365 in 365 for 2014: Images 013 through 019

The winter isn't even a month old and the season has already weighed heavily on most Minnesotans.  There are the die-hards with their outdoor hockey and ice fishing and extreme jogging (this is the same as regular jogging, but in sub-zero temperatures), but I don't associate with these people.  The ones I do are as tired of the cold and snow as I am.  I had to shovel snow again this weekend, but had some help with a very sunny day. The front walk looks better, but all I could manage on the driveway was to make the snow pack as flat as possible.

Although I'm not part of the cold weather crowd, I did have a run-in with one of their number.  Friday night was a special hockey night as I believe both the women's and men's U of MN hockey teams were playing outdoors in TCF Bank Stadium, the regular home of the college football team and the temporary one for the Vikings starting next year as the new stadium is built (the Metrodome/Mall of America Field was deflated on Saturday).  I was stopped at a red light on University Avenue on campus when a taxi pulled up next to me.  I heard some sort of vocalization and when I looked, there was a lumberjack-looking man, complete with auburn Viking mustache, leaning out the front passenger window.  I rolled down my window with trepidation.

"Game time," he said.  There wasn't any sort of inflection in his statement, so I didn't know if he was asking or telling me.

"I'm sorry.  I don't know," I replied.

"Where are you going?"

"Home."

A look of shock and confusion suffused his face.  "You don't . . . you're not going to the game?"

I was dreading where this line of questioning was going.  Mercifully, the light turned green and his taxi sped away.  Nothing more was exchanged between us, but I'm sure he said "what an asshole" to his fellow passengers.

I'm still not sure what he was wanting from me.  I suppose to engage in some pre-game ritual to get each other fired up for the upcoming contest.  Unfortunately, I was in the wrong place at the wrong time and he chose the wrong person.  I guess my response should have been something like "OH, IT'S ON NOW!  FUCK YEAH!"  This would be followed by a series of grunts, shouts and hoots.  

So, I missed my chance to bond with the hardcore Minnesotans.  Maybe I will practice this type of exchange at G-Bug's next volleyball tourney.  I'm sure I can get away with some rough cursing around teen aged girls and their parents.  I'll let you know how it goes.  Until then, here are the next week of pictures.  Enjoy!

No. 013:  01-13-2014

The only other time I could get this picture would be in a canoe.

No. 014:  01-14-2014

Near full moon behind an apartment building in NE Mpls.

No. 015:  01-15-2014

A view of Mpls overlooking Lake of the Isles

No. 016:  01-16-2014

The imposing edifice of the Cathedral of St. Paul

No. 017:  01-17-2014

TCF Bank Stadium hosting Gopher hockey

No. 018:  01-18-2014

Growing up in West Hartford, CT, there was a small, two screen
theater called The Elm that showed late run movies for $.99.
The Riverview reminds me of The Elm.

No. 019:  01-19-2014

The Intimidator back at the net.  She doesn't need to jump to get
her hands over the net.  A force to be reckoned with.

Real Boys of Genius

Years ago, when I was visiting my family in Connecticut, my brother explained a little bit about his parenting style.  At the time, his two sons were very young and his attitude about raising them could only be described as laissez faire.  He wasn't a bad dad, in fact he took very good care of his kids, but they could get pretty wild.

His light discipline was his way to prevent them from feeling bad.  He revealed he was constantly reminded of times that were embarrassing or demoralizing for him and he didn't want his boys to feel the same way.  I knew exactly what he meant; I suffer from the same ailment.

One episode that continually burbles from my memory at odd times was when I was in Mrs. Griswold's second grade class.  As I look back now, we were probably doing a segment on the five senses.  We had a guest speaker who would ask for volunteers.  Being an eager child back then, I would raise my hand each time but was denied the chance to shine.  We reached the fifth and final sense and she asked for volunteers.  Undaunted, I raised my hand again and was lucky enough to be selected.

My luck further improved when I saw her reveal a cookie brought from the cafeteria.  I was going to get a treat, too!  She asked my name and then the loaded question, "How can you tell this is a good cookie?"

Instead of defining "good" as either "delicious" or "pleasing," I decided to take the tack of "not evil."

"You should break it apart to see if there are any pins in it," I replied. 

I like to think my answer was influenced because Halloween was approaching and we were drilled to be careful of the candy we eat after Trick-o-Treating.  We were warned there were sickos out there who could put things in candy to hurt little kids.  Even as an eight-year old, I refused to become a statistic. 

What followed were gales of laughter and I can still see clearly in my mind's eye Jeffrey Simmons putting his head in his hands in the front row.  It gets worse. 

“Okay.  But how can you tell if this is a good cookie,” she tried again.  Rather than changing my answer, I assumed she didn’t hear me the first time (ironic as we were learning about the senses) and gave the same answer.  Seeing as this line of questioning was going nowhere, she then whispered "taste."

I realized then what my mistake was and affected a look of epiphany and triumphantly exclaimed, “TASTE!”  She invited me to taste the cookie and I took a bite.  I nodded my approval.  "It's good."  And pin-free.  I ate the rest of the cookie at my desk.

To this day, peanut butter cookies taste like failure.