The Great MN Get-Together

Tonight Mr. Oz and I participated in a much beloved annual ritual known as the Minnesota State Fair. For two weeks in late August, thousands flock to the fairgrounds in St. Paul to check out a bust of the dairy princess carved in butter (this is not a lie), baby animals at the petting zoo, pickles the size of your head and all manner of people gazing. Like many others, we went to partake in the phenomenon of food on sticks. If its a food and it can be stuck, you'll find it at the fair. Dude, we did some damage and I have the belly ache to prove it. Here's a quick run down of our fair going agenda: 7:01pm -- arrive at the side gate, pay our $10.50 per and skitter inside. The startling scent of farm animal, grilled meats and greasy mini-donuts hangs in the smoky and dusty air. 7:23pm -- we spy our first stop. The granddaddy of all fair food stands. It's the foot long corn dog people and NOT the Pronto Pup stand. I must put my foot down on this. Corn dog = delicious. Pronto Pup = a foul imitation meant to lure us into a false sense of fair complacency. Don't be a victim.




Two please and slather them with ketchup and mustard. Yummy.


7:40pm -- oh man, we see something new. Never tried this one before but have heard good things about the bacon on a stick. At Fat Bacon they serve up a huge slab of thick cut fried bacon that is dipped in maple syrup. Mr. Oz loved it. I gave it a BIG thumbs down. flabby bacon just doesn't do it for me. Next time, crisp it up my friends.
7:48pm -- trying to get the taste of that nasty bacon out of my mouth, we promptly proceed to the cheese curd stand and order up a heaping heap of melty, salty, greasy, battered, gooey cheese parts. Hells yeah!


7:55pm -- Oh god. I think I feel sick. Couldn't finish the cheese curds as they started to cool and congeal into a rubbery mess. 8:04pm -- I'm THIRSTY! Ahhhh. Sign me up for some cold, frosty root beer!

8:15pm -- What's that over there? Do I see roasted corn on the cob? Why yes. Yes, I do. Buttery goodness.


8:16pm -- hanging out next to the Grandstand taking in the musical stylings of, well, some guy with a guitar. Don't know who it is. Who cares. We are only here for the stick food.

8:17pm -- Teriyaki Ostrich on a stick. Uhmmmm. Pass.



8:23pm -- Swinging back through. Gotta get a bucket of Sweet Martha's fresh baked chocolate chip cookies. They pile 'em high forcing you to eat several just so you can get the lid on it. So good it will make you cry. Or is that the first pains of stomach cramps. 8:35pm -- We are SO outta here. Waddle back to the car and moan. Another year at the State Fair and it was accomplished in record time.

We made it home just in time to watch Barack Obama accept the Democratic party's nomination for president. While some may disagree with me, I think this guy is going places.

I feel sick.

Pro-Nap

After a particularly rough week I took advantage of half work day Friday and high tailed it home to start my weekend early. Once home, I couldn't resist the siren call of my bed. The soft, yet firm mattress. The blanket. The comfy, cool sheets. Damn you bed. My will was weak. I jumped in and proceeded to take a 2.5 hour nap. That's right. Middle of the day. Straight up. Half open mouth, drool on the pillow. Hard core nappin y'all. It was so delicious. Sweet nap nectar. As I roused myself from my afternoon slumber, I realized a few things. One, is I'm getting SUPER old. Once upon a time, a summer half day meant early happy hour. Let's get the party started and keep it rolling until Monday morning. Not anymore. Now, I'm like a few short years away from hitting Denny's for the 4pm early bird dinner specials. I was starting to feel really bad about this when I decided that everything old is new again. This is where I stuck upon my second realization of the day. Here it is . . . I'm bringing back the nap and it isn't just for the senior citizens anymore. Retro napping people. Brilliant!

Harken back (yes, I used the word "harken!") to days of yore. Consider your childhood when you were forced to to take naps in the middle of the day? When did this ritual stop? Who decided we should no longer take naps? I'm going to start a movement to bring back the nap. The adult nap. It's on. I say no more falling in line with these arbitrary social conventions and dropping the nap time just because we have jobs and go to school and carry on the day-to-day business of running the world. We shouldn't pander to the powers that be and quit our beloved naptime. Who's with me? Who's in? You in?

I think I need to start a group on Facebook, petition Obama's campaign to add this as a plank in the Democratic platform. Maybe I'll make a sign and head down to the Republican convention and protest the anti-nap coalition. You know the anti-nappers are Republican, don't you? They have to be. Oh, but you have to know that McCain is a secret napper. He's like 80 years old. Oh, you know he's napping.

To Everything, Turn, Turn, Turn

I've been watching a lot of the Olympic television coverage these days and can't seem to get enough of it. The swimming events have been particularly riveting as Michael Phelp's glides his way to a first ever eight gold medals in a single Olympics. There is a lot I could write about on this topic. The Olympics brings out the competitor in me. I find myself getting up, standing in front of the t.v. and cheering loudly as racers push toward the finish in a nail-biting fashion. I'm also dumbfounded by a strange surge of national pride that courses through me as I watch. This is, well, strange. I normally find nationalism fairly deplorable as it tends to ignite an "us versus them" mentality leading, inevitably, to fracture, war and bitterness. But enough on that positive note.

What I've come to realize about myself is I have this need to assign events significance as it relates to time, seasons and lifestages. So, for me, the Olympics is an every four years, get stuck to the t.v., feel patriotic, relish the competition of sport kinda deal. I love it. It is also one of my signals that summer will soon be over and fall (and snow) are right around the corner. The MN State Fair is another one of those end-of-summer signs. You know when you start seeing advertisements for the fair that Labor Day will be here before you know it.

When I was young, I marked the end of summer as the time when my dad hit the farm fields and harvested grain. He would take off early in the day and swathe and gather wheat until the sun set and darkness fell. I fondly remember waiting for him to get home so the whole family could sit around the table listening to the adventures of his day -- what machinery broke down, how many rows did he cut, how many bushels did it take to fill one truck bed. These moments were also marked by our enjoyment of fresh produce from my mom's garden. We would be more than content slicing a garden tomato still hot from soaking up the August sunshine and eating it with nothing more than a sprinkle of salt and pepper. There is just something about straight from the ground food that cannot be compared to the stuff we now get in grocery stores. As I recall, these home-grown tomatoes had a taste I could only describe as a combination of warm and cool, slippery with a sweet tang that left the back of your tongue zinging and buzzing.

I'm reading the book Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver. In it, Kingsolver writes of her family's move from Arizona to Virginia to live on a farm where they raise and grow all of their own food. Her narrative spans a year of vowing to eat only locally. The book is amazing in both its poetic quality and the way in which Kingsolver documents the inextrincable connection between time, the seasons and what it is we eat. I won't spoil the details but will say that both the end of summer here in MN and this book have inspired me to eat better and truly grab hold of the variety of summer food bounty that surrounds me. I must add that my other inspiration was Mrs. Scribble who has planted a big garden of her own and is already busy picking, washing, and canning her own vegetable miracles.


With all this inspiration floating around me, Mr. Oz and I hit the St. Paul Farmer's Market this weekend on our own morning adventure.



















It looked to be over one downtown city block of fruit, flower and vegetable stands and neither the amount nor the quality of produce disappointed. We strolled from stall to stall checking out the wares of these family farms and came away with our own mini-harvest of corn on the cob, green beans, green peppers, tomatoes, beets and raspberries. Visions of late night al fresco dining danced in my head. Not quite sure what I'm going to do with those beets, but I'm sure I'll think of something. Maybe I'll plan a big summer vegetable feast to celebrate the conclusion of the Olympics, State Fair and summer!

The Definition of Art

Been awhile since I last posted something. I haven't forgotten. No. Rather I believe I am suffering from a malady that I liken to writer's block. I will call it blogger's barrier. I've been slightly paralyzed as I contemplate what I should include here, what to digress upon. It is so sad particularly when I know that, at a maximum, there may be five people who ever read what I post. I wonder if the great writers of our time (or before our time) ever faced this type of paralysis? My guess is "yes" but they had the real pressure of publishers, adoring fans, accolades and literary awards looming over their heads. Me? Not so much.

So, last week I flew to our nation's capital to partake in a little consumer research. While this was officially sanctioned company research, I did find a few moments to break away from work and experience a little fun in Alexandria, VA. If you've never been to Alexandria, I would recommend it. We stayed in the Old Town section which boasted a wealth of cute little shops and restaurants all in a very manageable walking distance from nearby hotels. Since my brother lives in DC, he hopped the Metro and stopped in for a visit, some chili and a little Olympics watchin. Jealous? Thought so :)

Before flying out, I was lucky enough to enjoy a nice Sunday morning breakfast with one of my new colleagues and her family who lives in the area. There was a lot of great conversation as we devoured our omelets and french toast. One topic that I was particularly intrigued by revolved around art and how it is defined. My colleagues father defined art by saying, "If I can do it, it's not art." This opened up a whole discussion on what it takes to be considered an artist, how much does being original and creative play in our definition of art, are those who copy the work of great artists (tribute bands, forgers, etc.) considered artists? On the latter point, there arose this distinction between those who may be technically skilled in a particular artistic venture but lack the originality that is indicative of a true artist. This really got me thinking. If you are a someone who can draw really well or you sing like an angel or you can knit . . well, you might be a craftsman or a hobbyist but not an artist. I believe art has to have an element of inspiration complicated by a revolutionary spirit or, at the very least, a "do your own thing," challenge the status quo, avaunt guard kinda mojo. On top of all of this, there has to be some aspect of beauty in the artistic work or act. Art needs to provoke and give pleasure -- it might be a sick and perverse, demented and sad type of pleasure, but a pure pleasure must be present nonetheless. When defined in this way, it is a wonder that anyone can be classified as truly artistic.

I'm not sure what this all means, but it has forced me to consider where and how I experience art in my own life. I would say 99.9% of the television I watch is not art. Reality tv does not classify as art. Nope. I'm not sure the books I read are art. They entertain. They allow me to escape to a different place and time, but most are not revolutionary. They don't provoke and give me pure pleasure. Some of the music I listen to might be considered artistic, but not necessarily inspirational or very original. So, where does that leave me? I suppose my art can be found in simple moments of reflection and interaction with those around me. Waking up in the comfort of my bed and greeting the day with Mr. Oz, the rising sun as it kisses the purple, orange and yellow glow of the skyline, scratching the fuzzy head of my cat, slowing down and easing into the evening hours . . . these are all small pieces of inspiration, revolution and pleasure. I know it seems sappy, but it makes me happy to think that I am surrounded by art of the everyday and by participating in it and observing it, I too am an artist of sorts.

Anderson Cooper Loves Reality TV Too!! Who Knew?

Now I'm not one to watch Regis & Kelly, I but I do loves me some Anderson Cooper. Uber gracias shout out to poodle for shooting this link over to me. How cute is he?

Here I was thinking that Anderson is all serious with his Hurricane Katrina coverage and Iraq exposes, but no . . . he watches trashy reality tv just like we do. Love him. And, not only does he watch these sketchy yet oh-so-delicious shows, he has opinions about them . . . opinions, might I add, that very much resemble my own. The Leather lady on Project Runway is hilarious and I don't care AT ALL for Living Lohan but I do enjoy the Denise Richards complication stuff. Oh yes, I do.

Keep up the good work Anderson. Bravo my silver haired newsman. Bravo.

Road Trips In A Universe of Oneness

A few ramblings to end the week:

After a long, tough week at the office I was due for a weekend of rest and relaxation. I took Friday off and Mr. Oz and I packed up the Civic and headed out of town. It was road tripping time. Our destination was 6 1/2 hours west and north of the Twin Cities. The plan was to spend some time catching up with family -- my sister and brother-in-law as well as my parents. We converged upon the little town of Karlstad, MN and had some fun grillin, chillin, sitting by the fire pit and just generally enjoying each others' company. A few fun facts about Karlstad:

1) Apparently it is the self-annointed Moose Capital of these great United States. I'm not sure if that means that moose roam about freely in the streets. I must confess that I did not personally spy a moose whilst there but they could be vacationing somewhere else for the summer months. If you don't believe me about the moose, you can just check out the official city of Karlstad's web site (see link above). They have a big Moose Festival coming up with a parade and such. I won't be able to make it this year, but am hoping that the Sollunds will go, take pictures and post them online.

2) Ned Beatty, the actor of Superman and Deliverance fame, lives in Karlstad. It's true. He does. His wife or his wife's mother is from the area. Maybe Ned likes Karlstad for its peaceful, small town charm. Maybe he feels like he can get away from the Hollywood scene and escape into the forested wilderness and bountiful arms of Mother Nature. Maybe he likes the Moose. Is it Meese? Mooses? Moosi? What is the plural form of Moose? Hmmmm.

3) I alluded to this in my second fact above, but Karlstad is just a quiet and rather friendly little town. A small slice of northern Minnesota goodness where you can kick back and let the cares of the world wash away. I would recommend a visit. If you go, make sure you watch out for the moose.

When we weren't carousing with the family, I found some time to finish a book I had been reading. It is called Waking by Matthew Sanford. I had first heard about the book last week when I was driving home from work and listening to the Oprah channel on XM Radio. Dr. Oz's show is on everyday at 5pm and he was interviewing Matt Sanford. While I didn't catch the beginning of the interview, I was able to gather that Matt had suffered some type of physical trauma as a child and had gone through a long and difficult recovery. His book was focused on his ordeal and personal story. Some of the points he made were fascinating to me so I picked up the book to have a closer look. I'm glad I did. The trauma he experienced was a car accident at age 13. His father and sister both died. His mother and his older brother survived. Matt's own life hung in the balance between life and death and he was paralyzed. The book is focused on his physical recovery but, more so, he delves into the mind, body connection and the silence we face when part of us fades away or diminishes in its vitality or energy. He writes a lot about how he experienced this silence and is able to tie this to the silence that everyone faces as they age or lose something they once held dear. The book was much less about the physical recovery he went through and much more about the mental and spiritual awakening he had as he tried to recreate his existence and reframe his life around this notion of physical disconnection.

He found a way to bridge the silence through yoga. Through yoga he realized that his mind, body and spirit were still connected and able to talk to one another and the world around him. I like this idea a lot. Sanford's philosophy echoes the spiritual principle that everything in the universe is one. We are all connected. Each molecule, each thought, each being is inextricably linked to everything else. God may be outside of us and surrounding us, but God is also within us and we are within God. Some might go so far as to say that each one of us is God for if you believe that we are all one and the universe is tied together than surely God is a part of that vast and expansive oneness. If you think about our experiences here on earth in this light, it is easy to see that negative emotions like fear and hate are useless for in our practice of fear and hatred of others, we are only fearing and hating ourselves. And, in that same vein, if we strive to love and help one another we are, in turn, only loving and helping ourselves. Pretty heavy stuff. Pretty remarkable stuff. I dig it. Near the end of the book I was in tears. This guy is really onto something. Despite (or in some regards, because of) his accident he had a unique window into the space between life and death and he turned toward life and healing. He doesn't take it for granted and, it seems, he appreciates the beauty that many of us don't even notice. This book is well worth the time to delve deeper into the mind, body connection regardless of your own spiritual leanings and ideals. Are we who we think we are? Are we our body, our physicality? Are we more than that? I don't have all the answers and neither does this book, but it asks some excellent questions. I recommend it.