Chariots of marginally warm, slightly smoldering ashes

For as far back as I can recall running being a thing you just did as opposed to a part of an actual game or something fun, I've had a love-hate relationship with it. Well, maybe that's more of a tolerate-hate relationship. In the twenty-plus years I've been running for some purpose or another, I don't think I've ever captured the mystical "runner's high," or finished a run feeling happy and better for having done it. But, that said, aside from the times where I've thought that running is the worst thing ever, it isn't the worst thing ever.

My first memory of running just to run was in middle school, because of the bear. One time a bear attacked my middle school and we all had to run away from it. No, totally kidding, although that would be a good means of motivation. I probably would have run a whole lot faster if it had been a real bear. The bear I'm referring to, letdown though it may be, was simply the vernacular for having to run around the schoolyard during gym class. As in, "that was a bear of a run." Or at least that's how I imagine it came about. According to Google Earth, that run was somewhere just north of half a mile, but everyone dreaded it when we had to run one. I can't recall enjoying it, but I did better than the kids who just strolled along talking to one another. I'd run the straights, walk the corners, and finish solidly midpack. From that point on, it was clear I was a born runner.

Fast-forward to high school, when one day during lunch a friend showed up with a mysterious blue sheet of paper. What was this paper? How could I get one? How many hours of physical activity would I be signing up for if I filled one out? These were the questions that should have raced through my head as I quickly filled one out so I could be cool, too, and I ended up on the track team. Now, track wasn't all bad for me. Everyone knows the ladies love athletes, and this was a sport I could actually do (since Scholastic Bowl allegedly didn't count as a sport). Not that I could particularly do it well, mind you, but I was part of an actual team. I had a smelly old uniform and everything.

Only one problem. They expected you to practice, which meant staying after school and running, like, every day. Fortunately for me, the long-distance coach was an incredible pushover, and I had a clever mind eager to think up excuse after excuse for how I couldn't practice that particular day. It was great. Particularly fond memories include discovering at my first meet that no, track runners don't take walking breaks during their races, and the time my coach, trying to decide what event to enter me in, imparted these words of inspiration: "Greg, you don't run fast, but you can run at the same pace for a long time. How about the mile?" Just to show him, I did go out there and run at a slow, steady pace. And unlike that damn tortoise, I didn't win anything. But it built character, and that's more important than anything... except those cool medals the real winners got.

I know what you're thinking. "Yes, Greg. Running sucks. But why do you need to tell us?" Well, I'm telling you because I'm going to try to start running. It's the twist ending for today's post. You see, this weekend I was in Chicago moving my sister in to college, when suddenly everyone just up and sailed away (literally) and I had three hours to kill. I decided to walk. It was a sunny Saturday in the mid-eighties, so I set off along the Lakefront Trail. And you know what? I wasn't alone. There were scads of people, outside, walking, running or cycling along the beautiful lakefront. Most of these people probably even had TVs at home, too, yet here they were running along the lake for no apparent reason. The more I walked amongst them, the more I yearned to understand them, and to even become one of them.

I will readily admit that some of the appeal may have been the environment, along one of the most gorgeous shores of waterfront in the country. Or it could have been sunstroke. But either way, it was far more appealing than jogging around the sterile McMansions my condo seems to be surrounded by. Could a grand setting truly make such a difference in how I view exercise? I aim to find out. It is true that in college, I always thought I studied better in the opulent surrounds of the library rotunda than I did in my drab dorm room. So, for a while anyway, I'm going to try running in some of the prettier parts of Des Moines and see how I like it.

Of course, hands down, the most scenic part of Des Moines has to be Grays Lake Park, and I certainly aim to use its tidy paths and sweeping bridge beneath the downtown skyline as I try this new program. There's also a nice trail running behind the Des Moines Art Center which should be an option. For today, though, I think I'll give the path around Blue Heron Lake at Raccoon River Park a shot. While it is nowhere near as scenic as downtown, it is significantly closer to home, and it fulfills my Chicago-born desire to run near the water. Depending on how that goes, I'll upgrade my surroundings and maybe even make it a regular occurrence. And maybe one day someone will be walking along Grays Lake, wondering how on earth I could be fool enough to run and actually enjoy it.

GGF - North By Northwest (1959)

Have you ever been mistaken for someone you're not? I can't recall a specific time that I have, though I do have vague memories of times I've thought a total stranger was someone I knew. It would start with a wave or a hello, returned by a look of puzzled consternation, all culminating in a me giving a muttered apology and quickly walking away in embarrassment. Since I naturally tend to over-analyze myself, those occasions have probably given me more grief in the short term than they should have, but they certainly could have been worse. What if a simple case of mistaken identity lasted longer than that awkward moment; if the stranger wouldn't accept your actual identity; and worst of all, was convinced that you were a super spy he wanted to snuff out? That one accidental interaction could change the course of your entire life, just as it does for Cary Grant in Alfred Hitchcock's North by Northwest, one of my favorite movies.

Grant plays Roger Thornhill, a dapper advertising executive in New York City, kind of a Don Draper before there was one. His case of mistaken identity occurs at a lunch with clients, when he inadvertently insinuates that he is one George Kaplan, just as a couple of goons working for the bad guy du jour are watching. In a matter of moments, the clients and the lunch are forgotten, as Thornhill is swept up into an elaborate cat-and-mouse game as he tries to figure out just who George Kaplan is, and the other guys try to kill him off for being Kaplan. I won't give too much away here, but suffice it to say that they have increasingly unusual ways of trying to go after him, including one of the most iconic scenes in film history. Even if you don't like mysteries or action movies or Cary Grant, you simply have to see this film for the plane chase.

I love this movie for the action and the convoluted plot - you have to keep on your toes a bit to know what's happening. I also enjoy Cary Grant as the protagonist. In a way, he's the everyman, just a regular guy thrown into the deep end of international espionage. But unlike the average man, he reacts to these ever-changing situations with wit and charm that few of us would be able to muster under the circumstances. The script is full of snappy exchanges, his suit stays immaculate through myriad explouts, and (of course) he gets the girl. This all helps keep the movie from getting too dark, and it remains a fun adventure throughout. A great example being Thornhill recognizing he is surrounded by the bad guys at an art auction, and the ingenious way he finds to save himself. You can't help but smile, even though he's sure his life is in serious jeopardy. I won't say what it is: you'll just have to watch the movie to find out.

On a lesser note, this movie is fun in that it really brings out the romance of rail travel. I've always wanted to take a trip by train: eating in the dining car, spending the night in a sleeper car, and I think a lot of it has to do with this film. Now, there is some literal romance to the rail travel, in that Thornhill meets the female lead (Eva Marie Saint) on the train, and things go rather, ahem, quickly. But I also just like the feel of sophistication, of something a little more special than driving or flying that you feel from the train in this movie. Granted, some of that may be due to the time period, but it still holds some allure for me. This has to be my favorite rail travel movie: on board the train is the one time Thornhill kind of "gets away" from the chase. And who wouldn't want to be incognito, hiding away in a sleeper compartment while the countryside rushes by?

At its heart, though, North by Northwest isn't a train movie - it's a thriller, and it ends in spectacular fashion. I won't give away the ending here, but I'll just say that for some reason the chase ends up in South Dakota. Perhaps you can imagine how a grandiose finale would go down in that state? And if everybody there has houses like the bad guy does in Rapid City, I don't know why we all don't live in South Dakota.

North by Northwest is a great film because of the action, the plot twists and turns, the debonair protagonist, and the great ambiance/feel of it all. This is one that I've seen so many times, but if I spot it on TV, I have to keep watching. It might not be Casablanca, and it doesn't have a ton of deeper meaning, but it's a lot of fun. And at 50 years old, it sure looks good for its age.


AFI notes: 40th best movie of all time (dropped to 55th in the 10 year version of the top 100), 4th best thriller, nominated movie hero, nominated film score, 7th best mystery.

Greg's Great Films

I read a fascinating blog post the other day, and I truly think it changed my life. I may try to write more on it later, but the way in which it pertained to my movie project is this: it is impossible to see every incredible, meaningful film in a lifetime. Try as I might, as dutifully as I work down lists from AFI, Oscar winners and nominees, all of IMDB's top 250, I'll simply never see them all. In my spreadsheet for AFI movies alone there are 1,951 movies nominated or awarded for some category. That would take me 5 and a half years of viewing, if I watched a movie every single day. If, instead I watch one or two a week, as is my typical pace, it ends up being between 18 and 37 years. And then what? By time I'm 65, when I finally check off the last movie off my list, will it be with a sense of accomplishment that I've spent 310,000 minutes (estimated) watching a screen?

Not that I'm trying to say there's anything wrong with watching movies - far from it, as I do enjoy it. But doing so simply to "check a box" as we like to say here at work isn't worth it. Why, just sitting here with the spreadsheet open, I can see that Madagascar is on the list, as a nominee for one of the best animated movies. I don't want to have to watch Madagascar. So I'm once again discovering what a normal person would do in this situation, and trying to adapt my strange self to accept it. I'm going to (gasp!) watch movies that I like, and similar ones that sound interesting. Now, I've certainly enjoyed several of the movies on the AFI lists and plan to mostly choose from their ranks, but recognizing that more of my favorites fell between the 1930's and 1950's I'll tend to focus on that era. If Casablanca is my favorite film of all time, that's a good starting point to look for similarities - in year, actors, writers, director, etc.

The other thing I want to do is try to be more present when I watch these movies. With a list of movies that I'm "working" on, I'd try to rush through things so I'd get one more check mark, sometimes missing out on truly enjoying the movie experience. I'd also tend to break things up, watching movies in 20 minute or so increments whenever I caught a little spare time. From now on, if it's a movie I really want to watch, I'm going to treat it like it is - make it more of a real movie night. That can mean popcorn and dim light, or not, but at a minimum I had better keep off Facebook, like I've been known to browse during a movie. If it can't hold my attention sufficiently to keep me from seeing what my high school friends are up to, it's probably not worth watching. Last week, I watched two classic movies, but I was really there for both of them. One was phenomenal - one of my all-time favorites. The other, not as good, but I chose it for a reason and gave it an honest shot.

I think this should make things more fun for me to blog about. Not trying to cram five films into one entry, not needing to rate movies I hated - should make the posts more positive overall. And although there is some benefit in warning people away from bad movies (M*A*S*H, anyone?), I'd rather focus on recommending ones that are truly great. Let's give it a whirl and see what happens.

Life Lessons from Wisconsin

Photos intended and should be coming soon

Four weeks ago this morning, I was in a car headed Northeast out of Madison, Wisconsin. With a full tank of gas, a stomach full of "breakfast" courtesy of the AmericInn, and my wonderful wife beside me, we were on our way to the beaches, boutiques and orchards of Door County. In terms of impressive sights and far-flung destinations, it certainly wasn't going to compare with prior vacations to Washington, D.C. or California's Sonoma Valley, but it was a beautiful respite from an otherwise busy schedule and the source of an important lesson for me.

In the weeks leading up to the trip, I was like an addict suffering the symptoms of withdrawal. No, not from any exotic substances, nor do I mean any sort of wanderlust from lack of travel (though it certainly had been a long time). Instead, I was struggling with my overwhelming desire to plan things out. I've noted on here my desire for preplanning, and touted its virtues when I talked about our trip to DC. And maybe it is a good thing in a big city like that, where you have one week to see countless memorials and world-class museums, many of which require prior reservations. But I'd noticed this need to control events sneaking into my life in general, and it was starting to cause me some anxiety in making sure everything did go to plan. The perfect antidote, it seemed, was a trip to a resort on the shore.

This was easier said than done, though. My usual routine in planning a trip was to go to TripAdvisor.com (a fabulous site, incidentally), and scour through all the categories - hotels, restaurants, activities, putting them into a spreadsheet that I'd gradually winnow down into a rough itinerary for the vacation. Cross-checking that info with stuff from the visitor's bureau, reviews on Yelp.com and pictures on the web added up to a monumental task to be sure we'd have the best possible vacation. It's what I've done on nearly every prior vacation I've planned. This time, though, I wanted to do things differently.

I will admit, on the hotel, I caved to my inner self and made my spreadsheet, pored over things and chose what seemed to me to be the very best. But all the while I kept telling myself I needed to keep things under control. I started lists of restaurants, but made myself delete them so I wouldn't overanalyze them. The weeks leading up to the trip were agonizing in some ways, as I wanted to do more research, but I forced myself to just go with it. Finally we hit the road, with a snazzy resort room booked, the Door County visitor's guide brochure and my mental notes on what had looked nice/sketchy/etc, and nothing else. No Excel sheets, no printouts of itineraries, nothing. Trust me, that was a big step.

We arrived in the county on a simply magnificent summer day, temperature around 80 beneath a sunny sky and with a gentle but cool breeze blowing inland from Green Bay (the body of water, not the city). We wanted to pick cherries, so I consulted the guide. They listed six options, not one like my itinerary would have. We asked our GPS, Beyonce, which one was closest, I thought back to a few things I'd seen online, and... we took a chance and tried one. And it was incredible. Friendly people, abundant delicious cherries, gorgeous orchards - I doubt I could have picked a better one had I tried. We picked cherries until our cooler was full. Counting another visit to the same orchard later that week, we ended up with 35 pounds of cherries!

After all that effort, we were pretty hungry so we needed to find a restaurant. Again, another place where my itinerary would have guided us had I actually made one. But operating without, Stacia leafed through the visitors guide once more and tossed out ideas. I commented on how nice a water view would be, and before I knew it we were sitting down at a restaurant I hadn't even seen online. As we gazed out onto Green Bay, sipping Spotted Cow beer and munching on cheese curds, I finally started to really relax. Was this place the best restaurant in all of Door County? Probably not - it was like a typical bar-and-grill, but with a Wisconsin flair. But who cares? In that moment it was perfect for us. After that point, I was ready to just chill out and take the vacation as it came.

So we spent the week doing whatever happened to strike our fancy at the moment. We went to the beach, we visited various shops, we visited (and quickly left) a mediocre winery. We discovered a delicious wood-fired pizza place and a groovy dinner restaurant, both of which featured local and sustainable ingredients. We lounged in the hot tub or at the pool, and even played shuffleboard at the resort! (more fun than you might guess) We ate ice cream from a local dairy nearly every single day. I can't imagine an itinerary that I'd crafted in advance featuring all of that, but it was so great I doubt I would change a thing.

Rereading some of this, I can see how you might wonder if I'm some sort of an alien. Who needs to learn that a vacation is about relaxing? Me, apparently. I always used to say I was innately a planner, and that making spreadsheets and charting out itineraries was just the way I am. But with one successful trip in the books without that level of detail, I'm now all about trying to just live in the moment. It's difficult, but I'm making progress. I think the main takeaway for me can be summed up in this quote from Dwight Eisenhower:

Plans are worthless, but planning is everything.


He makes a finer distinction between plans and planning than I do, but the idea is the same. In Door County I needed a small base level of knowledge of the area - what some of the more interesting attractions and dining options were, but I didn't need, and truthfully didn't want a master plan dictating which of those items needed to be done at any given time. Everything turned out well without it, and I was a lot less anxious about keeping our schedule and seeing what we "had to" see. I still think it was probably good to preplan Washington D.C., but life in general can be a lot more random and that may well be a good thing.

I'm heading back to Chicago this coming weekend, and I know for at least part of the time my brother and I will be in the city with a few hours to kill. The old me might have decided in advance how we should try to spend that time, but I think we'll just wing it this time.

Take Me Out of this Ballgame!

Sometimes, timing is everything. It can be fantastic, where you find yourself in a situation where, had you been a moment earlier or later, you would have missed a phenomenal occurrence. Or, as was the case for me last night, you can choose just the wrong moment to run to the car, and return only to ask, "what did I miss?" Yep, in an attempt to take advantage of a slow moment in the action to get my Invisalign trays (invisible braces thingys), I missed out on the cherry on top of the weirdest baseball game I've ever seen.

To set the scene: the baseball diamond at Johnston High School in suburban Des Moines, a fairly well-maintained patch of grass and dirt on the outskirts of town. Beyond left field the test plots of agribusiness giant Pioneer stretch out to the horizon in a scene reminiscent of the original X-Files movie. To right, there are some signs of civilization, as cars sporadically file past the line of trees just outside the outfield fence. The sun is high overhead, baking the simple aluminum grandstands, but there is a slight breeze, and if you stay in the shade of the press box, it's a pretty pleasant day.

I'm there to cheer on my brother-in-law as he plays in a local amateur league game. The word amateur has a definition on a bit of a sliding scale: some of these guys look like they were maybe one bad break away from making it at least into the minors, while others just appear to be ordinary joes who enjoy the game. The same can be said for the officiating crew, unfortunately. The role of an umpire is hardly an easy one, but most of the ones I've seen have at a minimum seemed to try their best to be fair and impartial. Not so yesterday...

I won't recap the entire game here, but the most egregious offense of the night was the bro-in-law being hit by a pitch in three separate at-bats, and being bawled out by an umpire on a power trip on each occasion. Some of it was from the opposing team's assertion that he'd moved in order to get hit, some was due to frustration after the second, clearly retaliatory (except in the umpire's eyes) hit, and most of it was just because there was a dude with a little bit of authority and a lot of short-man syndrome.

I'm far from being a baseball expert - I consider myself just a person who enjoys the game. But I've been to more than a couple games, and I've seen some people get hit by a pitch. There are a lot of different ways people move in such instances: usually a flinch or step back to avoid getting beaned, or sometimes the batting motion itself gets them into the path of the ball, but I don't believe I've ever seen anyone try to get hit by a pitch. Particularly in a recreational league, where everyone is ostensibly playing "just for fun." I don't need to have ever played competitive baseball to know it's more fun to bat than to have a guy throw a ball at your body. Add to that the fact that their pitcher had been hitting batters all day long, and I think someone needed a warning, but I'm not sure the ump wanted to call out the team he was so chummy with.

Be that all as it may, my brother and his team were actually doing quite well, and were ahead of a previously unbeaten opponent. This was when I made my fateful trip to the car, and missed something so bizarre as to hardly be believed. Apparently the umpire told our team that he was fed up with the language he heard from the dugout, and if he heard one more cuss word, he'd throw someone out. I like to think that if I'd heard that in person I would have laughed out loud, but I might just have been flabbergasted into silence. This is an adult league, and the only spectators were a handful spouses and friends, but apparently Little League rules were called for. From what I hear, the angels don't care for swearing...

In the end, all turned out well, though I had a few anxious moments on a couple more bad/biased calls, where I silently urged our team to not fight it, just let it go, a couple more outs and we win. I had a good time overall: by the end of the game it had turned into a beautiful day for baseball. I just wish the umpire had understood it wasn't all about him. These games, and in a sense all baseball games, should be played for the love of the sport. I'm a sentimentalist at heart, but I still truly believe that. Sure, it's great to win, but you want to do it the right way. If you're wound so tightly that you're screaming that your opponent stepped into the pitch, it's time to reexamine why you're playing. And if you seize on that opportunity to use your position of authority to yell at the players, maybe you take another look at whether that paycheck for umpiring is worth it.

Thankfully, a few poor sports didn't ruin my enjoyment of the game. Baseball's bigger than those guys, just as it's bigger than me and my perceptions of how things "ought to be." All in all, I think that's a good thing.

Can I go feedlot-free?

Today my workplace threw an elaborate party to celebrate the fact that I've been working there for five years. Well, to be technically accurate, it was for all the employees who'd reached a milestone anniversary so far this year, but let's not quibble, shall we? In addition to the thoughtful visa gift card they selected specially for me, my corporate masters also provided a lunch. They say there's no such thing as a free lunch, and they're right. It took five years of 9 to 5 to get that meal, so I was determined to eat my money's-worth.

So I stepped up to the line, grabbed a styrofoam plate (grrr) and was faced with an array of meat-and-vegetable kababs, from which I had to choose chicken or beef. In the past, that might have been a tough decision based on which I felt more like eating that day, but today it was a no-brainer. Factory beef is something I just haven't had much appetite for lately. Because though that meat may have looked like this on the plate:

(slight exaggeration)

It originally came from a place like this:

(unfortunately no exaggeration)

That picture shows mile after mile of cattle crammed into tight confines, often knee-deep in their own waste, and fed corn, a grain for which they're not adapted to eat and which makes them understandably sick. To combat the illness, they're pumped with antibiotics, which then also become part of our food stream. Even aside from the issues of the animals' welfare being subject to these conditions, mass-produced beef just isn't very good for you. You can't control everything in life, but I've read articles showing a strong correlation between quantity of red meat in one's diet with health issues like colon cancer, which I'd love to avoid having. I haven't done the research to validate those claims, but it doesn't take much of a stretch of the imagination to think that eating meat from malnourished sickly cows doesn't do great things for the human body.

All that said, I am an incredibly lucky individual. I have a nearby producer of grass-fed beef, who makes routine trips into Des Moines to sell just about any cut of beef you can think of (plus poultry, lamb, pork and fish, but that's beside today's point). Nick Wallace, of Wallace Farms, raises cows the way they're evolved to live, eating grass and roaming about in pastureland. As a result, the meat off these cattle is significantly better for you, and has been proven to be much higher in the beneficial Omega-3 fats that our bodies need to stay healthy. I can't really discern a difference in flavor with grocery store meat, but the beef is delicious, juicy and comes from happy cows that are doing their part to keep me well and vibrant. At home, I cook exclusively with grass-fed beef from Nick Wallace. As an aside to any readers who live in Des Moines, look Nick up for his local buying clubs - you'll be glad you did.

So, probably 90% of the time, I do really well. As I just said, I only cook with grass-fed beef. And when I'm eating food out, I usually avoid beef unless it specifically says it's grass-fed. But I'm not perfect. Last week, S and I grabbed lunch at Sonic and I ordered a burger, knowing full well it was conventional/factory meat. It was tasty, but I've lately started wondering if I'm still willing to make that trade-off. Was it delicious enough to offset the welfare of the animals and the unhealthiness that it provides? It's a tough question. Right now my knowledge of the food system in the U.S. gives me pause when ordering, but sometimes the impulse buy wins out over my conscience. I'm considering going full-bore non-feedlot beef, though it is a struggle.

Granted, when you go out to eat and order something that isn't beef, it too comes from a confined feeding operation. There's no perfect solution without exclusively eating at home or at farm-to-table restaurants. But beef feedlots are some of the worst, particularly for the environment, and the poor health effects of their factory production are some of the highest correlated per today's research. So you might feel bad going out for chicken as well, but I feel better about that than I do for beef.

I think I'm going to give it a concerted try. Sacrificing going out for fast food burgers is probably a good idea in general, and there aren't that many other restaurant beef offerings that I find myself terribly tempted by. Of course, there will have to be exceptions - if I'm visiting relatives or friends for dinner, I won't refuse beef that isn't grass-fed; that's just rude. But when I do "control my own destiny," so to speak, I'm going to try not to eat any more feedlot beef. Sure, those burgers at Sonic are pretty tempting, but they're not half as good as the grass-fed beef tater tot casserole I'll be eating tonight. Or for a more apt comparison, the juicy grass-fed burgers we made a few weeks ago. (Sorry, it just happens we're having tater tot casserole tonight.) I don't know if I can succeed at this challenge, but I'm up for giving it a try. I think my body will thank me.

Filmfest 1940-1942 - Loyalty

Picture doodads coming later...

When I was younger, my Mom had a saying that would sometimes need to be repeated to my siblings and me, typically when we were complaining about a family event conflicting with something we wanted to do. "Family comes first." Regardless of the situation, those three simple words reminded us that our first loyalty was to our family. That meant if a sibling was having trouble with something, we automatically had his or her back. It meant that if we had to choose between spending time with our family or with yahoos from school, we picked family. It meant that no disagreement between us was big enough to make us forget that we were brothers and sisters first, and always will be. It's a philosophy that has lead to us being one of the tightest-knit families I've ever seen, and I hope that I can pass it on to my own family someday.

This batch of movies each touch on the concept of loyalty, though not specifically to one's family. Within my family, loyalty means a steadfast feel of fierce unity and support, but these characters explore the various ways loyalty can be interpreted or twisted. Loyal to their professional dignity, their loves, their childhood dreams, their art, to another person or simply to themselves, these are some of the greatest characters in movie history. In most cases that means a spectacular film results, but there's still one that I can't quite learn to love as fervently as most cinemaphiles. Overall, though, it's a good group, and long overdue for sharing.

1940 - The Philadelphia Story (#44) - I first saw this movie in October of last year and liked it quite a bit. When it came back up on my list, I thought for a while about how I'd perceived it and decided it didn't necessitate a rewatch, though I'll certainly enjoy watching it again sometime. Just not in the middle of this project. The film is a pretty standard romantic comedy, by today's formulaic interpretation of the genre. But this incarnation is a rather well done one, with some of the era's best actors to boot. Anytime you have James Stewart, Katherine Hepburn and Cary Grant on screen at the same time, you're pretty sure to enjoy the show. The craziness all starts with Cary Grant showing up on ex-wife Hepburn's doorstep just as she's preparing to remarry. You can imagine the zaniness that ensues, especially after newspaper reporter/paparazzo Stewart arrives to document it all. It's clever and witty, and you can't help watching without a smile.

4 out of 5 sailboats that are quite "yar"



1941 - Citizen Kane (#1) - Here it is. The one I just didn't much like, and as luck would have it, the American Film Institute thinks it's literally the best movie ever. Now, there can be some sense of smug satisfaction in not liking what everyone else does, but I'm not just dissing this movie to be some kind of hipster. See my (quite different) response to movie number 2 as proof. No, I just didn't like this film because there was no one to like in it, and no one to truly sympathize with. Sure, plenty happens, but in a "biopic" on fictional news baron Charles Foster Kane, if you don't care what happens to Kane, it's a bit of a bust. The guy was written as kind of a jerk, so you were hard-pressed to feel much besides "serves him right" when ills befell him. For the record, I do understand why he's portrayed that way, but I just didn't feel like it was well rationalized. On the plus side, the story of what does happen to him is fairly interesting, and a second viewing revealed some unique innovations in filmmaking. Strange camera angles, effects of scale, shadow and optics - it was all pretty neat. But without a person to root for, it felt really long and I just wanted it to be over.

2 out of 5 printing presses



1941 - The Maltese Falcon (#23) - It's hard to say for sure, but I think this was one of the first classic movies I sat down on the couch with my Dad to watch on PBS some Sunday afternoon, and I have loved it ever since. You probably can tell by now that I enjoy the genre of film noir, of which Maltese Falcon is one of the best. This movie has it all: hardboiled detectives, a classic femme fatale, a mysterious object of desire, and constant double and triple crosses. Add in some of the best actors of the era: Humphrey Bogart playing Sam Spade as no one else could have, with a devil-may-care attitude and plenty of snappy one-liners. Peter Lorre as the effeminate and sniveling Joel Cairo, and of course Sydney Greenstreet as the enormous and smooth-talking Kaspar Gutman. They're all chasing after the Maltese Falcon, a jewel-encrusted bird statue of immense value. As they go, allegiances are tested, lives become expendable and the audience is kept breathless, guessing whose side anyone is on. It's a suspenseful ride with memorable quotes throughout, set in a well-executed rendition of seedy parts of San Francisco. I love this movie; I'd watch it pretty much anytime.

5 out of 5 black birds (of course)



1941 - Sullivan's Travels (#61) - Finally! We had a gap in our Netflix queue so I nabbed it to get a copy of Sullivan's Travels, the only missing film from this set of five for the past month or more. I don't know if that extended wait raised my expectations for the movie, but I found myself rather underwhelmed by it. It was decent, don't get me wrong, but certainly not on par with the best movies of this era. The concept centers on a big time Hollywood film producer, known for making profitable comedies, who wants to make something truly meaningful, capturing the grit and despondency of the poor at the time. Not a bad premise for a film, and I do think this could have been good. But, ironically enough, the movie suffered from a lack of identity as it wavered at different points between being a slapstick comedy and a serious drama. I do believe that movies can blur that line, but I'm not sure this one did it successfully. Jumping from a painfully bad car chase using sped-up film and ridiculous situations to our protagonist somberly walking amongst the homeless was a bit too inconsistent for me. That said, there were parts of this movie I did like, from the sultry Veronica Lake (inspiration for Jessica Rabbit, don't ya know) and her sarcastic wit to the moving scene at the church picture show. But it just didn't all play well together, and had a convenient ending that I had a major problem with. An okay movie, but definitely not great.

3 out of 5 hobo boxcars



1942 - Casablanca (#2) - Here it is. The greatest and most perfect movie of all time. I realize that I'm hardly being original in that assertion, but sometimes classics are classics for a reason. If the Maltese Falcon was the first classic film I saw, this one has to be the first one I loved. Again featuring Humphry Bogart, this time as a world-weary American expatriate living in Casablanca toward the beginning of WWII. The supporting characters are fantastic, too, including Peter Lorre (again), Sydney Greenstreet (again), Claude Rains, and the lovely Ingrid Bergman. But the thing that makes this film so transcendent is the story. There isn't necessarily a Hollywood happy ending here, the world isn't quite as simple as black and white, and love can mean many things, not necessarily what's expected. Bogart's Rick starts off cold and cynical, but we quickly learn that there's much more beneath the surface. As letters of transit to escape Casablanca mysteriously go missing, the action comes quickly, but always revealing more about what people are willing to do to get what they want. Words can't really describe how much I love the ending of this movie - it is simply the perfect moment, scripted beautifully and atmospherically staged. That scene sums up the themes of the movie, but the whole film is a work of art, that any movie lover simply has to watch.

5 out of 5

The Race of a Lifetime

After the final laps had been ticked off the counter, after the thick clouds of tire smoke from celebratory donuts had cleared, and after many spectators had long since headed for the exits, I continued to stand on my bleacher seat looking toward the activity in victory lane. I wanted to snap one last picture, getting a photo of the scoring pylon to record the finishing order, but I was literally shaking with too much with excitement to hold the camera steady. I had just witnessed probably the best auto race I have ever seen in my life, and I have to admit I'm skeptical that it can be matched in the future. I knew traffic wouldn't allow us to leave the Iowa Speedway for at least another hour, getting us home some time around midnight, but with all the excitement coursing through my body, I wasn't the least bit worried about staying awake.

The interesting thing was, this race almost didn't happen - at least not for me. As you likely know, I would consider myself a racing fan, with a distinct predilection for Indycars. Sure, I started out with NASCAR and I'll still catch a few laps here and there; I also enjoy the skill, strategy and amazing machines of sports car racing. But for pure entertainment, for inspiring enough passion to yell at the television, for the nervous energy that means I have to stand up from the couch, nothing really does it like the wheel-to-wheel action of Indycars. As such, I've been to the Indycar races at Iowa Speedway with Stacia since they began in 2007.

The first time was all about the experience, seeing and living it all for the first time. The next few years we came almost by default - it was simply the thing we expected to be doing toward the end of June. But last year's event really made us reconsider. Not that the race was bad - it was actually pretty exciting and a guy that we both sort of rooted for ended up winning. The trouble came about by sitting in uncovered grandstands under a blazing sun for 3+ hours on a hot humid summer afternoon. Neither one of us felt great following the race, and Stacia had some pretty significant heat exhaustion symptoms. For ticket face values north of $50 a person, we weren't sure it was worth feeling sick over to be there in person when we could just watch it on TV.

So it came to be that the day before the race we had no tickets and didn't plan to do much more than watch the broadcast. I thought just for the off chance that I might find something, I'd poke around Craigslist. And what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a pair of tickets for all the support races that day and the big race (now on Saturday night, not Sunday afternoon) for a total of $60. I found the tickets around 9 AM, ran to the bank around 10, and at noon had a couple of guys stop by my office to make the exchange. It was a whirlwind series of events that left me in a bit of a bind. Friday night had a couple of minor league races scheduled as a buildup to the Indy race, plus qualifying for the big cars. It all started at 3:30, and the speedway is an hour's drive from home.

I managed to convince my boss to let me take off at 3:00, and I sped home as fast as our Honda scooter would take me, where I literally took off my helmet and jacket and jumped into the car to zoom out to the racetrack. Google maps predicted it would take me 55 minutes - we had the car parked at the track within 40, still a touch late but not missing much. I opened the door and immediately heard the familiar engine whine that meant cars on track. I smiled at Stacia, knowing we'd made the right choice. By time we got to our seats we'd missed just 4 cars out of 25 making their qualifying runs. As we settled in and each car in line roared to life, I couldn't imagine we thought about skipping this.

And that was just the start. In qualifying, the excitement built as the superpower teams struggled and relative unknown Takuma Sato took the pole with fan favorite Danica Patrick starting second. Then we sat through the caution-filled debacle of a USAC midget race, and the follow-the-leader affair of the USAC Silver Crown cars. The next day saw some practice runs, followed by the buildup to the main event. Star Mazda cars, a kind of mini Indycar, took to the track for a race that was side by side for the lead until one car's engine gave out halfway through. Indy Lights, the development series for Indycar, took to the track for a hard-fought battle between four different cars. It was all pretty fun, but it was just an aperitif to what was to come. As the driver introduction stage was moved into place, I began to jitter with nervous anticipation.

That anticipation built up through the intros, the anthem, as the drivers strapped into their machines, the "start your engines" command, and the first few pace laps. It came to a crescendo as the cars lined up in rows of two, their engines spooled up along the backstretch, and they finally came roaring out of turn four to take the green flag. I excitedly waved the green flag I'd been given at the entrance, along with 35,000 of my closest friends. The cars jostled back and forth, dodging and weaving as they sought to gain positions while so closely packed. Eventually, Dario Franchitti of the dominant Target race team began to pull away, as he had on more than one prior occasion.

But my eye wasn't often on him. I was more interested in the black #26 car with red scales and glaring red eyes on the front wing - the Venom Energy Drink-sponsored car of Marco Andretti. Grandson of fabled race driver Mario, Marco has shown flashes of brilliance throughout his young career, but rarely has been able to close, having only one win in five years of competition. He can come off as aloof and spoiled, supposedly symptoms of shyness (which I can totally understand), but seems like a "good kid." In addition, he is aggressive and has more guts than many of his competitors, frequently putting his car in places few would try. About halfway through the race, having passed many cars from his poor starting position, I leaned over to Stacia and yelled "Marco's using the high line." She smiled and nodded, knowing from prior races that Marco would soon be making breathtaking passes on the outside.

And so he did, bringing his car to the lead briefly, then dicing with former winners Dario Franchitti and Tony Kanaan. As the laps counted down, Dario's car began to fade, but Marco and Tony only upped the intensity of their battle, with Marco sweeping high lap after lap to pull alongside Tony but not quite able to pull off the pass. Then, with about 20 to go, in one of the sweetest moves I've seen, Marco ran high through two turns to build up momentum, pulled up behind Kanaan on the straightaway and darted inside just before the turn-in. Squeezed down as low as he could be by his rival, Marco blasted out of the turn and took the lead. As they had throughout the night, the stands erupted as he blew past the flagstand.

This dogfight wasn't over though. Kanaan fought back, taking advantage of Marco's preference for the high lane to try to duck in underneath. As we nervously counted down the handful of laps we were away from Marco's second victory, I worried whether he could hold off the much more seasoned racer running just inches behind and alongside him. Then in one final show of strength, with 5 laps to go, Marco tightened his apex in turns 1 and 2, disturbing the air in front of Kanaan's car, causing him to lose downforce on the front wing. As Kanaan was forced to lift off the throttle to control his car, Marco powered away and took the win moments later. I stood and cheered, still shaking from the tenacious battle I'd just witnessed.

I did eventually get the picture of the scoring pylon I'd wanted all along, with the number 26 proudly showing at the top. Stacia and I talked about how fantastic a race it had been, and how incredibly furious we would have been had we chosen to skip it. I don't yet know if we'll come back next year - the series is rolling out a brand-new car, and I just don't know if it will provide the thrills this race did. Frankly I'm not sure it's possible. But for one phenomenal weekend, I saw the best race ever. That was well worth the sixty dollars.

Keepin' it local

I wish I could remember how I found out about Founding Farmers in Washington, D.C., because dining there was an almost literally life-changing experience. I doubt I sought out its niche, because before we went there I didn't even know that genre existed. No, it must have been while I was scouring list after list of D.C. restaurant reviews that something about Founding Farmers caught my eye. And I'm glad it did, because it was my first chance to dine at a farm-to-table restaurant.

The concept of farm-to-table is simple enough, so logical that you might think more restaurants than just a specialty niche would operate that way. The idea is just this: a restaurant forms close connections with local farms and producers, so their food comes straight from the farm to the restaurant (and your table) without needless middlemen or cross-country shipping. If you're interested in eating more locally, this is the style for you. Or even if you just want to know that the food you're about to eat is grown by an individual farmer who cares about her produce and animals, rather than a ConAgMonsanCargill feedlot nightmare, farm-to-table is a great way to feel better about what you're putting into your body.

At Founding Farmers, I kind of bucked convention by ordering fish, a Sole Meuniere, but it was locally caught by area fishermen and paired with locally grown potatoes and something both green and local (I want to say broccoli, but I could be wrong). Stacia opted to skip all that uppity pretense and got a burger and a beer, also from an area beef producer with local toppings and fries. It was some of the tastiest food I'd had while out to eat, and I was just blown away by the fact that it was all sourced from the greater D.C. area. I returned home, to the more fertile fields of central Iowa, and I was majorly bummed that we had no analogue here.

Or so I thought, until last night. Unfortunately it took a nudge from Groupon (who's still on probation with me from their Super Bowl ad) to take a chance on a restaurant called Mojo's on 86th. I like to think of myself as a Des Moines expert of sorts, but I'd never been out to visit Mojo's. Granted, it is kind of tucked away on the north side of Johnston, a suburb I'd long since written off as haven of reheated chain restaurant slop. Who knew I'd find my farm-to-table restaurant hidden a half mile up the road from Texas Roadhouse and Ruby Tuesday?

On being seated, we immediately noticed something a little, well, different about the menu. Across the top of the page, front and center, was a listing of all the local producers that Mojo's contracts with for their meals. I was happy to recognize some favorites from the downtown Farmer's Market, little guys like Berry Patch Farm, Foxhollow Farms, Iowa Farm Families and Turtle Creek Farms. Further down, almost every item on the menu lists the source for its main component or two. I opted to go for the Lamb Meatballs over spaetzle, from a place called Wirth Farms that I'd not heard of, but learned is just north of Ames, so quite close to home. Stacia opted for the Pork Medallions made from Iowa Farm Families Duroc pork - a heritage breed, more or less an "heirloom" pork. Hers also came with roasted carrots and a chorizo-raisin bread pudding.

Taste-wise, I'd love to say it was the best thing I'd ever eaten, but it's just a touch rough around the edges compared to Founding Farmers. Mine ended up being a fresh take on spaghetti and meatballs, so it was a bit basic, but still tasted quite good. Probably wasn't optimal ordering on my part. Stacia's pork medallions had  good flavor, but were a bit well done for my preference. Trichinosis has been all but eradicated, so it's pretty darn safe (and much more delicious) to eat pork medium-rare, especially if you can trust its source. On a return trip, I'd be sure to ask for the pork med-rare to ensure it's as juicy as I like it. But where my entree was fairly basic, hers had a very unique flavor profile, with the salty-spicy chorizo balanced out by a nice honey-cream sauce and the sweetness of roasted carrots. If they'd pulled it from the heat a minute or two earlier, I would have been super jealous for ordering the wrong thing. As it was we were both reasonably pleased with taste, and thrilled that we'd supported the closest thing to a farm-to-table restaurant Des Moines has to offer.

One final note: for dessert we got a rhubarb cheesecake, which just screams local and in season, and tasted phenomenal to boot. We never ate rhubarb when I was growing up, but I've grown to love its in-your-face tartness, especially paired with the smooth creaminess of a cheesecake. That's one to try to replicate at home.

So we left, stomachs full, pockets a bit lighter (it wasn't exactly cheap), but extremely satisfied. It's a sad commentary on our food system today that the concept of bringing food directly from local farms to nearby restaurants is a niche market and not simply the way things are done. We drove back past the Texas Roadhouse on our way back home, and I had to shake my head at the packed parking lots. So many people eager to throw down money for a factory farmed, feedlot finished steak that came off a cow raised "in USA/Mexico." No joke, that's what many of the labels say - they can't even confirm that your steak came from this country, while just up the road is the "fancy" place where your steak is less than 50 miles from home. Not to mention the fact that they get to munch on grass rather than corn and other cows' waste like their feedlot brethren.

It would be great to be able to change that system, but it's part of a whole complicated mess of farm subsidies to keep people growing commodity crops, and the might of a few agribusiness giants dominating the landscape to shift animal rearing into food factories. For now I'm happy that I'm able to source my own ingredients from my garden, the farmer's market and my grass-fed beef buyer's club. And as of last night, even on days when I don't want to cook, I now have an option for a dinner that doesn't come with a side of doubt or regret. That's a good thing, and I can only hope that it starts to take off.

Seeking Sullivan

Regular readers of the blog may have noticed it's been a really long time since I've written about my classic movie project (watching all of the films on the AFI 100 best movie lists). In fact, it has been exactly 56 days since I last posted on the subject. So what gives? Have I, yet again, given up on a project I've started? The good news is that, no, I haven't. I'm just starting to fall behind because of this:

Sullivan's Travels, a 1941 comedy that I'd never heard of prior to starting this project. I don't much know what it's about, but I do know it's apparently hard to come by. I typically get my classic films from either Turner Classic Movies, recorded to the DVR, or else Netflix. TCM hasn't had this on the schedule for quite some time, so I haven't been able to record it, and Netflix doesn't have it available for streaming. That leaves Netflix DVD, or else seeking it out at a local library. Two problems with that, though.

1) I always forget to return things on time to the library. Always. Even with the nice libraries (I'm talking to you, Des Moines and Urbandale) that email you reminders about due dates, I find myself not getting back to the library in time to avoid having to pay. As a result I think I have modest fines on all four of my area library cards. Not that it's a problem; it's good to support the library. But when I have movies piling up on the DVR, it seems silly to risk fines just to get to the next one in line.

2) This is very much my project, not mine and Stacia's. Sadly, S does not share my affinity for old films, so she really doesn't care to watch them all with me. Usually I can convince her to watch the really good ones if I want to see them a second time. Not really a problem, but our Netflix account is a 1-out-at-a-time, and it really is ours, so any old movies have to get worked into the rotation fairly. I finagled Citizen Kane in earlier this month, but to be equitable, there should be some "us" DVDs in queue next before we get to another one of mine. Again, it's not an issue to me, since there are so many others that are streamable and on TCM.

It just means that the next "filmfest" might not be complete for a little while. I'm just missing Sullivan's Travels for the next batch, then similarly one movie for the next group after that. I will get there. But in the meantime, I'm fitting in whichever movies I do have on the DVR, working ahead, if you will. Just last night I watched The Petrified Forest, which is only a nominee for one of AFI's top 100 movie villains, but it sounded interesting so I gave it a shot while Sullivan is still MIA. (Pretty average, incidentally - 3/5 petrified hunks of wood, awarded for Bogie's wooden acting).

So fear not if you haven't seen any movie reviews on here in a while. They're coming, albeit slowly. I'm still having fun with it, and I'm still not overly pressuring myself to finish them all, so everything's good from my perspective. If I can keep patient on this, I'm sure somehow you guys will manage too.

0.00459 acres and some worms

It is an interesting time for the garden. As I've mentioned earlier, we made a plan and a schedule for every square inch of our 96 square feet at the Downtown Community Garden. So far it has all been going well, as our little piece of earth has transitioned from bare soil, to sporadic sprouts and seedlings, all the way to where we are today, with plants up in every single box. And as exciting as it is to watch each plant emerge from beneath the cover of the ground, exclaiming with delight at each new discovery, right now is so much better. Better, because it means we finally have something to eat!

Yes, these are the salad days of the garden. And I mean that in the most literal sense possible: we've been eating salad on a nearly-daily basis for about a week now with no signs of slowing! The master plan, drawn up in the dead of winter, called for planting a full bed each with spinach and lettuce, intending all along to replace them with peppers and zucchini once it's warmed beyond the leafy greens' happy temperature. We haven't reached that part of the growing season yet, though, so it means that every trip down to the garden results in a bag full of lettuce and spinach that seems to grow back almost as soon as it's picked. It's glorious! Last night we had lettuce-spinach salads with homegrown radishes, homemade croutons, and a hard-boiled egg. It was a delicious meal, and practically the only thing on it we didn't raise ourselves was the egg. We're planning to work on that part in the future, but we'll need a bit more land than we have in our little condo.

So things are going almost perfectly according to plan. The biggest concern I can dream up right now is if our heirloom "Slobolt" lettuce decides to keep producing into the summer and I have to choose between pulling our lettuce and planting our peppers or running the risk that the peppers don't have time to mature. Not exactly the worst problem to have, right? But we'll cross that bridge if and when we come to it.  For right now, nothing can throw the garden off track.

Unless...

Someone decides they no longer want to garden downtown, putting their plot up as available, while simultaneously we discover that there is a two (2!) plot per household limit. Saying yes to this was a no-brainer, but it really does put a kink in our plans. All the scheduling we've done, all the allocation of how many seedlings to start, was all done based on a 96 sq ft farm. How would we have planned differently if we'd known we had 192??? Things might have been laid out totally differently, but no sense in worrying about that now. Today's reality is we have the wonderful gift of an untouched 8x12 ft rectangle of garden.

And when I say untouched, I really mean untouched. There are literally trees growing in this plot. And weeds. Lots and lots of weeds. And something that looks like leeks, but honestly, I'm not really sure. So regardless of what we might or might not have planned to plant in this space, the plan from this point forward is pretty clear. Weeding. Pitchforking. Weeding. Adding compost. And more weeding. Then we can start thinking about what to plant here. Wednesday we headed down to at least get some of the big monstrosities out of the bed. It's still not perfect, but I think it's an improvement.

At present, and once we get the remaining weeds out, it's looking like this will be the Zink Square Footage vine patch. Zucchini will be relocated to this space, and we grabbed some Seed Savers Butternut Squash seeds. Despite never eating it as a kid, I've grown to really love Butternut Squash, so I'll be very excited to have some of our very own. Maybe throw in a couple of cucumbers or something, possibly some root veggies to help bust up the soil, and we're looking pretty good. Ideally, this will also, in part, become a garlic plot this fall. I can hardly think of a recipe that I cook that doesn't use garlic, so it would be a lot of fun to grow some of the more unique varieties in our plot.

Zink Square Footage is still pretty small, but we're expanding. We don't yet have 40 acres and a mule, but we do have 200 square feet, and a few thousand worms. If that's not a respectable urban farm, I don't know what is!

Monday (no, Tuesday) Morning Photo

It's been a pretty action-packed several days (hence the Monday morning photo being posted on Tuesday), but strangely few pictures were taken over the last 7 days.  In some ways that's not a surprise, since this little project was born of a desire to take more photos in the first place, and actually parse them for good ones before relegating them to the abyss of my hard drive.

There were so many activities over the weekend that would have been good photo ops, but it wasn't til Sunday evening that I actually took a photo.  Saturday morning we went to the farmers market, which is frequently picturesque, but we wisely opted to go during the heaviest rain and highest wind of the day ;) so our focus was much more on efficient shopping than photographing.  That afternoon we went to see my bro-in-law play his first game in the semi-pro baseball league he joined, but all the seats were behind a big chain link fence, and those kind of pictures almost never turn out.

But we also ended up making three trips down to our garden, so that's today's picture.  A worm's-eye view of our progress in one of the raised beds.  That giant tree in the foreground is a young broccoli, you can see some neatly spaced kale off to the left, all against the backdrop of our spectacularly climbing peas.

None of these guys are producing food just yet, but they're really starting to come along.  I thought the broccoli were doing pretty well under the grow light at home, but they have really taken off once they got into the ground and saw some real sunlight.  It should be another month or so and we'll hopefully be eating delicious broccoli we grew ourselves.  In the interim, we are feasting on the less photogenic but equally delicious lettuce, spinach and radishes that are starting to ripen.  I love our garden, and I kinda love this picture.  It really captures the magic in between seed and food - the incredible process that we have set into motion to generate food from the absolute basics.  That's a good feeling.

Monday Morning Photo Album

I realized recently that my blog doesn't have enough pictures on it.  I like to take pictures, but typically I'll just take them, upload them from the camera to the PC and leave them there without ever really looking at them again.  So, in an effort to take more and better sort my photos, I'll try to put one up here every week or so. I'm sure there will be plenty of opportunities to take some fun pics to share.

Also, though I took a photography class in high school, using a (non-digital) SLR, I typically just use a boring non-technical point-and-shoot these days.  I still remember things about film speed, F-stops and the like, but it's not a high enough priority for me to shell out the big bucks for an all-out digital SLR.  Just consider these weekly snapshots, then.

This weekend Stacia and I went to Honey Creek Resort in southern Iowa for a special geocaching weekend event.  I'll try to write a longer post about geocaching sometime, but for now I'll just say that this is from a morning hike to collect caches.  Despite how things may look in this shot, it was a really pleasant time.  The weather was cool, and there was a light misty drizzle in the air.  It seemed no one else wanted to brave the elements, so we had the trails (and the caches) all to ourselves.  This particular picture is from a lookout point toward the bay on Rathbun Lake where the resort is situated.  Out through that inlet is the main lake; I kept looking for some fog out there but I think all the gray was just the color of the expanse of sky and water.  It was a great and action-packed weekend overall, but for this moment everything was just quiet, relaxing and serene.

How Do They Do It?

By 1:30, when the last couple finally walked out the door, I was beat.  My feet were aching, my back was sore, and I felt like I wanted nothing more in the world than a good long nap.  I looked around at my comrades and saw the same flushed face and sweat-mopped brow that I'm sure I exhibited, and the same torpor I felt through my body.  I'd been awake for only 5 1/2 hours, we'd been open for just 2 1/2, yet I felt more exhausted than any 8+ hour day at the office.  And even more draining - we were, at best, only half done.  As each dish, fork or glass had arrived in the sink over the past 200 minutes or so, its insipid clunk or grating chime just said that we'd be cleaning up for that much longer afterward.  As a group, we trudged back to the kitchen, while I just thought to myself, 'how do people possibly do this for a living?'

I'm certain that almost everyone, at some point, has entertained the notion of opening a restaurant.  I myself have seen my fair share of restaurants open and, just as quickly, close in the hands of those who thought it would be easy.  There are statistics that say restaurants are among the most likely-to-fail business ventures one can start.  And still, there's the allure of it all.  Going out to eat is such a magical experience: sitting in plush comfort while others tend to your every need, sampling exotic foods you've never had before, dining in pleasant company but not needing to clean up afterwards - as a people, we love our restaurants.  So once you learn how to cook, it's not that big a leap from making your first pot of spaghetti to dreaming of one day providing epicurean delights to others for huge sums of money.  That's even how it looks on TV, with the glut of cooking-based reality shows.  As is often the case, though, reality is not quite as easy, glamorous, or (financially) rewarding as we all like to hope.

Not that reality and I were all that well-acquainted prior to this past weekend, when my Mother-in-law invited my wife and me to help out in her old cafe for a one-off Mother's Day lunch.  I thought, 'I love to cook; let's do it.  It will be fun!'  We piled in the car, and drove the familiar 3 hours to small-town Edgewood, arriving at Cafe Rose at the end of the one-block business district in the charmingly restored former bank building.

Friday night was spent relaxing, then Saturday came with the promise that we'd "be cooking 'til midnight."  I naively laughed it off, thinking instead of what to do with all our free time after we were prepped.  Then that pesky reality started to show up and remind me that running a restaurant is actually a lot of work.  We needed to make 12 pies from scratch, plus 5 salad options, while my Mother-in-law cycled countless chickens through the ovens, prepping, cooking and breaking down each one.  When 11 PM rolled around and we were still working, I begged my way into a quick respite at the local watering hole two doors down.  And then it was off to bed to rest prior to the big event.

Like the bum that I am, I slept in until after 8, while Stacia and her Mom were hard at work downstairs.  I joined them for the remaining prep, working in the kitchen as the clock ominously ticked closer to opening time.  Our first customers walked in, and we all scattered to our various tasks.  Stacia cheerfully took their order, her sister dished up salads, her Mom plated the main courses, and I helped where possible while finishing a little last-minute chopping.  Piece of cake.  But then more people came.  And more.  And even more.  Soon our carefree little ensemble was in full-fledged organized chaos.  Stacia still handled the waiting and her Mom retained control of the mains, but besides that, no one really had any stations, as we all flew about the kitchen, prep area and dining room, handling whatever task needed attention.  Speaking for myself only, in those few hours I made and dished up salads, brewed and poured coffee, sliced and plated pie, ran orders to the dining room, bussed tables, chopped or faux-sous cheffed in the kitchen, was an overall go-fer, and washed dishes, depending on what the moment required.  And I was the least important/experienced person in the cafe, so I probably did less than any of the other three.

I won't bore you with how we made ourselves get up and do dishes (my least favorite part of cooking).  In the end, though, we did it.  We served lunch to about 30 people and I couldn't believe how tiring it was.  It was fun, too, but it's either a lot more work than I expected, or I've just grown soft in my years of sitting at a computer all day.  And that's just for one weekend of restaurant work.  People do this for 8 hours, every day, and in most cases do it for a paltry sum of money.  I have so much more respect for wait people, busboys, line cooks and chefs than I ever did - and this is from someone who already respected them quite a bit.  This past weekend I spent more time continuously working a kitchen than I ever have before, and I couldn't help but be amazed at how grueling it was.  Stacia's Mom has the kind of limitless energy for projects like this that means she can handle it, but for someone like me, who's lazy by nature, it was tough.

So why do it in the first place?  For some, it's just a source of money, from a skill they have.  For others it might be ego: I can cook better than the guys at the other restaurants.  But especially when you're at a place like the cafe, where food is made from scratch and not defrosted frozen glop like you see some other places, it has to just be for a love of the food.  I don't know what those 30 people would have eaten had the cafe not been open last Saturday.  I do know that in part due to my efforts, they got a handcrafted healthy meal.  I did that (Well, three other people and I did).  That's something that I think I can be proud of.  And not in an I'm-better-than-you kind of way, but just a feeling of satisfaction that I've provided something of value for other people.  Sure, airplane parts have value too, but not in the same innate, primal way as good food.  After just two days of it, I don't think I'll be opening a restaurant any time soon, but I in no way regret the hard work I put in.  My feet might have been sore and my back may have been aching, but I left Edgewood feeling pretty good about things.  I hope the people we served did too.

100!!!

At about 9:30 tonight, I will have been contributing to this blog for 2 years and 27 days.  I kind of celebrated the one-year anniversary of the blog, but today I'll reach an even more impressive milestone.  This marks the one hundredth post on Zinkthink.  Which, if we do the math, means that I've averaged one post every 7.58 days.  Not too bad, about once a week, but I really didn't care about that when I started this entry.  I suppose on some level I truly am an engineer, cuz I saw two numbers and pretty much needed to do some math to them to be happy.  :)  Getting back on track, this is my one hundredth post!

To celebrate, here's a picture I found of a dinosaur wearing a hat:

Interestingly enough, I did a google search for "dinosaur wearing a party hat" and ended up with this image, so apparently someone out there is throwing really classy dinosaur parties.  Fancier than any that I go to anyway.

So, 100 is a pretty big deal.  I actually stressed just a little bit, trying to think of something really fun and exciting to do for the hundredth post.  I jokingly suggested that I'd have a contest for the best comment, with a really great prize, but I figured that would just sound desperate.  I considered having a retrospective of some sort, maybe a "100 things I learned in this blog."  But when I thought about it, that's really what each individual post was about.  Each one represents my thoughts at a particular moment in time, and what I had learned or wanted to share about them.  Going back and rehashing them all would be redundant.  And lastly, I thought about having something totally whimsical, just so I wouldn't have to worry about having something profound.

(So far you have a "borrowed" dinosaur picture and me rambling.  Not a great bargain at this point.)

In the end, I think a post like this is pretty appropriate.  I need to be less list-obsessive in the first place, so putting up a 100th entry that had no more overarching value than any other post is probably a good thing for me.  And going back to the genesis of this whole blog, the inspiring quote that "even a column should have a point," this post fits perfectly as it has none.  Now that I'm over the hump of 100 with this filler post, I can get back to what I want to write about without any milestone hanging over me: stuff like cooking, movies, and the various adventures in the life of a guy playing an engineer.

Snark aside, I would like to thank the people who read this blog.  I often joke that I write about a thousand words a week so Stacia can read them, but then I'll find myself surprised by just how many people in my life are aware of my little online home.  I started writing as a mental escape of sorts, but it's fun to know that it's also a way that my family can keep up with what I'm doing or what's on my mind.  My Elgin family, my Edgewood family, and even my little Des Moines family - this whole blog is for you, so thanks for reading.  Any time I think about quitting this site, someone will say something like "it's been a while since you've blogged," just out of the blue, and I think there might be some value to it after all.

Cheers, everybody!  Here's to another hundred posts.

Champagne?  Don't mind if I do...  ;)

That Sinking Feeling

Note: This post is purposely vague in many places.  That's because it concerns an idea for a possible side business/hobby job thingy that I may one day pursue.  Family members will likely know what I'm talking about, but in case anyone else actually reads this, I'm still being secretive.  Sorry.

The other day, I woke up as usual, got dressed and popped on the morning news while I ate my cereal.  Thrown in between the weather updates and the non-stop Bin Laden is dead news, they threw in a quick teaser for a segment that would air that evening, about an unusual area start-up business.  A few words in to the promo, I stopped munching and muttered an expletive.  As the story continued, my heart sank into the pit of my stomach as I realized that I was conceivably witnessing the end of a far-flung dream of mine.

By day, I work in the aerospace industry, designing and validating airplane parts.  They either go toward allowing people to jet across the globe, or else "defending the homeland," a nice euphemism for military parts.  I prefer not to focus on obliterating desert countries halfway across the globe when I work on those.  If I were to describe my job, as a friend suggested, by explaining how I help people, I could say that I help people travel quickly and efficiently.  It's frequently challenging, and requires a unique set of skills that I've studied and trained for.  There are down days, but unless I'm being overly negative, it's a pretty good job.

But I've long felt that this isn't the only thing I have to contribute to the world.  It is certainly part of it, but as I've grown more aware of my interest in food, I've brainstormed a lot about what I could do on the side or in the future in that arena.  I've been slowly ramping up my knowledge and experience in both cooking and food production, so those are possibilities.  I also have been sporadically writing about food on this blog; in this information age, a more focused food site could be an option.  Or I could just, as many do, work a job that is by all accounts pretty decent, and spend my free time on food stuff that interests me.  I've bandied about concepts in all of these areas, but there's been one consistent front-runner that I always figured was the best idea.

Now, to be sure, it wasn't really a novel idea; there are people all over the globe doing what I had in mind.  But as far as I could tell, were it to get off the ground, it would be the first business of its kind in central Iowa.  I dreamed about it, but never really made any measurable progress.  And apparently while that was going on, another person in the area was making progress, since the news story showed them doing exactly what I'd thought about, right in my own backyard.  Talk about a kick in the gut.

I've gone through all sorts of reactions since that story aired, but they all fall into three categories; three paths forward from here.

1) Give up.  There are so many reasons this business idea would be hard to make work.  It takes expertise which I don't have, a bunch of land or building space, and a ton of start-up capital (which I sure don't have).  So it's easy to say that I couldn't have done it in the first place, and to simply let these others fill the niche.  But in a sense, that's just rationalizing.  I don't have expertise, but I sure could have started experimenting or researching instead of idly dreaming.  I don't have the space for it, but I could have looked into renting some, had I researched just how much I would need.  Same for money - I know it would take a lot, but can't quantify how much without having done research.  With research I could have looked into business loans or whatever, but this was always more convenient as a dream than a plan.  Regardless of all that, I could still let it go.  The local guy has land, and from the look of his setup on TV, has the money to have all new flashy equipment.  It would be hard to beat that, so I could just not bother.  Alternatively, I could...

2) Compete.  That's what America is all about, right?  If you want to sell mousetraps, build a better mousetrap than the other guy and go after him.  If everyone gave up just because someone else was in the market, it would be a very dire marketplace indeed.  I'm sure there were already burger joints around when Ray Kroc opened the first McDonald's, but he was able to compete directly against the others and has (obviously) thrived ever since.  Another benefit to letting others try first is to let them discover some of the pitfalls.  When I was touring an aircraft manufacturer in Kansas, I asked them about carbon-fiber composites, and the engineer replied that their company preferred to let their competitor do all the legwork, and they would pick it up if it proved viable.  At the time it sounded kinda scummy, but it does make sense in a way.  This business idea is a niche market, but I've got an ego just like anybody else, so why couldn't I do it better than the other guy?

3) Adapt.  This is probably the most likely scenario.  I'm not sure I can just give up on doing something related to food.  That Pandora's Box is open, and I realize food is my "thing."  But this business concept is only one way to approach such a broad topic.  Maybe instead of either giving up or going all-in, now is instead the time to retool and reconsider.  The same issues I had before the story broke are still there: I haven't done any research or preparation.  What I really need is to take some time, step back from the "holy s**t" emotion of seeing this news story, and figure out what I truly want to do.  If it really is to stick with my original plan, then I can go for it.  But there are a lot of ways to crack the nut of being passionate about food.  Producing it, preparing it, educating others about it - plus all the different subsets thereof.

I'll admit, I was incredibly disappointed when I saw the footage of smiling people doing what I'd imagined myself doing in some far-flung reality.  But I hadn't put in the grunt work to make that future happen yet, and I can hardly begrudge others jumping in where I haven't.  If nothing else, this has served as a good wake-up call.  If I'm serious about a food-based side job, don't spend two years just fantasizing about it.  Granted, even if I'd begun preparations two years ago, I probably wouldn't be ready to do anything on par with the new guy yet, but I would sure know which option above I should choose.  If two years had passed without positive progress, option 1 looks good.  If I've learned a lot and think I have a chance, go with #2.  Wishing for it isn't a strategy, and once I know what I want to do, it's not a path I'll plan to take again.  Cuz believe me, the reality check can pack quite a punch.

Postscript - I wrote this piece in pretty much the immediate aftermath of having learned about the guy in central Iowa starting up exactly what I wanted to try, so it may come off as slightly negative, and I think it really rambles a bit.  I don't think things are so dire as I may have made out in this article, though I still am a bit disappointed.  As implied above, I'll continue thinking about food and cooking on the side, and maybe one day it will be a career, but even that isn't as imperative as I've made out.  Sometimes I get this feeling that I have to make something out of all this, when I really should just chill out and enjoy it.  All that said, it's a few hundred words that I wrote and it's been forever since I've blogged, so I'm gonna post it anyway, even though I really don't like how it's written.  In the meantime I'll be happy to just keep cooking and growing.  :)

Tell the World, I'm Coming Home

I haven't been outside Des Moines for more than a day or so at a time all year, but it's still been 156,960 minutes since I've been home.  Don't get me wrong, I love the city I live in, and it's a new home that I've started to appreciate more and more over the five years I've been here.  But I don't know if another place will ever be as much home to me as that simple two-story white house with blue shutters on a tree-lined street in the Western Chicago suburbs.  I've got three days to spend back on my old streets.  And I know that it's no use planning anything, because we never get around to half of what we intend to do while I'm in town.  But I hope to at least do some of these things during my stay.


- Nearly get knocked over (literally) by a charging brother and sister who still come running the instant they hear the familiar creak of the door opening

- Stay up way too late the first night I'm there, just sitting around the kitchen table talking with everybody.  Then staying up way too late the other nights too, for any myriad of reasons

- Wake up to a pot of coffee every morning that somehow usually tastes better than anything I make at home.  I'm not typically a coffee drinker, but I'll have some every morning I'm home

- Spend some time in the backyard, getting my hands dirty: planting, mulching, assistant-pruning or grafting with my Dad.  Somehow all the jobs I used to hate as a kid are now an enjoyable way to spend a few hours outside.  There's no way we'll have time to get everything done, but at a minimum we'll walk around and check all the plants.

- Haul out the Super Nintendo for a couple of rounds of Super Mario Kart against my siblings.  And if we can finagle someone into it, the subbed-out player will provide hilarious play-by-play commentary.

- Go to the Algonquin Commons with my siblings.  It's basically an outdoor shopping mall, and we never seem to end up buying anything, but for some reason we always end up here.

- Volunteer to make any errand run, as an excuse to cruise around and hang out with one of my brothers or sister, windows down and radio up, if possible.  At a minimum, one of these trips will be to the grocery store I used to work at in high school.

- Drive into the city or to some other suburb I can't remember visiting.  Or one that I vaguely remember once I see it.  For all the years I lived here, it's amazing how much of the area I just don't know.

- Alternately, hang out in one of our old favorite haunts, reminiscing at the familiar and being surprised at the new.  The streets and shops of St. Charles or Geneva, Woodfield or Stratford Square Mall, maybe even downtown Elgin.

- If the weather permits, cruise around in my Dad's Miata with the top down.  It's sort of new, but I could get used to it.  :)

- Go to Portillo's for a hot dog and a chocolate malt.

- Do something that entirely surprises me.  Seemingly every time I'm home, one of my brothers or sisters suggests something that I'd never come up with and we end up doing it.  I haven't always been as receptive as I maybe should be but I'm getting better at it.

- Fight over the "old dog" seat on the couch.  It's the best spot, in the corner of the L, with room to stretch out your legs.  We all want it, and usually end up with a couple of us crammed into the corner to share it.

- Make a giant pot of hard-boiled eggs and color them late at night.  Be amazed by the creations my brothers and sister can come up with using stickers and rub-on transfers.

- Crowd into the cramped kitchen alongside everyone else for organized chaos as we hustle to get everything prepared for Easter dinner.  Pots simmering on the stovetop, chopping ingredients on the counters, timers blaring as everything gets done at the same time.

- Have a fantastic meal together, filled with tons of laughter, many silly inside jokes, and delicious food.  And, if I have time to make it, a homemade pie for dessert.

- Head out of town on the familiar highway, feeling full and happy, but wishing I had more time before I have to leave.


It's easy to be snide about coming to Elgin.  It's a suburb on the outskirts of Chicago, without the big-city feel or a ton of small town charm.  It's big enough to have city problems, but small enough to not have any major attractions.  But that's just Elgin on paper.  As usual, it took one of my siblings to make me understand how much more it is.  My sister, living in Chicago, arguably the greatest city in the US, writing online about how she loves Elgin and looks forward to being back.  And once that seed took hold, I started to feel it too.  Elgin isn't just its buildings or its streets, Elgin is memories, and reminiscences, and most importantly it's where my family is.  Where my home is.  They say home is where the heart is, and for better or worse, that's Elgin.  I'm coming home.

I thought I told y'all that we won't stop
Til we back cruising through Harlem Elgin, these old blocks
It's what made me, saved me, drove me crazy
Drove me away and then embraced me
Forgave me for all my shortcomings
Welcome to my homecoming
It's been a long time coming...

Scoopin' and stirrin'... for victory!

Things have been going well the last few weeks down at Zink Square Footage.  April is fickle, and the meteorologists are trying to frighten us with all this talk of potential snow this weekend, but it's simply been too nice out to believe in that right now.  When you get a Sunday afternoon that hits (no joke) 90 degrees on April 9th, snow is about the last thing on your mind.  What has been on my mind, then?  Preparing ourselves for victory, of course!

First things first.  I decided in my last post that our little urban farm needed a name to make it feel legit.  If you head down to the farmer's market and peruse the stands, there will be many differences, but one thing they all have in common is that they all have names.  Coyote Run Farm, Blue Gate Farm, Soder Apiary, the list goes on and on.  So once we added livestock (worms!) to our farm, it was pretty clear we needed a name to really reach the big time.  Stacia suggested a riff on the fairly common (Name) Acres, used by many farmers including her grandparents.  Well, we don't exactly have acres; we have about 100 square feet.  Keeping that in mind, and considering that we're largely following the Square Foot Gardening method, it was pretty clear that we should be Zink Square Footage.

So what's been going on down on our square feet?  A lot, actually!  A week ago the weather turned nice and we decided to head out to our cropland.  We had one raised bed that was starting to come apart at the corner, so we fastened it back down with an L-bracket and screws.  We pulled a few weeds and threw down some mulch on our pathways.  But the big job was getting the soil ready for planting.

The "soil" we plant in really never has been soil per se.  It's a 1/3 1/3 1/3 mix of compost, vermiculite and coconut coir (a sustainable alternative to peat moss).  This mix seems to work really well, as we had good results with it last year and it really hadn't packed down too badly when we stopped by this spring.  Compared to the dense clay all around us, it's 100 square feet of veggie plant heaven.  Well, this mixture worked so well last year that we really didn't fertilize or feed the soil at all, which let me to think we might have depleted it just a bit.  Certainly, though, there's no way we were going to dump a bag o' chemicals onto our precious plot, so we had to find an organic alternative.  That alternative showed itself in the form of...  poop.

Poop of various kinds, actually.  I've already espoused somewhat the benefits of worm compost, organic matter that's worked its way through worms.  Our squirm is a bit young yet, so they haven't processed enough to add to the garden, but we were able to find a few bags of commercial worm castings.  They don't do much for you in terms of Nitrogen, Phosphorous or Potassium (the three chemicals in all fertilizers), but they do add nice microorganisms that the plants like.  We needed that N-P-K too, though.  Fortunately, that is very available in the form of chicken manure, cutely marketed as Coop Poop.  With a few scoops of coop poop (say that 3 times fast) and a half-bag of worm castings per box, I felt confident we'd refortified the soil without overdoing it (which can be just as bad as underfeeding).

Working that mixture and stirring it into the existing material was a fantastic workout for upper body strength, which is nice for me since I currently have none.  With aching arms and beautifully prepped boxes, we wiped our brows and looked out over Zink Square Footage.  I gotta say, it looked goood.  It took all of my restraint to keep Stacia and me from jumping straight into planting seeds everywhere, but weather-people everywhere were promising a low that Monday night in the sub-30 degree range.  Our seeds might have been fine, but I didn't want to run the risk that we plant everything only to lose it in a frost.  One more week, I said.  One more...

Who can say if that was the right choice, since it only really hit 30-even in Des Moines, but either way a little prudence is probably a good trait to have in the garden.  We had marigold and broccoli seedlings, seeds of 6 different kinds that we wanted an early start on, and all the enthusiasm we could muster.  Patience... well, we'd have to work on that.  But victory in our fight for food independence isn't achieved in one quick skirmish.  It takes just as much planning, preparation and anticipation as it does actual work.  So for one more week we were content to gaze at our farm's bare soil.  Within another week, we'd be going all-out, for it would be one of the best possible days in the garden.  It would be... planting day!

Next update, I'll let you know how first planting went, and probably update you on the second planting, currently scheduled for this coming weekend.  Keep growing on!