What you have wanted your whole life is never quite what you expected.

I have said for many years to anyone who would listen that all I want in a President is an intelligent person who is a good speaker. I think the presidents job is largely national cheerleader. Present a pretty face to the world, (an by that I mean an intelligent person who can understand the problems before them and not appear befuddled or ignorant) and get all of us whipped up into a patriotic fervor when necessary. If they are wise enough to hear others opinions and have a solid grasp of right and wrong, I think we are safe. As you may have guessed, this particular opinion has become more important to me in the last 8 years. This however does not really take into account my very strong feelings about Iraq, gun control, abortion rights, etc. I am firmly planted halfway between Barack Obama and John McCain. I'm against more gun control, but I would give my life to ensure a woman's right to choose. I think if we walked in and destroyed a country and attracted many terrorists there as a place to fight their chosen battle, we should not just pack up and leave and get to claim we are doing what's best. But I also feel like I could use a tax break. So where does one find in all this, a candidate to support? I am lost dear readers, but as I was reminded last week, Obama sure can put a few words together. Wonder how McCain will do tonight. . . . .

Welcome back.

Went I went to grad school, there were 3 other students who entered the program at the same time. There were no returning students that year, so we were a tight knit group. One of that group, Bev, was a woman who had had a daughter and spent her life raising her and was now going to finally be what SHE wanted and get her MFA in directing. She is a really fine director and had started making a career for herself in Chicago when, a year ago Sunday, she was hit by a bus while walking across the street. There was severe brain damage and she has basically been re-learning everything about who she is and the world in general. On the anniversary of her accident, her daughter and she were riding a bus down the street where she had lived before the accident and that part of her place in the world all came rushing back to her. As the bus rolled past the places she had visited, shopped and lived she started to remember where she fits in the world. In her own words, as transcribed by her daughter in a blog, "I feel like I've been away for a long time, and I finally just got back."

I have failed, in this year, to go and visit my friend. Partly because I shy away from these kinds of moments, partly because I allow myself to be driven by my schedule, and partly because I was afraid to see this, one of the smartest and most vibrant people I have ever known, brought low by her injuries. I am saddened by my own inactivity, but feel that at least the prayers of me and many, many other people have been answered, and Bev is coming back. Maybe now I can find my own way back to her, even through all my whining.

Whining is MY national pastime.

One of my students said to me the other day: "You're really organized this year." While ignoring the fact that this is certainly not true, I do feel as if I am getting a handle on the craziness of this job. The part that scares me is that I just took a bunch of vacation time. What if I get tired and start falling apart later? How do normal people who have an innate ability to do things because they need to be done, rather than because they were supposed to be done, keep going? I just want to feel like I'm riding the wave all the time. Sure, there are moments where you're afraid the crest of the wave will collapse and you'll get wet, but it's different than coughing and spitting while wondering if there will be sand if you try and put your feet down. Ahh, extended metaphors. I thank god for all the bad fiction I read as a child every time I spit one of those out. Anyway. Here I sit blogging when I should be paddling my board ahead of that wave. . . .

How did Dad do it? Oh yeah, he's a fucking genius.

Here I sit in my office waiting for the first day of a class I've been pushing to teach for awhile. The class is very specifically in my area and I feel like I have a good handle on the field, but class prep has never been my strength. I can put together a nice looking syllabus and give a lecture and lead a discussion, sure. But I'm always just waiting for that enormous flaw in the order of topics or assignment/lecture coincidence that I always seem to produce. The worst part about this particular class is that it has a couple students who are quite sure that there is nothing they need to learn, they just need to get minted as graduates so they can start earning a little 401k. Now, I know how much they could learn, but it's like heading to your neighbor's house to babysit the kid you know is going to make up rules his parents never gave him to just try and manipulate you into a near death experience. The longest walk my little feet have felt since the first one 32 years ago across a bunch of hippie rag rugs in my parents living room. Those things need rubber backing.

My real job.

The Renaissance Festival starts tomorrow. This will be my 17th year working at the festival and throughout it all, I have never thought of leaving. I have wished for others to leave, and I have thought of giving up the rest of my life and going on the circuit of ren fests. But I have never wanted to give it up. This job is what taught me what jobs are supposed to be if you follow that touchy-feely American ideal of loving your job. Let me dispel some rumours. It is not easy. It does not consist of hangin' out with cool people all day. It is 10 hours on your feet trying to wring some laughs and joy out of a hot, tired, overcharged audience with every kind of talent you may or may not possess. But that is what makes a job satisfying. If you have ever worked an easy, lame job like convenience store clerk or, god forbid, anything in a cubicle, you understand. Hard work is it's own reward. No job I have ever had has been as punishing for my body with the possible exception of bee keeper, and no job will ever be as good.

I find myself unusually unprepared or at least not nervous/excited about the festival this year. I'm not sure if it's because I have been actually taking a bunch of time off the last few weeks or what, but I'm just laid back. I took the time today to get everything together, boots oiled up, and extra underwear packed and found myself finding a groove there. I hope to find the same groove on the streets tomorrow morning. (probably worn between bad manor and the cage) This is the beginning of the best part of my year and I hope I can make a few people in the crowds feel the same way.

My first year out there was selling seafood near the stage where Puke and Snot performed. Butch and I met there and hawked shitty food together and on one clear day, hawked so loud that the mighty Mark and Joe (puke and snot) stopped their show, leaned on their swords for a moment and waited for us to shut up. Joe passed away this week after spending my entire lifetime on the streets and stages of the Minnesota Renaissance Festival and when I miss him, part of me will wish I could see their show one more time*. . . and stop it, but only for a moment.


* The show will go on, but without Joe. Come out and see Mark show us all what theatre is really about this weekend.

Start Seeing Motorcycles. And write down their plate number.

I just got a phone call from my good friend Dan Smith. Dan is one of my few close friends whom I have not known since childhood. Dan teaches High School in my home town and we met about 6 years ago when he was new there. Dan is an avid bicyclist and rides over 2000 miles a summer in various rides, races and other craziness. Fucking exercise. Dan called me because he didn't want me to hear on the radio that on Tuesday night, while riding past Camden State Park a wonderful human being on a black Harley Davidson decided to try and shoot through the pack of bicyclists in excess of 60mph. He failed. He struck Dan at full speed throwing him a great distance and then when Dan struck pavement and slid, he channeled the entire U.S. Men's olympic gymnastics team and tucked his head, drove his shoulder into the ground, poppped up into a back flip/twist and landed on his feet. His left elbow was destroyed and he will go through a couple surgeries at least but he was otherwise mostly okay. The awesome Harley ridin' stud slowed, looked back at the carnage, and gunned it, leaving the scene. They cannot identify him, so they're not sure if he will be caught. I'm not really sure how to react. I want to go buy Dan a beer to go with his morphine, I wanna hunt and kill this guy, and I just want to sit and shake a little. As Dan said, at least we're not all together drinking to his memory. Thanks Harley guy for not killing him. I hope you get hit by an SUV and suffer horribly before the ambulance arrives. Then I hope you get better and walk everywhere in fear of motorized transportation.

Air hockey

A dream of mine since I was child visiting my cousins in missouri. I now have my own air hockey table IN MY HOME. I mean, my KIDS have an air hockey table. . . Yes. Thanks to butch for paying it forward and joe for just paying for it.