Life in Omaha (in Scottsdale)

Good Bye for Now

2006-07-27T15:47:00.000-07:00

Regular readers of LiO(iS) should note that we've corrected a grievous error regarding a local Scottsdale civic group. The Scottsdale Jaycees are not a French-hating organization after all.

The exchange between me and the president of the Scottsdale Jaycees--perfectly civil, I should point out--has caused me to reconsider the nature of the blog. I never had any concerns about putting my full name on this blog. I assumed I would be perfectly willing to back up anything I wrote, and I certainly would not publish anything compromising or private.

However, I never intended for the blog to be a public representation of myself or my family. It was always meant as an extended letter home, not as a public platform for my ideas. But with my name on the byline, as it were, and Blogger being a completely public forum, it has become that. LiO(iS) is now untenable in its current form.

Hence, Life in Omaha (in Scottsdale) will cease publication with this entry.

I will be creating a new blog in the near future, which will be written anonymously. Those of you interested can email me, and I will happily give you the new address. The content will still be the same--erratic postings, pictures of the kid, rantings that will still be only mildly amusing--but these will lack the signature at the bottom. As soon as I come up with a good psuedonym, I'll be up and running. Until then,

Ciao, au revoir and good bye.

Tickle those Ivories

2006-07-12T17:57:00.000-07:00

Tickle those Ivories
Originally uploaded by shermans.

Hello Mesa!

2006-07-12T17:55:00.000-07:00

Hello Mesa!
Originally uploaded by shermans.

An Intimate Moment with the Audience

2006-07-12T17:53:00.000-07:00

An Intimate Moment with the Audience
Originally uploaded by shermans.

Happy 4th you French Bastards

2006-07-05T19:07:00.000-07:00

UPDATE: The President of the Scottsdale Jaycees informs me that the Jaycees themselves were not responsible for the signs. The editors of LiO(iS) apologize for the error. In the future, we're likely to be as careless, but we'll try to do better.

Since I tarred them with such a careless brush, I feel honor bound to point out that we had a good time at the event and for the record, we don't even like fireworks that much, as my parents will attest. We were very happy that the event was put on, can't fault them too much for the bad taste in music, ate three of their hotdogs, and were at least partially responsible for two of the watermelon seeds floating around. The Scottsdale Jaycees do many wonderful things in the area, and they certainly deserve praise for what they've done. We here at LiO(iS) salute them and look forward to participating and supporting them whenever we can.
________________

Our holiday wore us out. In the morning, Judy went running and I went for a ride in the hills. We don't know what Ciela did, but she was pretty sweaty when we got back. Then it was showers and relaxation while watching Germany v Italy. After that, on to the bikes and a ride over to the pool. Ciela and Judy splashed around. I swam 800m before sinking, and we all floated like jellyfish.

After we tired of swimming, we put on presentable clothes (although, I must say I look very fit in my new speedo 3/4 swim pants--they look more like biking shorts than the traditional speedo, and they do show off the Hermanson derriere quite nicely), and went to Chapparal Park's "Old Fashioned Fourth of July Celebration." They coined the name out of desperation, I think, because they didn't set off any fireworks.

But here's what I want to write about. All around the event, they (the Scottsdale Jaycees, I believe) had placed little patriotic trivia signs. Each sign had two questions, one for adults and one for kids. They were rather innocuous: "What president is on the penny?"; "Name the five branches of the armed service."; "Who wrote the Gettysburg Address?" and so forth.

And this one:

"Name one of the nations the USA fought during World War II."

Go ahead and think of an answer. I'll give you a few moments.

.
?
.
?
.
?
.
?
.
?
Okay, you probably, like me, guessed one of the three original Axis powers: Germany, Japan, or Italy. Probably in that order. But in case you were a little light in your history facts, they provided a hint:

"The Eiffel Tower"

Judy and I looked at each other.

"What the $%&*?!" was my eloquent thought.

Now, technically, they are right, I suppose. France, in a manner of speaking, did collaborate with Germany, but calling France one of our enemies in World War II smacks of historical revisionism, and certainly out of place in the extremely reductive genre of paperboard sign trivia contests on the Fourth of July. It ignores Charles de Gualle, the Free French Forces, and the fact that the US recognized Vichy France as the legitimate government of France--not our proudest moment.

I stood there for a minute, amidst the smoldering hot dogs, the seeds spit from watermelon full mouths, the bad music floating over the sound system (Toby Keith's "Courtesy of the Red, White and Blue", a horrible piece of jingoistic and cliche-ridden country pablum completely appropos for the scene) and could just imagine some bitter, arrogant PERSON WHO IS NOT A JAYCEE AND WE REITERATE THAT THE JAYCEES ARE GOOD PEOPLE, smoldering at the indignities thrust upon this country by war protestors, the ACLU, Democrats, environmentalists, homosexuals, coloreds, jews and and Kennedys. He may not be able to swipe at all of them, but goddamn, he was going to get the French. Pass the Freedom Fries, Martha, I'll show them cheese-eaters. Your wine and brie would be beer and sausages if it weren't for good ole Uncle Sam. Take that froggy. And he prints out the delicious morsel of reactionary bile.

The irony, of course, is that the French were our key allies during the Revolutionary War, of which--and I'm sure you are way ahead of me here--this particular holiday celebrates. Were it not for the French, our baseball, hot dogs, apple pie and lemonade would be cricket, fish and chips, and mushy peas. How much would you enjoy your spotted dick and kidney pie, you Limbaugh-loving ignoramus?

This last part I apparently shouted out, much to the confusion and embarassment of Judy. Ciela thought it was pretty funny, though, and ran around saying "spotted dick" to everyone at the festival.

Mass-transit Op-Ed

2006-07-03T09:10:00.000-07:00

The Scottsdale Tribune published my first Op-Ed piece over the weekend. I had sent it in on Monday, and they responded right away, saying they were considering it and could I provide them with a photo. Then nothing for five days. They even ran a letter to the editor on the same topic. I had assumed they had decided not to run it. Then Saturday morning, as I got out of the shower, Judy yelled up that my picture was on the front page. They had given me a "refer" as my friend in the business calls it. A page one blurb about my commentary on the editorial page. In addition to my picture, they also ran a 3x4 picture of traffic above the piece. The whole thing was pretty cool, although my picture makes me look like a doofus who can't afford a haircut.

Here's the piece. The Tribune, unfortunately, doesn't put commentaries on their website. Just official editorials.

----
In Monday’s Tribune, Tom Patterson offered a paean to the highways that ignores the limited and deprived life that comes from a city dependent upon cars. Mr. Patterson argues that private ownership of cars gives us “privacy, mobility and autonomy,” but he doesn’t tell us that such benefits are not available to all. Children under the driving age, some of the elderly, and those who cannot afford a car are left behind. Those of us who would prefer other options—walking, biking or light rail—are out of luck. We must forfeit time and money to ever longer commutes on ever more congested roads.

Children, especially, are harmed by such a community. They are confined to a miniscule world of rec rooms, backyards, and for the fortunate ones, a nearby playground. They are completely dependent upon adults for any entry into the larger world. Such dependency perpetuates a state of adolescence until magically, at the age of sixteen, they are expected to become independent citizens. It is no surprise that such wrenching change is not always gracefully managed. Parents suffer as well, reduced to chauffer status for a sizeable portion of the day. And lest we forget, our widespread suburbs force us into paying for a mass transit system that runs only twice a day and is limited to children—school busses.

The sprawling communities created by building more highways lead to a spiritually deprived and economically wasteful city environment. Time sacrificed to commuting leaves us absent time to spend with friends and family, absent time for visiting the library, absent time for exercising, playing the piano, reading, or writing letters. Worse, such sprawl eats at the social fabric that holds our communities together. It makes it difficult to meet neighbors and it restricts our options for civic engagements such as attending council meetings, volunteering for political parties, or even merely participating in clubs or sports. Mass transit along with a more dense urban fabric can return this time to us, enriching our lives.

Patterson does make a slight nod to environmental and safety concerns, noting that cars are becoming cleaner and safer. Yet despite improvements, cars still are a major source of pollution and tens of thousands die every year in auto accidents compared to a scant few who die in mass transit accidents. And Mr. Patterson’s claim that more highways will reduce congestion shows a remarkable blindness to history. New roads always come with new traffic, and without an alternative, we are doomed to be forever behind the curve.

Advocates of mass transit are not taking away cars. Rather, they are offering the valley options and, in the long run, the only viable way of alleviating congestion on our roadways. Mr. Patterson, employing a tired anti-intellectualism, claims that environmentalists, academics and local media—“elitists” he calls them—are lecturing the residents of the valley. But it is Mr. Patterson who claims to know what the people want. It is he who would take away our freedom to choose and imprison all of us in small steel cages.

City Life

2006-07-02T15:06:00.000-07:00

City Life
Originally uploaded by shermans.

Ciela stands in the middle of the vast urban fabric we created for her cars and trucks: a more simple SimCity. She began with the cars and trucks, but soon grew weary of the punishing grind of play. On her knees, supplicant to the demands of the 1986 Aerostar, hobbling herself so that it might run, she finally gave up and stood upright. She liked to walk the streets after dark, alone with her thoughts. A solitary saxaphone wailed in the night while the misty rain settled around her shoulders, building and building until a single trickle would slip down her arm. At the turnabout near 8th, she met Two Nickles. She told him about the fireman, his failure and then collapse at the Mercantile. Two Nickles was sympathetic, but could do nothing.

"What's done is done, kid. Larry was a good man, but he didn't have it."

"That's bullshit," she said. She knew the swearing wasn't good. It revealed too much of her emotions, and it wasn't allowed in the house. She'd tried to cut back, but like the gin and the cigarettes, it was a part of her. "That's bullshit and you know it. He didn't lose it because of some weakness, some crack in his mortar. He was set up. The Chinese girl. The young one. She sunk him like a leaky boat."

Two Nickles wasn't buying it. "Look, kid. I know you liked the fireman. We all did. Like I said, he as a good man, but he was burning up, inside and out. If it wasn't the Chinese girl, it would have been the cop or the train conductor or the token black kid. He was going down."

They walked over to the plastic tree. The monkey was loud tonight, screeching of love and loss and the hidden terrors of some ancient jungle lost long ago. Ciela pushed the swing hanging from the branch. It was light, almost without substance.

"I loved the fireman," she said, "but he was too good for me."

Maybe so, thought Two Nickles, but he didn't say it. "He was too good for all of us," he said, and she offered up a rueful smile.

He looked at her, pushing the red plastic swing, her bare shoulders white in the moonlight. She was so small, even though she towered over these streets. Beyond her, he could see the turnabout, the dead end at the piano, and past that the fields and the golf course and finally the 101 stretching out into the desert. This world would burn her alive if she let it. Not as fast as the fireman, but slowly and inevitably, she would succumb to the heat. The fireman was gone, and that meant no one and nothing else could stop the heat.

The rain had stopped some time ago, and despite the darkness, they both could feel the temperature building.

"Let's go, kid," Two Nickles said.

"Yeah. Let's get out of here," she said. They headed toward the kitchen where there were milk and crackers and maybe, just maybe, some quiet and a nap under the circling fans.

The Evolution of a Joke

2006-06-29T14:13:00.000-07:00

A few months ago, I mentioned Ciela's latest joke. Last night, Ciela showed the gift of a true writer by revising and updating her material.

Take small, green plastic fork.
Place fork on head.
Say, "fork-hat."
Laugh.

Open Letter to My Inept Representative

2006-06-28T08:23:00.000-07:00

To the Honorable J. D. Hayworth:

The Scottsdale Tribune reported this morning that you are circulating a petition to revoke the press credentials of the New York Times in response to their stories regarding various surveillance programs orchestrated by the Bush administration.

I find this action reprehensible. In a free and democratic society the press play a vital role. They ensure the actions of the government are transparent and honorable. One of our greatest architects of this country, Thomas Jefferson, valued the press even above the various branches of government. In 1787, he wrote that:

"The basis of our governments being the opinion of the people, the very first object should be to keep that right; and were it left to me to decide whether we should have a government without newspapers or newspapers without a government, I should not hesitate a moment to prefer the latter."

The last few years have shown a remarkable lack of oversight by the legislative branch. You and your fellow congressmen have abdicated your responsibility as a check on the executive branch. Without the free press, this administration, with a nod of approval from Congress, would eagerly violate and revoke our civil rights. Thankfully, the New York Times and other media outlets continue to demand accountability in the absence of a functioning legislative branch.

Your actions to censor one of our best papers show an incredible lack of understanding of democracy. Our district is ill served by such an ignorant and dangerous reaction.

Sincerely,

Scott Hermanson

Swimming and Diving

2006-06-27T13:02:00.000-07:00

Hey!

The ref gave Adriano a yellow card for diving. Horaay for Michel Lubos! Maybe he'll ref the Portugal or Italy game.

Ciela learned how to bob this morning. With a count of "two, free" (who needs "one"? everyone knows it's there), she sticks her head in the water. Not very far. Just over her nose. She closes her eyes and opens her mouth and does sort of a pump fake before going under. It's very cute, of course. Especially because she is so short that even in the very shallow end, the water comes up to her chin so that she's this little head bobbing around with waving arms coming up to splash beside her.

Soccer Orb

2006-06-26T13:29:00.000-07:00

Blog

Portugal 1 - 0 Holland

2006-06-25T20:16:00.000-07:00

What an awful game--but great to watch.

I wanted somehow for them to both lose. My sympathies were with Portugal when Cristiano Ronaldo was hard fouled and had to leave the game. Then I swerved to Holland when Robben got spiked in the shoulder--while jumping for a high cross. You really have to have dangerously high kick to connect with a guys shoulder who is jumping above you.

But then the game just degenerated into thuggish whinery. Only soccer players can combine bullying with such juvenile whining. A Dutch player collapses in agony when Figo gets too close to his face. The Portugese Deco runs away with the ball to try to waste a few seconds. The Dutch, in a remarkably poor show of sportsmanship, refuse to turn-over the ball after play had been stopped with Portugal in possession. Cynical and the mark of a desperate team. I sympathized when Deco took a man down hard from behind. The Dutch deserved it.

But as each card came out--13 in all, I think, with four players being sent off--I disagreed heartily with the ESPN team (and later pundits on the internet, and even Sepp Blatter of FIFA) who claimed the ref was doing a poor job. I thought nearly every card was warranted. The players played like drunk amatuers, and they deserved to be sent off. Costinha handles a ball on a meaningless cross for his second yellow. Just stupid. Deco runs away with the ball when he's already carrying a yellow card. Stupid. The hacking continued until the final whistle. The Dutch deserved to get beat, and Portugal deserve to get beat by England when they have to play without Deco and Costinha. That will be one of the few games in the knock-out rounds that I cheer for a clear favorite. Ingerland, Ingerland, Ingerland.

ADDENDUM: I especially got a kick out of hearing them constantly say Maniche scored the goal. For those of you without sound on your blog, it's pronounced MANEESH. Kudos to you Manny for such a fine strike.

World Cup in a Teapot Ghana 2-1 USA

2006-06-25T19:46:00.000-07:00

Okay, so I didn't think we had a chance to beat Ghana 5-0 or anything like that, but I thought we could beat them. Sure we got hosed by another bad call from the ref, but call or no call, we were not the better team. We just didn't show the conviction or energy that we had v Italy.

So we're done, and no I have to listen to all manner of pundits talk about how this will affect soccer in America. Every four years, the Americans who love soccer and the sportswriters and broadcasters have a mutual wank-fest yelling at each other across the gulf of understanding. The soccer lovers shout loudly about the inability of American sportswriters to adequately and accurately cover a game they know little about. The mainstream sportswriters cannot help but insert smug remarks about how boring soccer is. I find it amazing how each group can continually rehash the same tedious remarks. I side with the soccer lovers--the game is beautiful, full of tension and grace in equal measures.

I enjoy other sports like football (avec helmets), basketball and even a baseball game, but they all lack the fluidity, spectacle and social import of soccer. Basketball comes closest to the grace and fluidity, but is hampered by the fact that scoring happens continuously, diminishing each basket. Additionally, basketball in the final minutes repeatedly stops the action with free-throws and a seemingly infinite amount of time-outs. I watched a couple of Suns-Mavericks games of the NBA playoffs just before the Cup, and it was mind-numbingly frustrating to see the last 30 seconds drawn out for 20 minutes. Football approaches the spectacle, but the NFL ruins the game by creating superficial entertainment all around the action. The fans are relegated to automatons; though in the stands, they are merely watching a very large screen tv. Compare even the most intense rivalry of the NFL to a Barcelona-Madrid game or another match-up between England and Argentina. College football comes closest with rivalries like Michigan v Ohio State or Army-Navy. The stands are rolling with passion and devotion that sweeps the stadium beyond a game and into a transcendent, communal experience. Finally baseball captures an essence of Americana--especially at the minor league level. But even at it's best, baseball is such a bucollic and intellectual game that it simply cannot capture the passion of America. Witness the feeble World Baseball Classic this spring.

Soccer has all these three. Plus, it is a far better game than any of the other three to play. Speaking as a former child baseball player, baseball is a lousy sport for kids (sorry, dad). My memories of baseball are long stretches of boredom in the outfield watching two guys play catch. Baseball is perverse. The most fun in any sport is in the offense. We want to score, we want to be the guy who moves the team ahead. Baseball manages to create a game where almost no action exists on the field, and when it does, 70%-90% of the people on the field are playing defense. The game is so abstract, that at the highest level, they need 4 referees to make the most minute calls.

Football is just an insanely violent sport that shouldn't be played by anyone. Any game that requires so much protective equipment isn't a sport, but a gladitorial battle that ought to be sanctioned by civilized people. It's not so bad on the sand-lot level, with no pads. But any sport that glorifies a 400 pound lump of lard as an "athlete" and perhaps even a star "athlete," needs rethinking. 400 pound people are not athletes. They are medical conditions lacking treatment.

Basketball comes close, but height plays to strong a role in determining the better players. Yet because basketball includes such fast-paced motion, improvisation and teamwork, it comes close to being a viable competitor to soccer as a participatory sport.

Still, soccer can't be beat. Small players are often better than larger ones. No one player can dominate a game without help from teammates. Equipment requirements are minor. And the game, even on the small scale, provides for moments of beauty, even for such a plodding amatuer like me. The graceful arc of the ball over the wall and into the top corner of the net, just beyond the outstretched fingertips of the soaring goalkeeper: this is a thing of beauty that exceeds anything I've done in print. Or take the delicate one-touch passes among three players in the box, each avoiding the crasing tackles around them by fractions of a second until the last drives the ball past a keeper desperately scrambling into position; the action is like the solo cello over the massive power of the orchestra. A theme that sings above the thunder below.

Italy 1 - USA 1

2006-06-17T16:24:00.000-07:00

Oh man!

The card on Pablo was the worst. No way was that foul a red card. And doing my best not to be a homer, but Italy's man did deserve sending off. That was a blantant elbow, and McBride had all the blood to prove it. And I'll even admit that the second ball Italy put into the net should have counted. But the second yellow on Pope, c'mon! You don't give that a yellow in the second minute of the second half. Warn him, but don't exile him. Granted, Pope put himself in that position by getting the earlier yellow card. I don't think he should have gotten the second yellow, though. You don't send off a guy for that foul.

But why oh why didn't Arena use his last sub. With about 15 minutes to go, Cherundolo went right around Pirla (I think). He just pushed the ball past and ran right by him. The Italian put up no fight whatsoever. Arena should have pounced and put Johnson or Wolf in. Johnshon and Beasley could have run circles around some of those guys and really put some pressure. It might be overly optimistic to think they would have scored, but they would have helped ease the pressure on us. Time after time Keller was sending balls to McBride and nobody was up there in case he won them. At least Johnson could have run on to one of those and maybe taken it to the corner to eat up some time.

But better, he could have been deadly on a counter attack.

Still, we got a point after being hosed by the ref. And we can control our destiny. Even if the Czechs win, all we have to do is beat Ghana 5-0, I think.

I can't wait until Thursday. C'mon you freaking Italians. Put away those Czechs.

Ciela slept through the whole game.

World Cup

2006-06-12T08:16:00.000-07:00

It's about 45 minutes to game time. US-Czech Rep.

The US is going to play a 4-5-1, which is good, I think. Getting both Convey and Beasley on the pitch. I think they have their best 11 on the field with the option of bringing in Wolf or Johnson as subs if they need more offense.

I hope this turns out like Portugal, a fast opening that takes the Euros by surprise and they withstand the frantic attack in the second half.

I'm just hoping for a point.

Ciela and I are watching at home, but all things being equal, I'd rather be at a bar with people who know what they are watching. We seemed forever relegated to steerage in america. The US culture--it's showcaseing of individual effort, mania for stats, and willingness (even desire) to tolerate long stopages in play--will never really embrace soccer's team aesthetic, low scoring and lack of room for commercials. I'm sure that this antipathy may be one reason I like the game. And why I think baseball can be remarkably boring if it's not the world series--or god help me, if I have to play the game.

Okay 40 minutes to game time. Time to go paint my face, hang the big American flag, and crack open a beer. Hey, it's 6pm in Germany.

UPDATE: 0-3. Crap. Where the hell was the team? Blah. Too disgusted to write anything about it.

Adjudicating

2006-06-07T08:27:00.002-07:00

I did my civic duty yesterday and reported for jury duty. Having been a driving and voting member of the populace for almost 20 years, one would think jury duty would have popped up before. But neither Chicago or Cincinnati called on me, and Omaha asked me to serve two weeks after I would have left for Arizona. But here, finally, I would get to test my powers of reason, ethics and democratic ideals in the finest branch of government; the judiciary.

After biking down to the Courts at 7:30am (when it was already 90 outside), I hung around the door with the 30 or so other jurors waiting to be let into the building. Nice that they ask you to get there at 8:00am but won't open the doors until 8:00am precisely. Thankfully it was cloudy. Screening at the Courts turns out to be more restrictive than even the airports. I practically had to strip to my shorts before the metal detector gave me the green light.

I'd like to say that I served faithfully and impartially, wisely deciding the case on the merits of the facts, unswayed by prejudice. But after an hour and half of watching the Travel Channel and reading my book, a couple of cups of free but bad coffee, and a short, uneventful trip around the bathroom corridor and the smoking porch, they let me go. They let all of us go. The defendent had settled and they had no other cases. I volunteered to go ahead and try some Enron executives or perhaps a corrupt Republican official--I'm sure J.D. Hayworth must have something on which we could convict (failure to think humanely and rationally, perhaps)-- but the judge politely refused and quickly closed the door behind me.

Having fulfilled my civic responsibility (catch phrase used no less than 15 times in the ten minute video indoctrination for jurors), I am off the hook for the next 18 months.

Welcome to the Neighborhood

2006-06-04T11:47:00.000-07:00

One of the first things delivered to our mailbox after we moved in was a notice that a sexual predator had moved into the same complex. This week, we got another fun welcoming gift in the mailbox: a plain white envelope, addressed to me, no return address. Inside was a brief rant from one of my neighbors, complaining about us riding our bikes in the grass, and threatening to have us reimburse the Home Owners Association for damage done to the common areas. He or she also included a handy photocopy of the relevant page from the CC&R with key passages highlighted. The author of the note really liked exclamation points!!! and had a mastery of that passive bureacratic voice: "the tracks have been traced to your unit." I really like that last part, the refusal to provide a subject to the sentence, leaving me with the Kafka-esque dilemma of a faceless accuser, tracking my movements.

In a number of other ways, the letter is a sad, suburban parody of the Kafka scene. Some person wants to intimidate me by co-opting the power of anonymity and bureacratic revenge. The letter presents itself as a missive from the system, something that cannot be questioned or even acknowledged. My only valid response is to cease riding my bike across the grass to the bike path. Interestingly, the excessive use of exclamation points actually undercuts the threat of the letter. As I always told my students, the exclamation point is most often a scream of impotency, the viagra sign of literary impotence. It is employed as an insistance of power where none exists. As such, Judy pointed out that we probably don't have to worry about this because anyone who would send an anonymous letter over such a miniscule matter probaby would never actually confront us face-to-face.

Such is our entry into the world of the HOA. I worried about buying property where an elected body typically made up of people with too much time on their hads would govern a sizeable fraction of what we could do with our townhome. On my good days, I saw it as a community bound together by a common interest in providing a pleasant place to live. On the bad days, I imagined it to be like every other group or committee I've ever had the misfortune of joining.

The Fountain

2006-05-24T20:03:00.000-07:00

The Fountain
Originally uploaded by shermans.

Yahoo! We just purchased a futon for the guest room/office. All of you anxious for an uncomfortable bed in ungodly hot weather, c'mon down. We've been abusing Craigslist for months, first unloading as much as we could before we moved. Then unloading all those things that really didn't fit into the new place (one too many bookshelves, one too many patio tables, one too many microwaves). Now we are nearly finished with buying the stuff we need. Got the new stereo speakers. Got the new end table. Got the new dressers and containers for all the toiletries. Got the new piece of luggage ($10-the best value yet). We are ready to roll. About the only thing left is the grill, but in this heat, who's thinking of grilling?

Ciela had her first really bloody fall yesterday at the park. After scaling the elaborate playground, running all around the edges of the pond, dancing on top of the picnic tables, she fell face first crossing from the grass to the parking lot. Lots of blood at first, sending dad to the edge of panic before we realized that it was just a cut lip and the bleeding quickly stopped.

The day before was better with two train rides and two carousel rides at the railroad park. We are members now, so we get unlimited rides, which for Ciela means great things. For me, it's more chances to get queasy on the carousel. Shouldn't those things go slower? I mean, little kids are riding them.

The train park is pretty elaborate, with a scale diesel train that we ride. Most of the cars are the sort of flatbed types, but the last one is a box car where little kids can actually sit inside the car. My Jewish friends find the unintended re-creation a bit unsettling, but still let their son ride in the box car if he wants. What they really object to is the blond-haired kid announcing over the loudspeaker, "Leave your luggage behind. Your luggage will follow you." We all agree that this is in poor taste and have talked about starting a petition.

Last week we saw Constructing New Berlin, the exhibit at the Phoenix Art Museum. While contemporary art often leaves me cold, this one was moving in a variety of ways. Partly, I really groved on the giant photos of Frank Thiel documenting the dramatic renewal/upheaval of Berlin in the post-Cold War era. But it was Janet Cardiff and George Bures Miller's video installation, "The Berlin Files," that grabbed hold of me. Here is sort of a summary of the work, but the intriguing blur of reality, film noir, art and meta-narrative was nearly outdone by the powerful emotion of David Bowie's "Rock and Roll Suicide." The song floods the little theater in sound and feeling, seeping into the other abstract pieces. At times unsettling (we had a small struggle keeping Ciela from crying at times) with jarring, disorienting sounds of helicopters and trains, the piece kind of works like a post-modern noir. But instead of the modernist noir, the search for the truth in the detective story, this does away with narrative qua narrative. There isn't a story, only themes, only resonances and connotations. This is noir poetry on the screen. Any of you in Phoenix would do well to go see the exhibit.

This weekend we are heading up to Arcosanti, finally. We've been here nearly a year, and this will be our first visit up there. I have managed to get to Cosanti, but it's Arcosanti that really blows me away. When I visited it four years ago, I was enthralled with the innovation, the idealism and the beauty of Paolo Soleri's "urban laboratory." I still want to somehow become a factor in its creation. Ciela, however, has something to say about such things. So the best we can do is to attend the various cultural events they produce. This weekend is the three day poetry slam and concert. We're going up on Saturday evening after we do some peach picking in the morning.

And the picture of Ciela? It has nothing to do with anything. Just another in a series of random cute pictures.

chase

2006-05-15T20:22:00.001-07:00

chase
Originally uploaded by shermans.

We had our first real guests at the home. Our friends from the old apartment complex came by for dinner and, as you can see, frolicking. The menu was salad with orange-raspberry vinagrette, risotto, caprese, bread and a chocolate dessert courtesy of the guests. Plus lots of Chianti. Ciela and Pumpkin spent a good deal of the time chasing each other around. They're like the sister each never had.

We've got a long list of people that we have to invite over to the house. While we were moving and our apartment was in shabby condition (pretty much all the time), so many people invited us to have dinner with them. If we could keep up our stamina, we could have people over every weekend for the next month and still owe some return engagements. I wonder if other people feel like dinner becomes and home-and-away series like soccer tournaments. I'm not complaining, by any means. I really do like having people over for dinner, but my Emily Post-ish superego always nags me about social debts. It doesn't seem fair to always play the visitor and never have people at home. And here's were the sporting analogy breaks down (as they always do (poor Randy Johnson)): the away game is so much more taxing than the away dinner. If the visiting team could get away with bringing flowers to the locker room and then just sitting around drinking the home team's Gatorade, nobody would demand a reciprocal visit.

We don't get you.

2006-05-15T20:22:00.000-07:00

We don't get you.
Originally uploaded by shermans.

Brins Mesa Trail

2006-05-15T20:20:00.000-07:00

Brins Mesa Trail
Originally uploaded by shermans.

We've also headed up to Sedona a couple of times this month. Judy had a Monday off, so we spent the day up there. Which meant my legs, weary from a 90 minute game where we were two men down, nearly gave up before we reached this overlook on the last hike of the day. We all look happy because there were other hikers there taking our picture, but all I could think about was turning around and heading home for a beer.

Yesterday, for Mother's Day, we went with some friends back to hike the West Fork. The physical toll was much lighter thanks to Ciela and their boy, neither of whom could really muster the momentum to head deep into the trail. We spent a lot of time crossing and re-crossing the stream and then putting our feet in the water, and then asking to be put into the backpack and then asking to be let out of the backpack.

As with most of our trips to Sedona, we finished with pizza and a beer at The Hideaway, with it's view of Snoopy Rock.

Ciela Finally Goes Camping

2006-05-11T20:01:00.000-07:00

Ciela Finally Goes Camping
Originally uploaded by shermans.

We'd been wondering when we could safely take Ciela camping. She's been to a number of hotels and houses of relatives and friends, and even with indoor plumbing and real beds, the routine can get exhausting. We wondered how exponentially worse it might be trapped in a tiny nylon room.

Yet mere pondering never leads to results. No theory without praxis. We rounded up the sleeping bags, found the ground cover and tent, packed some snacks and drove deep, deep, deep...

In the rugged outdoors...

2006-05-11T20:00:00.000-07:00

In the rugged outdoors
Originally uploaded by shermans.

Of Dowtown Scottsdale.

Still, as you can see, it was deep, deep, deep center field.

The city had a sleepover in the stadium, so we were trodding the hallowed ground whence Barry himself Bonds had walked. Just standing in the grass Ciela put on 3 pounds and her neck grew so big we had to cut her out of her shirt.

We had a good time. They served a mediocre meal from a BBQ chain, which made things very difficult on the vegetarians in the tent. We colored, we ran through obstacle courses, we did a sack race, we looked through telescopes (where I actually saw Jupiter, and Saturn and its rings--pretty flippin cool.)

They showed "A Bug's Life" on an inflateable screen, and then we all went to bed.

Except for our very rude neighbors in the tent next door who spent a good two hours after "Lights Out" talking and yelling at their kids to shut up and go to sleep. I rarely heard the kids, but their mother's voice could cut through steel. I longed for an angry Barry Bonds and a 34" Louisville Slugger. After the first half-hour, I noisely scrambled out of the tent and gave them the long glare. After an hour, I went over and told them to please keep it down. By midnight, I was yelling out of my tent to shut up and go to sleep. I wonder where these people thought they were. Why they felt that at an event that was clearly geared toward families with young kids, they could hang out talking until the wee hours of the morning. In the end, it was another instance in a long line of instances where I wonder how people can be so inconsiderate.

But then morning came, the sunrise was beautiful and breakfast included lots of coffee and orange juice and tasty muffins. We packed up, hailed one of those little groundskeeper carts and piled everything back in the car. We then went home and took a nap.

They had activities for the kids

2006-05-11T19:59:00.000-07:00

They had activities for the kids
Originally uploaded by shermans.

Sunrise in Scottsdale

2006-05-11T19:58:00.001-07:00

Sunrise in Scottsdale
Originally uploaded by shermans.