You and I, we attend yet another one of these weddings. A sunny day, an overjoyed bride, a Groom standing an inch taller than normal with his chest out. You and I were these people not so long ago. Whispering girls, mischievous boys, proud parents and murmuring extended family. Clergy speaks, musicians strum, and all attention focuses on two, becoming one.




The ceremony is beautiful. Perfect, just like ours was. At the reception we sit together like visiting royalty, guests in a foreign court. Strangers who share our table quickly become like amnesiatic old friends. As the meals are cleared away the music begins.




We come together as this song plays. Our bodies fit together perfectly, and we stare unashamed into each other's eyes as we move. There is so much love in your eyes. Do you know how completely you have me? Our unborn child floats inside of you as we sway. The last time we danced to this song was at someone else's reception - That time you were carrying our first. The love was the same. The coupling of our bodies was the same. This dance is a continuation, part of a much larger dance that we started back when we were the bride and groom.




I look deeper into your eyes. Yes, you do know how completely you have me. I see that love returned. Awash in a sea of humanity we cling to each other, knowing that even after the music stops the dance will continue.

Labels: Babies, Family, fatherhood, Life, Numero_Dos

Last night I dreamed that Dennis Leary and I worked together as sportswriters. We were in a press room (The old-school kind that you see in movies where it reeks of cigar smoke and scorched coffee) He looked lost in thought so I asked him what he was doing and he responded, "Thinking." "That's too bad," I said, because I've been busy idea spawning."

"Idea spawning? Isn't that just another way of saying that you're thinking?"

"No," I said, "Idea spawning generates far greater and significant concepts than mere thinking. It is the pastime of kings and great men."

"Well I have a deadline coming up, so maybe you could help me 'spawn' an idea right now."

At that point I began to lay out the idea for an article where he would issue a call to bring cheerleading in professional sports to a higher standard, where participants are judged for athletic prowess rather than looks, complete with judgeable statistics and some sort of a playoff tier. I meant it as a gag but pretty soon he was rubbing his chin and nodding.

I awoke at 5:45 to the sobering realization that my alarm was set for 5PM instead of 5 AM.

I'm not really sure why I remembered this dream or what it even meant.

Labels: Dreams

If life were a performance I would be part of a church band, playing on some Saturday morning in a gymnasium, tucked into a corner in front of a fire exit. Oh wait, I guess that's what I did last weekend.

The FACC praise & worship team played Easterfest last weekend at St John Vianney school in South St. Paul. We played a short set of 4 or 5 songs while people ate. I couldn't hear the 'big picture' very well but reliable sources claim that we sounded OK, even without a bass.

The roster did not contain the 'usual suspects' - without our fleet of more than capable backup vocalists, Roberto set aside the instruments to front the band. We got some help from Ron Basuil (one of the better guitarists I have ever played with) on six-string acoustic. Malou, who has only been playing with us for a short while, joined us on keyboards. We even had the elusive Kim Vadayos grace us with a solid drum performance. Hard rocker Brian Rourke capped it off with some lead guitar. As always, I felt privileged just to be there and add to the noise.

Here is some footage of us playing "Fields of Grace" -
I am off camera to the left (That's Ron's guitar neck poking in)

And here is some footage of the same song courtesy of Ron,
from a different angle:

Labels: Music

This is a work in progress.

Please feel free to offer suggestions via the comments area at the bottom of this page.
(Updated 03/18/2008)

ABC•DEF•GHI•JKL•MNO•PQR•STU•VWX•YZ

4WH Report
Who, What Where, When and How. Who went fishing, what they caught, When the action took place, where they went and how they presented.
See Also: The Law of Diminishing Returns

A

As good as skunked
No fish worth keeping.(See Also: Keeper)

B

Bad Hand
Eveleth / Ely Lake colloquialism - in a fish house, a condition that occurs when a fisherman finishes his Hamms, puts down the can, and is left with an empty hand.

e.g., "Hey, I gotta bad hand over here!"

Bait Rape
When a fish takes your bait while avoiding the hook.

Bombing Run
Going in to town either for a drink or to purchase off sale liquor for later consumption.

Butt F'N Cold!
When it's so cold that a freshly cleared hole ices over in about 10 seconds - it can only be considered that cold when a person is angling without a shelter.

e.g., "It's not just cold, it's butt f'n cold!"

C

Crowd
Three people crammed into a two person house.

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D

Dead sea, The
Lake Mille Lacs in central Minnesota

E

"Eel Pout, Eel Pout, Eel Pout!"
A chant issued by a competitive ice fisherman with the intent of magically transforming the large fish on his partner's line into a lowly Burbot. It works (Much to the recipient's chagrin) - approximately 25 percent of the time.

Extreme Old School
No shelter, no electronics, Hand Auger

F

Free Range Maggot
A waxworm or eurolarvae that is dropped in favor of a bite on your second line. Said creature is then free to crawl away from wherever it landed.

Free Range Minnow
A minnow that becomes unhooked while landing a fish. Still alive, the crippled fish swims in confused circles in the hole until either it is retrieved, finds its way down the hole or succumbs to its injuries.

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G

George Jetson
Someone obsessed with the latest electronics and gizmos. The opposite of an old-schooler.

H

Hardcore
Old School Angling in subzero (Butt F'N Cold!)temperatures.

Harvey Wallbanger
Any loud drunk capable of shamelessly approaching a stranger's portable shelter and engaging in a semicoherant conversation with the startled occupants inside.

Hole Hypnosis
A trance-like condition induced by staring down a hole drilled into the ice, while ingesting moderate to severe amounts of carbon monoxide. Accute cases involve abrupt loss of depth perception, especially when uninterrupted attention is focused on a bobber or stike indicator in excess of 45 minutes.

I

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J

Jaques Cousteau
A person who owns an underwater camera.

K

Keeper
Any fish capable of providing fillets larger than a vandekamps fish stick.

L

Law of Diminishing Returns, The
Close friends or relatives have approximately a 50% chance of receiving an accurate 4WH Report. Strangers have virtually no chance.

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M

Making Ice
The popping and cracking of lake ice caused by expansion and contraction. Typically occurs at night or on extremely (Hardcore) cold days.
(i.e., "Boy, she's really makin' ice today!")

N

O

Old School
No Shelter, No Electronics
See Also: Extreme Old School

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P

Pogey Bait
Snack Food

Prairie Dogging
A condition associated with making it off the lake minutes or seconds prior to an imminent bowel movement.

Q

R

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S

Skunked
No Fish (See also: As good as skunked)

Spoon-on-a-Stick
Antique Swedish style cutting device (Not an auger proper) featuring an offset shaft tipped with a cup shaped bore.

Spud
Common name for a large heavy ice chisel used for starting or creating ice holes. Also used to describe the person operating said chisel when they a) start chiseling the ice with 20 or 30 feet of your shelter or b) operate it during the morning or evening bite or other prime fishing hours.

Steve McQueen
Any lake ice motorist who travels in excess of 30 MPH with little or no regard to the proximity of other anglers or property.

T

Territory Marker
Those patches of 'Yellow Snow' you see out on the lake.

U

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V

W

X

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Y

Z

Back to Top

Labels: Fishing, Ice_Fishing

"The man with the boots does not
mind where he places his foot."


"My optimism wears heavy boots
and is loud."



I've had these bad boys for 25 years. My dad bought them for me in 1983 to replace a crappy pair of Moon Boots. To this day probably one of the nicest things he has ever done for me and that is saying a lot.

I have lost track of how many sets of laces and liners I have gone through.
If you click on the photo and look at the toes you can see that they're shot.

I'm not sure why it is that our footwear tends to personify us more than any other article of our apparel. When soldiers lose a comrade they will march past his empty boots and salute. Of all the outrageous excesses of the Marcos Regime it was Imelda's 1060 pairs of shoes that everyone (at least in the states) remembers.

The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.
And without good footwear, you're going nowhere.

Good boots are like good friends. The better they are, the more you can count on them. They can be taken for granted without being insulted by it. But then again boots are inanimate objects and don't have feelings.

What the @#$!$% am I talking about anyway?

I've gotten a lot of traffic (Like double) lately from people looking for fish house designs but none of these freeloading sunkinthaditches comment on my posts. Is nobody commenting because the quality of my posts is crap, or is the quality of my posts crap because nobody comments? I guess either way if I had to ask it isn't a good thing. According to my stats my most loyal reader is the vi@gr@worm robot who hits my RSS feed like 6000 times a day when he's not busy lighting up my custom 404 page with obscene (and non-existent) URLs.

Sorry this post melted down. I really had high hopes for it, too.

But then again what do you care, whoever you are?
You weren't reading this anyway, were you?

Labels: Dad, Friends, Tagalog, Web_Site

"As to when I shall visit civilization, it will not be soon I think. I have not tired of the wilderness; rather I enjoy its beauty and the vagrant life I lead, more keenly all the time. I prefer the saddle to the streetcar and the star-sprinkled sky to a roof, the obscure and difficult trail, leading into the unknown, to any paved highway, and the deep peace of the wild to the discontent bred by cities."

Labels: Nature, Outside, The_Woods, Writing

Jeff Healey dead at 41

I don't know if finding out Jeff Healey was dead was more shocking than finding out that he was only two years older than me when I first saw him in that "Confidence Man" video back in 1988.

I still can't forget his rendition of "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" at the Minnesota State Fair the day after Stevie Ray Vaughn died. This was not somebody I was expecting to read about like this, today.

Labels: Music