New York, New York, it's a hellava town

A month ago, I went on a little adventure.

It has taken a month to reflect on this adventure (well, let's face it, I've been busy trying to oust Governor Blowdryavich from office, and now that I've accomplished that, I can actually post something a little more self-involved).

I flew to Austin on Jan 2 to help our friends, the Plakovic's, move to New York City. Please visit http://plakyinnyc.blogspot.com/ for all the whys and wherefores (which is a redundant turn of phrase, as wherefore means why). Someone refered to this trip as a Mancation, but, then again, they've never taken a cross country trip with James and me.

I arrived in Austin on Friday afternoon, and the Plakovic's treated me to dinner at Chuy's. This is the same Chuy's that the Plakovic's first dined when they picked up stakes some 15 years ago to seek their fame and fortune. We enjoyed dinner very much. James and I then went on a last "Austin" excursion, very brief, which included a visit to a GuitarCenter and a bar.

Here's some advice when shopping for guitars or other musical instruments in Austin. First of all, you must be a professional musician to even pick up an instrument in Austin. If not, then you must at least have a few well-rehearsed licks ready so there is no doubt that you know your way around the instrument you are touching. Anyway we ended up putting a Fender Precision Bass in the car. The car was a Prius, so yes, the bass was paid for.

We then went to some popular restaurant bar, and discovered that, at the ages of 46 and 45, we are getting too damn old. Or cheap. Not sure which.

We were up and at 'em by 6am the next day, and after loading up the truck with a few last items, were lit out for Memphis, the first stop on the magical history tour. Yes, Texas is a large state, but who da thunk Arkansas would be so wide? We hit a minor traffic back-up outside of Memphis, and my handy-dandy GPS unit insisted we take an odd detour just to stay on I-40. It was dark when we reached our hotel, and we're disappointed to find that the nearest chain restaurant (sure we would have loved to eat something indiginous, but one musn't take gastro-chances on the road) was not within walking distance. So we got back in the truck and drove to Ruby Tuesdays. This absolutely guaranteed that there would be no "What happens in Memphis, stays in Memphis" stories.

After dinner, we (I) turned on an NFL playoff game, and we both fell asleep before it was over. Did I mention our mean age is 45.5?

The next day, we were up and at'em around 6am, off to our next stop, Roanoke, VA. It is a good thing that we didn't sample any local cuisine, because James was having a terrible time processing the 'quick service' food we had last night. Thankfully, the monster was defeated by the time we got back into the moving van.

Yes, Arkansas is a wide state. Tennessee, however, is a wide-ass state. I don't mean wide-asses live there, it is a long drive from Memphis to where we turned north to head into Virginia. We stopped for gas, we stopped to pee, gas, pee, gas, pee, for goodness sakes, you'd think I would have wised up and stopped drinking Diet Coke, but damnit, I live life on my own twisted terms.

We crossed into Virginia, and started thinking about the dinner and beer we were going to enjoy in Roanoke. What we did not foresee was that for every mile we drove north, Roanoke would move about 2 miles farther away. Chasing daylight, we didn't stand a chance. But the time we got to Roanoke, the interstate seemed to be 5 feet wide and my field of distance was about 35 feet. Our hotel was new, and located north of Roanoke proper, which meant that for Sunday dinner, we had to climb back into the van and drive a few miles to the TGI Fridays. James was gracious enough to allow me to pick the restaurant, and I hadn't been to a TGI Friday's in a while. There's no doubt in my mind that we were asleep before 10pm, our bellies full and dreaming for the (relatively) short drive to Jersey City the following day.

The next day was full of promise as we breakfasted on 'deluxe continental' fare. We again were on the road early, and we're excited of the prospect of a 6 state day: Virginia, West Virginia, Maryland, Pennsylvania, New Jersey and (by train) New York. All was right with the world, the GPS, the rest areas on the way. We stopped for gas west of Allentown, looking at less than 3 hours to go. As we approached Allentown, however, we encounted a huge back-up (construction related) that lasted about 45 minutes. Undaunted, we got clear of that jam, only to be stuck in hell 10 minutes later. An unknown 'traffic event' had forced the closing for the interstate, and we were stuck for over an hour trying to exit with what seemed to be an endless line of vehicles.

Yes, this was annoying, inasmuch we were hoping for a short, leisurely last day of driving. So I didn't think much of that huge Diet Coke (with two squirts of vanilla flavoring in it) when we stopped to get gas. But that was around 11:30am, and now it was 2:45 pm. I couldn't get off the freeway fast enough, and then try to find someplace, a gas station, a mini-mart, a fast food restaurant, a ditch with a steep slope, anyplace where I could relieve myself. We finally made it to a Wendy's, where, although there wasn't really a space to accomodate the moving van, I overcame adversity and skidded to a halt, running in a limping manner to the washroom.

A quick note about physiology. I've seen Olympic weightlifters, shot-putters, and hammer throwers. They must have the strongest muscles in the world...with the exception of the muscle that holds my urethra closed. When that muscle is forced to stay closed, clamped shut, for an excessively long period of time, one must enter into negotiations in order for it to open. The pain of these negotiations is intense. It just will not open, and open it must. And when it grudgingly opens, only a small amount of urine is allowed to exit. The fire-house intensity that one expects is in reality only a trickle, a painful trickle. When the bladder finally seems empty, you really can't be sure. All sensation is gone, you just don't know if you are empty or not. Maybe I should have turned on a faucet or something to force the issue.

(The cause of the accident, I later learned, was a rolled-over semi. No one was killed in the accident. James and I will be going to hell together due to our constant plea to the lord that someone should have died as a result of our inconvenience)


Back on the road, I was ready to make up for lost time. This would be a good time to discuss the different driving styles that James and I have. James is a safe driver, a good driver, a law-abiding driver. He follows the speed limit, going perhaps a little over if traffic allows. Our safe arrival to NYC is a result, in large part, to his driving skills. My driving skill follows my love of the free market. If a lane is more open than the one I am in, I use it. Speed limits are 'really good suggestions', but lets face it, if there is open road, I'm driving on it. The moving van had a governor that allowed a maximum speed of 75 mph. I know that for a fact. The truck would NOT go any faster. Our safe arrival in NYC was made despite my driving skills. I am proud to say that James wife, Kathy, and I are alike in this regard.

We bounced into New Jersey. Literally bounced. The roads, under construction, were wavy. Thankfully we had our Frosty cups to spit our dental fillings into so they could be re-installed at a later date. We rushed across the Jersey prairie (bet you don't get too many hits Googling "Jersey prairie") and finally made it to Jersey City, our landing point for the day. We checked into a nice hotel, and then ran onto a train to the heart of Manhattan.

This was my first trip to New York City. Sure, I can get around cities like Chicago, Houston, and San Antonio. They are all nice little towns compared to midtown Manhattan. As we walked towards Time Square, early evening turned into noonday sun with the glow of the lights. I'm not sure I can explain the vitality of that area. To this Nebraska son of a son of a farmer, it was one of the most amazing things I've seen. That's not to say I didn't see the bums, the rats, the whores, etc. I saw them, too. Everyone spoke a different language. I saw the famed 'Naked Cowboy'. I walked past the Ed Sullivan Theater. I saw lot of things, including the line of tourists going into Olive Garden for dinner.

We dined at Angelos on 57th Street. Real Italian food. Really good Italian food. I bought a couple of T Shirts for the kids, and we headed back to the hotel in Jersey, knowing we had just one more day of moving ahead of us.

We left the hotel before 5:30 am,, hoping to beat traffic across Manhattan. Driving down Main Street Hoboken, I was magically transformed into Johnny Nyack. Downtown Hoboken is darn quaint, with lots of neat shops, including Sleepy's, where (of course) you would go to buy a mattress. I became Johnny Nyack, seasoned delivery van driver. My language became infected with F-bombs. I used that word as a noun, verb, adverb, adjective, command, suggestion, implication, you name it and I found a use for it. James and I were giddy, and we hadn't even made it to the effin' Lincoln Tunnel yet.

Coming out of the tunnel, we drove across Manhattan, miraculously getting to the Midtown Tunnel without any harm to us, others, or the contents of the truck. Yes, a few wrong turns occurred. Hey, it was dark. We drove under the East River, arriving in Queens. I hummed 'Those Were the Days' (the All in the Family theme) as we headed north, trying to find the bridge that would get us onto Roosevelt Island. Hey, it was dark! Anyway, by 6:30am, we were there. A Starbucks breakfast, a quick tour of the apartment, a stroll down the the grocery store so I could purchase a house-warming gift (a 4-pack of toilet paper - I'm so effin' thoughtful), and before you know it, it was 9 in the morning and we began the task of unloading the truck and moving the Plakovic's belongings into the apartment.

Being experts in ergonomics, James and I quickly divided up the tasks. I would take the items from the truck and cart them to an open hallway area, where James would take them to the elevator and up to the apartment. I think we worked smoothly, glad that it was not raining or snowing or excessively windy. By noon, all that was left to move were the boxes of IKEA furniture. We could see the light at the end of the nicely tiled tunnel. Kathy, Emma and the dog arrived around that time, and spirits were high.

Boxed IKEA furniture is some of the heaviest stuff known to man. That's all I'll say.

By 1:30, we were done. We enjoyed some pizza for lunch around the corner, I especially enjoyed 2 liters of water. We did not take any breaks while unloading, and both James and I were beginning to feel our age (Mean age 45.5, did I mention that?) With the truck empty, we began the 6 mile journey to return it, to the far west side of Manhattan. A little gas, a little more Johnny Nyack, a few more wrong turns (no, it wasn't dark) and ta-effin'-daa, we had the truck to the Penske return lot.

The Penske lot was not located in the most posh of areas. We walked confidently and forthrightly 8 blocks east to a more 'comfortable' neighborhood. We boarded the subway and before you could say "The Effin' King of Prussia", we were back on Roosevelt island.

Although my original flight was cancelled, Kathy (Miss Traveler) made sure I got out of LaGuardia that night. I know we had dinner, but I think I was too exhausted to to notice. Before I knew it, my car had arrived to take me to the airport, and away I went. I was home, in my own bed, by midnight Central Time. Whew!

For James and Kathy (and Emma and Murphy) this is the start of not only a year-long adventure, but also sort of a new life as well. They have no idea where they will be in a year. I find that to be very exciting. I'm even more excited that it is them, not me. Adventure is thrilling, but it is also scary (especially when your Mean age in 45.5) In any event, I was thrilled to be a part of the first stage of the adventure. In a year, I may be back on the road, helping James move the rest of their belongings to a new city.

Blowdryavich : The End of an Era

I apologize for the confusion that our former governor has caused. He did get a fair trail, and now he is gone.

Yes, I imagine my taxes will go up, and they need to...we can't keep stealing from the state pension fund to balance the budget anymore, can we?

Change

Be sure to watch history tomorrow.

Even if you didn't vote for him, it is still a very big day for America.

I can't resist this...

Thanks to YouTube:

Perhaps a retraction, or a clarification

In my last post, I alluded that Senator-select Roland Burris may not be an honest politician anymore. I probably meant that yesterday, but after hearing him run the gauntlet of news shows today, I have a more informed opinion.

Roland Burris is probably the best candidate to be selected (but not elected) as the next junior senator from Illinois.

The problem I have with him is that his goody-two-shoes explanation for wanting to be senator reminded all of us why he couldn't get elected as governor or senator in the past.

I'm all for unbridled optimism, however, at this juncture, a little bit of realism from whoever the next senator is would be appreciated. We're tired of being spoken to as if we all are idiots.

Sure, I know Blowdryavich was elected twice.

All Hail Our New Senator-select

Governor Blowdryavich, still living in his own special world of denial, named elder statesman Illinois politician Roland Burris as his 'senator-select'.

Roland Burris quickly leapt to Blowdryavich's defense, claiming the charges pending against the governor were 'false, untrue, and very unfriendly'.

No word yet if in fact Burris read the arrest warrant that pretty much tells you what you need to know about Blowdryavich.

Burris may have been a honest politician up to today, but the real reason he was selected was because he is one of the few politicians who are shorter in stature than the governor.

photo stolen from the Chicago Tribune website.
(I think I can take credit for 'Blowdryavich', it's less mean-spirited than "Blowdryabitch')

Post Christmas outlook

We had a nice, white Christmas here in northern Illinois, and now comes a warm front which has melted the 8 inches of snow in just 24 hours. Flash floods and fog for the next week or so. Hopefully they can keep the ice cold at Wrigley Field, where the Blackhawks will take on the much hated Redwings on New Years Day.

I drove up to see my Dad and drop off his Christmas present and go over his new budget. He finally got his Section 8 approval, which should solve the month to month finances, and help set up a nest-egg for the inevitable doctor bills and car repairs. Despite my day to day management of his finances, I've only seen him three times in 2008, last January, in October for his mother's funeral, and today.

Yes, I know I should visit more often. And yes, he should visit us more, too.

I went over the budget with him, encouraging him to try to follow it while trying to live comfortably as well. If we can build up the reserve fund in the next year, then he can then have more to spend and enjoy. I don't want him to live monastically, just responsibly. As always, we'll see how that goes.

My father doesn't seem to want a lot of interaction with me or my family, and I've sort of grown tired trying to push the relationship. I'm 46, I have a nice family. We care about my dad, but his interest doesn't extend much past the basic pleasentries. Perhaps he feels that I caused all the turmoil in his life by yanking him from squalor in Indiana 2 years ago and compelling him to face the music about his health and debts. It had to be done, and I guess I was the best suited to do so. No one else in my family, God love them, is as much of a hard-ass as me, a skill I learned from the old man himself. Go figure.

Sure makes me miss my mother.

Snow starts the day

Lots of snow last night and today. I don't know how many inches, I just know that my back is killing me from all the shoveling.

Just 10 minutes ago, however, I finally got my snowthrower to run. Thanks to neighbor Steve, who talked me through several diagnoses and after a lot of mental mechanics, I was able to clear the foot of my driveway in minutes.

Long story short: my fuel problem was caused by a cracked primer bulb.

My Toro is about 15 years old, and when running, can handle just about any depth of snow.

I'll be lugging it over to Steve's driveway every chance I get this winter. I owe him that.

(When you are 46 years old, things like having an operational snowthrower is almost better than sex. Almost.)

Same old legislature

The Illinois legislature is taking their sweet time to impeach Blagojevich. They listened to the governor's mob attorney today demand to listen to the tapes. At least they had the guts to remind the attorney that the impeachment hearings were not a criminal court proceeding, and they would appreciate it if his client would show up in Springfield to offer testimony.

Fat chance of that since the sonovabitch won't go to Springfield to govern.

Come and get me Rod! I'll kick your ass and shave your head!

Prick.

Blago-you-bitch

Yes, I'm surprised that it's taken me 2 days to opine on our asshole governor's arrest and indictment.

I knew this guy was a crook. After reading all 78 pages of the indictment, I do have to say that he exceeded my wildest dreams as a crook, however. It is hubris on steroids. It is beyond the pale. It is simply amazing. There is no way he is going to beat these charges.

And now, it all makes sense. The commitment to the bad hair. His refusal to live in Springfield. His MO of trying to pick fights, and then when losing, pretend they didn't happen. Is there enough jail time to change his attitude?

I would always give his wife a pass because I know that as a real estate agent, you need to rely on relationships in order to do business. However, I now know she is simply Dick Mell's daughter. And that isn't a slight on Dick Mell, he is a career politician, a Chicago alderman, and he conducts business as it is done in Chicago. However, I guess I let my oogling of Patty Blagojevich cloud my judgement.

Oh well, it will be interesting to see what happens next. Blago is too deluded to resign right away. He may still try to appoint a senator.

The drama continues.

After 31 years...

I've always been a big Jackson Browne fan, starting when I was 14 and Running on Empty was released. It was one of the first albums I bought when I started buying albums with my own money.

For all you youngsters out there, it was recorded live in venues from concert halls to hotel rooms to the tour bus. At a time when live albums featured re-hashed greatest hits with mistakes overdubbed in the studio, Running on Empty was unique in that all the songs were new and recorded 'as-is'. The one thing about Jackson Browne live is that the musicianship is top-rate...sometimes too perfect, inasmuch as no one seems to make a mistake onstage. Not a bad thing, really, just outside the norm.

Anyway, this tour would have been at the time The Pretender was out, and for Jackson Browne, this would have been a challenging time in his life. Go to Wikipedia to learn why, I'm not a very good biographer.

The opening track, of course, is Running on Empty, and the first 30 seconds or so consists of various shouts from the audience, which, when I was a teenager, meant nothing to me, it was just a bunch of rowdy fans making noise.

At my advanced age, listening now, I realize the shouts were requests for songs such as Ready or Not, Late for the Sky, and Redneck Friend. You can hear an eight count leading up to the song that was in fact performed.

Also at my advanced age, I think about those people at the concert, yelling for their favorite song, and then POW! Running on Empty, the version you hear on the radio, with the great David Lindley lap steel solo and the Danny Kortchmar guitar fills and the beautiful soaring harmony of Rosemary Butler (I had a serious Rosemary Butler obsession in 1980) and of course the message of the song, the ever searching, longing, to find what it is we needed to find ourselves. If the audience only knew. Were they disappointed? Don't know.

Looking around for the friends I used to turn to to pull me through, looking into their eyes, I see them running, too.

Remorse, optional

When asked if there were anything George Ryan would change, Lura Lynn Ryan said neither she nor her husband has any regrets. "His conscience is as clear as his mind," she said. "If he had it to do over -- and I've heard him say this -- he would govern the same way as he did before.... Sun-Times story today

There were stories in both Chicago papers today regarding the possibility that President Bush may commute the sentence of former Illinois Governor George Ryan, who is in jail on a racketeering conviction.

A thumbnail: While Secretary of State (among other things, in charge of granting drivers licenses) Ryan either implemented or ignored the program to sell commercial driver's licenses. One such beneficiary ended up instigating that burned six children to death in a highway accident.

Ryan, obviously, to this day believes he did nothing wrong because he never 'took the money', channeling it to cronies, who in turn, would do really nice things for Ryan and his family.

He is a really old man, his wife is not in the best health, he has lost his government pension, and has ruined his name. Maybe serving one year of his six-year sentence is justice enough.

But if he can't feel any remorse, then perhaps he needs to rot a little more.

After a one week cooling off period...

Well, congratulations to President-Elect Obama. History has been made, and we will be watching it unfold for the next 4-8 years.

Now that the election is over, our nation needs to keep on keeping on. The sky has not fallen, despite what my republican brethren say, and I don't think we're headed for the socialist revolution.

I don't know the last time Warren Buffett was wrong about something, and if he isn't afraid, then why should I be afraid?

The McCain campaign hacks who persuaded him to pick Palin are now trying to throw mud at her. What you see is what you get, folks. She was not the best choice, and I've spoken to a lot of conservatives that saw through her act and were very afraid of the prospect of another dolt leading our nation.

My pain is with the neo-cons (Rush Limbaugh included) who will not rest until Obama is killed. Hate is hate.

I'm against hate.

If President Obama turns out to be a stinker, we have the 2010 and 2012 elections to rectify the problem. Martyring a president is a sure why to ensure his programs (especially the offensive ones) get passed.

This is America, we should give President Obama a chance. We gave President Bush a chance, and how bad was that?

I retract the question.

Election Day 2008

Wow, here we are at last.

What ever happened to my fellow well-informed Republican voters?

I guess there were no issues that interested mainstream Republican voters this year. Instead of arguing the merits of McCain's position on the economy, security, energy, etc, all I seem to hear from my fellow Republicans is how Barack Husein Obama is going to have abortions performed on every pregnant woman in the country, take money away from (white) poverty-stricken pensioners and give it to (black) welfare mothers, and mandate the teaching of Arabic in our schools.

Keep in mind, I'm a Reagan Republican, and this rhetoric offends me.

I've always thought that fear-mongering was for the losers, and I guess I'm right about that this year.

McCain-Palin will go down in flames, and our country will have new challenges to face and overcome.

It is time to re-think how we elect our leaders. Money outstrips the message. Fear outweighs fact. The loudest voices are heard over the smartest voices.

I'll miss Tina Fey. We'll I can always watch her on 30 Rock, I guess, but she has never been more brilliantly funny than as Sarah Palin.

And four years from now, if Sarah Palin is more than trivia, I'll vomit.

After 8 Years

Remember this?




You ever wonder what happened to those guys?

....until someone loses an eye

Boy, 8, fatally shoots self in head while trying out Uzi submachine gun at Mass. gun club show
By Associated Press
1:55 PM CDT, October 27, 2008
WESTFIELD, Mass. (AP) _ An 8-year-old boy died after accidentally shooting himself in the head while firing an Uzi submachine gun under adult supervision at a gun fair.

The boy lost control of the weapon while firing it Sunday at the Machine Gun Shoot and Firearms Expo at the Westfield Sportsman's Club, police Lt. Lawrence Vallierpratte said.

Police said the boy, Christopher Bizilj (Bah-SEAL) of Ashford, Conn., was with a certified instructor and called the death a "self-inflicted accidental shooting."

As the boy fired the Uzi, "the front end of the weapon went up with the backfire and he ended up receiving a round in his head," police Lt. Hipolito Nunez said. The boy died at a hospital.



The boy's father and older brother were also there at the time, a gun club member and school official said. Francis Mitchell, a longtime member and trustee of the club, said he was told the boy's father was supporting his son from behind when the shooting happened.

Although the death appeared to be an accident, officials were investigating.

It is legal in Massachusetts for children to fire a weapon if they have permission from a parent or legal guardian and are supervised by a properly certified and licensed instructor, Lt. Hipolito Nunez said. The name of the instructor helping the boy was not released.

The event ran in conjunction with C.O.P Firearms and Training

"It's all legal & fun — No permits or licenses required!!!!" reads the ad, posted on the club's Web site.

Messages left on answering machines for the club and the C.O.P. group were not returned Monday.

T minus 12 days

With a dozen days until the election, as a card carrying red stater and election student, I'm here to tell you that John McCain is not going to win the election.

Why?

He failed to lock in and focus on the most pressing issue of the moment.

He allowed others to define him.

He ignored the one inarguable negative about himself (his age), and chose a political lightweight as his running mate.

When confronted with the MOST IMPORTANT CURRENT ISSUE IN THIS ELECTION, he 'suspended' his campaign and pulled his oars out of the water.

He failed to appear presidential over and over again.

I guess I could type all sorts of negatives about Obama, but there is no point. This was McCain's election to lose, and lose it he will.

If I have to eat crow on November 5, so be it.

Last one out of Nebraska

My last grandparent, my father's mother, passed away on Sunday.

One more, and possibly last trip to Nebraska.

I left late Tuesday morning, arriving in Johnny Carson's hometown of Norfolk (pronounced 'Norfork' by the locals) around 6:40 that evening. I checked into my hotel (I would have stayed closer in Wayne had there been a non-smoking room available at the Super 8) and drove up to Carroll, the Hansen Family hometown (population 225) in the rainy darkness.

It doesn't take long to drive all the streets in a 225 person town, but I did, remembering my summer vacations over 30 years ago. My grandmother operated a 2 1/2 aisle grocery store, and was quite the business woman. When the regular beauty salon owner retired, she remodeled a back storage area into a beauty shop, where my aunt Karen and later other women practiced the fine arts of hair coloring and cutting.

My grandfather passed away in 1980, and grandma retired from business shortly after. The store stayed mostly empty, and gram busied herself with the church ladies, running the various socials and funeral luncheons. When she had the store, she would load groceries into the back of her Chevy Blazer and delivered food to less fortunate farmers during the winter. She was always busy busy busy.

Her memory and her health started to go bad about 10 years ago, and about 5 years ago she went to a nursing home. Her house and most of her possessions were sold, all the money going to pay the nursing home bills. She was practically penniless when she died.

As I drove down mainstreet, I found that her store had been demolished, now a parking lot for a small trucking company. The old tavern was still there, but I didn't feel like going in for fear that all my childhood memories would be shattered. I drove back to Norfolk, stopping at Applebees for a decadent rack of ribs, two large bills, and after the waitress twisted my arm, dessert.

The weather had improved overnight, and I got dressed and drove back to Carroll for the funeral service. I did a quick jog over to Pierce, my mother's hometown, so I could drive past her childhood home. The large cottonwoods were gone, but the 'new' owners (they've lived there at least 20 years now) had made lots of improvements and I found myself happy that the old place looked so good. I made it to Carroll at 9 am and made my way into the church.

My older sister and dad were there, along with his brother, Uncle Den, and over the next hour, various relatives trickled in. My grandmother outlived many of her friends, except for Phyllis, who worked for grandma at Hansen's Grocery. She gave me a hug and told me how much she loved and respected my grandmother. I told her that gram really loved her, too, and we all appreciated their friendship. How my grandmother made enough money to have a full-time employee I'll never know.

All my Nebraskan cousins came to the funeral. I hadn't seen many of them in almost 20 years. I realized that we had all grown up now, and was proud that they all had stable family lives, and were successful in their own ways.

The service was nice, and as usual, the younger minister did not know grandma (her nursing home was about 40 miles from Carroll), he did make an effort to learn about her in the days prior to the funeral and was able to talk about her community service, but her love of gardening and flowers.

I busted the chops of my fellow pallbearers, making sure that no one slipped down the two flights of stairs from the chapel to the hearse. Two cousins, one cousin in-law, and two friends of the family carried my grandmother's silver casket to her final resting place next to grandad, and one row and four plots from my Uncle Doug.

We went back to church for the luncheon, and I thanked the ladies who prepared it. Knowing I had and eight hour drive back home, I left at 12:30, slipping out. I'm not one for goodbyes. I arrived home exactly eight hours later, glad to be home.

The drivers in Iowa need some serious lessons about how to drive on the interstate.

Adios to Austin

I flew down to Austin for business last Friday, staying for the weekend.

Austin is one of my favorite places. Not necessarily for the food, the live music, the attractive UT coeds, or the scenic landscape.

Austin Texas is where I spent too much of my first 3 years of college. Because I went to school in College Station, going to Austin was a convenient diversion from what I was supposed to be doing, namely, getting an education.

I learned a lot about myself from this experience. I learned that I was too immature to fall in love, I learned that no matter what shithole I put myself into, only I have the capablility to extract myself from said shithole, and that I really enjoyed new experiences, and should not be afraid to jump into the deep end of the pool.

When I first left Austin for the last time, it was 1983, and as I drove north on IH-35 toward Illinois, I thought it would take some doing to get me back there.

In the early 1990's, however, I was back, at the time scouting for a place to live, as my friend Artist James and his wife, Kathy, were going to move to Austin, and my wife was going to transfer to Austin with Motorola. My hopes were dashed when we could not make the move. The Austin of the early 90's was similar to the Austin of the mid '80's. I found that I still loved the city, the Capital, the food, the nightlife, etc. It could do no wrong.

After James and Kathy settled in Austin, my wife and would make annual trips to see them, just a 2 1/2 hour plane ride and I could be back in Utopia. We'd always go in the Spring during Bluebonnet time. We still made regular trips after our daughter was born. I felt it was important to return as often as possible so I could retain my Texas 'citizenship'.

Sadly, after our son was born, we only made one more trip down. I guess our family decided to make future vacations more destination driven, and Austin sort of fell off our screen. I'd make the suggestion to go, but it was shot down. My wife seemed to think that my love of Bluebonnets and Indian Paintbrushes was a bit provincial, saying that they really weren't any different from the yellow dandelions and other 'weeds' that grew along Illinois roadsides. I continue to love my wife even though she doesn't understand.

By some great collision of fortune and ability, James and Kathy (and Emma and Murray) are leaving Austin soon to spend a year in New York City. After that year, they have no idea where they will go. Probably not back to Austin. And now, suddenly, any excuse I have to visit Austin is gone.

That thought occured to me Sunday morning as I left my hotel and drove down Guadalope one last time, remembering the dragworms, the BK Lounge, all the sights, sounds and smells of a magical time long ago. A wave of great emotion overtook me, and I found myself wanting to call the old girlfriend who lured me to Austin over 25 years ago. I didn't call her, of course, I really wasn't sure what to say or how to say it. I just thought that in some ways, my greatest joy was experienced in those blocks between 15th street and 30th street. Despite the turmoil my hopelessly romantic heart experienced back then, I know that in some ways I was never happier.

Austin in 2008 has changed a lot since 1983. More high-rise buildings compete with the view of the Capital, Sixth Street parties a little too hearty, although the UT Coeds going to the football game in their short denim skirts and cowgirl boots remind me of my youth, poorly spent.

An older, perhaps wiser, 45 year-old man left Austin yesterday, eagerly returning to the family that he loves in Illinois. I really don't know if I'll ever find myself in Austin again, but until then, adios, dear friend.

Plakovic's "The Live Music Capital of the World" adorns this post. Visit www.plakovic.com to purchase.

September 12

Now that my son is 8, he is very interested in history and science.

I had the History Channel on last night, with it's various September 11 programs. My son was very interested in them, as he was just 1 and a half back in 2001. So we watched a show about the evacuation of the World Trade Centers, and the heroic sacrifice of one of the security chiefs who had been anticipated a terrorist attack since the bombing in 1993.

At some point, watching the planes crash and the buildings fall became too much for me. As I watch the famous footage of the second jet collide with the tower, the fact that 300 lives ended at that moment hits me very hard. To know that as the buildings fall (in the span it takes to write this sentence), thousands of regular, innocent people will die overcomes me.

While I was fortunate enough not to have known anyone personally who died that day, I do have a friend who was across the river watching it happen, fearful of what was coming next. The husband of a good friend of mine was working in the pentagon that day. Just regular people, doing regular jobs.

Along with the sense of loss, it was the fear of not knowing when the planes would stop crashing that I still carry with me. I live 30 miles due east of a nuclear power plant, and yes, our family has an 'escape plan' if it is ever attacked.

September 11, 2008.