Why didn't I think of this?

Found this link amidst this list of links from The Sports Guy.

glumbert - Best wedding first dance ever

Evan's link of the week

Says Evan: "i'm not up on my bible study, but isn't this a sign of the apocalypse?"

Flaming squirrel ignites car in Bayonne
by N. Clark Judd
Thursday October 18, 2007, 7:29 PM

It's Rocky the Frying Squirrel!

A kamikaze squirrel fell from the sky and detonated a Bayonne woman's car yesterday, police said today.

Lindsey Millar, 23, and her brother, Tony, 22, were both home Wednesday at about 12:45 p.m. when Lindsey's car suddenly started burning outside their 42nd Street home.

Tony Millar said firefighters told them it was the work of a buck-toothed saboteur that had been gnawing on overhead power lines connected to a transformer directly above the 2006 Toyota Camry.

"The squirrel chewed through the wire, was set on fire, fell down directly to where the car was," Tony Millar said. "The squirrel, on fire, slid into the engine compartment and blew up the car.
"They're always coming around here, chewing through the garbage," he added.

Tony Millar says his sister was fully insured.

"It's something to laugh about once she has a new car," he said. "It's not funny yet."
Police said there were no injuries -- except for the squirrel, that is, which is dead.

The Millars' home is decorated for Halloween, complete with a tiny plastic tombstone on their front lawn. Tony Millar said the family will consider dedicating the tombstone to the squirrel, who was not named.

Original story found here.

Wildcat update

There's another parent in ther group: Laura (Dunwoodie) Fisk and her husband, Aaron:

Welcome Maddux Montoya Fisk!



Born: December 25, 2007 at 2:37 a.m.
Weight: 8lbs 7oz
Length: 19.7 inches

E-mail fun

A good time-killing quiz from Pops: How well do you know your state quarters? I got 16 of 20 (80 percent).

Attention ex-Libertyvillians

A Brainerd update for you, courtesy of the Daily Herald:

The deadline is four years away, but Libertyville officials are antsy about the campaign to transform a deteriorating local landmark into a community center.

Concerned that the foundation formed to pursue a renovation project of up to $15 million for the Brainerd building and Jackson Gym had raised little cash the past year, Mayor Jeff Harger recently called for a progress report.

"A year has gone by without a lot of fundraising going on," Harger said. "We're just making sure they're staying focused and proceeding diligently."

Since that discussion two weeks ago, the foundation's checking account has grown substantially. A fundraiser generated $30,000, for example, and proposals for a high-visibility campaign are being considered.

There is some urgency because the village is a year into an agreement with Libertyville-Vernon Hills Area High School District 128 that gives it until late 2011 to begin making lease payments.

Essentially, the village has that time to make a go of a long-sought community center, akin to the Gorton Community Center in Lake Forest.

Should the effort fall short, the buildings at Brainerd Avenue and Route 176 would return to the school district and could be demolished.

Read the full story here.

Why it's good to have smart friends

Tom Robey reviewed the new Will Smith mega-hit "I Am Legend" through the eyes of:

a. Someone who honestly had no idea of the plot; and
b. A scientist/physician, and a darn smart one at that.

Here's a sampling (possible spoiler alert):

What about the basement laboratory? Smith's character used a fancy eyeglass-mounted video camera to record his experiments on various compounds to reverse the virus's symptoms in sewer rats. The writers got some things right here. Only "compound #6" worked; this was one of twenty he tried in this series, in what we assume was a long string of trials. This brings us to Note #3: Only a small fraction of science experiments 'work.' Of note is that only one rat was tested with #6 before moving to human trials! I guess this paucity of pre-clinical data can be excused when civilization is at stake. While we are on the topic of animal experiments, the presentation of animal research in this film was well done. The rabid rats were clearly animated, so no beef could be made about living conditions for real rats (and the fact that they were injuring themselves on the cages). The cages, by the way, were appropriate for animal size and were not overcrowded. Smith's character didn't need to get IACUC approval for his work, but he was mostly in compliance for many rules about animal care. Some notable lapses: no dedicated facility, interventions that were terminal, minimal personal protective equipment.

Read the whole review, if you're so inclined, here.

It's a girl! Or not.

Column originally published Dec. 26, 2007

My wife, Kristie, and I are expecting our second child in a few months. During a recent ultrasound, we were given a due date of Friday, Feb. 29. We also were given a clear image of the part of the baby's body that tells us whether we'll be renting a tuxedo or splurging on a prom dress in 2024.

As I write this, my wife knows the answer to the magic question: "Do you know what you're having?" Everyone who knows we're expecting asks this question at least once. It's become almost commonplace for expectant parents to learn the gender of their unborn child — one of my high school friends just sent a Christmas card spelling out what their unborn son's name will be.

But I'm not sure I'm comfortable knowing in advance. The worst part is I can't even come up with a good reason — I just don't think I want to know. When I went home for lunch the day Kristie learned, it was all she could do to keep from blurting a three-word phrase that starts with "It's a." She wanted me to look at the ultrasound pictures and see if I could figure it out for myself, but I declined -- at least until I could write this column.

Continue reading "It's a girl! Or not.

Holland family update

In case anyone's wondering -- and I'm sure you are -- here's a little Holland family update for you. Not sure where to start or what direction to pursue, so there's a 100 percent chance of some ridiculous rambling on the horizon.

* The new due date is 2/29, which is of course Leap Day. Kristie's not a big fan of this idea... but she is a fan of having just the one baby.

* We're still in a lovely pattern of being sick more than well, collectively. On Tuesday of this week Jack was diagnosed with pinkeye, an ear infection and "some goo on his tonsils." Ever try to give eye drops to a three-year-old four times a day? I think I'd rather give the cats suppositories. Anyhow, the drugs helped him shake it off pretty well, but not before some of it passed to Kristie. Her concert was Thursday, a day on which she was as sick as she's been for quite a while. Smiles all around on that one, as it lingers a bit today.

* The Christmas schedule is as follows: We're in Fulton this weekend. The Libertyville crew comes to Ottawa Tuesday. We go to Libertyville next weekend. Sometime after that weekend, Kristie and Jack likely will return to Fulton for a few days.

We got here Friday afternoon/evening after braving some spectacular fog. Saturday morning I took Jack up to the nursing home in Elizabeth to see Great Grandma Holland. I think he was a bit confused because he'd never been in Grandma's new room. This is the third Christmas he's done at the nursing home, but it was by far his worst one. I opened most of the presents and he insisted on running out into the hall. He did say thank you each time he left the room, though. We ended up staying less than an hour, which was pretty disappointing since I haven't seen Grandma since September, and it wasn't under the best of circumstances.

As is the usual Christmas routine, we went from the nursing home to Kristie's maternal grandmother's house in Savanna, where a good chunk of the family had graciously assembled to see us even though they'll all be together again tomorrow. Big lunch up there, then Jack and I took power naps before we all headed back to Fulton. By the time we got done with dinner and a bath, we were opening presents around 9 p.m., which is the early part of bed time.

Jack understands presents, he can read his name and is good at handing things to other people. However, he also is trapped in a permanent desire to play intensely with whatever he just opened. BY 10 or 10:30 his temper was shot, he'd opened about five gifts and the rest are still under the tree.

This morning Kristie and I got up and headed to Second Reformed in Fulton to see the annual cantata, the first one we haven't played in since the pre-Jack days. Jack stayed home because we figured he's too big/demanding for the nursery. My favorite part was spending 15 minutes in the driveway getting enough ice scraped off the car so I could see to drive the 13 blocks to church.

After church it was over to Kristie's paternal grandparents for a nice lunch and more presents Jack refused to open on any schedule other than his own. He knows what his presents are when he opens them (this year we're heavy on the cars and cleaning supplies -- he's got a mop and a working vacuum) and excitedly announces what they are. Then he goes back to pretending a lamp is a video camera that needs to be set up on a tripod, because that's what Grandpa is doing.

As I type, he's passed out upstairs. We're trying to figure out whether to eat here or on the road and guess how long it will take us to make a trip that's supposed to last 1:45. I get to go to work tomorrow but should be done early (which is good because I have to help cook food for Tuesday). Then Wednesday through Friday are full days, and we repeat the schedule next week.

There's a ridiculous amount of people on vacation next week, but we've got good plans for year-end coverage and a lot of good people still around, and since these are the main nonfamily people I see in Ottawa, I'm actually looking forward to spending time with them when the pace is a little more relaxed.

Now Kristie is informing me she thinks she has pinkeye. This wouldn't be a horrible problem, given all the eye medicine we have leftover from Jack... except the Internet tells us she can't use that medicine due to the fetus. So if she is so afflicted, it'll require a separate trip to the pharmacy... so long as we can find a doctor on Christmas Eve willing to write her a prescription.

So... that's our life. What's new with you?

Evan's link of the week

Says Evan: Words fail me...

'Tis the Season

From LHS/SHF firend Dhara Baiden (not her married name) who, I learned from today's e-mail, is, like me, an a cappella junkie.

The original members of Straight No Chaser perform their comedic version of "The Twelve Days of Christmas" at the Musical Arts Center, Bloomington, Indiana. December 7th, 1998.

Happy holidays and stuff.

Sports media move at a blistering pace

Column originally publishd Dec. 18, 2007

Many Cubs fans breathed sighs of relief last week when the biggest name in Wrigleyville was Kosuke Fukudome, the first Japanese player to sign a Cubs contract.
The flip side would have been one of the team's present stars being named in the Mitchell report, the extensive yet incomplete investigation into use of steroids and performance-enhancing drugs by Major League Baseball players.

Several former all-stars and MVP award winners were named, along with a few players with Hall of Fame credentials. And while a few high-priced lawyers already are considering libel lawsuits, the court of public opinion is populated with Average Joes who don't intend to sift through more than 300 pages of a document written by a former U.S. senator, who also has been a federal prosecutor.

I admit to being interested in seeing the names of people somehow linked to steroid use. Reading excerpts online I was able to learn the hand-me-down stories of who injected whom in the rear end, with what and how often, who paid for such things with personal checks and other such details.

It was interesting, sure, but it also felt a little dirty — kind of like reading someone's unsubstantiated report to the police in the Drew Peterson missing wife case. Here's a man the police haven't formally charged because they don't have enough evidence, but that never seems to matter as we play judge and jury while watching the evening news.

In addition to rushing to judgment, the sports media is rushing to create context, which is absurd. Major League Baseball can trace its lineage more than a century. This report covers players from the past decade or so. It was on the street for 20 minutes and sports Web sites had their experts posting commentary telling us how the document will change the way history views baseball.

Continue reading "Sports media move at a blistering pace."

Holding on is hard when it's time to let go

Column originally published Dec. 11, 2007

"Maybe somebody with really intense personal convictions can answer this for me: If heaven is so wonderful, why are we so afraid to send our loved ones there?"

Times teen columnist Aleesha Sramek of Woodland High School posed that question in her piece last week, and as I read her column I felt compelled to come up with an answer. I like to think I have intense convictions on a lot of issues, belief in the afterlife being one of those issues. However, I also know questions about life, death and the origin of the universe are beyond any human's understanding.

But back to Aleesha's question: It's not so much a fear of sending our loved ones to heaven as it is a selfish desire to keep them with us. As she pointed out later in her column, a lot of the sadness we express at the loss of a loved one is mourning for the way our own lives will be changed in their absence.

I have been to funerals for three of my grandparents. The first was 10 years ago as a college freshman, the third 13 weeks ago today. Given their health situations, I'd been prepared to lose each of them. But no matter how many times you tell yourself a loved one is going to die, and no matter if they are a physical part of your daily life or someone you see for holidays and weddings, nothing changes the fact they are alive one day and gone the next.

Continue reading "Holding on is hard when it's time to let go."

Family portrait

Well, the Christmas cards are going out this week (if I ever remember to buy stamps). But unlike in years past, there will be no family photo. Why? Well, take a look at our one attempt at a picture this year. These were taken, in order, by Aunt Kim at the Holland compound in Libertyville just after church Nov. 25. Note, if you will, my facial expression changing as I grow more enamored with the proceedings.






Next year, there will be four of us. Won't that be a treat...

Kohawk update

In case you're wondering, Fred Jackson did very well for the Bills Sunday (and the Jolly Green Giants, though I would have gotten more fantasy points from Nate Burleson, who managed to find the end zone for the Seahawks). Here's Jackson's line, courtesy the Coe alumni e-mail newsletter:

Making the first start of his young NFL career, Fred Jackson '03 gained 151 yards of total offense on just 20 touches to lead the Buffalo Bills to a 17-16 come-from-behind win over the Washington Redskins.

Jackson's first touch resulted in a 22-yard gain in front of 85,000 fans at FedEx Field. The former Kohawk standout finished with a game-high 82 yards rushing on 16 carries. He also had 69 yards receiving on four catches, including a 54-yard reception.

That's a total of 7.55 fantasy points in our league. If I had the time or Internet connection, I'd look up some of his college statistics. I do know he led the conference in all-purpose yards his junior season (my senior year) despite playing only eight of 10 games and was even better the next year.

Life with toddler

Got this e-mail from my lovely wife today, subject: Conversation with Jack.

Jack came out of preschool crying today and our conversation in the car went something like this.

Me: Jack why are you sad?
Jack: Because I am.
Me: Were you naughty today at preschool?
Jack: Yeah.
Me: What did you do that was naughty?
Jack: Because I was sad.

Helpful, huh?

This happens several times a day, if not more.

'Tis the Season

Profanity warning...

Exercise was a big step for me

Column originally published Dec. 4, 2007

Once again, I am a failure. Just as in the past three years, I have fallen woefully short of my goal of walking 2.5 million steps between Jan. 1 and Dec. 31.

Travel back with me to September 2003. My wife and I were living in Clinton, Iowa. Both of us noticed our pants getting a bit snug, but only one of us had a good reason, the proverbial bun in the oven. I had just grown accustomed to eating as much as I want whenever I desired without much consideration for my slowing metabolism.

At the time, I'd read a lot about people who wore pedometers to track their daily walking activities. Most of the sources I came across suggested trekking10,000 steps each day was a fine way to improve physical fitness. After a few days of walking to kill time before evening baseball games, and sure I was racking up steps by the thousands, I spent a few bucks on a bottom-line pedometer. Two things happened. One, I learned exactly how long it took to rack up 10,000 steps. And two, I became addicted to my step counter.

Going back to late October 2003, I have ended every day (or started the next morning) by scribbling down the date, the number of steps I've taken and the distance equivalent, figured at 30 inches per stride. I've filled one notebook and started a second. I also created a computer spreadsheet to help me with the math. The document now calculates my monthly averages and tells me how far off the pace I actually am (let's just say it's in the low six figures).

Continue reading "Exercise was a big step for me."

Life with Pregnant Lady

My truly devoted readers (Hi Mom!) or those who have found themselves going through my archives at 2 a.m. trying to put themselves to sleep, may remember this classic post from the blog's early days. It went up on Monday, April 12, 2004 (that's twelve days before Jack).

My apologies…
… to my lovely wife, who bore the brunt of my stupidity in the early morning hours of Easter Sunday.

I had been in a dutiful deep sleep, so as not to bother the pregnant lady, when I swear I heard the television (more specifically, ESPN's "Baseball Tonight"). Thinking I had forgotten to utilize the sleep timer (right up there with picture-in-picture and artificial hearts on the list of society's greatest inventions), I flopped an arm on the remote and pushed the power button. Which, not surprisingly, turned the TV on.

Realizing my mistake, I flipped the TV back off ASAP. However, since this is an older TV (bought with Kristie's babysitting money in her junior high years), the pop and whine of simply turning it on jarred Preggo from a deep sleep to which she would not return for some three hours, long enough to watch copious amounts of "Wings" and "Cheers" reruns, as well as a few episodes of "Unwrapped" on The Food Network.

I apologized, but I don't know how you can ever really make up for something like that.

Turns out all I had to do was wait more than three and a half years.

In the middle of the night between Wednesday and Thursday, Kristie woke me up from a deep, deep slumber. Why? She'd dreamed she was playing "Super Mario Brothers 2" and needed to throw a potion bottle to make a door, only I was standing in her way.

Who's the freak show now?

Now, to her credit, we have been playing an awful lot of Super Nintendo lately, since Jack has decided his schedule will be:

6:30-7 a.m.: Wake up.
7-8:30 a.m.: Watch Noggin, eat fruit and cereal.
8:45 a.m.: Go to preschool.
11:15 a.m.: Leave preschool.
11:30 a.m.-1:30 p.m.: Watch Noggin, eat lunch.
1:30-4 or 4:30 p.m.: Take nap.
4:30-6 p.m.: Graze, maybe eat dinner, watch Noggin until it becomes Nick at Nite, then whine about wanting to watch his shows.
7-8:30 p.m.: Drag mom and dad into the spare bedroom, make them play Mario games.
8:30 p.m.: Bath.
9-9:30 p.m.: Screw around some more.
9:30 p.m.: Bedtime with dad. Two books, quick prayer, a little cuddle, turn on the fan, lights out.

Lather, rinse, repeat... every day. Except on Tuesday and Thursday he goes to day care ("regular school," as he calls it) before and after preschool. He's not totally zonked in front of the TV all those times mentioned, but he does get plenty of it. We have stopped watching Disney films ad nauseum, which is kind of nice. But I'm staring to wish Dora would explore someone else's TV for a change.

Kohawk update

If you would have told me at the beginning of the NFL season that:

1. Buffalo Bills running back (and Coe grad) Fred Jackson would be getting a start ahead of Michigan grad Anthony Thomas (former offensive rookie of the year) and...
2. Jackson would be on my fantasy team with a good chance to start as a utility player this week if only for the sheer novelty of it,

then I'd have called you a goober.

Now the insanity continues - Fred Jackson appears to be starting in Buffalo this week. Who is Fred Jackson?

Well, its not easy to find out. He’s a tough, strong runner who spent last season with the Rein Fire of NFL Europa. Before that, he spent two seasons in the United Indoor Football league, which is about 2 levels below Arena Football, where he stared and was named league MVP in 2005. Before that, he attended division III Coe College.

So what will he be able to do? So far this season, he has had 9 carries for 34 yards and 8 catches for 55 yards. He has earned a reputation for being versatile, so he should continue to get high rception numbers. In this offense, Marshawn Lynch averaged 3.8 yards per carry and Anthony Thomas averaged only 2.5, so I don’t expect lots of yardage from Jackson.

So, I would expect a baseline for Jackson as a starter to be about 20 carries for 60 yards, and 5 catches for 30 yards. This week, Buffalo faces a tough Redskins run defense, so those number may need to be tempered down a bit.

This is probably a 1-game opportunity for Jackson, as Lynch and/or Thomas will likely be ready for week 14.

Read the full post here.

Wise words

Tim Keown is one of ESPN.com's most underrated columnists (based entirely on my perception, of course). Here's a quick goldmine from this week's column:

Arguing against the BCS is too easy. It's like coming down against genocide.

Later on, he hits us with the truh all college football fans should accept:

The idea that the winner of the BCS Championship Game is going to be a legitimate national champion is no longer a consideration. So with that understanding, there's only one possible solution: go with the novelty.

That's why the BCS needs Hawaii in the championship game. Throw June Jones and Colt Brennan and all those linemen with the monstrous hair into the title game against Missouri or West Virginia or Ohio State. It would be absolutely in keeping with the spirit of the season.

Forget what the computers say and let it happen. It would answer the biggest question everybody wants to know -- do the occasional Hawaiis and Boise States and other non-BCS conference undefeateds deserve a place at the adults' table. Boise gave a partial answer last year, so why not let Hawaii take it one step further?

Put it this way: Would you rather see West Virginia-Missouri or West Virginia-Hawaii? (People in Missouri, we know your answer. Save it. Besides, you're going to lose to Oklahoma again anyway. There's a pattern here, and your bubble is the next to meet the pin.)

Read the full column here.

Evan's link of the week

Can anyone speak for a generation anymore?

Column originally published Nov. 20, 2007

When preparing last week's column about the rise of Barack Obama to potential hero-like status among today's twentysomethings, my prevailing thought was trying to draw a parallel between Obama and John F. Kennedy, someone I view as a "voice-of-a-generation" politician.

There are a few problems with this logic, the leading issue being the fact I was born nearly 16 years after JFK died in Dallas. As such, I know only what history has made of him since his death. I have no basis on which to compare Sen. Kennedy to Sen. Obama or to really understand how people viewed JFK when he was just someone running for president.

In my brain, JFK is more of a historical character than anything else -- no more tangible than Abraham Lincoln, George Washington or anyone else with his picture on money. Yet there are millions of Americans who clearly remember Kennedy's ascension in the late 1950s. Perhaps I should have let them draw the comparisons.

Yet there's another problem, perhaps even more damaging to the Kennedy-Obama link: I don't think it's possible for anything or anyone with positive connotations to galvanize a nation anymore.

For my generation, the "where were you whenÉ" moment almost certainly was the terror attacks of Sept. 11, 2001. Coverage of the attacks ran on almost every television station — quite a feat when cable systems carry between 30 and 300 — and the mainstream media covered little else for almost a week.

But try to bind people together in something enjoyable — I'm thinking here of the Beatles or "Star Wars" movies — and there's little hope of reaching an entire populace. There simply are too many distractions, too many options, for an entire culture to warm to some new trend, person, movie or musical act.

I count among the things I've never experienced books like the Harry Potter series or the "Lord of the Rings" movies. I don't have HBO and couldn't watch "The Sopranos" or "Six Feet Under." Things I did at least understand at the time of their prominence — the Macarena or ska music — clearly were fads we knew soon would be over even as we proclaimed them as the new world order.

Continue reading "Can anyone speak for a generation anymore?"

E-mail fun

As pointed out by other people who got the forward from Evan, it's amusing that this came from someone who worked on "Ratatouille."

Evan's link of the week

From the site: Eight-year-old twins Jared and Justin, tired of being bullied, have developed wedgie-proof underwear, the Rip-Away 1000s. This may be the greatest internet video of all time, those poor little bastards. It may also be the saddest. You just have to watch. The only problem is, I failed to hear any mention of swirlie-proof heads, indicating these kids still have plenty years of torture ahead of them.

Read more and see some videos here.

MTV generation in search of a hero

Column originally published Nov. 13, 2007

For better or worse, my alma mater typically doesn't garner national attention.
When you go to a tiny school like Coe College in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, you're generally satisfied with the anonymity. Sure, I'm proud to be a Kohawk (third generation at that), but usually I operate under the "no news is good news" philosophy. It means there's no cheating scandals, no philandering professors, no violent outbursts.

The exception to the rule, however, was Coe's cameo appearance on MTV Oct. 29 as the site for an MTV/MySpace.com candidate forum with Sen. Barack Obama. Based on being in Iowa and, according to at least one blogger, having "better angles" than archrival Cornell in Mount Vernon, Coe's Dows Theater was chosen to play host to Obama, MTV's journalists and some 250 young people lucky in enough to attend.

That's about 225 more young people than were allowed to enter the same theater in January 2000 when Vice President Al Gore spoke to a crowd of mainly, well É I'm not really sure. I was editor of the Coe Cosmos at the time and even I didn't find out about Gore's appearance until I walked out of my dorm that morning and saw Secret Service snipers on campus roofs.

Yet I wasn't really upset. I knew voters would be choosing between Gore and George Bush, which I considered the ultimate "lesser of two evils" conundrum. I just didn't care about presidential politics.

Since that time, I have met or interviewed candidates for governor, Congress and the White House and been thoroughly underwhelmed by almost all of them. These opportunities often did more to convince me my vote is irrelevant than they did to ignite some political passion in my soul.

Yet, as I watched Obama speak to current Coe students, I sensed a new attitude among the young people.

Continue reading "MTV generation in search of a hero."

10 years gone, course hasn't changed

Column originally published Nov. 6, 2007

"Then as it was, then again it will be
And though the course may change sometimes
Rivers always reach the sea..."
— Led Zeppelin, "Ten Years Gone"

I just returned from my 10-year high school reunion. Sort of.

The event was the night of Oct. 20 in downtown Chicago. For $84 ($94 at the door, cash or check only, please), I could take advantage of a smattering of upper-tier appetizers, a three-hour open bar, a memory book and the chance to reminisce with the 579 people who graduated with me on June 4, 1997. The class photo would cost me an extra $20.

That's a little steep. Add in the fact I'd be bringing my wife — what's the point of going to a reunion if you can't show off the love of your life who met you in college and never learned about your weird high school habits until you shared a mortgage? — and we're looking at a $170 night, not counting gas to get there and back and the brownie points lost on leaving 3-year-old Jack with my parents for an entire night.

Also consider my wife has no need for her own Libertyville High School memory book (itself a $20 value, according to the reunion literature) and, being quite pregnant, has no need for an open bar, and it's clear our choice was fairly simple.

Plan B was to stop by Mickey Finn's in downtown Libertyville the night of Oct. 19 to attend the unofficial pre-reunion mixer with about 30 folks, most of whom I recognized in an instant.

Continue reading "10 years gone, course hasn't changed."

Quick updates

Wow. We're recovering from possibly our worst week ever as parents -- perhaps worse even than the rotovirus episode of Spring Break 2005. Here's the very short version.

Last Saturday, Jack started running a fever. We suspected an ear infection. It didn't get much better Sunday, so we visited the ER, where the doctor said there was a lot of wax in his ears and suggested alternating Tylenol and Motrin (ibuprofen).

No improvements by Tuesday, so I took him to the doctor. He hauled the wax out of one ear, saw the infection and prescribed the most powerful oral antibiotic he could, reasoning that Jack may not be fazed by Amoxicilin after taking it 20 of the last 45 days.

No change by Thursday, so back to the doctor for a chest X-ray and blood work. Everything came back clear, but the fever persisted (though it was less constant), so by Friday he'd missed an entire week of preschool (free) and an entire week of day care (not free) not to mention getting nothing out of Halloween.

Throughout the week there was very little sleeping through the night by any of the three of us, which is simply not an equation for a happy, harmonious household.

Finally, today is his first Motrin-free day. I think he's got it beat and we're planning on trying preschool tomorrow. Goodness.

In unrelated news, we have a new publisher at work who is instituting some fun changes, including earlier deadlines and a shift of our Saturday afternoon paper to a morning product. Plus, he wants to revamp the opinion page, a byproduct of which is my return to weekly column writing, and perhaps occasional editorial contributions as well.

As always, I will post teasers to new columns here as soon as they go online.

Evan's link(s) of the week

Again, not so much links...



And this one...

E-mail fun

Not really a link, but it did come from Evan...

Wise words

In a brilliant analysis piece for ESPN magazine (I find the "the" a little pretentious, kind of like my middle initial) posted on ESPN.com this week, rock writer/sports fan Chuck Klosterman breaks down the truth of the NBA as it is today and always has been:

On balance, baseball is both longer and duller than basketball, but baseball has the paradoxical advantage of rewarding the absence of action. Just about everyone believes a 2-0 game is better than a 13-9 game, because each pitch is significant. At Fenway Park, monotony leads to melodrama. That will never be the case at the Staples Center.

What the NBA cannot manufacture is meaning, and that has nothing to do with level of play. In their 1987 book, Forty-Eight Minutes, Bob Ryan and Terry Pluto make the case that pro basketball is profoundly superior to the college version because "in the course of the average NBA game, there are more spectacular shots, more artful passes, more man-size powerhouse rebounds and more dazzling hustle plays than in any 10 college games." This is mostly correct -- but misses the point entirely. Level of play is never as important as context. For most of the regular season, very little is at stake during any NBA contest, and fans intuitively know this. I love the NBA, but I would rather watch players miss shots during a Texas-Kansas game than make shots when the Bucks play the Jazz. Meaningful failure trumps meaningless achievement every time. This is something the NBA just needs to admit.

Read the entire column here.

Silence vote another waste of taxpayers' time

Column originally published Oct. 26, 2007

They're serving apple juice in our school cafeterias.

This is an everyday occurrence, as common as broken pencils, lost homework and detention. The apple juice service is a free will thing, with food supervisors and superintendents choosing on their own whether apple juice is the right thing for their students.

But here come the state lawmakers. They love apple juice. They really, really love apple juice. They love apple juice so much, they want to make offering apple juice mandatory in every public school in this fine state. Even though the governor disagrees, they overrule him. They can't come up with enough votes to fully fund the actual education, but gosh darn it, that apple juice will be everywhere.

Of course, if a school doesn't want to serve apple juice, there's no real penalty. Sure, the law says apple juice is mandatory, but no agency has the power to kick down the doors and demand little plastic cups of apple juice be plainly visible for all to see and purchase.

Ridiculous? Maybe. True? Of course not.

But replace apple juice in our cafeterias with silence in our classrooms, and there you have the present state of affairs in Illinois.

Continue reading "Silence vote another waste of taxpayers' time."

Cubs note

I think I did hear from Mr. Eals last year as well. Seems he has a functional Google News Alert:

Scott:

Good to see your annual reference to "A Dying Cub Fan's Last Request" by Steve Goodman. He often doesn't get his due.

You might be interested in aneight-year project of mine that has come to fruition -- an 800-pagebiography of Goodman published in May, "Steve Goodman: Facing the Music."

The book delves deeply into the origin of "Dying Cub Fan" and "Go, Cubs,Go." The latter song certainly was a phenomenon this year, culminating in Lt. Gov. Pat Quinn declaring Oct. 5 Steve Goodman Day in Illinois.

Please check my Internet site below for more info on the book. Just trying tospread the word. Feel free to do the same!

Clay Eals
http://www.clayeals.com

And hey -- Tom Robey or Carrie Anderer, if you're reading, Mr. Eals lives in Seattle and would be happy to meet you for coffee. (I made up half of that sentence.)

Change the World

Got this e-mail from Kate Killinger, LHS '98:

As many of you know, I rarely feel it is rewarding to work in the film industry. At this moment it is.



Darfur Now opens in NY/LA on November 2nd and expands on November 9th.

I hope this finds you all happy and well.
katie

So there you have it. (Sorry if the video doesn't work right, I did what the site told me to. Here's the straight link

Evan's link of the week

Barack the Vote

From MTV.com...

Illinois Senator Barack Obama will be the next presidential candidate to participate in a MySpace/MTV dialogue when he takes the stage on October 29 at Coe College in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. Following on the heels of the first forum with candidate John Edwards on September 27, Obama will answer questions from the live audience and watch as his responses are rated in real time by users weighing in over the Internet.

The forum, which will take place at 1:30 p.m. ET, will stream live on MySpace.com, MTV's ChooseOrLose.com and MTV Mobile, and will air at 7 p.m. ET that evening on MTV. The dialogue will be moderated by MTV News correspondents Gideon Yago and Sway Calloway, as well as WashingtonPost.com political reporter Chris Cillizza, who kept Edwards on his toes during the first forum by feeding him instant audience reaction to his responses with a polling tool supplied by Flektor.

This release makes me think of two things:

1. While in college, I voted for (the late) Harry Caray for student body president, then two years later lobbied heavily for The Rock for the same position, going to far as to have a mock interview with The Rock as one of my columns while Cosmos editor. And the Rock actually got more votes than some of the actual candidates.

2. During the same year of my Rock advocacy, Al Gore appeared on campus while running for president. Except the event (in Dows) was pretty much just for top Cedar Rapids Democrats and the Poli-Sci J-term class. The rest of us were oblivious until we woke up one day and there were Secret Service snipers on the Marquis roof.

Evan's link of the week

This actually is Evan's link of the week from September 28, but I've been a little busy. And, thanks to the wonders of YouTube, you don't really need a link.

They didn't win -- it's a shame

Column originally published Oct. 11, 2007

Do they still play the blues in Chicago when baseball season rolls around?"

Songwriter Steve Goodman asked that eternal question before his untimely death in 1984. He continued by asking, "When the snow melts away, do the Cubbies still play in their ivy-covered burial ground?"

Sadly, yes. This is my fourth annual column wrapping up a recently concluded Cubs season, the first for Times readers. To the surprise of a few folks, this year's column had to wait a week for the Cubs to totally wash out of the postseason. Usually the washout is complete by Labor Day, if not Memorial Day.

The 2004 season was supposed to end in a trip to the playoffs until a meltdown in the final week. The 2005 collapse came a bit sooner, but the 2006 Cubs were one of the worst teams in baseball, a glorious throwback to the teams of my youth in the 1980s and 1990s.

The 2007 team was a nice combination of all three -- an expected contender, a near-fatal meltdown at the end of the year and, on certain days, seemingly one of the worst teams in recorded history. I'm thinking specifically of the three playoff games against Arizona.

Every year since 2003 has been a disappointment in one way or another. At 28 years old, I think I can pretty much safely say that only four Cubs seasons in my lifetime have been even remotely satisfying. I guess I should add 2007 to the "remotely satisfying" list because there really were a lot of high points. But getting the sour taste of the disaster in the desert out of my mouth will take a while.

Continue reading "They didn't win — it's a shame."

Holland Family Update

If you ever wondered whether or not my sister has an awesome music job for which she is perfectly suited, wonder no more. Also, if I haven't reported so earlier, Matt is now getting plenty of hours from The Big Ten Network.

Wise words

This week's Tuesday Morning Quarterback nugget (and it's a big nugget):

In "Scream IV," Good-Looking Teenagers are Trapped in the MPAA Headquarters and Stalked by a Madman with a Press Release: Tuesday Morning Quarterback asked in 2005, "If Hollywood won't show smoking because viewers are impressionable, how come the movie industry eagerly glamorizes violence, torture and murder of the helpless as forms of cool recreation?" This question is worth asking again in wake of the recent decision by the Motion Picture Association of America to factor depiction of smoking into movie ratings. So Hollywood wants to discourage scenes of people lighting up -- but scenes of young women being tortured to death, that's fine, show 'em in the mall! Even given that Hollywood's leading product is hypocrisy, this development borders on surreal. The movie industry trade association is very, very worried about depictions of legal use of a lawful product -- TMQ doesn't smoke, so I've no brief here -- yet has no problem with the glamorization of slow-motion slaughter. The same month the MPAA wrung its hands about lighting a cigarette, the MPAA gave its blessing via an R, rather than an NC-17, to "Hostel II," which graphically depicts pretty girls being tortured to death with power tools. Because of the MPAA's ratings favor, this depraved flick was shown in suburban shopping malls. But should someone want to light up, the MPAA has pangs of conscience!

Individual Hollywood studios are exhibiting the same double standards. Universal Pictures (owned by General Electric), 20th Century Fox, Disney (parent company of ESPN) and Time Warner all have said recently that they would forbid or strongly discourage depictions of smoking in their movies. But slashing, torture and splatter -- why not! Time Warner-owned studios produced the recent "Texas Chainsaw Massacre" remake, which glorifies torturing the helpless to death, plus "Freddie vs. Jason," a movie about two psychopaths who hold a competition to see who can slash the most teenagers to death. Universal produced the recent "Land of the Dead," a film whose premise might have been absurd but whose content was nonstop gore. Disney-owned studios brought us the "Scream" series, in which teen characters crack jokes while stabbing and shooting their friends. Fox-owned studios recently produced the extremely graphic remake of "The Hills Have Eyes," which depicts multiple beheadings and throat cutting. All these movies got the big-studio green light. But don't you dare film a pack of Marlboros!

The reason to worry about depicting smoking in cinema is that viewers are impressionable and might imitate what's on the screen. If you watch a Star Wars flick, it does not make you decide to jump into hyperspace because you can't. But if you see smoking glamorized in the movies, you can decide to buy a pack of cigarettes -- and if you see the killing of screaming young women glamorized in the movies, you can decide to pick up a gun and start shooting your college classmates. Why does Hollywood make the connection regarding glorifying smoking but not the connection regarding violence? Among specialists, there is no controversy about whether watching violence causes violence. An overwhelming body of psychological data demonstrates that the more cinematic depictions of violence to which a child or teenager is exposed, the more likely the person is to commit violent acts in adulthood: The studies are summarized in this joint statement by the American Academy of Pediatrics and five other medical professional societies.

Today, big movie studios glamorize torture and murder as really super cool fun, then market such films to the young -- the worst possible combination of social irresponsibility. If the MPAA had any interest in making Hollywood accountable, it would rate all films depicting graphic personal violence as NC-17. That would be a fair compromise between safeguarding the moviemaker's prerogative to film and depict any kind of material for adults -- the First Amendment is absolute that adults should be able to watch whatever they please -- while protecting society from harm to the minds of the young. "Clearly, smoking is an increasingly unacceptable behavior in our society," the MPAA intoned in announcing its new ratings policy. But cutting girls' throats, shooting your classmates -- why should Hollywood have any problem with that? It's not unacceptable!

Contact info

FYI -- we have new cell phone numbers. If you didn't get the e-mail, it means I don't have your address. Click on the link at right. If I still don't write back, well, I'm either too busy or a little weirded out that you want my cell phone number.

Summing it up...

3 up, 3 down: Over and out
Cubs' bats silent again as Arizona sweeps

By Dan McGrath
Tribune staff reporter

The Cubs bowed out of the postseason about as ingloriously as a team can Saturday night, meek bystanders as the Arizona Diamondbacks completed a 3-0 National League Division Series sweep with a 5-1 victory that either stunned or embarrassed Wrigley Field into sullen silence.

Chris Young drove Rich Hill's first pitch of the game into the left-field bleachers, and the Cubs were never in the argument. The party died down in the bleachers, the ballpark and anywhere else Cubs fans gathered — watching a dispirited team manage just seven hits, strand nine baserunners and ground into four double plays will do that to the most convivial bash.

And yet there was something almost reassuring about the glum evening and the whole sad series.

No animals — billy goats, black cats, etc. — were harmed or even involved. No agility-challenged first baseman booted a grounder with a game on the line. And no innocent-bystander Cubs fan can be charged with altering the course of history by being in the wrong place at a terribly wrong time.

No, the oddball incidents that give the Cubs their own quirky place in sports history were missing this time. This series was settled on the field. The Diamondbacks outhit, outpitched and outscrapped the curiously lifeless Cubs, beating them every way one team can beat another. Beat them seven times in nine games this season, lest anyone come away thinking it was fluky.

Deft pitching, timely power and the emergence of young Stephen Drew as a star did in the Cubs, along with a total disappearing act by the heart of their batting order. Not some goofy 4-year-old debate over whether Luis Castillo's foul pop was catchable.

The '07 Cubs — expected to be the last under Tribune Co. ownership — will be remembered as a decent team that gave their fans more fun moments than flaky ones. They just weren't good enough to end a championship drought that drags on toward the century mark.

Wait till next year? Like we have a choice.

From Sunday's Chicago Tribune

Holland family update

I actually have time to write today -- Kristie is shopping with her mom and Jack is watching whatever crap Nickelodeon is airing at the moment -- so here's a quick rundown.

After the ER visit, the steroids took care of Jack's allergic reaction (cause remains undetermined). Successful visit to the new babysitter Wednesday... but no naughty slips all week at day care. Hmmm....

On Friday, I came home from work at about 7:40 a.m., because the cold we've all been battling for more than a week finally hit me hard. My reward was taking jack to the doctor where they diagnosed him with strep. I can't begin to tell you how totally awesome this entire six-week span of no regular work weeks and frequent doctor visits has been. Just think: We add a baby to the mix in a matter of months.

Plus, the Cubs have decided to reward me for trying to stay up late to watch their playoff games by possibly peeing the entire season down their legs in Arizona. Now they need to do the nearly impossible, win three straight (including a Game 5 in Phoenix against Brandon Webb) and then try to convince me everything is just ducky heading into the second round.

Look, the situation is pretty dreary. But I'm an optimist. Here's how I survive:

* All the other series are 0-2. So we're not alone.
* Could be worse. We could be Philadelphia, which just lost is first two games at home.
* Could be worse. We could be Milwaukee, New York or San Diego, all of which were unable to make it at least this far and can only claim to have done a better job. Bottom line: We were better over 162 games than the Brewers, which gives us the opportunity to look like idiots in October.
* Hey, this sucks, but so far it's got nothing on 1984 or 2003. The whole point of this is to win the World Series. Yes, you have to win the first round to do that, but who was going to be satisfied with anything less? At least this way I don't feel my soul has been battered.

(Of course, if they win today, I'll go to bed thinking "We've got Big Z in Game 4 at home and then anything can happen in Game 5." And if we somehow win this series, I'll just focus on beating Colorado (or Philly, if it manages an even more ridiculous comeback) and forget how close we were to being washed away in this round.

That's all for now. The game doesn't start for four hours, most of our window A/C units are useless and Jack needs a nap. I promise to try to write more one of these weeks.

One way to solve the day care issue...

Well, we haven't had any problems with day care this week since Jack didn't go. He was developing a fever Tuesday morning, so Kristie stayed home with him (although I volunteered). The fever stayed Wednesday, and he literally lost his lunch 10 minutes into his nap, which also meant he didn't go back to sleep.

When I put him to bed last night, he told me his mouth hurt. But I gave him some water and he was fine. I went straight to bed since I'd already agreed to go into work super early Thursday so I could come home and stay with Jack. (Two of our four page designers were to be gone today anyhow, so I needed to go in, which is why I volunteered to stay home Tuesday since I knew Kristie couldn't miss both days of work this week.)

Anyway, about a half hour or so after Jack and I went to bed, he was crying in his room. Kristie went in and saw that his upper lip was all swollen. It was bad enough we put some generic Benadryl in him and headed to the ER. There they treated us very well and got us into a private room pretty quick. Eventually the doctor decided to give him some prednisone and more Benadryl. That was about 12:15 a.m. Around 1 p.m. they checked him again and sent us home with a prednisone prescription and orders to either see his pediatrician Thursday morning or come back to the ER.

We got home around 1:15 a.m. I put Jack to bed (he insisted on reading two books, or regular routine... despite it being 1:15 a.m. and him having only a 10-minute nap. How he was still awake I'll never know). I slept on the couch from 1:30 to 3:30 and then got up and went to the office. I left there about 7:40 for home. Kristie went to work, then Jack woke up. The swelling was much, much better and the rashy stuff we also noticed at the hospital had more or less gone away.

I called the doctor's office when it opened at 8:30. They called back and got me a 9:20 a.m. appointment with one of the other doctors there (I've still never met his actual pediatrician). We picked up his prescription on the way to the clinic. The doctor said he had an allergic reaction to something (really? you think?) but didn't think it had any connection to the virus that led to his fever, as the ER doctor posited.

So... it's the prednisone once a day for five days and Benadryl at least every four hours. This incident, while physically taxing due to the late hours, wasn't nearly as mentally tough as the Christmas Eve ER visit in 2005 when I got to hold a shivering, whimpering, vomiting, swollen 20-month-old who'd just delighted three generations of family members almost all day in Elizabeth and Savanna. And his lip didn't look nearly as bad as his swollen eye from a few weeks ago.

I have no idea what caused the reaction. He didn't eat anything abnormal -- he hardly ate anything at all since he got the fever. Maybe another bug bit him. Maybe the milk he had Wednesday morning went funky and that didn't sit well. But that should have all been out of his system after the whole lunch losing episode.

Anyway, sorry I didn't let you know all this sooner. I really needed to sleep whenever I had the chance today (fortunately, Jack gave me the chance by zoning out in front of Nickelodeon when we got back from the clinic and then taking a four-hour nap this afternoon). He's pretty much fine now. The fever was gone this morning and has stayed away. The swelling and rash are minimal, but it's clear he still needs the steroids to knock it out for good.

Holland family update

Goodness, it's been a while since I typed one of these, eh?

Apologies to all my faithful readers, but it's been a pretty hectic few weeks. I guess the biggest culprit has been Jack's ongoing problems adjusting to day care. Aside from trying to keep up with house work, actual work, a semi-aggressive weekend travel schedule and the Cubs, the blog is just another thing on my list of things to get around to at some point.

Let's see if can remember all the details of Jack's saga. The relevant stuff goes back to Thursday, Sept. 13, when his "teacher" requested a "conference." Kristie was able to schedule it for my lunch hour the next Monday so we could both go. We had a weekend to fear the worst: A laundry list of how naughty Jack is and polite "suggestions" for how we could handle our own child all but 18 hours a week.

What we got was kind of insulting in retrospect, not from the "you're bad parents" angle, but more so from the "we're professionals here with decades of experience and we're stumped about your child, and even though you've told us what works at home, we don't do that here despite being your method being practical, effective and totally nonviolent."

The main problem is Jack hits other kids. They say he does it for sport, or to get toys or something. He shouldn't hit kids, obviously, but the reason he doesn't hit at home is because we see it coming before it happens. And he never hits kids when we're at the park or if we leave him in the nursery at church. So who knows what goes on at day care.

They tried timeouts, which we tried to explain simply doesn't work with Jack. He hasn't ever made the connection between "stop doing (naughty action) or you'll have to sit in the same place for two minutes." He does understand negative consequences if they mean something to him, as in "stop throwing toys or I'm taking them away for a few hours." And when he persists in the bad activity, he has to apologize to us for his naughty deed.

Usually, he refuses to apologize right away. But we don't let him do what he wants (have the forbidden item, watch TV, cuddle, etc.) until he apologizes. Eventually, he thinks about it and decides apologizing is his best option. Usually it takes long enough for his mind to make that shift that he also settles down. Apology, cuddle, resume playing. Good system, and no one gets hit.

But his teacher won't make kids apologize, even though that's what the day care owner preaches and what we said works at home. Which means our conference went like this:

Her: What works for you at home?
Us: This plan.
Her: I don't do that plan.

Well, then. Nice chatting with you, eh? Should we just take $26 a day and set it on fire?

She tells us he keeps breaking crayons, and I wonder why the hell they keep giving him crayons. At home (or elsewhere) when he's proven he can't handle something, it's no longer an option. That's why all his crayons are gone -- they all got pitched after the unfortunate stairway incident. That's why we don't get to do outdoor fires with Pops. It's why he's not allowed to walk in a department or grocery store. He can't handle it, and anyone can see he can't handle it. So we set limits.

I know the day care people have a lot of kids to deal with, and I know it's tough for Jack to adjust after never dealing with such a situation his entire life. But really, why ask us what works when you won't do it anyway? It's like the extensive form we filled out about his habits before he even started. If they'd read it, they would have known a lot of things, such as how to get him down for a nap, his eating habits, et cetera ... all things they asked us about later.

Plus, they got him in the really annoying habit of saying "I want my mommy" in a super whiny voice, I assume by asking him "Do you want your mommy" in their own baby-talk way. He's always been fine calling us Mom and Dad and just saying "Where's Mom" or "I want Dad to do it" without being such a sniveling thudpucker.

The other thing the teacher suggested at the conference is that we have Jack screened for preschool. Her reasoning was they the screeners might identify some tendency or trait that would help the daycare craft a discipline plan. This from the same person who recounted for us her extensive background in working with kids in an educational or day care setting.

The only screening option, according to day care, was the very next day. I was able to get an 11 a.m. appointment (not the best for me based on my work schedule), which meant I was taking 90-minute lunches on consecutive days, making me thankful to be a salaried employee working for a very understanding company.

The preschool screening went remarkably well. While Jack was screened, I met with a recruiter for the public school district preschool program. I explained we hadn't looked into preschool because he isn't toilet trained and we need to have somewhere for him to go after most preschools let out. They told me the toilet training wasn't a problem and they can bus directly to day care.

The screener said academically he's beyond ready for preschool (the minimum score on their scale is like a 56 and he pulled an 89). They didn't notice any behavior issues. When the lady spoke with Kristie the next day, she explained preschool is free because it's an at-risk program (Jack's identified behavior being the risk -- I've heard it's pretty easy to qualify for at-risk status and it's not meant to brand a toddler as a future felon).

So we're all on board with trying preschool, which would be five days a week. Problem is, we don't want him to go to daycare Tuesday and Thursday afternoon because he'd get there after lunch, right in time for his too-short nap on an empty stomach. Plus, we'd pay the same whether he's there or not. We paid $26 today for him to sit at home with a fever.

So now the search is on for an in-home provider to take him from noon to 4, which basically is lunch and a nap. However, we don't know anyone out here who does such care, and we don't see to know anyone who knows anyone. Each day he goes back to daycare feels worse and worse, since we spend money to worry all day, then Kristie gets to go pick him up (exhausted after a day of TWP, teaching while pregnant) and his laundry list of naughty stuff from the day.

Lest you think I'm exaggerating, I should point out they stopped filling out individual incident reports in favor of a running log of all the "nasty" stuff he does. Yet when I brought him back after his screening, he said "Oh, hello" to two little girls in the lobby, then entered his classroom, saw it was lunchtime and went straight to the sink to wash his hands.

I guess that's enough of this long, painful rant. Short story: Kristie working part time while not living five minutes away from a grandmother is proving to be more complex than initially expected. We have to survive this year and also determine how worth it the same arrangement would be next year when the day care costs increase. Chances are it might not be worth it at all, but we do have house payments to make.

As far as the Cubs -- since I know you're wondering -- I write this with five games left and a two-game lead over Milwaukee (assuming the Brewers can hold a 9-1 lead in the ninth against St. Louis). I have the same mentality I did in 2004: If they can't close it out at this point, I wouldn't want to see them in the playoffs anyway.

I'm ready to go all-in again (hell, I've been all-in since February) and subject myself to the possibility of another crushing defeat in hopes for the slim chance of a life-altering victory. I have a lot more Cubs fans friends at work than I did four years ago. I still have a pregnant wife, and she's called dibs on mood swings, so I have to try to keep sedated when things go bad. Plus, Jack is ex utero now, so I cannot take out baseball feelings on him.

But... who doesn't love a magical summer like this? I suggest this Tribune column by Rick Morrissey or this piece by John Kass to really get revved up for the stretch run.

I'm 28 years old. I've had 1984, 1989, 1998, 2003 and now 2007. Every other year has ranged from good but not quite great to "Sweet Jesus, that may be the worst team in the history of organized sports." Mostly from column B, of course. When something special like this year rolls around, you ride the momentum train for all it's worth. (I think it's or its would be acceptable in that sentence, no?)

I will try to baseball blog as I can so you all know whether or not I have a pulse. These are the kinds of things we hope for when we slog through 13-8 drubbings in April and May, when we read every word of spring training reports or free agent rumors. We follow nearly every pitch of every game, racking up thousands of meaningless minutes of baseball over the years, all for a chance to have one October for us, when every pitch does matter, when every at bat is a game-changing event, when every Fox extreme close up makes us throw up in our mouth a little.

Trust me: I am very, very excited to see what happens in the next few days and weeks. Unless it inexplicably implodes again. Then I'm not excited. But the only way to truly experience this is to go in with your mind open to the amazing possibilities of what might be, what could be...

Attention ex-Libertyvillians

The Daily Herald has a story this week about development at the corner of Milwaukee Ave. and Lake Street -- generally across from the Liberty and pretty much Libertyville's most prominent eyesore. According to the story, things are changing in a big way...

Since the Bonzai Motor Sports building collapsed in a storm more than four years ago, the property owner has had big plans for the prominent corner in downtown Libertyville.

Village leaders, too, have been eager to see some improvement at the vacant and scruffy-looking intersection at Milwaukee Avenue -- a main commercial corridor -- and Lake Street.

After two years of give-and-take with the village on a variety of issues, foundations are being built for what will be a new mixed-use building to include up to four restaurants and luxury penthouses with roof-top patios.

"Currently we are working double crews to get under roof before winter," said Colleen White, sales and project manager for JTEH LLC, the company formed by owner Joe Tremont to develop the project.

Exterior walls are expected to go up in a week or so, White said.

Manchester Square will be a three-story building designed to look like several individual structures with an old-time feel.

White says the seven top-floor penthouses, priced from $625,000 to $1.25 million, sold within three weeks of being put on the market.

Second-floor use hasn't been determined, although there has been strong interest from office users, she said.

Ground-floor tenants so far include Egg Harbor and Tommy's Pizza.

Read the full story here

Things you didn't know

When was the last time you heard Coe and Georgetown mentioned in the same phrase? For me, it was today, reading this week's Tuesday Morning Quarterback. Boldface mine:

I Say! Pip Pip! Cheerio! The Smart Schools Invade the NFL: There were what is likely a modern-era record number of Ivy League players on opening day NFL rosters: Matt Birk (Vikings), Ryan Fitzpatrick (Bengals), Clifton Dawson (Bengals) and Isaiah Kacyvenski (Raiders) from Harvard; Zak DeOssie (Giants), Sean Morey (Cardinals) and Chas Gessner (Bucs' practice squad) from Brown; Ross Tucker (Redskins), Dennis Norman (Jaguars) and Jonathan Dekker (Steelers' practice squad) from Princeton; Nate Lawrie (Bengals) and Eric Johnson (Saints) from Yale; Jim Finn (Giants) from Penn; Casey Cramer (Titans) from Dartmouth; Steve Cargile (Broncos' practice squad) from Columbia; and Kevin Boothe (Giants) from Cornell. A decade ago, at the kickoff of the 1997 season, there were only four Ivy Leaguers on NFL rosters. This season, there is also a head coach, Dick Jauron (Bills) from Yale, and an offensive coordinator, Jason Garrett (Cowboys) from Princeton. Several other smart-school players made NFL rosters: Sean Conover (Titans) of Bucknell; Bryce Fisher (with the Seahawks in Week 1, then traded to Titans) of the Air Force Academy; Kyle Eckel (Patriots) of Navy; Fred Jackson (Bills) of Coe College; Mike Leach (Broncos), Darren Sharper (Vikings) and Dominique Thompson (Rams) of William & Mary; Michael Allan (Chiefs) of Whitworth; Jamaal Branch (Steelers' practice squad) of Colgate; and Alex Buzbee (Redskins' practice squad) of Georgetown University; and head coaches Mike Tomlin (Steelers) of William & Mary and Bill Belichick (Patriots) and Eric Mangini (Jets) of Wesleyan. Of course, NFL teams have many players from serious academic schools such as Stanford and Boston College. But even the quality academic schools in Division I-A treat education as optional for football players. In contrast, the Ivy Leaguers and others mentioned in this item attended colleges and universities where a football player who's not in class is a football player who's off the team.

Coe, Georgetown, William & Mary... interchangeable, really.

Holland family update

I've posted happier news before, but I should let people know my dad's dad, Raymond "Doc" Holland, died early today at the Elizabeth Nursing Home.

If my math is right, Grandpa Doc (that's how we refer to him when talking to Jack) would have been 84 in October. He was married to Grandma Holland for 56 years. His health has been failing in varying stages over the last few years -- if you've read any of my pieces about cleaning out the farmhouse, you kind of know how the situation has evolved.

What follows is something I wrote last night. I dated it Monday based on the contents, but I find it somehow comforting that I was putting these thoughts down during his final hours. I haven't had any chance to do proofreading outside of spellcheck, so it's pretty raw. Plus, it's written as a letter to Jack with the assumption he may read it when he's old enough (he can type his name now, which means he can spell but lacks the motor skills to grasp a writing implement. Of course, I can't do that either, and I'm 28).

Anyway, if you take the time to read it, thanks. Say an extra prayer for Grandma tonight. She's been through an awful lot since her stroke eight years ago. Grandpa's surely in a better place today, but it's still awfully hard to let go.

September 3, 2007

Dear Jack:

I talked with Great Grandma Holland today. We were in Libertyville for Labor Day weekend; Pops and K were helping Matt move into his apartment in Evanston, and Aunt Kim was busy doing work for her new teaching job. The nursing home where Great Grandma Holland lives with Grandpa Doc called and asked if some people could come over to talk to Great Grandma because she was having a pretty rough day.

Aunt Mary had to go to the hospital to have her heart checked out. And because Great Grandpa (you call him Grandpa Doc, or at least you could if you'd ever learn people's names) has been in such bad shape lately, it was more than she could take. A few hours after I helped negotiate who would be the best one to go visit Great Grandma, she called herself.

She told me about Mary, then asked about my new job. She wanted to know how you were doing and to see how Mom is handling being pregnant (much better these days, I might add). Then she decided to tell me Grandpa Doc isn't doing too well. I knew this, of course, because Pops keeps me posted. But to hear her say it was different. It was almost an admission to me of something she didn't want to let herself believe.

It's been pretty tough to see Grandpa Doc the way he is these days – physically feeble, barely able to hold a lucid conversation and, well, surly in a lot of respects. This is in sharp contrast to the Grandpa I remember for the first 24 years of my life.

When I came on the scene, Grandpa was a big man, an honest 6 feet tall and I couldn't say how many pounds. He was near the end of his white collar career and not quite the physical specimen he was back in his farmhand days (after eighth grade until he married Grandma). Back then, Pops likes to say, he was country strong with a barrel chest that measured 10 inches larger than his waist. He used to toss hay bales like newspapers and was quite the baseball player way back when.

He also survived a bout of spinal meningitis, avoided military duty, married his boyhood sweetheart and became a fantastic insurance salesman (a lot of that done with the help of that sweetheart). He was, like Pops and you, the life of every party he attended. His jokes, stories, antics and euchre skills were legendary.

It almost sounds like I'm building up some sort of mythical, Paul Bunyan-esque grandfather legend that couldn't possibly be true, but it really, really was. It seems that anywhere in Elizabeth I could tell anyone I was Doc Holland's grandson and that instantly made me fit right in. I've always been proud to make that connection.

He's still alive while I write this, but the odds are he won't be around to see Baby Two. And because of the way his body and brain have faded so sharply in the last few years, it feels like the man who was my grandfather isn't really there anymore. It's sad to say, it's even sadder to think. But I'm so lucky to have had so much time with him, I hardly feel cheated.

If you want to know what Grandpa Doc was like as a Dad, you'll have to ask Pops. It'll be even tougher to find someone to tell you what he was like as a boy, although he is one of eight kids, so there's an awful lot of Hollands running around. I just know him as a grandpa, and he taught me all kind of things about the importance of family, even if he didn't do it on purpose.

Grandpa Doc loved Great Grandma in a way I can only hope to love Mom. She was out of his league from a social standpoint in the 1940s, but he loved her so strong it overcame any difference. He hitchhiked to Cedar Rapids to take her to dances while she was at Coe, bringing young women's faces to all the windows of Voorhees, looking to see what Marilyn Martin's gentleman caller looked like. The dorm was a lot different when K and Mom lived there, but don't think Pops and I never thought about what happened there years before when we were pursuing K and Mom.

She called him Doc like everyone did. He called her Babe. Looking back at old pictures gives you the idea they were the typical Midwestern 1950s and 60s family. Car trips to some lake in Minnesota, Knights of Columbus socials, school plays and three boys with shaggy hair when they got to their teens in the 1970s and 80s.

But when I entered the scene –- or at least when I got to be old enough to understand the desire to find a good woman –- I saw an old couple who seemed to be every bit in love as they were 40 years past. It wasn't even that they did special things for each other or were overtly romantic. They just were. Just a couple, two people so connected you could never imagine one without the other.

Grandpa smiled – beamed – when he held his grandkids. He did the same when you were born. For a guy who barely tolerated house pets he was always drawn to his sons' dogs. "You're all right," he'd whisper when he thought no one was listening, following with the same line he used for babies. "It's the world that’s wrong."

I could write pages and pages with more stories. Grandpa with his antique car won in a raffle. Grandpa dressed as a noxious weed marching in a parade. Grandpa driving the neighbor boy to the next town to see fireworks when everyone else had left him alone. Grandpa eating like a machine. Grandpa cooking breakfast in a floral print apron in the kitchen of the family farmhouse. Grandpa cracking open an Old Milwaukee, taking a sip and topping it off with peppermint Schnapps. Grandpa remarking how much corn you could fit in the World Trade Center. Grandpa trying to get his still able mind around the atrocities of September 11.

Grandpa teaching me to play euchre, driving me all over to places Grandma thought I should see, giving us tractor rides, returning victorious from a hunt, trying to convince me there was a monkey in the kitchen window, teasing me about my fictional girlfriend with the green hair. Grandpa being Doc –- the guy everyone loves to be around, the one we know will be there to support us –- physically, financially, emotionally, spiritually or in any way possible.

It's sad to think you'll never really know Grandpa Doc. Even though his mind’s been fading, he’s always connected to you. You don't care that he doesn't know your name. You don't care he can't remember any of his funny jokes. You don't care he'll never take you fishing or let you think you're driving the John Deere.

But you've always, somehow, been able to sense he loves you. You look at each other and make speech like noises. When he coos at you he knows what he's doing. When he cusses at a nurse, I don't think that's really him. But when he's trying to make you smile, when he's saying "he's really something, isn't he?" Then, he's my grandpa.

Grandma told me he isn't feeling any physical pain. He used to have emotional pain, she said, because he didn't want to move to the nursing home. He’d been at the farmhouse for more than 30 years. It was the house he stayed in when he was a farmhand with his eyes set on a pretty young girl. It was farmland that had been in her family for 150 years.

But today, I'm not real sure he remembers that house, that life. His world has shrunk almost back to where it started, totally dependent on the people around him. Recognizing a few faces, trusting that people have his best interests at heart. Right there beside him is Grandma, helping complete the Biblical edict that "two shall become one."

He opened his eyes today, Great Grandma said. She told him "I love you." He said, "I love you, too." And after she told me that, she started crying. Bawling, really. And I just listened. The next thing I understood was when she said, "Well, I guess I better go."

I suppose she was embarrassed to cry. Maybe she was really admitting how near the end is at this point. That makes me want to cry, too.

Grandpa Doc is a great, great man. He loves his God, his wife and his family. That means you, too, although you'll never be able to grasp how important that really is. I've tried to convey it in writing, but I suppose that doesn't do it justice. It's the kind of love that defies description, the kind of life that can't be captured no matter how many paragraphs I write.

I'm blessed to be his grandson, and I can only hope to continue his legacy of making this world a better place just for being in it.

I love you –-

Dad

Just Jack

Aunts and Uncles

Should be pretty clear, but that's Jack with Aunt Kim last Sunday and Jack helping put candles in Uncle Matt's birthday fudge on Aug. 12. Uncle Matt just agreed to do part-time production assistant work with the Big Ten Network, which coincidentally just agreed to a deal with Dish Network and now is beamed to my home 24/7.

And he walks with me...

If you've never met Pops, or if you haven't spoken with him in the last 15 years, you have no idea what a green thumb he's developed. From our front yard landscaping overhaul (so long ago it's tough to remember having just grass) to his back yard gouradtorium to the revamped rock garden (complete with homemade fire pit) to the many new attractions around the new porch, Pops is singlehandedly supporting the nurseries of central Lake County.

The newest addition, on the west side yard where we used to have just sun-baked lawn and later, for many years, a vegetable garden (anyone remember the massive pumpkins?) was, until Monday, a blank canvas of dirt surround by paving stones. On Labor Day, though, Pops set to sinking a good deal of new green stuff in the dirt. Which, of course, attracted Jack like our cat Jeri to a flashlight.

What you see here is (above) a long shot of the garden, taken with my back to our front yard pine tree and facing north toward the back yard. If you look to the right of the garden, you can see Jack, hard at work. The second photo shows Jack plugging away at "his garden," finding homes for the little bits that weren't needed from the big plants transplanted from the back garden into the side.

Of note is that somewhere in this experience, Jack got bitten by some insect he doesn't get along with. Kristie noticed his right eye didn't look normal later in the day. I thought it was pretty chubby when I put him to bed Monday night. On Tuesday he could barely open it.

Off to the doctor (nurse practitioner, actually) Tuesday afternoon. She prescribed amoxicilin and suggested Benadryl. The swelling went down pretty quick (Jack: "Now I can open my eye!") and, aside from other bites on his arms and legs, he seems to have weathered everything pretty well.

He was amazingly good at the doctor's office (and even more so for our return visit Thursday), letting her take his temperature and look in his ears and eyes (these are the things that caused him to shriek with terror during earlier visits), so we were pretty happy. And he loves his medicine, which he only gets twice a day.

Giving him medicine used to be as tough as getting pills in the carts. It took at least two adults and three hands, if not more. Now? He's bummed he only gets it twice a day. He walks around with an empty dropper giving me and Kristie imaginary doses and telling us to take drinks when we're done. I'd ask him to stop, but I'm afraid he'd try to cut back on his own intake.

Family photos

I've got a lot of pictures from last weekend's trip to Libertyville (and one from earlier in August). I know you'll probably read the introduction last, unless you're online as I post everything, but that's how it's gonna be for now. Maybe if we get that digital camera Kristie's been jonesing for we can get one-a them Flickr thingies and make it work. Maybe we should also get a real Internet connection...

Anyhow, here's Maggie, doing a very good (but not spot on) Kerry impression:

Kohawk update

"It's been a long time coming for me and a while to get here," said Jackson. "But I'm looking forward to the opportunity now that I've made the team and I'm ready to help the team in any way I can."

--That's Coe grad Fred Jackson speaking about his excitement over being named to the 53-man NFL roster for the Buffalo Bills, where the man at the top of the food chain is fellow Coe grad Marv Levy.

Read the full story here.

Attention ex-Libertyvillians

Here's another story I can't ever remember hearing:

The famous gate of Libertyville illinois(my hometown for 38 years)is the site where back in the 1950s ,4 severed heads of the poor orphans were found on the spikes ,atop the gate of river road!The creepy gate lies just west of the 90 degree corner of river road about 3/4's of a mile north of State Route 137 .Thousands of people visit the famous haunting site,including school children on halloween night .Also a popular place to stop for bargoers after a night of drinking .People from as far as China and Brasil have visited the famous severed head gate .

Legend has it that the spirits of these poor young orphans are trapped in limbo between this plane and the afterlife ,unable to move on ,because the killer has never been found .They were sickly orphans killed by a crazed lunatic wandering the eerie road .He snuck into an opened window of the orphanage and pulled each unsuspecting orphan out one by one and dragged them to the gate ,where he chewed through the neck, bones and all, to severe the orphans heads!He placed each of the 4 heads atop the gate spikes . When the police arrived at the creepy gate the wee hours on that humid summer morning ,they could hardly believe that a human was responsible for this gruesome multiple killing .The only clue left at the scene was a single silver tooth ,laying on the dewey ground amongst all the pools of blood.

I have staked out the gate 100s of times alone, deep into the night hours, where i lay in the field of prarie grasses, near the gate entrance and observed an absolutely unbelievable event.

On a hot and humid summer night in 2005 just after 2 am.I was bored and drifting off to sleep ,laying amongst the tall prarie grasses,the moon was high and full .I could have read a book it was so bright .There was a light breeze rustling the leaves of a tall cottonwood tree nearby,when it happened.My eyes were fixed on the gate,when i heard the noise that made me soil my pants.I could hear ,in the tall prarie grasses ,a struggle ,crying ,screaming ,at that moment i was frozen .I could see very clearly the grasses ,50 feet from me being trampled down but nobody was near the compressed grasses .The screams turned to pleading ,i could clearly and unmistakenly hear the young girl saying ""father have you come to take me home"" please let that be the truth ,oh god help me """.As the trampled tall grasses were within 30 feet from me i could see 2 distorted almost mirage like images .The man, huge appeared to be 6 foot + with overalls and a t shirt , was pulling the girl by her pigtails . In the gleam of the moonlight i seen a shining sparkle from his mouth and i thought of the the silver tooth found at the crime scene . .He stops about 15 feet from me, he tightens his grip on the young girls pigtails ,she struggles trying to break free ,she cries out begging him to let her go .But the madman continues toward the gate dragging her to certain death.Then as fast as it happened they dissapeared into the tall prarie grasses about 25 feet from the gate .

I was never so scared in all my life . I jumped up darting out of the grasses .I couldnt help myself but to peer over my shoulder toward the gate ,as i was sprinting down the rocky shoulder of river road.To my relief nothing was there, as i turned my head back to the road headlights blinded me and the car pulled onto the shoulder in front of me . A Lake County police officer stepped out of his car ,flashlight in his hand ,pointing it at my crotch .Laughter exploded from his mouth ,knowing the history of the gate and the countless tickets he issued to people parking near the gate in the late hours of the night .He didn't ask what happened ,but said"" you better go home and change your drawers ""

Since then i havent been to the gate alone .When i tell the story about my experience that night,It is truly hard for my friends to believe .We all have heard sounds and seen eerie fog ,flashes of lights far in the prarie ,but nothing even close ,since that hot moonlit summer night of 2005 .

I plead with all who read this to never visit this site alone .I have constant and painfull nightmares of that night ,i don't wish that on even my worst enemies.Most of the haunting activities are after midnight in the summer months .Bring a tape recorder and videocamera ,many people have reviewed these after they left the site and found things they never even heard or saw the moment they were there .Some leave offerings at the gate for the poor little orphans brutally murdered there .Such as > hair ties ,gum ,flowers ,small dolls ,crayons and coins.

If you dare! Visit the gate on River road, Libertyville ,Illinois . You will be a believer of the haunted severed head gate and the souls of the wandering children lost here .

The post link is here, the MySpace blog of some guy named Keith. SOrry for the formatting errors, they're a straight copy from his site.