Harmon Killebrew

It's a very sad day here in Minnesota, especially for us Twins fans. Harmon Killebrew passed away this morning from esophageal cancer.

I never had the privilege to see Mr. Killebrew play, but I heard stories from my parents about home runs at the Old Met. I saw him out and about the Metrodome and Target Field, always with a smile on his face, always looking happy to be there. He was a classy man who treated everyone with respect, a person who was humble, yet took pride in his accomplishments. No wonder Minnesotans love him.

The Twins haven't been very good this year, but I hope tonight, they can win a game for Harmon. I think that's the best way to honour a man who has meant so much to the players, the team as a whole, and the state.

RIP Mr. Killebrew - we'll miss you.

Oh Minnesota...

This only reaffirms my fervent belief that the rest of the world, in reality, wishes they were Minnesotans.

2011 Minneapolis Trombone Choir PERFORMANCE

Folks,

This Sunday, YES THIS SUNDAY MARCH 20, 2011 AT 7:00 PM, is the 38th annual Minneapolis Trombone Choir Concert. Your lifelong desire to see 40ish super-awkward trombones playing nearly 3 hours of music is on the cusp of fulfillment. The performance not only includes me on tenor trombone, but also a pleasing assortment of bass trombones, sackbuts, euphoniums, tubas, and bass trumpets. Truly a sight to behold, truly the ideal way to start your week, truly the best thing ever.

In any event, further information can be found here. The concert is at Judson Memorial Baptist Church in Minneapolis, which is quite conveniently located on the corner of 41st and Harriet. Should be a fun time, and actually should be a good concert too - I think improved over last year. I think our guest artist this year, the Westside Trombone Quartet, is playing "Hey Jude," and we're going to play, among many pieces, "Malaguena" and the march from "El Cid."

Done deal, right? Hope to see some of you there!

Arguments

Well hello internet, apologies once again for the shameless lack of content. I fear this may be something you may need to get used to though, as rudely enough, school, arbitration, friends, etc. seem to constantly get in the way. It really is quite impolite, when you sit and think about it. In an ideal world, all I would do is sit on some type of throne and e-pontificate about all the injustices I suffer, all the wisdom I could impart, all the things I deem important, etc.

That would get real boring, real quick. Maybe it's a good thing I get distracted...

In any event, for those frequent readers who were undoubtedly waiting with bated breath for my reaction to the Timberwolves (Timberwolves?!) game I went to, I'm actually surprised to say that it was quite a good time. Sign my T-Wolves confession, slice my hand in blood, do whatever it is you need to do, I'll freely admit it - I had fun at a Timberwolves game. Unlike the last time, they did not lose by 50 points, they only lost by 1. I appreciated that.

Anyways, on to current events. Some of you might be following my continuing adventures in international commercial arbitration, either by (a) desire, or more likely (b) force. I think this is understandable though, the UNCITRAL Model Law only remains so exciting to so many people for so long. But I'm pretty much required to stay interested in it, and in fact am still interested in it, which is a very good thing.

One would imagine that after being held captive for a total of two weeks in a series of small glass rooms editing memorandums, the brunt of the pain would be over. That, however, is not the case. I was gifted with being a writer - I was not, however, not intrinsically gifted with the ability to persuade. Well, that's a misnomer. I was maybe not given a silver tongue, perhaps that's more accurate.

I think the inherent difficulty in argument, as someone who finds himself in many, is framing it in such a way that you are both easy to understand and convincing. In order to convince people, one merely must have knowledge and mastery of facts - that's not the difficult part. To frame something, or to organize it in a coherent way, now that is a task. As my admittedly (and proudly) liberal views tend to conflict with those of my more conservative counterparts, this is always the issue I face. It's the same issue I'll face in Hong Kong.

Moral of the story, this shit is hard, and there's a lot of work to be done. It's going to get done though, and come April, some folks will be impressed. Not least of whom being myself.

Prelude to a Basketball

Evening folks, welcome back. Or should I say, after a week spent in a small glass room editing arbitration memos, welcome myself back?



I'm going to a Timberwolves game tomorrow. One could rightfully ask, "why would any rational being go to a Timberwolves game?" I really have no good response, other than the fact my arbitration teammate has been pestering, and it costs but $5. The last Wolves game I went to, the highlight of the evening was the blooper reel. I'm going to be hopeful though. It's what President Obama would want me to do.

I think there are two reasons why I'm confident of a more than pleasant evening though.

First, I need to come direct from work, which means I have to wear a suit. Last time I wore a suit to a sporting event...



we won.

Second, I have excellent company. Excellent company makes even terrible NBA basketball tolerable, nay, palatable, nay, intriguing.

In any event, I am more than ready to howl at opposing players' free throws, watch the stripper/"Timberwolves Dance Team" halftime show, and otherwise pay far too much for beer in a venue with the word "Target" in it. It'll be like a nice little run through for April... minus the strippers. Maybe the howling too... but actually, howling seems like a brilliant idea.

The Land of the Ice and Snow

Well, at least my building is still standing...

Poor Metrodome. Place just can't catch a break.

Snowed In

Rumor has it, Minnesota is known for being a forbidding place, replete with arctic wind, yetis, and good Lutherans making meatballs whilst wearing parkas. In Fact, I rode a penguin to work this morning.

And with good reason, because the heavens have opened themselves tonight, and spilt upon this land quite the wintry blanket. I, my penguin, and my Volkswagen had a fantastic time during rush hour getting from the mall back down across the river to the confines of suburbia this afternoon. Not wanting to mess with the entire population, who has seemingly forgotten what it means to drive in snow, I've spent my night in the company of Arthur Guinness and a snoring dog, lazily listening to Beatles albums and whatever else comes to my mind. Now, it's Vince Guaraldi.

Quite literally, there's a blizzard out. I know this, because prior to snoring, the aforementioned dog was quite adamant about having his daily Fun Activity. Of course, before I knew it, since I'm really just the dog's puppet (a leash is a kind of string of sorts...), I was outside in the bluster, bounding great leaps over the wake of the snowplow, skittering across hidden ice, trying to decipher just what the hell is so interesting about a tree, etc. And an appropriate experience it was, not only for the frosty communion with Nature, but also as a metaphorical event. Alas, it is that time of the year again, every law student's bane. Yes, tis' finals.

Of course, I probably shouldn't complain. I feel as if I've cut the Gordian knot that is the law school exam: I fear it no longer. They're now more now an exercise... just not the fun kind of exercise, like speed skating or jai alai, or some such frivolity. Rather, finals are akin to the inverse dumbell curl up, or whatever that abominable event was that always left me on the brink of throwing up. They're a test of endurance, more than anything. Not much to endure though, when you have but two two-hour, open book exams... Like I said, I have little to complain about.

My minor brush with doom for the week came yesterday, as my trusty laptop, which hasn't heretofore failed me, finally exacted its vengeance for all these pointless blog posts. Either that, or it was as angry as I was about the United States losing the 2022 World Cup bid (Qatar?! Seriously?!). But anyways, it decided to suck, and after many an hour spent in mall Apple stores, it is now well again... although with none of my files on it. Luckily, I had the foresight to back everything up on Monday, so in 24 hours, hopefully all be right again in the world. I can once again download Bill Bryson podcasts with reckless abandon. Or more accurately, keep writing about international commercial arbitration.

However, as a consequence of my computer's meltdown, I was probably unplugged (at least in the tangible keyboard sense), for the longest period in quite a while last night, which actually, was a shocking realization. As someone who likes to pride himself on his lack of digital obsession, it was a sobering wake up call, a necessary moment of self-awareness. I had been speaking with a Hamline alum at a networking event last night, and he specialized in digital forensics - he could basically get any information you can imagine from a smartphone. And he said something to me, he said that "people keep their lives in their pocket, in these devices." And I chuckled, and gladhanded, and took another sip of my beer - but that phrase kept me thinking as I sat without the use of my computer. It made me realize how I fidgeted with my phone, treating it like some sort of lifeline to the rest of humanity. My protestations to the contrary, the lawyer was right. I do keep my life in my pocket.

Whether that's good or bad, is for another post, another set of thoughts. It makes me want to be increasingly vigilant though. It seems to me, that even in an age where there are any number of digital distractions, and social media, there are an awful lot of opportunities to be incredibly lonely. I was amused the other day when I learned that there is apparently upwards of a $1 billion dollar industry for online gifts. Not like, I buy you a blender on Amazon and ship it to you - no, it's like I buy you a digital blender for your digital self on facebook, or some shit like that. Absolutely incredible.

In any event, it's still snowing, and the dog is still snoring. The jazz is still on, and the plastic deciduous tree has its Christmas lights on. For so much insanity, at least some things are right.

Humidity... and stuff

Hi folks, hope everyone is somehow enduring this ridiculous humidity. I mean, seriously, this is quite uncool, both literally and figuratively.


(the opposite of uncool - damn we look good)

Humidity aside, had a great weekend at the long anticipated 2010 Nottingham reunion. Although we never got the chance to have all nine of us in one room together, as a fellow Notter observed, it was "surreal" to be all back together again. Surreal in a good way, I think. I may have expressed this to some folks, but it was probably obvious anyways - it was intense to see how almost instantly, the nine of us, who are so different in so many ways, suddenly became the Nine again. It brought back a lot of memories, let's put it that way. At one point, I visualized all of us standing around the flat kitchen, eating custard creams, talking about how our days went, maybe having some wine or beer. Needless to say, although so many things were experienced that year, I think it's fair to say it was moments like that that stand out most potently.

I'm just saying, I was always ready to get the tattoo. Next summer? Takers?

Anyways, riffing on that last point, I always find it interesting how people, who may have gone years without communication, can always coalesce again, if they have some sort of foundation. I suppose I'm particularly subject to this, because I have either the curse or the blessing of being incredibly loyal. I think it's fair to say though, that the 2006-07 Notters had a very unique bond. If not for the fact that we were stuck together, I'm sure I would never have befriended some of these folks. I may not have even wanted to. But even given our intense diversity of personalities, and maybe even given an occasional awkward silence or lack of conversation, I'd be hard pressed to imagine folks I'm closer to. That's pretty cool. Cheers to that.



On a sidenote, whoever came up with the idea of drinking on a rooftop, is an absolute genius. I wish I could do everything on a rooftop. It would make life so much more interesting. I mean, can you imagine if we had court on a rooftop? That would be awesome.

Unless it's this humid.

Opening Day 2010

One last post. I was there!



Harmon Killebrew, still swinging for the fences



Can't get enough of this pedestrian plaza/green space (Target Plaza). Really cool place to check out, even when the Twins aren't playing.



Center field gate (appropriately named). Also, can't get enough of this Piece of Public Art that covers the ugly-ass parking garage.



View approaching the first baseline entrance



First regular season Kramarczuk's polish outside - ever.



Somewhere, a Perkins is wondering where their flag went.



Highway to the danger zone, anyone? Maverick? Iceman?



Doesn't even seem real. Is this Minneapolis?



Organist sitting in a bar. Great idea, or a terrible idea...



If you look real close, you can see my new glasses. Damn sun; wait, what's the sun?

Simple Pleasures

Folks, I've had very few things to say lately. It's just been a black hole of a week, or two weeks, for blogging and otherwise intelligent writing. Spring break will do that to you - destroy any ounce of motivation to do anything.

My lack of blogging shouldn't indicate that I haven't been thinking about interesting things. I have - all manner of interesting things, actually. Just, for the life of me, I haven't quite been able to put them down into words. I had a very eye-opening bike ride into suburban blight, aka my boyhood neighborhood, the other day. The whole time, I just kept thinking about what a great blog entry it would make, but alas, the aforementioned black hole.

I've even had a new album of the week fermenting about in my brain - multiple ones, in fact. But again, it's like someone uncorked something in the back of my head, and all those brilliant ideas came gushing out, never to be read again.

Dead before even getting a chance to realize their potential - that's always the saddest sort of end. It's always a lot better to tolerate failure, to tolerate disappointment, if there's an explicit basis for said failure. You can point to something and say, "Look, that didn't work!" But alas, when there is nothing to point to, 'tis a bitter pill to swallow.

In any event, why the sad mood? Well, of course you know the reason. Some things just seem to take a lot of time.

However, such things shouldn't stand in the way of all that is good. I witnessed with my own eyes last night, the first professional outdoor ballgame I've ever seen here in the great state of Minnesota. Sure, the Twins lost, but who the hell cares? It was just so pleasant to be outside, to be in a real ballpark. I can't believe it's for us. Everything seems so superlative as to almost be a mirage.

It's pleasant to be able to wear shorts and moccasins again; it's pleasant to roll down the windows and pop the sunroof. I've been on a Phoenix rampage the past month or so, and it's nice to play "Liztomania" at a high volume whilst speeding down the freeway. It's nice to have it be Easter, and to be able to eat chocolate rabbits without concern for one's well-being. It's pleasant to listen to the intelligentsia at Minnesota Public Radio, in their attempt to connect with the common folk through their coverage of Target Field's opening, try and pronounce "Cuddyer." Yes folks, simple pleasures are the greatest pleasures.



Like I said, simple pleasures.

Anticipation

Anticipation, my friends, can be a dangerous thing. When you anticipate something, I feel there's a tendency to build up unrealistic expectations; ones that cannot possibly be met. Now, some of you may know that I'm a bit of a baseball fan, and consequently, I have been eagerly anticipating this season's opening of Target Field. For someone who has grown up watching my favourite team play in a concrete bunker with a garbage bag for an outfield fence, the prospect of afternoons and evenings spent under the summer Minnesota sky is superlatively tantalizing.

Anyways, the weather has been unseasonably gorgeous here in the Twin Cities as of late. No need for a coat!

With the aforementioned beautiful weather, I couldn't resist but to leave my clerkship at the federal courthouse today just a titch early, and take a stroll across downtown to examine the new ballpark. Just last week, the pedestrian plaza which connects the ballpark to the rest of downtown was opened, so you can now walk right up to the gates and peer inside at the field. Also, the ticket offices are open, and the team store.


I've been lucky enough to see a few other major league ballparks, other than the dearly departed H.H.H. Metrodome. Safeco Field in Seattle probably tops my list, followed by Miller Park in Milwaukee, and then U.S. Cellular in Chicago. I can only vaguely remember the place where the Florida Marlins play, but it changes names every other week anyways. But folks, believe me when I say this, even with my bias and my rudimentary inspection, Target Field in Minneapolis is truly a baseball cathedral of the highest circle. I daresay, the highest circle.

What I think is best about the new park, at least from outward appearances, is it recognizes the fact that Minnesotans are an incredibly nativist people, and seizes upon it with force. Admittedly, most of us are convinced of our own superiority, from our ability to survive the harshest of winters to the number of theatre seats per capita; the quiet self-confidence of our Scandinavian heritage to our lake dabbled northwoods.

So it only makes sense that the Twins, who arguably are the state's most beloved sports team, would seek to sheathe their new home in limestone quarried from Mankato, and have native fir trees in the batter's eye. The handles on the gates are shaped in the outline of the state, and giant "TC" emblems are fixated above them. One of the restaurants is named after Bloomington's own Kent Hrbek, and apparently, inside the bowels of the upper levels, there is an immense wooden mural of Kirby Puckett. I'm sure that inside, there have to be countless odes to our current heroic figure, that being a certain Joseph Patrick Mauer. And even to capture the inherent pretentious side of our state, there is this absolutely stunning piece of public art, that takes up an entire side of a parking garage on the plaza. It's a "wind veil," and it's comprised of thousands of little hinged pieces of metal, which shimmer and sway (with utter silence) whenever the wind hits them. It was absolutely transfixing.

Anyways, point being, I walked around the whole damn thing, standing on my tippy toes at every window, trying to stick my head inside every gate, and otherwise doing nearly everything I could to catch glimpses of the field, short of committing a misdemeanor. I stood outside of the right field gate, and I even pinpointed the location of my season ticket seats, way, way up in the upper deck along the third baseline. The field, just recently cleared of snow, is a glorious, vibrant, shocking hue of green. The permanency of the whole structure is what took the most adjustment. At the Metrodome, since it was shared by so many teams and groups, everything was artificial. All the decorations and banners were temporary, so they could be moved. Now, everything is opposite. There are Twins logos etched in stone, there are metal banners commemorating every season of the team's history, and apparently, in the near future, there are going to be bronze statues of the team's greatest players. All in all, there's a much more regal element to the whole experience, like something important and institutional is afoot.






I'm going to get to go inside said ballpark this coming Sunday. I'll try to get some good shots.

Book Review: The Book of Guys

Hello folks. I have officially started in my capacity as a volunteer law clerk with the United States Attorney's Office. Yes, I will have a badge, but unfortunately, I don't think I get a gun, or a black SUV. I would tell you what I'm actually doing, but then Barack Obama would have to kill you. So, in lieu of that, I'll review a book instead.

That last sentence wasn't a lie, I am actually, here, in this space, reviewing a book. A book that I'm proud to say, I read entirely on my own volition, forced not by law professors with their beady little eyes; but rather chosen by my own intellectual curiosity and desire to bring a little more dry, pretentious humor into my life.

To a certain extent though, isn't that every liberal's dream; to make themselves seem just a little bit more interesting?

(raises hand).

Anyways, "The Book of Guys," by Minnesota's own Garrison Keillor, is my literary conquest. Lest you think I read a novel, this tome is actually a collection of short stories; all of which relate to some degree to the issues confronting manhood in the 20th century. I think it translates well though to the 21st. To the Future.

The general tone, the connective tissue of the entire book is contained in the following phrase - "Years ago, manhood was an opportunity for achievement, and now it is a problem to be overcome."

To a certain extent, I think I agree with this. I agree that we, as men, spend a lot of our time trying to be Mr. All-Rite, especially those of us who are entangled in some way with women. Keillor recognizes the intoxicating effect women have on men in a very funny introduction, something intimately known to every man, probably only in their subconscious. What it really comes down to though, is that there's this sense that by trying so hard to make ourselves appealing to women, appealing to life, we as men sacrifice a bit of our manhood in the process. Whatever the hell "manhood" is.

The stories, I think there are around 20 or so, meditate on this topic. They range from around 20 pages to maybe a 3 page poem. The vast majority of them are absolutely hilarious, if you're into Keillor's humor. I happen to be, so thus, it was hilarious. I think my favorite ones have to be the one where the cowboy decides to leave the trail life to live in town; the one where Dionysius has a midlife crisis, the presumably semi-autobiographical Gary Keillor, and Winthrop Thorpe Tortuga, not the least because it prominently involves the Twins. But yeah, there is just some wicked, biting, racy humor in here. Absolutely fantastic.

I suppose this isn't so much a review, as a reflection. Of course, I recommend it, but I think a lot of the value of reading comes from the way you think about it afterwards, how the experience of reading that particular book shapes how you see the world. I'm afraid I don't have anything too insightful to say about that, except that I enjoyed this book thoroughly, and I could resonate with some of its outcrying against suppressed masculinity. Plus, I'm pretty sure I had an audible chortle in public while reading. If that's not the sign of a good book, I don't know what is.