Hostile Takeover

Tuesday was absolutely gorgeous. It was 44 degrees for a high. I (Heather) did not don a coat, hat, gloves, or gator all day. What a treat it was! Due to the unseasonable warmth, a lot of the recent snow pack that had accumulated melted away. Upon arriving home from work I noticed the puddles forming on the sidewalk. However, the next morning while heading out to work, I had forgotten about the puddles and the fact that it was now 20 degrees colder and all the previous day’s melt had turned to ice. I stepped off the back stair and suddenly I found myself airborne and then flat on my back staring up at the stars. Luckily I had my bags in my hands so I didn’t try to catch myself with my arms (hand/arm/wrist injuries are always in the back of an interpreter’s mind). I managed to get vertical again and made my way inside. My spine was no longer in line and I found myself favoring my right side and was unable to comfortably stand up straight.

After taking a day to recover, I returned to work, only to walk into our office and find it bare. My desk was gone as was most of the other furniture. Later I found out that our beloved office space was being taken over by the EBD (Emotionally and Behaviorally Disturbed) program to be used as an ISS (In School Suspension) room. Turns out the EBD kids are just so disturbing that they bother the kids in the regular ISS room. Realizing that I no longer have a home, I might go look for the nearest broom closet to take my breaks.

Snowbound single speed

Subtitle 1: as the crow flies
Subtitle 2: this ain’t no lightweight

Yesterday’s commute marked the first time that the new single speed was utilized after a significant snowfall. Granted, by that point most of my (David’s) routes had been cleared of snow, but nevertheless I had an opportunity to test it in more winter-like conditions.

The ride into work went fairly smooth but a bit slower than usual. Of course riding through slush has that affect regardless of the number of one’s speeds. For some reason, on the way up my first hill of the ride, I began thinking of Mark’s (a Saturday night regular) peculiar riding posture, and whether or not I had ever seen him stand up on his fixed gear bike(s) while ascending a hill. I attempted to mimic his posture and found that not only could I go further up a hill without standing, but I also got through the ride without a sore back, shoulders and/or neck that I would otherwise get when biking with a bag and a helmet. I think I may attempt to adopt this riding posture permanently.

The ride home was a bit less smooth. It would seem that the city’s park and rec. department neglected the possibility that a commuter might actually use the bike trail. Plowing the bike trail is much appreciated, but if one is not going to plow paths through the intersections, then what is the point? Rather than hopping the same snow bank along Shepard road that I had the night before, I thought I’d take the scenic, less steep-hill route home. As I traveled further along the river, the trail became more rough and snow-covered. At one point I even hit a bump so hard that my rear wheel slipped back into the dropout; stretching my chain and warping my front chain ring.

As I stopped to check over my slightly crippled bike, I glanced over at Carver’s cave and saw what looked to be a new set of stairs that had been laid into the face of the bluff. Seeing this, I thought that climbing a few flights of stairs would be a lot easier than my other options, so I lifted up the bike hopped over Shepard road, guard rails, and ditches. Unfortunately, just as I got to the other side, the train that had been passing me for the last mile came to a stop. Being stubbornly eager for a short cut, I hopped over the train as well. On the other side I discovered that not only had Park and Rec. neglected all of their fancy new recreational trails in that area (if one doesn’t accommodate commuters, and one doesn’t accommodate recreational-ists what are the plow people getting paid for – apart from finally clearing a years worth of broken glass off the trials that they do plow), but someone had also erected a fence along the huge new park area. -If I ever find a normal person’s way into this park, I’ll let you know where it is located.- Still being stubborn, and nearing the point of no return, I hopped the fence. When I finally got to the stairs on the other side of the tundra, it became obvious that after the first 7 or 8 steps, there was nothing but a wooded bluff. So I lifted the bike and decided to test my skills at one handed mountain climbing. It didn’t work out so well. But I discovered that putting the bike in front of me, perpendicular to the hill, and using it like an elder’s walker, progress could eventually be made. (sorry, the camera is still broken) By the time I got to the pedestrian bridge that crosses I-94, it was already 9:10 am. Definitely not a short cut.

With the single speed out of commission, I had to take the Sturmey sprinter 7 to the MN-BPA membership party/meeting last night. After going nearly a year without riding that thing, I had completely forgotten how fast it is. It is no wonder why I had deemed that machine the best winter bike ever. The single speed pales in compairison in every respect except weight (which isn’t a factor for that bike). Even when it comes to the one extra cable which requires one more step of maintenance, the trade off is inconsequential. Unfortunately, being a religious appreciator of Sturmey-Archer products, putting such a rare gem as the sprinter-7 through the same neglect and abuse that I have been inflicting on my single speed drive train, would be a sin. Despite their bombproof designs and reputation of never failing, testing such claims on an irreplaceable Sturmey can get one ostracized from the community.

Note: In looking though this last link, I found that if you squint, you can see both Heather and myself in photo # 20 on this page. Our bikes won “best in show” that year.

Note: if anyone goes out to play/climb on the bluff above carver’s cave, let me know if you find a tail light.

Retail management –1. Non profit +1?

As I (David) was patrolling the campus last week, Doug, one of the custodians stopped me for a brief chat. He told me that when he stopped off at Snyder’s the other day, Andy had informed him that the store would be closing for the night shift. Later that morning I tried to call Andy to see how the news was affecting him. He wasn’t answering. On Friday morning however, he answered. I stopped by his house after work to get the low down.

Andy said that he doesn’t need his current 38k per year, but he is guessing that he would have to sell the house if he couldn’t pull in 32k. But he wasn’t too worried. Paul quit his job at the Triple Rock so as to return to the high-pay temp jobs. That way he can pay more rent. Similarly, Andy’s ma took a new job that pays around 60k. She is doing the same sort of work only this time it is connecting home care RNs with patients. Plus Andy already has two high paying part time youth phone counseling jobs lined up. One is for “crippled” youth and the other for “drug fiend” youth. Health benefits are always nice though, so Andy hasn’t given up possible need to pursue professional careers.

I parted by telling Andy I’d keep him in mind as I conducted my own job search. I even told him of my latest pursuits on the odd chance that he’d take a greater interest than that of my own. The latest and most promising opportunity to drop into my lap (Dad didn’t believe me when I told him that the jobs would come to me) is an executive director position with an interstate bicycle advocacy organization. I’ve got everything they need except a bucket load of experience, but then the job description didn’t ask for that anyway. Additionally, last Thursday at the studded tire making class, Andrew mentioned to me the potential earnings one could make as our organization’s executive director. It’s a promising possibility, but knowing how close to the edge the organization is, I know I’d have my work cut out for me. It’s something I’d definitely love to do, but I’m not sure I’m ready to stake my future on it. The last of the more promising positions I’ve become aware of hasn’t become available yet. Rather, it is merely word on the street. But there is a chance something may open up, the responsibilities of which Heather is confident would be second nature for me.

Yet until I know for certain how likely it is that I will end up in one of these gigs, I’ll continue working my great job here on campus. When I end up leaving here I’m going to miss all of the luxuries I have, like being able to go jam on a piano for a while. Hopefully all will work out harmoniously with Andy as well.

SHSK rerun

The digital camera is still dead, but Heather managed to pull the photos from last week's concert off of the data card by using some of her co-workers computer hardware. Thus, our Yahoo! photo album now contains an entire folder devoted to the band (notice how Bob looks like a cardboard cut-out?). If and/or when we get a new camera, we may add more photos to it.

No work

After the concert on Thursday, I (David) went home, closed the door behind me, and didn’t come out of the house for three chilly days. I’m glad I took a vacation day on Friday, as it was nice to spend so much time in the ever so comfortable 62 to 65 degree warmth.

Now, however, on the coldest night of the year, I’m stuck here at work during a national holiday; a time usually reserved for skeleton crew operations (yet for some reason management has placed less of a priority on this one). And though I’m glad to be receiving double pay for working during this time, I can’t help but wonder what my paychecks would look like if Dr. King had survived to bring his other, more labor-friendly visions to fruition. But alas, all I am left with is the small satisfaction that comes from being thrown a bone in celebration of his more publicized organizing efforts.

The reviews are in....

The first Second Hand Ska Kings gig went well. David enjoyed playing while friends and family enjoyed watching/listening. Heather even took photos, but the handy $35 Concord digital camera broke, so we can't post any.

Anyway, here is what others are saying about the show:

"Loved it! Great energy. Old school dance ska. A blistering cover of Jimmy Cliff's 'You Can Get It If You Really Want' they did rip. The bands secret lies in the power of their dueling trombones. I skanked hard. The odd thing of it is, here we are in the bar, drinking Red Stripes, skankin' and, listening to jamaican ska music but outside...it's negative 30 fucking degrees out. My skankin' hat had furry earflaps for christsakes."

"FUCKIN' AMAZERING!
[Westbound Train] was fucking solid. Los Culeros played their new stuff. And Second Hand Ska Kings? Holy bejeebuzes...you will be seeing much more of them, holy crap they were spectacular. "

"Second Hand Ska Kings were rockin'! I'm defiantly looking forward to seeing them again."

Technical mumbo jumbo

Since we’ve been getting grief from Firefox, Camino, and Safari web browser users about embedding a .wmv file in our weblog, the format of this page will temporarily change until such time as the post in question has been archived far enough back to prevent the .wmv file from automatically loading when this page is accessed.

In the mean time, to all you users of “evil corporate” technology, feel free to roam about our archives, links, or wherever else you may want to.

The jolly riders

This weekend finally saw another Saturday night ride. Though I put several miles on to and fro, the actual ride didn’t consist of much riding. After leaving dinky town, the first stop was under a 394 overpass about a mile outside of downtown proper. Here people began to realize that we had been ditched by Aaron and Gwen. Jeremy left the group as well to go on a mission to find the lost comrades. When the rest of the group finally caught up with Aaron and Gwen at Mortimer’s bar, it became obvious that Jeremy had lost communication. Chuck verified this, in his drunken fumbling, by repeatedly calling Jeremy at home. According to Gwen, she and Aaron had heard that we were eventually going to have another campfire. She wasn’t much up for this so decided to hit the bar instead. Mark praised her genius idea, incorrectly amending it to include a phone call to the rest of the riders once the fire had been started and stoked. Though Gwen corrected Mark, several of us began to silently contemplate Mark’s spin on it for future rides. At Mortimer’s, I decided to take a group picture since my camera doesn’t work in the darkness. Gwen and Mark didn’t make it into the photo (nor did Chuck, who I believe was outside trying to find the bathroom at the time). Gwen’s absence was deliberate though. She was attempting to perpetuate her ability to keep her face from the lens of my camera. But in the end, she was unable to avoid the sneak attack photo.

It sounds as though bikeless festivities went on until early in the morning. I, however, still had miles to go. So I left Mortimer’s well before last call. I got home at a reasonable hour. The bike was caked with a salty slushy mess, but thanks to the new rear fender, none of it was on me.

Rude boy can’t play D major

As I (David) was heading home from work this morning, listening to Blanche broadcast the relaxing accordion melodies of Maria Kalaniemi, my mind wandered back to a recent band practice in which the guitarist, Matt, had to keep reminding me “don’t forget to play the F# on that chord”. Even before I first saw the movie SpinalTap, I had fallen in love with D minor. And after years of composing and playing tunes in D minor, I seem to have lost the ability to play D major. When I see a command to play anything “D” in front of me, I just can’t help but play in minor. Perhaps more practice is required. But I’ll do that later. For now, I’m off to buy a Melodica on ebay (rude boy can’t afford a real accordian).

Thinking out loud

On two different occasions in my (David’s) self created curriculum on community organizing at Metro State I was thrown into a role playing game that was designed to show students the challenge that NIMBYism and its opposed entity can create for those attempting to resolve a conflict in a neighborhood. The scenario was based on a real life model in South Minneapolis where a working class neighborhood was under the siege of decision makers who wanted to locate a home for chemically dependant people there.

Though I can’t say I really enjoyed this role-play, I was still willing to jump in headfirst. For I was armed with my miracle, cure-all role of community organizer’s duct tape; solutions based in citizenship. The first time I played the game it wasn’t too great of a challenge. The second time it was even easier. It was simply a matter of suggesting that the neighborhood residents welcome and treat the CD residents like family, share resources, and ultimately benefit from their presence. My utopian solution was enough to pacify my professors and impress some of my classmates.

Ironically, in the week that I had planned to get the word out about the block club I want to form (one that could lay a groundwork so that issues like these could be easily resolved should they arise) we got a flyer wedged in our door announcing that decision makers are looking at a property across the alley for the potential to host a home for disturbed youth. It may be a different population, but it has the same potential for NIMBYism.

Though I never really had any delusions of grandeur about my solution to the South Minneapolis problem, I had never really invested the time to think about how feasible it would be outside of the role-playing. It will always work in theory because it is such a good theory. Yet I am not so ignorant to think that everyone can be happy with a theory, even if my classmates were. Though if I ever wanted to test it, the potential may arise. Decisions haven’t been made yet. But in a crowd of NIMBYists at the meeting on Monday night I’m not going to be standing there quoting George Bush (“bring it on”). Especially since human nature has blessed me with a bit of NIMBYism too. The future is yet uncertain, and a time may come to put the theory to test. Even if the proposal isn’t shot down by me and my neighbors before it reaches the floor, I plan to stick to my duct tape. In fact, I have even begun to wonder if I would meet the qualifications for those who work with disturbed youth. After all, working there would meet my highest employment priority of working close to home.

Yet now I feel like I may be faced with a deadline for creating the block club. What’s worse is that those willing to participate may feel that it would be focused on a single issue. Once that issue is resolved, or left to its own fate, people may stop participating due what they may think is a lack of purpose or a feeling that organization has failed them. What I had anticipated as a relaxing and comfortable way to ease into my first non-academic attempt at community organizing could become one of the greater challenges I face in the field.

'Badges?' and... 'We don't need no stinkin' building permit'

And so closes the final chapter of 2004. Before dad (Mr. Brier) left for back east, he nearly completed a new kitchen cabinet for us. You can see how it progressed here: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7. Though the product is quite usable currently, the finishing touches won’t be in place until he returns in July.

The new year also brought a belated holiday celebration with mom and sis (Jan and Faith). I got to see how the patches (Anglo = “badges”) that I had sewn into sis’ flight jacket had turned out. It was difficult to tell whether or not they were crooked when I was modeling such a small jacket on myself.

On Saturday night I (David) skipped one of my few December/January opportunities to join the night riders. Among various reasons was my lack of a rear fender. I still hadn’t managed to replace the one I broke some time ago. Yesterday I finally picked one up. As I write this, the paint is drying as it sits up in the art building. So now I won’t have an excuse for the up coming Saturday. Unless of course the fender needs a second coat of paint.