Yard Signs, or, Is the Election Over Yet?

The time has come again - the midterm elections are creeping upon us. Signs are adorning yards, ads are on the air. The typical politics of politicking [sic] is everywhere you look. Who should we elect? Does it matter?

Especially in local politics where the even the liberals are conservative, does anything really change our landscape?

Let it be known before hand, that while I certainly have a political orientation, culturepulse.org does not. Our agenda here is simply for the arts. That being said, I will try my hardest to not drip my own persuasion all over this post. Since I will most likely fail, let me give a pre-enmptive whoops.

I want to talk about the arts and politics. Many do not know, and I realize this is contentious, that the arts are subsidized on a federal and local level. The National Endowment for the Arts receives its funding from the national legislature, and the North Dakota Council on the arts receives it statewide.

It is important, then, that supporters of the arts support candidates who support the arts. Make sense, right?

Let's talk about about the National Endowment for the Arts. The purpose of this overly-criticized organization is to support public access to the arts. Right now, advocates are urging Congress to support a budget of $170 million for the NEA in the FY07 Interior Appropriations bill to increase funding for the creation, preservation, and presentation of the arts in America through the NEA’s core programs—Access to Artistic Excellence, Challenge America: Reaching Every Community, Federal/State Partnerships, and Learning in the Arts.

[link to NEA talking points and informational statistics]

I'll let you know, as a point of reference, that the Mapplethorpe exhibits are a small, small minority of what is actually funded out there. For instance - my agency, the Marketing Services Partnership, which brings you culturepulse.org, is the recipient of a Challenge America Grant.

As it stands right now, the NEA funding is in a bit of hold-up. [From ArtsUSA] As expected, it appears that Congress will put off appropriations legislation and pass a continuing resolution through November, when they will return for a lame-duck session to finish the appropriations process. Congress is also expected to wrap-up numerous appropriations bills—including those that fund the NEA—into one large "omnibus" bill, which may not pass until after the November elections.

Apparently, and I've only heard this through the grapevine, our own Sen. Byron Dorgan is one of the committee members that is not interested in funding an increase. Dorgan is the ranking member of the Interior and Related Agencies Appropriations Subcommittee, which is reviewing the NEA's appropriation. On the other side of the aisle, (and the river) Sen. Norm Coleman (R-MN) has circulated a "Dear Colleague" letter to his Senate colleagues, asking their support for an increase of five to 10 million dollars for FY 2007.

Politicking aside, Dorgan is typically a supporter of the arts. As it stands right now, Dorgan and Conrad (who is up for election) have a 100% voting record with Americans for the Arts in terms of supporting arts. Rep. Pomeroy comes in close, only voting "against the arts" on three bills, one of which would have increased the NEA funding. We can't know his reasons for those votes, however. We must assume he is a supporter of the arts, since he voted positively in 22 cases.

While there are a ton of reasons the arts are important, it is most important that people get out and vote. Find out what is important to your candidates, do not just vote on party lines. This goes local all the way to the top. In the 2004 election, much to do was occurring in my parents house when we would all get together. My parents took a different route in voting than my sister and I. Based solely on concepts rather than issues. I bet if you dug up my parents voting records, they have voted one way their entire lives (for the most part... ND is a unique state, in that we are RED, but send the BLUE to DC). My voting record is spotty at best. I doubt that either party really wants me - I just simply can't be trusted.

Those that know me would assume my blood flowed blue, but in reality, would be shocked to learn I worked on a republican presidential campaign in the lead up to 2000.

Granted as I get older, it is easier to formulate personal dogma and vote according to that, and typically one party will personally triumph over the other.

That being said, North Dakotans are unique in the sense that we don't have to register. We don't really have to chose party affiliation.

As the election draws near, I urge people to focus on issues of importance - education, social welfare, economics, the conflict in Iraq, national policy and the safety of our way of life, both in terms of national security and in terms of personal liberty. Many of these topics were noticeably lacking in the last election. Republicans launched what appeared to be a tactic of scaring and the Democrats responded in-kind. Both parties failed in the last election. Both. Bi-partisan politics and the electoral system work in some situations, but I would be willing to bet that mainstream America could find a candidate in the last election that wasn't polarized on one side of the aisle or the other. In the same way, we continue to have a polarized country.

What issues are dominating the headlines? Gay marriage, abortion, social morality and Iraq. Where are the stories about the social welfare of our country? Where are the stories about the local issues? Where are the stories about the failure that is our public education system? Where are the stories about our loss of industry and jobs? Those are all again missing. The national media fuel the polarization. It's a vicious cycle.

Politics are a personal journey. Find a candidate, regardless of party affiliation, and judge them on the merits of their issues, not what animal mascot adorns their letterhead.

What does it mean, anyway? My friend Scott (who is on the opposite side of the political spectrum than I) have long discussions about how republicans are the new democrats and democrats are the new republicans. Politics have become so cyclical that the labels mean nothing anymore.

It reminds me of Barry Goldwater, the favorite "old conservative". Goldwater is often considered the father of the modern conservative movement — he was a libertarian republican who despised big government.

However, Goldwater on many occasions has blasted his own party as it moved towards the policy of morality. As early as a Sept. 15, 1981, Senate speech, Goldwater noted that Jerry Falwell's Moral Majority, anti-abortion groups and other religious right groups were sometimes referred to in the press as the "New Right" and the "New Conservatism." Responded Goldwater, "Well, I've spent quite a number of years carrying the flag of the 'Old Conservatism.' And I can say with conviction that the religious issues of these groups have little or nothing to do with conservative or liberal politics. The uncompromising position of these groups is a divisive element that could tear apart the very spirit of our representative system, if they gain sufficient strength."

Now, I'm not making any comment on Barry Goldwater as a person or as a congressman. I'm simply throwing forward one of the republican old guard, considered the quinessential conservative messiah by many, who was a supporter of a women's right to chose and gay unions.

So, where is the label in that?

Let's drop the labels and vote for representation that is logical and supportive of our growth as a community, as a nation, and as a people.

Get out the vote. Or else.

What's that Noise, or, Listening to the Call in the Conversations and Circumstances of Daily Life.

Long title, I know. Perhaps a bit wordy. Perhaps a bit theo-babble... but there it is.

Outside the realm of politics and religion, you don't hear about "the call" very often, but it is something that exists in our very lives and the fabric of who we are.

The call can be a variety of things. Some people consider it a burden on their hearts, or an act of consciousness. Some people consider it the inescapable desire to serve (think nonprofits here, or people that give philanthropically). Some people consider the burden to be the cosmic balance where things fall right in to place - whether its coincidence or not.

In many ways, my decision to move to Grand Forks was the basis of a call. From the day I read the job posting in the Herald, I lost the ability to sleep... I knew I must make this job mine at all cost. Even if that cost was working in food service at Moorhead State for 6 weeks.

As we think about the state of the arts and their play on the community; as we listen to the needs of the community that we have the capability to serve, I ask you to consider your personal call in the conversations and circumstances of daily life.

How much of what goes on around us can we impact? How much of our talents go to waste because we fail to put them into practice. I've blogged about James's philosophy of living each day to do something extraordinary. I'm sure I've mentioned my desire to positively impact the lives of those around me. This weekend, I met a wonderful man named Chase who's vision is to provide voices to the voiceless. In fact, the exact mission statement is: Giving a voice to those silenced by society. Wanting to expose worldly injustice fuels this driving desire. Read about, learn from and be inspired by the people I meet, and the experiences I am having."

After recovering from the fact that this individual is not a unicorn, I stood in humble reverence when I met him, having known how he's put this ideology into practice.

When something like that happens, those random, almost cosmic meetings, you know there is greater purpose. If we don't watch out, they can slip us by, unless we watch for our call in the conversations and circumstances of daily life.

What are your passions? What drives you? Where do you find your joy? Is it in your job? Is it your ability to give? Is it in the knowledge that you are financially stable?

In most major religions, when they are not trying to destroy the world and each other, a tenant of happiness is service. Living a life of service to others is a way to answer the calls that we encounter daily, and respond.

James constantly climbs his soap box and rattles about people refusing to perceive what's going on around them. I don't mean in a Miss Cleo (who just came out as a lesbian) faux-precog fashion... I mean, people tend to have a complete lack of empathy for their brothers and sisters.

Believing in the confines of social construct, he believes that most people spend life unhappy, because they have not lived to their full potential, and will take security over the joy of answering an employment call that reflects the circumstances of daily life.

The question itself is profound. The answers, however personal, will blow your mind.

I encourage you to listen for that call, and get involved. Life is best when we work together for the common good.

Listen to the calling the conversations and circumstances of daily life. Can you hear it?

Peace::Ben::Team Culture Pulse

All Hail to Thee Oh..., or, What Puts the Great in Great

I'm beat. Bushed. Kaput. In the words of Lilly Von Shtup, "I'm not a wabbit."

A long drive today, with a lot of time to ponder. I remember how much I loved that drive from my days at Waldorf. It's amazing what you can process in 9 hours on the road.

What a weekend (I hope you went to arts events)... lots of official things to do, from the dedication of Waldorf's new 6th Street Entrance to banquets, to tailgating and, of course, the "social engagements."

Waldorf's growth is very evident to me, because I come with perspective. I was at Waldorf during a tenuous period, and I notice the changes, both in the bricks and the brains behind the growth. I can't imagine what those classes that celebrated 50 year reunions felt about growth, changes and Waldorf's new missions of service. It must have been overwhelming. It's amazing what a point of reference and a bit of perspective give you.

Though it may sound weird, I stayed with two of my professors (they're married). These professors have become so much more - they are amazing people. They are just one of the reasons that Waldorf is such an amazing place, and holds such a special place in my heart. A flood of emotion accompanies any trip back, and I become overjoyed. I remember thinking, as I was driving the last 10 miles into Forest City on Friday night, even the pig s%it smells good...

It was good to be back. I got to see great friends (Joy, who I haven't seen since her wedding... Jeff, who I haven't seen since my graduation... and Jamie (who apparently now goes by Jim, which I refuse to accept) who I haven't seen in several months). It was great to see them, especially in our old haunt. I even made met new people, one of whom I'm looking forward to getting to know better... It was a good trip. It was a meaningful trip.

This morning, at our homecoming worship service (Waldorf is a Lutheran School), the pastor delivered a sermon that asked "What makes a Great college Great?"

The new president of Waldorf (Dick Hanson) is a sociologist by trade, and has a certain disdain for the word great. According to him, over the years, the word great has lost its meaning and has become a word void of any specific purpose. How often do we say "Great" and really not mean it?

As the pastor was discussing what makes a great college great, my mind focused on the many applications of this particular question, and I thought to myself "What makes a great arts organization great?"

Perhaps a great arts organization is great when it achieves a certain financial status. Those organizations that have budgets exceeding $200,000/year. In Grand Forks, that amount of financial positioning is unique, so surly those organizations are "great."

Perhaps an arts organization becomes great when it reaches a certain point of critical acclaim. Once the community recognizes the importance of the organization to the cities welfare, greatness is achieved.

Perhaps an arts organization reaches greatness once they exist for a certain time frame. Existence for several decades certainly achieve "greatness."

If you informally define "great," it is used to express enthusiasm, approval, or agreement. If we look further, beyond the informality that has come to plague our language, it defines as remarkable or out of the ordinary in degree or magnitude or effect. So, what is it, intrinsically, that causes an arts group to fill that descriptor. What is it that makes not only an arts organization "great" but defines a "great arts community."

Many of our arts organizations, by their age and nature, seem fledgling, but really have achieved many things that are "great." When I first moved here, I noticed immediately the amount of emphasis that area arts organizations placed on education. Even our pre-professional and professional organizations focus a portion of their efforts on youth education. The mission of our organizations reach beyond the ordinary scope of "art for arts sake" and really strive to bring art to the masses, starting with people at a young age. From baby ballet to the youth symphony, these organizations look to create artists rather than provide entertainment. At the same time, these groups are creating their own audience by infusing arts into community early on.

Many of our arts organizations are created for community access. Our organizations and their events, whether perceived or not, are not cliquey or closed. They embrace all. From the high-brow genre of symphony to community theatre, the organizations are open to all interested in participating. Granted, many are audition based, but the door is open to all.

Many of our arts organizations perform challenging programming, and are looking to expand their scope to challenge the audience in Grand Forks. Through we, by national statistics, are a small community, we perform beyond that level.

Do these things make us great? Are these things extraordinary? Perhaps, but these are not what makes our community great. These are things on the tip of my mind. Over the next week or so, I plan on asking the arts groups, and community members this same question. What makes arts organizations great, and specifically, what makes our arts community great? What are these strengths that we can capitalize upon, and what are the areas where we need to work harder?

These are the questions we need to ask. Moving forward, and moving up takes perspective. We must have a point of reference, and a benchmark. History is worthless if it teaches us nothing, and we as a community are nothing if we don't know what makes us great. If we are unable to laud ourselves and the work we do, people will better come to know us. We do a lot of things well, and many organizations are positioning themselves to be even better in the coming year. It's time to let the world know, it is time to preach what we practice.

9 hours worth of plans and ideas. A refreshing weekend. New friends. New perspective. It's refreshing and I can't wait to get started.

We begin.

Peace::Ben::TeamCulturePulse

Weekend Drizzle, or, the Itsy Bitsy Spider Went Down to Iowa

I like the rain. I really do. It ushers me back to a better time, back on the farm, with open skies and a hint of manure in the air.

Among the list of things that would probably surprise people, I grew up on a farm. We moved in to town in 1988 when I was in the 6th grade, having built a home in a community of under 1000. So, in reality, being a town boy meant nothing more than we had to travel further to feed the cattle.

I started to get into the arts as a young child... I had my first real acting gig in a centennial show (also the late 80s) where I said "I think I hear it coming" in reference to the train that ultimately caused the community of Hoskins, North Dakota to pick up and move three miles to the east to coincide with the coming of the Burlington Northern Trains (the same trains that I'd like to move three miles away from me today). Later on in that same production, I somehow came out of a huge glittery box as a child of the future (wearing an awful lot of white) to a rousing rendition of "Celebrate" as sung by our local centennial choir.

Now, when people talk about their home town centennials, they are typically spouting about some tragic "Waiting for Guffman"-esque event where people really overdo their own tragedy. Not Ashley. It was a remarkable event, and almost the entire town was involved. The production was well over two hours long, with a cast of around a hundred and a choir of more. Some of the music required two pianists. The entire show was a tintypes musical, and the backdrop was a multimedia presentation (keep in mind, this was in 87, so it was done with a framed scrim and a slide projector). We converted our high school proscenium stage into a thrust that jutted 30% into our gym. We hired a professional directing staff. The lead was an actor who had Ashley roots (and, as it were, was the Asst. Dean of Students who would recruit me to attend Waldorf College almost 10 years later).

In fact, it was so good, that our choir was selected to represent the state of ND one year later in a touring show for the ND Centennial. This was my second acting gig. I played Flicky the Flickertail, to critical success, I may add. In fact, in one scene, where I'm pulling a tumbleweed, I almost brought a tear to my own eyes.

Ah, the 80's. Bad hair, bad clothes, terrible music and tragedy afoot. But these were the golden years of my youth. Now back to the rain.

When you live on a farm, you almost feel part of nature. I think this comes from the fact that it surrounds you, both the good and the bad. I loved living on the farm - there were vast acres of land to explore, each with its own adventure. There were rock piles to climb and claim as your castle. There were forests to explore, forts to build, and sticks to forge into weapons. There were bales to climb, and buildings to scale. You could truly remove yourself from the world, and disappear in to your own, invented, world. I believe this phenomenon is why so many "farm boys and girls" turn out to be authors, poets, etc. Escape-ism comes naturally, and the imagination runs away from you at times.

That being said, we were connected to the world. We had a dish. We were "in town" every day. My mother was a teacher (and my father went back to that profession when we scaled back the farming in 1997) and so we were always on the go. My parents were unique in many ways. My father, your typical alpha-male farmer with a good heart and a great laugh, who listened to the Statler Brothers and Kenny Rogers on 8-track (I grew up on "Flowers on the Wall" and "The Gambler," and both songs are among the tunes someone now listens to on my iPod). My father, however, had a huge thing for Elton John songs and Queen. In fact, Queen was his first CD, and Elton's greatest hits was his second, and I don't think he's purchased one since.

My mother, on the other hand, had vinyls of Jesus Christ Superstar and was more hip to music than I. I remember driving to elementary school, and my mother jamming out to Alice Cooper's "Poison" and "When I See you Smile." This was when they were all the rage, not when they became tragic throwback. If nothing else, my mother is hip to the world, and since I'm not a huge fan of top 40, keeps me connected to what the kids are listening too. Sometimes I forget I'm still in my 20s.

My grandparents were of the big band era, and it as there I got introduced to the polka, the waltz and the wonder of "dancing music."

What more could a blooming artist want? Nothing. This is what I think of when it rains.

Now, if it were snowing - I'd be thrilling you with a diatribe about heat vents, crocheted blankets, ice cream and saltine crackers. But that's for another time.

James and I were talking last night (en route to prank a friend's car while he was at the movies) about the human brain's inability to be reflective on the now. He and I both live in the past. We reflect on how good it was and hope that in 10 years, we look back on our present and feel the same way. That's not to say life sucks right now, quite the contrary, but I don't think about it in term of qualifying. I just live it.

I often wonder if everyone lives in the past, because they've got both historical perception and a point of reference, or if just creative types live in the past, because it is from those experiences that we draw our inspiration.

This week has been a reflective one because of so many things. The weather... the smell of fall... the rain... It reminds me of football. It reminds me of the first day of school. It reminds me of one of my favorite pre semester rituals - the new backpack and trapper keeper arrangement evening. Oh God - the fun. The sorting. In fact, I was so nostalgic this year, I went out and purchased a new laptop bag, and like a kid in a candy store, converted from old to new with a smile on my face.

Our past is filled with rituals - rites of passage. From the first time we fell off our bike, to the first time our sister's left us on a swing set being attacked by a rabid skunk. It is these rituals that build our historical perspective. It gives us points of reference to analyze our present and our current state of being.

Another ritual approaches. In two hours I pack my car and head to Iowa (sans iPod) for my college homecoming. It's a weird place, and 10 miles out, I always start to feel nauseous. There are places I can't go on campus (the tunnels beneath the theatre) alone because I am overcome with emotion. In fact, my friend Emilie has only been down there once. In silence, she walked... looked at the names, no... the legacy scrawled on the walls, and left. She's never been back.

I heard through the grapevine that the new faculty at Waldorf painted over the legacy wall. Years and years of theatre students leaving their mark and their wisdom for the future to come... years and years of historical perspective gone. Covered.

[update: I went to the tunnels this weekend, and though they are painted, the legacy was left unscathed... it meant even more to me than before to realize it wasn't taken from us... I know, oh, how dramatic... shut up - it was the theatre, we're allowed. lol.]

So, think about what makes us human. What makes us challenge ourselves to push forward and better ourselves. What gives us perspective.

One of the great things about art, is that is what it was designed for. Theatre is the now - taking you away for awhile and giving you a glimpse of topics and concepts. Visual art draws you in. Music surrounds you. Dance entrances you...

This weekend, while it is raining, I challenge you to see something in our arts community, and then actually process it. Sit down with a nice glass of wine after words and really talk with your partner or guest about what you felt, where you were inside your head, and what you take from the play. Share here, in the comment section, if you feel so willing.

Dinner with Friends is in its second week at the Fire Hall, and I haven't seen it, so I can't give you a "go or no go". But, I still say, attend, and check it out. Rebecca Sefcovic Uglem, Steve Augustin, and Allison Peterson all have work on display around town. The moving exhibition Vanished: German American Internment 1941-1948 is on display on the corner of University and Harvard Avenues.

The University of North Dakota Observatory is hosting Star Parties at dusk this evening.

Tomorrow, we've got Farmer's Market and a Mini-Silent Auction: Angela Sweic, Prairie Portraits at the World's Smallest Gallery in Urban Stampede. East Grand Forks Campbell Library has a River Forks Watercolor Society Exhibition. On Sunday, Introductions: Artists Self Portraits opens at the North Dakota Museum of Art.

There is a lot going on this weekend. So, get off your toosh and experience it. Enjoy what we have to offer, and think of me driving to Iowa.

Be reflective. Enjoy the now. Take some time to listen to the rain drops pounding your rooftop and remember. It's a good thing.

Peace::Ben::TeamCulturePulse

I Felt Metropolitan, or, Jammin on Third Street

Real quickly... a co-worker and I met at Dakota Harvest Bakery today for lunch.

The first time I went, I was underimpressed. They had no vegetarian option. I don't know why this irritates me, but it did, and I vowed to never go again. Apparently they cought me on a rough day. I, of course, went back. They now do a lovely job with the vegetarian fare and have really come in to their own.

So, if you haven't gone, it's a must. Today was a spicy corn chowder day, and that was enough to reverse the damage of the insurance adjuster calling at 7am this morning.

But, this has nothing to do with my story. It is important, however, because otherwise the story would be one sentence long.

My excitment came from a guitar player set up outside Scott's Music on Third. With guitar case out, and a couple people listening, he was playing music. On the street. This is the first time I've seen this during the daytime. Since I work on campus, I am not downtown a lot during the day, but it made me smile none the less. Plus, my cell phone just arrived via fed ex. Literally this moment. It'll be a good day.

Peace::Ben::Team CulturePulse.

Faux Progressive Awakening, or, Times is Hard, Sir... Times is Hard

So, for those that don't know me, I'm a vegetarian. Long story about why, and it doesn't matter. I don't have any sort of affinity towards our bovine or pork friends... my car seats are leather, and my couch is suede. I am not a member of PETA, though I support their ability to do what they do (though they may be a smidge radical). I grew up on a dairy and beef farm (with a few pigs on the side). I just have a huge veggie fetish. It's true, and I fly my veggie pride flag high.

In anycase, as a result, I take vitamins to make sure I'm getting all my daily whatevers. The place I order from threw in a free progressive awakening CD. Something quite scientific, in fact, or so the CD may lead me to believe.

Apparently based on octavinal scales and the Fibonacci number sequence, an initial melodic tone is supposed to key your brain to slowly draw itself out of REM sleep, and over the next 6-8 minutes the tone and octavinal intervals should awaken you progressively, versus jarring you out of sleep.

Now I am used to the jarring. Whether it be the demon spawn that is the Burlington northern conductors, or my obnoxious alarm clock, it's an all out psychological battle every time I try to wake up. So, I thought, what the hell, I'll give it a try.

Yesterday, my first attempt at Progressive Awakening, was a no go. For some reason, my brain had me up by 7. Never made it to the alarm. Strike One.

I should side note here: There are six tracks you can chose from. One in the key of C, one in the key of G, one in the key of E flt, one that has "rock underscoring" and than one called "Children's Sunrise". Allow me to spout a bit about Children's Sunrise. Underscored with what appears to be carnival and playground noises, the track features intermittent, octavinal children's laughs. If this doesn't describe it enough, picture the first Freddy Kruger, or any Steven King movie. Creepy is not even on the short list of adjectives.

So this morning, the initial melody from track one hits. I wake up immediately and throw a pillow at the CD Player. I fall back asleep. This continues until at some point, having shifted back into some sort of delta or REM sleep, I began to dream. Apparently, the CD continues on after track one is complete, and, as you can probably guess, my delta sleep coincided with the playing of track six. Welcome to Children's Sunrise. Only in this version, there was indeed a pennywise the clown, and very little laughter. Strike Two.

I will give it another go tomorrow. I believe in truly testing things out before I ship them away from me. In the meantime, pass me a bottle of ibeprofun and a glass of scotch. It's time to begin my day.

Peace::Ben::Team Culture Pulse

Glass Art, or, Don't Park on the Street

Friday began like any other day. I awoke thinking I was really glad it was Friday, then immediately chastised myself for being that common. Of course, everyone is glad when it's Friday. That's why there is that ridiculously annoying TGIF and the associated restaurant and ABC family lineup.

Little known fact, the phrase was first popularized by the 1978 movie starring Donna Summer, Thank God It's Friday. The phrase has also become common for advertising and promotional materials. On college campuses beginning in the 1970s, the phrase became associated with Friday afternoon beer parties, usually held outdoors. I'll get to that tie in momentarily. The only time I've not been enraged by it's use was in the movie Dragnet when Pep Streebeck says the line "Thank God, it's Friday!" I thought it was fun. I digress.

So, after the rage subsided, I did the normal morning routine of shower, breakfast, banter about life and such with James and the subsequent niceties. Wandering to my closet, I realize I was pret-near out of clean clothes, and the only dress shirt I had left was chartreuse, so donning that bit of spring cheer, I wandered to my car.

The evening before, James and my friend Scottie and I made feeble attempts to upgrade my Verizon cell phone. I have been fighting with Verizon for some time now since I am not eligible for an upgrade until February, but my phone is such a certifiable piece of crap that many of its features no longer work. And by features, I mean the 9 key and the ability to talk on it for longer than 2 minutes without it shutting off.

Keep in mind I have been with Verizon since the mid-90's when my 1989 Red Pontiac Grand Prix (complete with red hubcaps) had a car/bag phone that made me look super cool, ala Zach Morris. My frustration lies in the fact that any new Joe off the street can sign up for two years, and get a new phone, but I, the ever faithful client, can not.

After bitching, and finally threatening to break my contract and visit the nice folks at Altell, I was alerted that I did, in fact, qualify for the "Early Upgrade Program" which is Verizon's completely invented "appease angry customers" faux-program. I knew of its existence because I've had friends use it, and I may or may not have used it to procure the aforementioned piece of crap I am currently using.

So armed with my e-mail from Guillermo at Verizon Customer Service, I went on the mad hunt for a new phone, only to learn that I must order my "Early Upgrade" over the phone, or at a corporate store. Instead of anger, we went to Panda Buffet and made poor choices.

Arriving home, I parked my car on third street across from the county parking ramp. I've never parked here before, but figured what the hell, and went inside.

Fastforward now to Friday morning.

Upon approaching my car, I felt something may be askew. Call it a premonition, or maybe it was the fact that there was glass laying next to my car and my window was busted in. I surveyed... missing iPod. Now I'm just pissed. Is an iPod really worth that much?

I called the police, who informed me that there was nothing I could do, and hoped that I'd learned my lesson about leaving items of value in cars. I, of course, have. The officer gave me a complaint number and wished me luck in finding my stolen "I-Pon" but cautioned me that I'd probably never see it again, and I should prepare to buy a new one.

My next step is to James' scooby-inspired celebrity and a jaunt to my office. I know Apple has a strict policy about iPods. They use the serial number to track how many computers the media player has attached itself too, and of course, limit that usage. They do this to avoid people sharing media and thus allowing people free music. It stands to reason, then, that they could tell me the ip address of the computer my iPod was to connected too, and ergo, the identity. It seemed to me this would make sense to them, by protecting not only their clients but also the fact that I had around 3,000 songs on my iPod, which someone now has for free (I sure hope they like showtunes). I was wrong. Apple refuses to track stolen iPods. They told me "Buy a new one, and thank you for chosing Apple." At this point, I figured the threat to switch to Altell would not impact them as it did Verizon, so my battle was lost.

The light at the end of this tunnel is that my renter's insurance will cover the iPod. The window will not be reported to insurance since the cost is less than my deductible, but thanks to the good folk at Modern Auto Body (my auto body shop of choice in the Grand Cities - this is the 2nd time my car has visited them in about 6 months) we are keeping that cost ultra-low. Throw in an oil change (and the free vacuum that comes along) from Paul and Jay at Odin's Belmont (who didn't give me any shit about the glass they had to vacuum, but chewed my ass because my oil looked like molasses), and my day was looking up.

To celebrate my good fortune, James and I decided to partake in the ambrosia of depressed people, and were in the bar by about 2:30pm. Things did not go well beyond that point. Of course, I had a good time.

However, at one point in the evening my brain forgot to tell my left leg that my right one was moving and I now have an ice pack on my knee and a bottle of ibuprofen (fortunately, I had an ice pack already brewin' in the freezer). I may have had to be carried home, but dammit, all was well with the world.

My new iPod will be here in a week. My car will be out of the shop Monday afternoon. Sean at Verizon hooked me up with my new cellphone which will be here Tuesday. The fantastic folks at Modern let me store my car inside with them over the weekend since I don't have a garage. My hangover wasn't that severe, and all in all, life is good.

For a lasting upside to this whole dramatic situation, we've saved the shattered remains of what used to be my window. They will be turned into art as a lasting reminder to never, ever, park on the streets of Grand Forks.

Pondering Friday, or, This Ice Pack is Cold

So, I just wrote a terribly long blog, and my computer apparently decided it wasn't good enough, so it sent it to that cyber-netherworld in the sky.

I'll attempt to re-cap. But, know that I am immensely irritated.

My apologies for my failure to keep this blog up-to-date have become daunting. It seems to me it would be easier to just update the damned thing than answer to people every time I enter a coffee shop or a Crimson rehearsal. Well, we all have our cross to bear.

Again, it's not a lack of love that precludes me from my cyber-duty... it's the sheer exhaustion, the crumpling into my bed at the end of a long day... the bed, which as of 4:00 today has been adorned with a feather-bed top... guess who's excited? It's been a busy time in the local arts, and a busier time in our downtown mecca... I'll recap in a bit.

For the first time since jr. high football (I don't want to hear about it), I visited a chiropracter this week. The tragedy of the entire experience is that I had no cause or reason for the three rotated vertebrae that plagued my very existence. Be sure that I am the worlds largest pain-pansy... and that I made every one around miserable, just to share in my glory. When asked what I was doing at the time I noticed the injury (or the hours leading up to it) I really did want to conjure a lie, some grand escapade that would immortalize me in the mind of this man with the magic fingers. My A game was not on, however, and I was forced to tell the truth. I was walking to the bathroom to take a shower. Unless, of course, the fact that I was visiting my parents made my vertebrae do the twist, but I highly doubt that.

Now, I search for answers to the anomaly in my back. Really I do. I had been up for several hours... watched a bit of TV with my mother, gone for a bike ride with my nephew (who was ever-so excited about the new kickstand Uncle Ben just got him), and played some Lego's with my niece (who will either be a WWE wrestler, or an architect... or ride a Harley - it's very much up in the air at this point, but she's cute and she's two, so we allow it). Now, the fact that said bike ride and Lego excursion is the most physical activity I've gotten in awhile aside, I was playing it pretty safe.

Be sure there was ample amounts of mockery from all who found out. To borrow a phrase from the grand dame of tragedy, Jerri Blank: G'Times! Mmmmph.

Time is relative here in Grand Forks... while the city seems to move at a slower pace, life is a flutter...

Strike that. I don't want to be remembered as the guy who dropped "a flutter." Oh well.

The 3rd Street Galley's art auction has come and gone, and by virtue of the wine, I thought I had more money than I do. If I look to my left, I can admire the Memo "Thinker" sculpture that is now a part of my permanent collection. Granted, I had to wrestle some lady, and take out BG in the final moments of bidding, but dammit, I won, and that is all that mattered.

Seasons are taking off here, and most arts groups launch their new offerings this month. Downtown is packed as well, as fall draws close. (Okay, really, who am I with this pretentious writing style?)

It's nice to see people downtown - and varying scenes too. The 2nd Annual Rock Fest brought GF's teen scene to the downtown with 11 bands in 11 hours (I used teen scene because it rhymed, and that makes me clever, but really, adults were representing as well). A few days before that, Gilly's shut down 3rd with the Johnny On The Block street party. I attended, adorned with a VIP pass which gave me access to my own port-a-potty.

As I was pondering life today, my college friend Marc called me from the set of CSI where he was somehow involved. He's an actor down in LA. He was wondering what "Southie" meant - since several people were wearing "Southie Pride" jackets. I told him it had to do with Boston, and he immediately became enraged. This happens a lot with him. He had a virtual breakdown about the lyrics to "Auld Lang Syne" once, and couldn't understand how there could be a "First Noel" with there has clearly been no noels since. I like him a lot... he keeps me grounded. He was also quite annoyed with an actor, who shall remain nameless, because he didn't know his lines. He'd been on the shoot for 11 hours, and was a bit delirious. He made me talk to an extra named Emily. It was all very confusing.

Stay tuned for some cool things that are up and coming. The MSP project is coming to a close, and we're quite proud of our accomplishments - specifically CulturePulse, which couldn't have been done without the help of the North Valley Arts Council, the UND College of Arts and Sciences and my boys down in San Hose (holla). The future holds some interesting things for me, all of which I talked about in my previously-deleted blog, so you don't get to know about them at this point.

Just know that as I sit here pondering to my laptop, apparently with a case of keyboard diarrhea, with an ice pack on my back, I am awaiting the unknown adventure that tomorrow will bring. I've got a smile on my face, and a g'times on the tip of my tongue.

(okay, I'm lying... I'm far to anal retentive for that... I've got tomorrow's pre-approved agenda printed, laminated, and taped to my fridge.)

Peace::Ben::Team CulturePulse