My brother is ailin'.

My brother reports that his symptoms are worsening, which leads one to imagine frightening things. I really feel bad for his suffering, and dread the grimmer thoughts that knock a little louder at the door today.

He's been very brave about such a sobering health concern, and I'm proud of him. I didn't doubt his fortitude necessarily, but I am gently surprised at the stuff he's made of.

He's been described by others in our unusual clan as "stoic," a description I can't disagree with. It's not a word I would have chosen though, as it implies an aloofness or avoidance of the gravity involved, and my brother hasn't been blind to the stakes. He's been straightforward.

I admire his courage.

"Shooter" shot

My wife and I saw the feature-film "Shooter," or at least most of it, in the theater soon after it was released. We had managed our time badly that day, and realized that we'd have to skip the final third of the movie if we were to pick up our son from the child-minder by the promised deadline. Anyone with kids knows that a babysitter's bond is something you don't fool with, ever.

Anyhoo, we enjoyed the movie for the portion we saw, and it took me until last month to rent the DVD and finish it off. I was better off leaving the final act to my imagination.

We left the theater before the movie's script completely gave up on its efforts to make sense. Plus, the run and gun portions of the movie didn't require much from Mark Wahlberg that I hadn't seen before. I really want to like him, but I didn't get him in this role. His performance seemed two-dimensional to me, lacking depth. I wished he could have made more of his scenes and lines, including his quirky justification for wreaking havoc and vengeance upon the evil-doers: "I don't think you understand - they killed my dog." I really wanted to like and enjoy that line, but I didn't buy it. Bummer.

I was very puzzled to apparently be the only person in the world not to have enjoyed his work in this movie. Every single review fawned over his fine performance, the action parts of which I enjoyed, but the quieter moments I found coldly unconvincing. One reviewer even compared Wahlberg's performance to Matt Damon's in The Bourne Identity, and tore acutely away from my own account, considering as I do Damon's job on that series and something akin to miraculously fitting.

I'm still keeping a hopeful eye out for more or Mark W.'s work in the future, but I didn't love this film for much more than its slam-bang appeal. Which ain't all bad, certainly.

The Muse

I've come by some worthwhile ideas, and I carry them around. It's like carrying water in your hands. I keep most of it, but if I don't dump them in a more reliable vessel soon, I unavoidably lose a little to spillage. Ideas are the most mercurial of things - innumerable are the times when I've had a valuable inkling, only to lose it to a distraction or derailed train of thought. Wise is the man who jots down ideas at every opportunity. Pretentious is the writer who unnecessarily writes complex subject constructions.

I am fortunate, as throughout my life I am afloat in a sea of notions and perspectives. The muse, a source of an artist's inspiration, is constantly whispering in my ear, or at least sending me mental junk mail, for which I am grateful. If I were to make something tangible of one-fifth of the ideas that occur to me, I would be something to see indeed. Paradoxically, with my blessing I am also cursed with pessimism and low self-esteem, traits that quickly and brutally quash creation. So if I can squeeze out any product at all from the lightning that strikes my brain, I feel exceptionally lucky.

All this navel-gazing serves to substantiate this: I fantasize that the muse really exists, and that if I don't act in some way to create or commemorate the messages she sends me, she will punish me with a paucity of ideas in the future.

The above paragraph sounds laughable and ludicrous to the skeptical pessimism within me. Fanciful to the point of ridicule. Muses, spirits and gods that I've made up in my head. The very idea!

Did I mention that the skeptical pessimist is proving a less and less valuable companion on this journey I'm on? He truly is...

Getting something done

Every year since we moved in, I take in the view of my home and property, increasingly disappointed at its appearance, powerless to act on it. I don't know where or how to start. I've got all the hardware I need, but damned little of the skills. I don't know anything about landscaping, planting, pruning or irrigation, and I'm as likely as not to do more harm than good. I've never been what you call "handy."

I'm not excessively vain, but I feel pangs of embarrassment when having guests over, due to the place's rough, sloppy presentation. This cannot stand.

This year, I'm working on it. I know that each area looks like Hell. Although I still don't know what to do or where to begin, I'm not sitting on my hump and moping about it impotently.

To my wife's great concern, I've pruned our fruit trees, beating back many months of neglect. I've done away with piles of of disembodied tree limbs, stacking them neatly away to dry into excellent kindling. I've weedeated many a flapping shrub to a more fire-safe condition.

I'd really like to get the place looking sharp. We're not there yet, but it's a lot neater today than yesterday, and I'll take even simple improvements over none at all, any day.

Every long, painful and ridiculous journey starts with a single, tentative step. Here's hoping it leads somewhere good.

Coming up on a year here

Yesterday, I took a look at my blog posts from last year. It seems like it's been more than a year since I moved these writings to Blogspot, but there you go. That's one of the reasons I blog, to keep minutiae like this straight.

Another thing that struck me was my stated desire to blog once per day, even if it wasn't terribly interesting. Obivously I haven't done that; honestly, I forgot about that oath almost as soon as I wrote it. Still, it sounds like a good idea. You get more "on paper" than you might think, even just posting seemingly random stuff.

Like this, for instance.

New daycare for my little buddy

My son started his new daycare/preschool this week, and it's going pretty well. They're a little strict, but only a little, and it's not a bad thing. They're a little out of my way for drop-offs, and way out of Michelle's way for pickups, but overall, a real improvement.

Dumbass detector

It's been a long, interesting thirty-six years on this planet. Although I don't know a lot, I've learned this: One earmark of a real tool is that they pronounce "salsa" with a "z" sound.

"Sahl-zuh."

I've known a comparative few who say it that way, and let's just say they have certain personality traits in common. It's not necessarily a sure-fire indicator that you're a water-headed jerk, but it's certainly a red flag.

Might wanna watch that; it ain't right, it ain't natural, and I'm onto you.

Buy Danish

Muslims are boycotting Danish products in the wake of another round of printed cartoons featuring Muhammad wearing a bomb-shaped turban.

I'd like to apply my efforts to an anti-boycott, and recommend the fervent buying of Danish products, in response. Fortunately, there's a website devoted to this cause, BuyDanish.dk. How convenient!

Who knew playing with Lego was a political statement?

Stupid people piss me off

I regularly come into contact with people with whom I must get along, but who have an ignorance about them that obstructs not only their life, but also the lives of people around them.

Regularly tripping over, and picking up after, the same potato-headed goofball again and again wears a guy down. It really grates on me to have to smile and nod and suffer the same noodle-head ad infinitum.

I had to get that out - thanks for listening.

John Bizarre makes a helluva point

The Fourth Amendment of the Constitution is under attack, and John Bizarre is raising the alarm. Aside from his paranoia and martyr complex, he makes some fine points, worthy of reckoning and attention. It's not the last word on the subject, but it makes for some damn fine food for thought.

I don't think it's quite worth abandoning the country for, but it's certainly worth consideration.

One thing I'd point out - if John's trying to put together a coalition (he raves about being the only one fighting the fight - I'd advise him to go a little lighter on the sole survivor angle), he's not trying very hard. I don't even know how to contact him, were I to pledge my pen and sword in allegiance. Which I'm ready to do, by the way.

John, if you're out there, contact me - at least you'll have someone to water your stallion before you charge off at the windmills.

That's not meant to sound as gay as it does...

Even I thought this was funny

Les Stroud has advised me and thousands of others on the safest way to break a piece of wood. I watched, listened and understood, logically, the reasons for the technique. It involves levering a branch between two fixed points and bending it until it breaks. It's wiser and safer than other methods for various reasons. Not the least of those reasons is the surprising amount of energy built up just before the branch breaks. When you're bending the branch in your hands, applying force just with your arms and wrists, the release of that force can be unpredictable.

Like I said, I understood, intellectually, the wisdom of this advice. At work yesterday, I came to understand it in a more pragmatic way.

Twisting and bending a thumb-thick branch in my hands (for reasons uninteresting for the purposes of this blog), I brought the stick to its breaking point, and simultaneously pictured Les Stroud in my mind, cracking a limb between two trees. The next moment, the stick snapped, releasing its collected force at its outer ends. One of those ends was unwittingly and unerringly aimed with brutal mathematical precision at the head of my innocent, unsuspecting dick.

With an audible thwack, I learned with a deeper, pragmatic and intensely memorable
appreciation the lesson which I had already been aware. The sensation of pain was sharp and immediate, and still, I laughed out loud. God thinks I'm hilarious.

I won't soon forget this learning experience. I share it with you now as Les shared it with me, and I hope you don't have to learn the hard way.

Things I don't understand #3

Why is it that the local grocery mart hasn't carried a single French wine in the entirety of the handful of years we've lived here? Amazing! They carry mostly Californian wines, which is understandable, but also some Australian wines and other importeds.

But not to carry even one French product? That's like carrying fine watches, but nothing from Switzerland. Like stocking Tequila, but nothing from Mexico. Like copping meth, but nothing from the Central Valley.

I finally got off my ass and out of my car, and approached one of the muckety-mucks at the store. I recommended a lower-cost vin francais that I had enjoyed in my most-recent burg. Weeks later, I got the call, and my favorite wine of old was on the shelf. Hurray! They managed to bump up the price a few bucks, but it's still cheaper than shipping from BevMo.

I feel good

Today was idyllic - warm, beautiful, clear, calm. Blue skies, fluffy clouds, calm, pleasant air. Even in the elevationally-challenged valley, the views and overall outdoors ambiance was intoxicatingly picturesque. The stuff oil paintings are made of, soothing much more than the eye, I assure you of that.

I had an unexpected free day today, and I spent it with my wife. She continues to illuminate and improve my life, and is awesome in general. We saw the movie: "Fool's Gold," which was better than the reviews made it out to be (although I doubt you'll see any Oscar nods from this particular film). My wife picked it, and it was fun.

Take that, Ebert!

Cliff has a tumor

My brother Cliff has a tumor in his brain stem. It's a little fella, but appears to be the source of all the pain and odd sensations in his extremities lately.

He's in San Francisco now for testing, and while his pain spikes when they don't keep on top of his meds, he seems satisfied with the current schedule and types of medications they've got him on; pain management without utter, drooling disconnect from reality.

Some reports indicate grim possibilities, others hint at "dodged-a-bullet" near misses. I don't know how worried to be right now. We had a cousin that died just last year, younger than either of us, from brain cancer. Nobody knows yet if this is the same thing or wildly different. He may or may not get a biopsy early next week, and know more.

His direct line at the hospital is: 415-514-5159. His cell works too, but isn't as reliable, at 209-271-4364. Give him a ring.

Gorgeous Days

Yesterday and today were just beautiful days. Sunny, clear, warm - a welcome departure from the preceding month of gray drizzle and cold winds.

I went for a jog yesterday and today, enjoying the warmth and sun (and, disgustingly, blasting the crud from my lungs, which are still recovering from last week's cold). I feel stronger for it.

It's not all sunshine and warmth in my life and especially for those around me, but as awkward as it can be, it reminds me all the more to appreciate the good.

White stuff on your tongue

One thing (among many) that pornography has ruined for me: catching snowflakes on your tongue. Amid a particularly productive snowstorm last week, I decided to enjoin the classically innocent pastime of catching snowflakes on my tongue.

Standing with my head back, eyes closed and tongue out as far as it would go, I couldn't help feeling... well, creepy and awkward. Some things you can't "un-know." Such is life, so be it.

Web links, gift ideas

A few web items catch my eye this week:

• Valley Springs has a new Martial Arts center: Lohsen Martial Arts. They feature Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, just like my heroes on "thuh teevee," at the UFC. What a great sport. Maybe I can get a few lessons for my birthday...
  
  That preceding paragraph was a hint, in case you're wondering...
  
  They could also benefit from a new website design, about which I've already made first contact. Hmm - perhaps a trade is in order...!
  
• Also, I found a neat website to get ornamental, outdoor, tree-humping jewelry. I'm partial to the "Cairn Opener Sandblasted," myself, but I'm only just beginning my window shopping.

Conversation: a symbiotic relationship

The world is full of know-it-alls, dime-store connoisseurs who have never done what you're thinking of doing, but they know more about it than you. They know because they've seen something on T.V., read it in a magazine, or had a friend who had an Uncle who worked at a company that did that type of thing. "...I think he was the janitor, but hey, he worked there, man..."

Adding to the tedium is their unwillingness to entertain other points of view, even for the sporting aspect of it. Even if they're unconvinceable, it would be good manners and good fun to consider an alternative viewpoint.

But oh, no - their third-hand pseudo-knowledge is much more valuable, potent and important than your conjecture and the anecdotes you may have collected, carried and offered to share. So shut up, breathe deeply and listen politely until you can make up an excuse to escape the vortex of hot air.

You didn't have anything to contribute anyway, did you?

Gym report

I was feeling really good last week about going to the gym. I hadn't gone in weeks, but I had some excellent excuses. Almost as good as achievement, is justification.

I feel yucky

My son brought home a gift for me last week: bacteria! The gift that keeps on giving!

I felt a twinge last night in my chest - odd, as this type of thing usually starts in my sinus. Anyway, I now feel increased sensitivity to temperature extremes in my extremities, and coughing is my new hobby.

Then again, there are those out there who have it much worse, so my despair is definitely in perspective.