogblog are at odds because flea supports male circumcision (to the extent that her sons are circumcised) and frog appears to hate the entire notion from the depths of her kind-hearted soul.*

Flea has removed a posting about attending an upcoming bris that set the whole thing off.

I hope that these two nice people can reconcile their differences and continue to entertain me...because after all, it's all about entertaining me.

The main problem I have is that I posted a great riff about attending a bris, the escalating costs of circumcision and some other smart ass comments that I wish I would have posted here. I won't even try to re-create them here.

Frog is very passionate about this issue. She is entitled to her position, and I respect her very much. That being said, if we were sire another son (virtually impossible at this point) he would probably be circumcized. Do you know why? BECAUSE IT'S OUR DECISION TO MAKE!!

Artist James' wife, Kathy**, is against it. We still hug when we meet and don't seem to be at each other's throats about it. If they were to ever have a son, I wouldn't dare ask about his foreskin. Do you know why? BECAUSE I WASN'T BORN IN A FUCKING BARN!! I RESPECT THE PRIVACY OF MY FRIENDS, NO MATTER HOW CLOSE WE ARE!! IT IS THEIR DECISION TO MAKE!! IT IS NONE OF MY BUSINESS !! (a novel concept in these times, surely).

I realize the "True Meaning of Circumcision" has been lost over the centuries, (I am so fucking funny), but think of it in these terms, it's offering something to God that is permanent, irreversible and extremely meaningful. My guess is that my parents had it done to me because it was just done. That's not the best excuse, but there you go. I'm very happy with my penis, and I can't say that I losing my foreskin without my express written consent has harmed me in any way. Parents have to make agonizing decsions about their children everyday. That's what being a parent is all about, like it or not.

**I would say, however, if she let me sire a son with her, I'd let her have her way about the circumcision. WHEW WHEW!! I am such a pig!!!!

*I constantly refer to frog's heart as a kind heart because she, in fact, has a kind heart.

Reaching Out...Part One

(I began writing this post in September 2004, coming up on the 20th anniversary of the events that follow. It rambled so much that I abandoned it. I decided to complete it and post it. We had a big snowstorm last night and it reminded me of something)

Admittedly, I possess certain pathologies when it comes to old girlfriends. I'm not talking about stalking here.

I don't think that I've ever had an acrimonious break-up. Sure, feelings got hurt, and someone may have got mad, but all in all, what started as friendship has continued as friendship over the years. I keep in contact with many of the women that broke my heart.

There are two notable exceptions. This is the first one.....

I transferred from a large southern university to a small midwestern university after my junior year. (The many reasons for this may someday be detailed, but let's just say I needed to re-focus on academics in a less distracting setting). I was lucky enough to have dated a few girls, and got somewhat intense with two. After graduation, I couldn't get out of town fast enough. The only friendship I've maintained from that 18 months of self-imposed exile is my best friend, James (then know as simply Jim). We shared many common interests, not limited to music, women, curriculum, beer, and the occasional foray into whatever wayward meds we could lay our hands on (much thanks goes out to James' galpal, who was perscribed all sorts of neat stuff that she didn't want to throw away).

James (Jim) and I were determined to not only make the Dean's List, but we also wanted to become big-time serious songwriters. Big-time serious songwriting appealed to our lazy nature. Write songs, collect royalty checks. This is why we are NOT big-time serious songwriters today. While we had lots of neat song ideas, we had some performance issues (we couldn't sing to save our lives) so we needed to recruit someone with vocal talent to sing on our demos.

Before long, we met Nancy, who was rumored to have a great voice. Nancy looked like a California Beach Girl. Nita was her cute friend. Gorgeous brown eyes. Although I was attracted to Nita, I asked Nancy on a date (out to dinner for my 22nd birthday) for the sole purpose of recruiting her to sing for Jim and me. Jim had the serious hots for Nancy, but had not worked up the courage to ask her out. I figured that I would recruit Nancy into our little cult of music, signal Jim's attraction, and see if Nancy would put a good word in for me to her best friend Nita.

Because I was not the most confident Romeo on campus, it took all my guile and wile to ask Nancy out. And while I assured Jim that my interests were strictly professional, I'm sure he wasn't buying it. Nancy said yes, she'd love to go to dinner, and so we went. I ate Lobster Bisque for the first time. Nancy was attractive, charming, and alluring. We went back to her room, and she sang along while I played guitar. We discovered a mutual affinity for Joni Mitchell, and I taught her OUR BIG SONG. She sang like an angel. It took a lot of self-control (or perhaps self denial) to keep Jim's interests in my thoughts (I was the ultimate wing-man). She was all set to sign up with Jim and I for life when Nita entered the room to say hi. Her brown eyes flashed at me, but I was busy recruiting, damn it. Nancy told me that she and Nita sang together, so maybe Jim and I should write a duet. I told her that we could write any kind of song ("Weddings, Funerals, Bar Mitzvahs" was our slogan) and we would get right to it. Nita soon left, and it was time for me to go, too. We shook hands, and I ran down the stairs to report to Jim that not only did we have one good singer, we had TWO!!. I also reported that dinner, singing, and a handshake was all that transpired. Oh yeah, and she thought Jim was cute.

Within 24 hours, I asked Nita out, and we seemed inseparable for the last 6 weeks of the semester. It turned out that she had a crush on me, and was upset that I asked Nancy out on a date. Nancy and Jim started hanging out, too. Nita and Nancy both graduated that term, and we never got around to recording any songs.

During Winter break, Nita and I wrote nearly daily. She lived in the Quad Cities, I lived in the Northwest Suburbs. We called long distance after 11pm to save money. She started looking for work, and I worked for my sister's boyfriend plowing snow. During break, Nita and Nancy visited a friend in the Western Suburbs, and conspired to see Jim and I as often as possible. We met downtown and spent the entire day sight seeing. We watched Steve and Garry do their radio show. We went to the Hancock at night and we went to Gino's East and we went to the bars on Rush Street. We spent New Year's Eve day downtown as well, and watched the late afternoon news from Arnies on State St. The forecast was for a lot of snow, so we decided to head to my parents house right away to avoid the storm. Jim had never been to my house, but he and Nancy took off in his car, and Nita and I took off in my car. At some point, the storm hit, and Nita and I finally made it home. This was in the days long before cell phones, so I had no way of reaching Jim and helping find the house. Magically, he and Nancy appeared in our driveway, and we celebrated New Years 1985 together. Ricky Nelson was killed that night in a plane crash. I promised Nita that 1985 would be our best year.

After 20+ years, whenever our region braces for a big snowstorm, I think of that night. It was a truly magical time.

While 1985 was a good year, it was not to be for Nita and me. As much as we tried to grow closer, I feared that I would become too distracted from my studies and decided I could not continue the romance. I was SO ready to marry her; but I had to finish college, I had to make the Dean's List, I had to make up for my earlier academic failures. I may have broke her heart. I know I broke mine.

I've always believed that if you've done something in your life that you regret, then you should try to redeem yourself.

Nita went on to get her Masters Degree, and in her late 30's decided to change careers and become a nurse. She was inspired by the nurses who cared for her mother while she was dying with Cancer. She doesn't know that I know this about her. I haven't spoken to her in over 20 years.

I've always believed that if you've done something in your life that you regret, then you should try to redeem yourself.

I'm mailing a letter to Nita today. Just to say hello and tell her that I've Googled her. I'm not looking to rekindle the lost flames of youth. I just want to let her know that she's been thought of, and thought of kindly.

Life is too short not to reach out to those you think kindly of.

Miss you, John

There are places I remember all my life,
Though some have changed.
Some forever, not for better
Some have gone and some remain.
All these places have their moments
Of lovers and friends I still can recall
Some are dead and some are living
In my life I loved them all.

And with all these friends and lovers
There is no one compares with you
And these memories lose their meaning
When I think of love as something new
And I know I'll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I'll often stop and think about them.
In my life I loved you more.

And I know I'll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I'll often stop and think about them.
In my life I loved you more
In my life I loved you more