Decoherence

Current Literature Review

2009-12-14T08:00:00.001-06:00

"If I'm going to do this, I better do it right."

I woke up extra early on March 30th, 1982. I left my jeans on my chair and slip into a pair of dress slacks and pick out a nice sweater. The t-shirt and laid-back attitude are staying home today.

I polish off a bowl of Wheaties and page through an issue of Forbes magazine. We have Current Literature Review (CLR) this week. In Larson's class each of us have to perform a review of some article that we found interesting. Public speaking isn't my thing- I would rather hide in the back of the class with Dan and Dean. Even better, skip class and sleep in. But my friend Jerry has given me some advice and it sounded reasonable. This would be a perfect opportunity to try it out.

I have found an article: something short with a few salient bullet points. I read it a couple times and highlight each point so I can find them quickly if I need to. It sounds counter-productive but Jerry says, "Don't write anything down. Don't even make notes, they will only get in the way."

It is a brisk but sunny morning as I scrap the ice off the windshield. My 1976 Monte Carlo starts right up. I let her unwind as I cross the river into Moorhead. The parking lot at Moorhead State University (MSU) is sparse before my 8:00 AM class. I'm early. The classroom is an interior room with no windows. No distractions as I read through the article again. My fellow students wander in. Dan comes in first, Dean much later. Dan notices I'm reading. He doesn't say anything. He knows it's CLR this week and there is a 1-in-30 chance of getting chosen first and 1-in-5 of getting picked today. That's why we're hiding in the back.

Larson bustles into the room, sets her purse on the front desk. She announces updates on the class schedule, but the CLR is still on.

"We're doing Current Literature Reviews this week, so lets get started. Anyone want to go first?" She asks.

This is the moment of truth. I really don't want to go through with this but, "Once you go first, you're done for the week." I kept repeating this mantra to myself. My hand slowly inches into the air. Dan and Dean look over with horror- as if I'm volunteering to get shot.

"Excellent! Mr. Maas you're first."

I walk to the front of the class. I open the Forbes magazine and place it on the podium. I give Larson a nervous smile. I looked at my fellow students, no reason to be nervous. Thanks to me they all feel like they've dodged a bullet.

The article itself is unimportant. I reviewed the bullet points and discussed the relevant aspects as it related to the class. I narrowed my focus into a simple one-on-one conversation with Larson. I occasionally glanced at the other students. Half were politely watching; the other half could have been asleep.

I received few questions from the students and a couple from Larson. The questions were not difficult and soon my ordeal was over.

"Thank you Mr. Maas for interesting discussion." She dismissed me with a smile.

It went well, and I gained all the advantages of going first. I also had Larson's 9:00 AM class. [One Larson class was bad but two in a row was exasperating.]

Between classes, Larson came up to me and complemented me on hitting all the elements she was looking for: dressing up, eye contact, and a mastery of the material.

Jerry was right, "give her what she asks for not what you think she wants."

As the weeks progressed I found it harder and harder to go first as more students realized there was a method to my madness. By the end of the quarter even Dan and Dean were highlighting magazines and trying to volunteer… from the back.

Douglas Guardian Dogs

2009-12-12T10:22:00.001-06:00

"Will Vollmers ever shut up?"

It is almost 10:00 PM and this night class seems like it has been going on forever. I thought he was going to call it a night when he finished Chapter 4, but he decided to keep going. It wouldn't be so bad but I got plans, one of which is a prank that will live on for years. Vollmers finishes Chapter 5 in Logistics, and I bolt out of the classroom. I don't stop until I get to the library. I have some articles to research for Larsen's class tomorrow.

In the car I'm trying not to look crazy as I'm laughing while driving across town.

As a trusted employee of Environmental Control Inc. (ECI) I have a key to the building. Even though it isn't odd for anyone to be working late, no one works this late. ECI is a wholesale distributor of Heating, Ventilation, and Air Conditioners. On March 30th 1982, ECI's primary line was Carrier. But because of the credit crunch ECI didn't actually own their Carrier Inventory, it was sold on consignment through a field warehousing agreement with Douglas-Guardian Warehouse Corp. The terms of the contract called for the inventory to be segregated and secured. Only an authorized agent of Douglas-Guardian (DG) would have access to this inventory. My pal Vic Teigen was that agent. He had the key to the DG area in the warehouse; that area was protected by chicken wire.

Vic and I laughed about the security, inventing outlandish security scenarios, and planning security upgrades including patrol dogs.

I had a cheap GE micro cassette recorder for note taking. It featured a microphone jack and a remote jack. The remote jack would switch the recorder on and off.

I recorded the following message…

Hey, what are you doing!

This is a secure Douglas-Guardian Warehouse.

Leave this area at once, or I shall be forced to release the dogs.

(and with that I started barking like a we had half a dozen Dobermans.)

The key was in Victor's desk. I unlocked the DG gate and placed the recorder above. I tied a string from the gate to the remote plug on the recorder. Once the gate was opened the string would pull the remote plug from the recorder and it would start playing my message.

However there was a flaw in my plan. First thing in the morning, Victor normally unlocked but rarely opened the gate. I needed Victor to open the gate and not your boss. The solution was staring me in the face. I set a drain pan kit on the floor. Victor would see the kit lying on the floor and assume it fell off the stack. He would open the gate, return the kit to its proper place, and trigger my prank.

When I arrived the following day, Victor, Brian and the entire ECI crew were still talking about the Douglas Guardian Dogs and the surprise message that befell Victor that morning. It's a prank Victor talks about to this day.

Halloween 1968

2009-10-24T14:28:00.001-05:00

I was running to the next house, trying to keep up with my friend Blaine Houston. The pillow case was mostly empty, except for a few pieces of candy jumping with each step. I quickly caught up before he rang the bell. My father, and Blaine's father, George, were walking down the sidewalk as we cut across the yards in our neighborhood. Mrs. Bye smiled as she dropped some Sweetarts into my pillow. I thanked her quickly as Blaine was halfway to the next house. Blaine was almost seven years old but big for his age. He was fast but my 16 month head start meant that I could always catch him. The same couldn't be said for George and dad. They were were yelling for me to slow down, but I couldn't let Blaine beat me.

Most of the houselights were on. This was a friendly neighborhood, but it was also a cheap neighborhood and the candy wasn't very good. I asked Blaine if he had a bunch of candy corn. I don't know why I asked, he was hitting the same doors. Maybe I thought his costume was generating candy bars, rather than penny candy and bubble gum.

As we rounded the last corner of our block, George announce, "Trick or Treat is over when we get back to our house." Blaine looked horrified. I wasn't happy either, I turned to dad and asked, "You can take around the next block can't you?"
"No, I'm afraid this will have to be it."
I tried to complain but it was no use. Dad wasn't listening and walked into the house. I continued on to Blaine's house. Blaine wasn't about to stand up to George. George was a fun loving guy but didn't brook any sass from his son and would follow through with any implied threat.

I whispered to Blaine, "This isn't fair. It is barely dark, and all I got is some crappy penny candy and an apple. I'm going to go out again."
Blaine whispered back, "How? Your dad isn't going to take you."
"I'm going to sneak out of my room."
"How are you going to do that?"
"I will pretend to go to bed, then take off the window screen and climb out."
"I wish I could go."
"Just do the same."
"Are you sure we won't get caught."
"Sure. When was the last time they checked to see if you were asleep. My parents never look."
"You're right but I don't know."
"I'll tell you what. I'll be outside your window in half an hour and we'll go together. We'll run up and down a couple more blocks until we get some decent candy and then climb back in the window. They will be none the wiser."

Blaine didn't say anything but after his mother dropped a mini Sugar Daddy in my pillow case, he said, "mom, I'm tired. I think I'm going to go to bed early."
She said, "Are you sure, honey?"
"I'm not surprised he's worn out, after all that running around," answered George.

When I got home I told mom I was going to read for a little while and then go to bed. It took me half an hour to get the screen off the window, because each movement caused it to start screeching horribly. I timed my movements with the doorbell. Every 'Trick or Treat' made me want to get out even quicker. I trimmed down my costume so I could run faster and carry more candy. I had visions of returning with a pillow case full of candy bars.

At Blaine's house his window was sliding back. I slid behind the bushes beside his window. First one leg and then then other slid over the ledge. Blaine dropped to the dirt. I grabbed him, and hissed, "What are you doing out of your room, Blaine!" In my best George Houston voice. Blaine started to scream. I put a hand over his mouth and tackled him. "It's me. I was just joking. Be quiet or we'll be in trouble.

We crossed the street and quickly ran from house to house and around the block. One block down. On to the next block. Two blocks down and we still didn't seem to have much candy. It takes a lot of penny candy, from a lot of houses to make even a small dent in a pillow case. We were running as fast as we could, and didn't appreciate the time it took some households to answer the door and deliver up the candy. This was made even worse by those old people who wanted to talk about our costumes and then handed out more candy corn.

We worked back towards our home block. We hit four houses in a row with diligent owners featuring real chocolate candy bars. We were excited when we rang the fifth bell. There was no answer, but the light was on. I rang it again. No answer. I wanted to head to the next house, "This is taking too long. Lets go!"
"No. We have to go for five bars in a row. I'm ringing the bell again." said Blaine.

Finally the door open and this guy sticks his head out. "Why are you kids ringing my door bell? I'm trying to watch the game."
Blaine and I yell, "Trick or Treat."
"I don't have anything for you so get lost."
"We're not leaving until you give us something," Blaine demanded.
I was thinking it was a waste of time arguing with the guy, but then he said, "Yeah, I got something for you boys, step inside."

No sooner did we step inside, than the old guy locked the door and picked up a big yard stick. I looked at Blaine, and he at I.
"I told you boys to leave me alone. Maybe a beating will teach you some manners."

He started swinging the stick in Blaine's direction. Blaine took off but didn't get past the coffee table. He tripped and knocked the guy's beer onto the carpet. The guy grabbed Blaine's ankle and was about to lay in when I yelled, "Leave my friend alone you big gorilla."

The big gorilla let go of Blaine's leg and came after me. I turned for the door but couldn't get the lock figured out. Blaine took off on a tear for the back door. This distracted the gorilla with the yardstick. He turned back toward Blaine. I made a couple steps toward my friend but then thought better of it. I got the door unlocked. I opened the door to escape when I saw the most frightening sight…

It was Ray and George standing on the front steps about to push the door bell. I yelled something about beating Blaine with a yardstick. George stepped in, took a couple long steps into the kitchen, grabbed the raised yardstick, spun the guy around by the shoulder and dropped him with one fast punch to the face.

Blaine yelled, "Dad you have come to save me!"
"You're not out of trouble yet. I told you Halloween was over and you snuck out of the house. Good thing Ray saw you and Craig headed down the street."
"We're sorry. We won't do it again."
"I know you won't do it again, after I give this yardstick a workout on your rear end." George brought the stick down hard into his open palm. I knew I would be next, so while the attention was on Blaine, I made a break for the door. Dad made a lunge for me but I jagged out of his grip and headed out the door. This took the attention off of Blaine, who made a quick break for the back door. I was racing home and noticed Blaine was behind me when I crossed the street. Blaine was crying and demanding that I save him. "Dad is going to kill me."
"Calm down. Let me think of something."
"You better hurry up because I can see them coming down the sidewalk and he still has the yardstick in his hand! Maybe if we climb back in our rooms and pretend we were never gone they might think it was all a big mistake." I shook my head and Blaine my plan.

We started running. I gave Blaine a boost through the window and wished him luck.

I climbed through the window, stripped my costume off and stashed it and and candy under the bed. I closed the window and pulled the covers up tight.

It wasn't long before there was a roar at the front door. It sounded like Frankenstein, but he wasn't looking for candy, he was looking to tan my hide.

He was yelling even before he got to the bedroom door, "When I tell you, you're done, you're done! There is no going behind my back! And certainly no sneaking out in the middle of the night! I am going to spank you until you can't remember your own name!" And with that he pulled back the covers. I looked at him and he looked at me. Time seemed to stop as I warily eyed the yardstick in his hand. Suddenly a laugh broke from his mouth, "Craig what are you doing here and where is Blaine?"

"Mr. Houston, it was all my idea, I talked Blaine into going out for more Halloween candy. I'm ready to take Blaine's punishment. I was crying while I said this. About this time the phone rang. The timing was perfect.

My dad was on the phone having discovered Blain in my bed. George grabbed by arm and marched me outside. I was exchanged for Blaine.

George looked my dad in the eye, "What are we going to do with them?"
"Boys will be boys." dad replied. Nothing more was said.

Back home, Dad yelled at me, then my mom yelled at me and even my baby sister got in on the action.
"One more thing," dad added, "Where is your candy? It stays with me." I looked around and realized with a cold fear that it was gone.
"I accidently left it under Blaine's bed."

Blaine on the other hand had the presence of mind to bring his back with him.
"All the better. The candy is now his. You should know better than getting him into such serious trouble. Now go to sleep. I don't want to hear another peep out of you."

The next day Blaine told me George went easy on him. I told him I left my candy under his bed. "I'm suppose to give it to you."
"Don't be silly. It's yours. I should give you mine too after you got me out of trouble."
"Actually, I'm suppose to give it to you, for getting you into trouble in the first place."
"I'll tell you what. Leave it here and you can eat it whenever you come over to play."

For the next week, I invited Blaine over to my house to play. I had visions of George introducing my backside to that yardstick; so I wanted to keep my distance. One night I overheard dad and George in the living room. They were recounting our little Halloween story and laughing hysterically. I figured I was safe. It helped that Blaine made sure the yardstick disappeared.

Santa Claus vs. Count Dracula

2009-08-15T15:21:00.000-05:00

Biff believed in Santa Claus. He was thirty-five years old and believed in Father Christmas. Biff realized his sister had lied to him about Santa Claus. Santa wasn't his father, but a real saint. A big fat bastard that drove around in a sleigh delivering presents to kids. Santa didn't deliver presents to all the boys and girls- that would be impossible. Just the parents who were too poor, stupid, or drunk to provide gifts in honor of Jesus' birth.
In on a secret?
Hell, the secret was there was no secret.
Biff was convinced that he was one step ahead of his sister on that one.

Once Biff rediscovered Santa Claus, vampires were not far off...
When the Christmas presents were opened, the wrapping paper was in the garbage, and the Christmas tree was on the boulevard, Biff saw vampires everywhere. Vampires swarmed into Toledo every New Years Day and stayed until Halloween, when the Santa chased them out. It was no use wearing garlic or waving a cross around. The citizens of Ohio had made their peace with the blood suckers but not with a smelly and slightly deranged Biff.
Biff was one step ahead of his sister on the issue of vampires, in that his sister didn't understand what the hell Biff was talking about. Biff put away his garlic and tucked his cross into his shirt.
As he explained to his sister, "I don't have to outrun the vampire, I just have to outrun you."
"Thanks a lot."
"Hey, I thought you didn't believe in vampires."
"I don't, but at least you could protect me in your delusions."

Buffy gave her brother the stink eye. Yes, 'Biff and Buffy' - their father had a warped sense of humor; one that was lost on his kids.

Months later, shortly after Labor Day, the father arrived in Toledo and called his children to visit. When they arrived Biff and Buffy were arguing. It was the same old argument about Santa Claus and vampires. The father stood quietly as his children argued back and forth.

Buffy turned to her father and said, "Tell Biff it was you all those years delivering his Christmas presents."
"Yes, it was me."
"See, I told you so," shouted the excited Buffy.
"This is what I came here to tell you. Buffy, Biff isn't 100% wrong to believe in Santa. You're both old enough to hear what I have to tell you. I am Santa Claus (of Ohio™)."
Both Biff and Buffy turned to look at their old man: fat, bearded, and jolly.

"Dad, you have always been weird but this takes the cake," Biff responded. His sister nodded her head in agreement. It was the first time this month she agreed with Biff.

"Whether you believe in Santa Claus or not, I am he. I've come early because I'm getting too old to be chasing vampires around Toledo."
"Don't tell me you think there are vampires in Toledo too!" shouted Buffy.
"Buffy my little pumpkin, vampires are real. A real pain in the ass. I have to chase them out of town every holiday season, but it is getting to be too much. Every year there are more and more vampires in town and I can't convince the powers that be to kick off the holiday season any earlier than November 1st."
"Dad, how long have you known about Toledo's vampire problem?" Biff asked.
"For as long as I have been Santa, and that has been a long time."
"What can we do about it?"
"Well, Biff I've studied the literature and have figured out if you kill the vampire who made you, you stop being a vampire. It turns out there is one vampire who made all the others."
"Who is that?" asked Buffy.
"I bet it is Count Dracula" said Biff.
"You are correct. I found out he is still in town. Dracula doesn't know I'm back in town. I have a plan but I need your help."
"You can count on me dad," announced Biff.
"What about you Buffy?"
"I think you're both crazy. Santa Claus? Vampires? Count Dracula! You should be committed."
"I need your help. If we are crazy no harm can come from it but if we're not you will have helped rid Toledo of vampires.
"What do you have in mind?"

At midnight Buffy was outside the Valentine Theatre in lovely downtown Toledo. She was approached by a tall man who was wearing a cape.
"Miss, my name is Count Dracula. Don't be afraid, I only want to drink your blood."
"Get lost creep."
With that the count attacked Buffy. In the scuffle Santa Claus snuck around the corner and grabbed the count.
"Dracula, I've got you now."
"Santa, at last we meet. Unhand me and I will let you go unharmed."
"Nothing doing Dracula. You tried to vampirize my daughter. I can't let this go unpunished."
"The second you release me I will attack you too. You are finished."
"No, you dirty vampire, it is you who are finished," announced Biff as he came around the corner with a stake and wooden mallet.

Dracula struggled but Santa held him tightly.
The stake broke through Dracula's chest and found his black heart. Another stroke and the stake had stilled the mighty vampire's heart. The heart turn to dust as did the rest of him, leaving only his clothes.

At that exact instant dozens of bats were surprised mid-flight.

"I think these clothes may fit me," pondered Biff.
"Wow, you guys weren't nuts after all." Buffy injected.
"Finally that problem is solved. I can go back to the North Pole (Nelsonville, OH 45764) and get some work done. You know for years I've had to subcontract with Toys R Us because I've been so busy chasing vampires. Now the elves and I can go back to carving wooden toys for all the girls and boys. I want to thank the two of you. I couldn't have done it without you."

With that, the story is over. Santa Claus (of Ohio™) returned to the North Pole. Buffy and Biff Claus went to Denny's (on Monroe Street) for an early breakfast.

Summers In Sydney

2009-01-17T11:43:00.012-06:00

The morning comes quickly. Grandmother is in the store. I pull the covers away, my bare feet touch the rug. I fold the hide-a-bed away and carefully place the cushions back on the sofa. In the bathroom the window is open, the air is fresh from last nights rain and the birds sing. A daddy long legs is still in the bath tub. The kitchen tile is cool beneath my feet. I select the cereal du jour from the variety pack. At home there are no variety packs, but at Grandma's store the choice is always mine. Invariably that choice is the variety pack. As the week progresses the choices thin. There is something fascinating about cutting along dotted lines for a box which becomes it's own bowl. I think grandmother liked the idea of one less bowl to wash.

After dressing in shorts and shirt I wander into the store to say good morning to grandmother. I head out the door. The rain has left puddles in the potholes. The clouds are clearing and the sun begins shining, lighting my domain. I survey my summer kingdom.

Although I burned the garbage yesterday, it obviously must be burned again today. "Why there must be two tin cans and an empty spaghetti box in the garbage today. This will not do". Once grandmother hands me the symbolic box of farmers matches, I burn the garbage and the toy airplane I made from a peach crate yesterday. The passengers and crew scream as the plane goes around and around. The wing burns and burns, until it crashes into the flaming spaghetti box. Grandma takes a look at my handiwork to make sure I haven't set myself or the town of Sydney on fire.

I'm looking for another peach crate so I can replace the airplane which so recently met it's demise. Grandmother has this all figured out. She has a ready supply of crated fruit and large cardboard boxes for me... As soon as I unpack, price and stock them. Being too young to see through transparent child labor, I quickly comply. I'm so dumb, I'm actually having fun. I try to move the 50 pound bags of sugar and flour or the heavier boxes of nails and bolts. Grandma laughs at my futile efforts. She sends me out to grab some milk from the cooler/ freezer. The cooler is in a separate building to the west. I carefully block the door as I step inside. I'm not convinced I can get out once the big door closes and the steel lock latches. The salt licks in the entry way catch my eye. I give the white one a lick, it tastes like salt! By the end of my stay I've earned the new fishing rod leaning in the corner and grandma is baiting my hook, removing the Bull-heads from my line and cleaning my catch from the Buffalo Creek.

By mid-morning I had a number of large cardboard boxes taped together forming a submarine, rocket ship or race car depending on my mood. I'm not sure, I believe grandma was charging her customers admission to see the 'Wonderboy'. There was nothing I couldn't make with cardboard, tape, string, glue and magic markers. A supply of cardboard was no problem, I mined the east store room for cardboard.

Grandma introduced me to Dinty Moore at lunch, we begin a lifelong friendship. I drank Pepsi like water. Sydney water tasted like blood due to the high iron content. It looked a little like blood too. So, Grandma gave me free reign over the soda cooler. You combine this with the candy Grandma stocked and the Chocolate Fudgecicles in the ice cream cooler; I was in heaven. I had an AM transistor radio, Sammy Davis Jr. was singing "Candy Man": it was my theme song. No need for a golden ticket to the Willy Wonka Factory, I had Grandma's Sydney Store.

After lunch, I begin my afternoon expedition. I put some Jolly Rancher candy in my pocket and grab another Pepsi on the way out. I wade through the long grass to the shed by the train tracks. I peak inside. There's a grinding wheel. I try to get it running, it's rusted stiff. South on the Midland Railroad, on the look out for any train which might sneak up on me. My destination is the garbage dump, it's only half a mile. I found an old rusted baby buggy which I converted into a race car. I convinced my sister to drive. I was the engine. Boy, would she scream when I got it up to speed. She didn't crash that often.

Having explored my southern domain, I went north. Past the twin elevators, standing like guard towers. A mile and a quarter to the north, past the white owl perched on the telephone pole, is a trestle bridge over the Buffalo Creek. I drop rocks on the turtles down below. They dive for cover. On the way back the Owl is airborne, screeching above. I run for cover.

Two hundred yards southwest of Grandma's store the Buffalo Creek crosses once more. I take off my shoes and wade in. Under the shade of the bridge I skip stones off the still surface. Next year the bridge will be replaced by a culvert. It just isn't the same. Mom and dad had room for my bicycle when they brought me to Sydney this time. I pedaled up and down the gravel road: there isn't anything matching the interest of a garbage dump or a trestle bridge.

In late afternoon our only neighbor came riding up on a magnificent horse. I was playing by the garage finishing work on the baby buggy race car. They asked me if I wanted a ride. Who could resist playing cowboy on a real horse?! We galloped across the lawn past the tilting outhouse, past the garden, on to their house and back. "Yee hah". They had a German Shepherd mix named "Brandy". Brandy liked the attention Suzanne and I paid her. I paid her too much attention and she bit me: Brandy that is, not my sister. Though she isn't above bitting.

For supper Grandma asked what I'd like. "Spaghetti", particularly the three foot noodles. She made the mistake of breaking the noodles in the pot. "It ruins the flavor", I told her. Next time she carefully bent the noodles without breaking them. I happily slurp my spaghetti, three feet at a time.

After supper there isn't much choice for television. In Sydney with a good antenna you can get CBS and little else. We watch the Twins play baseball. In previous years I brought my own building materials ie: Tog'ls. I found these plastic cubes limiting my creative abilities. Grandma presented me a 500 count box of toothpicks and a bottle of Elmers glue. I built airplanes, trucks, tanks, even a guard tower. These works turned out pretty good. They even survived the garbage burns. The toothpick constructs sat on my desk at home until mom's constant cleaning took it's toll: I couldn't repair the damage with glue.

One summer Aunt Judy showed up with a armful of books from the Jamestown Library. She had books on my favorite subject: space travel/ astronomy. Later, after the sun set, we sat on the store porch. Looking at the Milky Way, Judy told me her views on Cosmology. Only cricket chirps broke the peace. Lightning flashed silently from clouds building on the horizon.

I removed the cushion on the sofa, pulled out the hide-a-bed, put on my pajamas. I was sound asleep before the rain fell.

Sydney Store Floor Plan

This drawing of the Maas Store in Sydney ND is approximately scales so 1/8 inch equals 1 foot. The drawing was done from memory and a couple photos, which you can see here.

Time Travel In A Spray

2008-11-23T14:48:00.001-06:00

This story takes place 28 years in the past and 27 years in the future. We start in the future. I will invent a spray that let me see time. Some say I simply ran across the spray and didn’t actually invent it. However, I was the first to figure out how to use spray-on deodorant to go back in time.

At first I could only see a field that was sort of glowing around me. With practice I was able to move in and around the field. I realized I was moving in time. It was a good thing I took it slow because as I moved in time I remained in place. This may not seem like much but you have to remember the earth is spin at something like 600mph and the earth is moving around the sun. With some practice I found I could surf through time and remain in the same relative place. It was exhausting, but with practice it became somewhat easier.

For weeks I wondered what I could do with Time Spray. I finally came up with a plan while watching baseball.

I went to bed early and ate a big breakfast the next morning. I went to the bank. This branch has been around since the 60s. They have a clock on the wall with a calendar on the deposit desk. In the rest room I sprayed a heavy dose around me and took off. I rode a time wave back to 1980. First thing I did was get a meal. I had about a hundred dollars in pre 1981 money on me. I took a nap. Although I was moving through time, it seemed like it took about four hours to surf back 55 years; I was worn out.

For my next jump I allowed myself to drift against the time current so I was also moving east. I popped back in the time stream in Detroit. I found the apartment. I heard a shotgun blast. I checked my watch, the police report must have been off. I jumped back another five minutes and fine tuned my reentry for maximum affect. I pulled up as the shotgun pellets were in mid-air. I sprayed Dean Stratton with Time Spray. Yes, Dean Stratton the famous Detroit Tiger’s baseball player.

Back in 1980 the Detroit Tigers were ridding high and looked unstoppable. They would probably win the pennant if not for the untimely murder of Dean Stratton. For the entire season, my friends and I had followed the path of the Detroit Tigers from bums to heroes. My fortunes were tied to the Tigers. I was gambling and it seemed I couldn’t lose. When Dean Stratton was killed in 1980, not only did the Tigers lose their star player but they lost their playoff hopes, and I lost all my college savings.

I grabbed Dean Stratton and pulled him out of his frozen time stream.
"Hey, what’s going on? Who are you?" Dean asked.
"My name’s Craig. I’m here to rescue you."
"Rescue me from what? Say, where did you come from? I didn’t see you come in."
"I came through time, to pull you out. You'll be dead in a couple seconds."
"What kind of cock and bull story is that?"
"See that guy with the shotgun? Notice the pellets suspended in mid-air? Do you know who that is?" I asked.
"No. Who is that?"
"That is the boyfriend of the girl you’ve been missing with."
"How do I get out of this?"
"We’re going to go back in time; then you call the police and slip out the back."

I took his hand and told him, "This is going to feel a little weird but don’t fight me."
I pulled him backwards about fifteen minutes. It was harder to surf with a novice than I thought.

"Okay, you got about fifteen minutes to call the police and make your get away."
"How can I thank you?"
"Just keep playing as well as you have and stop messing with other guy’s women."
"How to I get a hold of you?"
"You can’t. Right now I’m just a college student at Moorhead State University. I’ve never met you and any thing you tell me would sound silly and strange. I’m coming to you from 55 years in the future. Your best bet is to keep this little event to yourself. No one will believe you. They will think you’ve lost your mind.

Dean shook my hand and I said goodbye. I gave myself another dose of Time Spray and surfed 55 years back into the present- no sweat.

The Tigers didn’t win the World Series but they did win the AL Pennant that year. There was a new MSU diploma on my wall next to a photo of Dean Stratton with myself and all my friends. I guess he did find a way to thank me.

Achilles And Myrmidon Acne

2008-03-09T13:03:00.006-05:00

The Myrmidon were Trembling and wait for the necessary 0.1 ointment protopic cream for their outbreak of eczeme. Achilles was expecting crowds to clamor for minocycline but as a unit this dose was rung out. Erect with Levitra the warlike Myrmidons impressed their maids, who were debating treating Achilles' shingles with acyclovir vs valtrex but there was scepticism which one? Princess Eurymedousa was taking razadyne for dementia and fluoxetine for her depression (no one believed her story about the ant) the interaction wasn't good. As Achille's ship's mast dipped below the horizon the Myrmidons went home and brushed their teeth with fluoride toothpaste in perfect synchronization. Their hypochondriasis was moderated somewhat by fluoxetine and Eurymedousa's daughter Annie Lennox singing.

When night arrived that song lingers and Eurymedousa breaks didrex tables in half. Obese Cressida downs them and injects them with similar results. She takes pioglitazone for her diabetes- its chemical structure is nice but she likes how it fits her pockets. Mendelism and ant-ism stresses the Myrmidon, they have handed the stress ulcers with aciphex yet on their message board it comes in a poor second to tazorac for their terrible acne and wrinkles but they were just going through the motions.

Having resolved to fight the wing people the Myrmidon caught up with their mescaline supplier, the better to get a miralax prep mixture. The Myrmidon youths can hardly be blamed for suicidal thoughts after taking trazodone for sleeping blindness.

AEneas (leader of the Dardanians, allies to the Trojans, lieutenant of Hector, and son of the Trojan king Priam) marched to Myrmidon imposing an order upon their finest pharmacists: a xalatan order for his glaucoma and the blest gods filled the order and also sold Aeneas some meclizine to combat nausea and vomiting after he stopped at Cressida's restaurant and alcohol store. The Next day Achilles returned and cut off Aeneas's nose. this nose rhinoplasty (and other limbs) was painfull, but Achilles was merciful and prescribed azmacort or a generic for azmacort- it was running low in at the village inns acctually guidelines and rules prevented name brands from being prescribed to enemies. Achilles had is own medical troubles. He was taking plavix under-the-counter. He could not own up to his short comings and thought any weakness a disgrace to the Myrmidon hive. mdma accidents generally went unreport. They owed Achilles a explaination, but as he stepped ashore the Myrmidon told him the problem is sarafem, the same as prozac. Aeneas left defeated.

The next invaders according to myth were Metallica, supposing such a thing happened as they were looking to barter some ecstasy for five gold records by metallica. Lars Ulrich brought these things but after seeing Annie Lennox thought some alesse contraceptive pills or a generic might be better. But Lars wasn't the only one looking for Annie's favors. Alcmaeon the last king of Athens was in town. Ajax was also looking for the honour of Annie's lofty pillow tops. Ajax was outside her bedroom with his atrovent inhaler in hand. Alcmaeon orchestered a meeting under the stands at the coliseum. The tazorac cream Ajax use d for danger was missing. Alcmaeon stole it hoping Ajax would die in the sun. Agamemnonson of King Atreus of Mycenae warned Ajax about the plan Alcmaeon proposes and seized accolates from the people of Salamis for saving their leader. They rewarded him with 10 mg of a leading herpes treatment. Surprisingly Lars remained sober and found his way into Annie's bed. He also found a prescription for acyclovir on her counter, which explained the itching in his nether regions.

The Myrmidons metabolite intermediates (ants) were invested in getting rid of all these foreigners in Annie's bed. They Joined battle only to be defeated. However, soon Alcmaeon, Ajax, and Agamemnon left with Lars and infections of their own. Their urinary tract infections would be cleared up in time using keflex on their wounds. They would be more careful next time with this magnificent woman from Myrmidon.

The Myrmidons celebrated with elidel pimecrolimus, which had shown much efficacy for eczeme, and looked for Annie. The Myrmidons spat her name on the soil. Medina invited Absyrtus into Annie's tent, they cut him into pieces for the Medina's father and the Myrmidon's to find. This was a common method to hide from angry crowds. It pays to be proactive.

Further study on pioglitazone explains fractures on Cressida's limbs. The Myrmidons, desperate for a cure have made a decision to try some minocycline although it's out of date- the drug doesn't work. The levitra tablets turn their limp members into spires. The Myrmidons dwelt in the beds of their women and would also place sacks over their heads and follow up with a course of amoxil antibiotics. The side effects affected every man who stuffed his spire- more acne.

The Myrmidon's and their leader Achilles did better once their crazy Ant-Queen Eurymedousa died, and her infected daughter Annie disappeared. Their acne cleared up! The Myrmidons praised Achilles for this improved in their lives. The Myrmidons of Greek myth were known for their loyalty to their leaders- now you know way.

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Ancient Greek Pharmacology

2008-03-06T11:48:00.001-06:00

Your common man when presented with a heavenly apparition will not be much of a witness. This is particularly true if they are taking doxazosin mesylate for high blood pressure and have had a restful night's sleep. Now, if someone is on an antidepressant like venlafaxine (Effexor) they will take the son at face value. Normally a Celestial panoply will frighten the average man. ghb (Gamma-Hydroxybutyric acid, a neuroprotective therapeutic drug) will bide it's time inside him and a lawsuit will soon follow unless treated with a synthroid like Levothyroxine but even this will make you uneasy heavenly panoply or not. Boeotians of ancient Greece ever foolish provoked Alexander, by dosing his boyfriend with biaxin (a macrolide antibiotic in a 150mg filmtab thinking) could have helped his patron more than buying opium seeds. The Boeotians thought they were protected by the immortals. Little did they know the norco pipeline contained only acetaminophen would co-op their position with Alexander and his ill-fitting trousers. Dreadful they said the congregate popped some cartia xt 300mg escaping being frightened to death, at the maximium and at the minumum having erosion and ulceration of the esophagus relieved by protonix and dosing eucalion until they saw the heavenly apparitions. Although you may think it was Uncommon for the ancient Greeks to have access to modern medicines, many of the local plants worked on or are axons in the human brain and ketamine a dissociative anesthetic, is used for human and veterinary medicine. ontmorency tart cherries are one plant that does nutraceutical, as tested by the University of louisiana. The Greeks also took serzone until their attorney advised them of possible liver damage, so they cut down their meds to one terbinafine 250 mg tablets and noticed a slowness in their recovery. They Shot heaven with arrows hoping to awake the immortals with pinpricks, so the heaven apparition would rain down death on Alexander and pharmaceuticals for the Boeotians. They wanted both. The older Greek men were particularly interested in levitra, which an ancient advertising agency has evidently said can help you with the treatment of erectile dysfunction. They prayed and waited. Popping ranitidine for their peptic ulcers with a side of vermox tablets for their tapeworms. They shivered. Confused only about being gay either the makers of relafen felt horrid and changed the brand name of cyanocobalamin to homoballaman and yet that ketamine was a good buy for their huntresses as a battlefield anaesthetic. "Spurn the drug. Toss it down nothing but propecia for our warriors with male-pattern baldness," demanded the king. "This is not for sale in the slums. And no information on lanoxin from heaven or from the foxglove plant will strengthen our heart or our will!" The premarin lawyer was gladheartened. Others regard the King's words. Was he worrying about the zanaflex patient with muscle spasms. What progam would mean much? What patience could pass the army's rigorous drug test with lasix in their urine? The doom the people felt who have doyen for lsd year biology. Patroclus Achilles' best friend quits supposedly out of unity for Alexander. The Boeotians compare omeprazole 40 mg versus rabeprazole and their actions become clear. aid Alexander, deny the heavenly apparitions, and the ulcers are gone. The compazine antipsychotic stops their vertigo reactions this document witnesses. The Boeotians lose their independence to Alexander, lose their highly developed pharmacology, and lose the protection of the immortals.

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Tarzan Installs Red Hat 6.2 Linux

2008-03-03T09:43:00.001-06:00

September 5th Tarzan wasn't so sure he wanted to install Linux on the family computer, "Ara", but it was on Jane's list of things to do. Cheetah, their pet chimp, had already freed up 2gb by partitioning the hard drive.

Tarzan wanted to get rid of the ISA sound card and deleted the machine profile which contained it. This sound card wasn't up to the task of recording Tarzan's pand (thunderous) jungle cry. Jane had come back from the village with a new PCI sound card and a book "Red Hat Bible". Tarzan copied the leftover MP3 files on the D: partition. They wouldn't play on the stereo but they did play on the computer. Jane thought the Joliet formated CDs were the problem. This was fine- Cheetah could still play his favorite songs.

Tarzan installed Linux. It wouldn't install on a Windows partition. He asked Cheetah to create a Linux partition. Cheetah didn't know how and the dumb book didn't say how many, what size or how to create them. The problem was solved when Tantor the elephant came by with the right combination. Linux installed. Tarzan turned his attention to installing the Gnome GUI (Graphical User Interface).

Tarzan was proud of himself. Just a few short years ago he was a ape man swinging on vines with no human contact. Now he was a valuable member of society running a state-of-the-art 'Open Source' operating system. He was able to solve the installation problems with the help of his wife, Jane, or with the help of one of his many jungle friends. The massive "Redhat Bible" tome was of little value except to beat Histah, as the snake tried to sneak up and strangle Cheetah.

Tarzan was worried because if anything went wrong he would have no way of fixing it. The nearest tech support was four days away. Jane was impressed and praised Tarzan's strength and cunning, but she was a little fast with the praise. Ara had no mouse (sord Pamba, bad Rat) support. Nothing in the book told Tarzan what to do. Tarzan raised a great cry for help. Many of his friends responded, "Gorgo" the buffalo, "Bara" the deer, "Duro" the hippo, "Bhuto" the rhino, even "Horta" the boar tried to help the mighty ape man solve this problem. They had plenty of suggestions- mostly involving rocks or "Arad" (his spear) but to no avail. Tarzan had no mouse control in Linux and Jane was sad. Tarzan wrote down some things to check. He wasn't getting anywhere until he checked with the wise "Zanzi" (the spider) web. Zanzi told him to run Mouseconfig, which solved the mouse trouble and to run Sndconfig, which got the sound working.

Tarzan I looked through the book again for more yo-knowledge and played with Linux. Tarzan and Jane found Linux interesting but I couldn't see why they would want to use it for anything. Even Cheetah became bored using MySQL to keep track of his bananas. Cheetah set the multi-boot to Root rather than use his 'Cheetah' user account. At first the protection was nice but the constant denial of permission caused Cheetah to fling his poop at Ara. This made Jane mad.

Three Goros (moons) went by. Ret Hat Linux on Ara was a Hondo (hornet) in their side. It was time to bundolo (kill) Linux. Cheetah deleted the sord (bad) Linux partitions. Tarzan booted back into Windows 98 SE2 and peace had returned to the jungle.

The Story of Lawnmower Man

2008-01-05T10:25:00.000-06:00

The hopelessly hopeless man tries to find an obscure piece of crap that still works as a pure typing machine.

Hey, I can't get my self-propelled lawnmower to work!
Where is my hammer?
Bam Bam.
Now it's in pieces.
Hey, where is my epoxy?
I got to get this stupid thing glued back together.
I got this fast drying cement, so after 15 minutes later, I pulled on the cord and off it went. Unfortunately, I had the drive engaged and off it went down the street. I got on my bicycle and followed as it headed for the river. Sure enough it jumped the bank and was now zooming down the streets in Moorhead. At this point I gave up. I hope this doesn't come back to bite me in the ass.

A couple days later I noticed in the paper an odd article about a mysterious benefactor who was going door-to-door mowing old lady's yards. Another article was about a vandal who was knocking down fences in the ritzy part of town.

A month later I put up my garage door and there it was. I didn't give much thought to how it got there, or how it managed to put the garage door up and get it down again. It was out of gas, so I had to drive clear across town to pick up the special mixture of gasoline and oil that it loves.

When I got back I tried to start it. I pulled on the rope but it fell off. I reattached it but it still wouldn't start. I checked the spark plug and I could see it was fouled. I cleaned it in gasoline and then filed and re-gapped the plug. It started right up.

I guess I didn't learn my lesson because it took off down the street again. I got on my bike and this time I headed directly for the river in order to cut it off. I waited a couple minutes. It didn't show up. Obviously it outsmarted me.

I went back home and went to bed where I dreamed of green grass and ridding mowers.

National Waterboy League Week 10 Review

2007-11-13T11:53:00.001-06:00

It was a big day in the NWBL so lets get right to our four key game recap.

The North Central Conference saw the match up of the top seated Green Bay Packers against a newly re-energized Minnesota Vikings. The running game dominated the day, or should I say the lack of a running game. The Packer defense effectively benched Adrian Peterson- last week's player of the week. On the other side of the ball, Brett Farve was able to find receivers at will, and on the ground the Packers were able to find their feet and run for over 150 yards in their 34-0 shutout victory. But more importantly the Packers were able to pound down 27 gallons of water and 36 gallons of Gatorade compared to the desert-like consumption of the visiting Vikings. "We weren't doing much on the field or on the sidelines," said Minnesota Tight End Garrett Mills, " I feel we let down our coach and our Water Boy, Dennis. Dennis was begging us to keep hydrated but as the score became more lopsided we just didn't keep up with our fluids."
John Kuhn, who had a great day on the field, responded for the victorious Packers, "Coach told us to stay on our toes. Whenever he saw us standing around Coach McCarthy would bark out, 'Quit standing around Kuhn, and get some Gatorade.' I have to hand it to our coach and Pepper our Water Boy. I don't think I've been as hydrated during a game. If you'll excuse me I have to use the rest room."
"Dangers caused by overexposure to high temperature and humidity are preventable if coaches and players know the early warning signs and stay cool and hydrated. Simple steps like allowing for acclimatization, adjusting the intensity of practice to environmental conditions and access to properly formulated sports drinks can make all the difference." said Pepper Burruss, head athletic trainer and waterboy for the Green Bay Packers.

6'1" Chad Johnson had four receptions for 73 yards helping his Cincinnati Bengals beat the hapless Baltimore Ravens 21-7. Johnson attributed his success today on the field to his pre-season training. "…Nowhere (is) more intense than an NFL Training Camp, players working their hardest to get ready for the grueling football season. Hard work means lots of sweating, which could lead to dehydration. Every NFL player knows to drink Gatorade to keep their bodies hydrated. It's the safe and smart thing to do. And, Gatorade tackles dehydration head-on. Drinking Gatorade ensures every player is prepared to sustain peak performance."

After the losing to the San Diego Chargers 23-21, Indianapolis Colt quarterback Peyton Manning had this to say, "We struggled throughout today's game. It was obvious the Chargers had the advantage with gallons and gallons of Gatorade 'Lime Rain' sports drink. I feel our waterboy let us down. I've talked to the coach and he agrees something must be done. I'm hoping the owners will do the right thing and trade off some our better players to Denver. I'm convinced only this measure will convince Denver to trade Steve Antonopulos to our organization." When asked about their fourth quarter come back Manning said, "Guys were puking on the no-name sports drink our waterboy had set out. I sent my wife to the 7-11 down the block. I told her, 'Honey, grab as much Gatorade as you can find. Stop at another store if you have too but fill up the back of the pickup!' She was a real trooper. If she hadn't gotten pulled over for speeding- who knows we might have won this game."

One day after his father died, SF Coach Mike Nolan tried unsuccessfully to get his team a win, but the 49er's were no match for the better coached and hydrated Seattle Seahawks. The Seahawks dried up the 49er's post-season hopes 24-0.
Cornerback Walt Harris spoke for most of the San Francisco team when he said, "core temperature is not necessarily associated with either percentage of dehydration or sweat rate. It wasn't even 50 degrees- I certainly wasn't sweating, but I was having trouble with dehydration."
Seattle Wide Receiver Nate Burleson said, "Our field data does not support the common dogma that the heaviest sweaters or most dehydrated players are at the greatest risk for developing high core temperatures because exercise intensity and dehydration were not controlled. This does not negate the well-known relationship between increasing dehydration and increasing core body temperature. Our waterboy has studied this in detail and we believe our hydration practices give us a leg up over at team like the 49ers who still believe talent and coaching are the keys to victory."

Victor Wins The Lottery

2007-11-13T11:41:00.001-06:00

Saturday, the phone rang. It was my friend Victor. He was yelling incoherently about wining. "Craig, you have to get over here right away. I finally did it. We won!"
Normally I would just ignore this outburst and go back to watching television, but I was bored and there was something just a little bit odd in his voice.
When I got to his house, Arlene answered the door.
"Vic asked me to come over."
"I'm sorry but you've missed him."
"That's odd. He just called me. Where did he go?"
"I just got here myself but he left a note," Arlene replied
The note said he was in Moorhead, "Meet me downtown."
This was becoming a wild goose chase; yet I was still game.

As I approached 8th Street, I could see Victor running down the street with what looked like a gun in his hand. He waved me over.
"Craig I won. We won!" Vic shouted as I got out of the car.
"What are you talking about?"
"You know we've always talked about breaking down and buying a MN lottery ticket?"
"Yes?"
"Well, I was at M&H getting some gas. I decided to buy a ticket. By the way you owe me 50 cents. And it was a winner."
"So what did you win, this plastic squirt gun?" I joked.
"Two .. Million.. Dollars!!"
"You're shitting me!"
"No it's true. But there is a catch. Today was the last day of the lottery. You can buy up to $2,000,000 worth of products using this wedding registration gun. It has to be in Minnesota too. Today is the last day and it's already getting late- most of the stores have closed."
"If I understand this machine all you have to do is point it at the UPC code, so even if the store is closed if you can beam through the window and it will work."
As if to test the theory he turned around and bought a $12 model B-17 airplane.
"Hey it works."
"That maybe true but what are doing downtown, get over to the Moorhead Center Mall. Better yet try the car dealership," I said.

About the then the cops pulled around the corner with their lights flashing.
"Put that thing behind your back. Take my keys and I'll stay to explain. I'll meet you at the Moorhead Center Mall."
Victor quietly slipped into my van.

I was manhandled and driven to the ground. Thankful I wasn't tasered. I took me half an hour to explain. The problem was they weren't listening. I finally got them to call M&H and confirm my story.

When the police dropped me off at the Moorhead Center Mall, I found Victor trying to register a camera through the window of a photo store. I looked at the clock- time was up. Well, this was fun little adventure even if he didn't get much more than a kid's airplane model.
Victor was grinning, "I think I got it all!"
"How's that?"
"I think I spent all two million dollars!"
"What? Did you stop at the car dealership and buy his entire inventory?" I asked.
"No."
"Don't tell me you bought two million in jewelry at retail?"
"No."
"What did you do Teigen," I demanded.
"I bought a railroad."
I stood there dumbfounded.
"The stores were closed, I was having trouble getting this gun to work, and I only had a few minutes left, when I noticed the Land Office across the street. I asked, 'What do you have for two million dollars.' That got their attention. The hardest part was coming up with a UPC for me to scan, but the guy figured out how to generate one online, so I got a Railroad in this here gun!"
I was still dumbfounded, "What do you mean you have a railroad. What railroad?"
"It's a little bit of track, a bridge, and some rolling stock on the Glydon-Hawley Railroad."
"I've never heard of it."
"He said it was going to be a spur line that never got finished."
"I think you got taken."
"Well, lets run out there and check it out. I got the keys," Vic said while dangling a suspiciously small set of keys.

In Glydon we had to ask around. It wasn't a good sign. No one seemed to know what we were talking about. I finally call the police department, "Oh yes, Baker's Boondoggle. I can tell you where it is." The cop told us the tale of this railroad to nowhere, "It was an investment scheme that took a lot of people for a lot of money. I hope you boys aren't involved."

When we got to the shed I could see the sign hanging by one screw. But I knew it must be the place by all the profanity sprayed on the sides. The key fit the lock and we went inside. You couldn't see anything and of course there was no power. We walked around this 20-foot square shed and tripped over the rails leading into a side door.
Victor was opened the lock and slid open the door.
I asked, "I wonder what rolling stock the railroad owns?"
Sunlight illuminated the contents of the shed after Vic opened the door.
"You got to be kidding me. A handcart!" I yelled.
"But it's an electric handcart. And it shows a partial charge. Craig, let's go look at our railroad."
"I haven't given you the 50 cents yet and I'm not sure I'm going to."

I had to push the handcart to get it moving, but once rolling it picked up speed. We got to the Buffalo River and there stood our bridge. It looked in good shape but I was no engineer.
"I'm not going over that thing."
"I'm sure it's safe. It's designed for thousand ton trains and all we have is a handcart."
"Okay, but you're killing me here- lets just home not literally."

Once we safely crossed the bridge I had to admit it was a nice bridge. We continued down the railroad…
… about a block. The railroad ended as abrupt as it begun.
"Victor this isn't much of a railroad."
"Yes, I guess you're right."

Months went by. Victor did some research and found there was some salvage value but not much. The Minnesota Lottery commission was quiet about awarding this prize. The only winner was the Land Office.

One day Victor stopped by with an old green army bag.
"I found it down by the bridge. It was half buried. It has some open reel tapes I thought you might like."
"Ah, no." I replied, "I have no interest in old decayed tapes."
"But they're in pretty good shape, except this one, which had fallen out of the duffle bag and was half buried in the dirt. "
I thought I would humor Victor, so we looked through the bag. There were half a dozen open reel tapes and some personal effects. We looked through all the paperwork and found a name Otto Herman. The effects seem to date back to 1962. It was a mixture of English and German. Otto appeared to have come from Hamburg. We surmised he was probably a sailor riding the rails across America. Otto stopped in Moorhead and joined a rail crew working on this bridge to make a little money. He lost his tapes and books in a poker game. They had been sitting here since then.

Victor kept asking me about the tapes. Well he is my friend. I got my open reel out of the attic and spooled up one of the reels. The tapes played too fast. My Akai will go down to 3-3/4 inches per second but this was obviously recorded at 1-7/8 ips. I recorded it to my computer and cut the speed in half. I laughed at the old time polka music. Victor will get a kick out of this. I recorded the other reels of tape. Finally I scrapped the dried mud off the remaining reel. It was still dirty and I didn't want to screw up my Akai- even if I don't use it anymore. I got some distilled water and soaked the reel. Then I replaced the water and did this a couple more times. Finally I carefully un-spooled the tape and washed every inch of the tape. I let it dry and then re-spooled the tape.

"Kaiserkeller/Casbah Club" was penciled on the side of the reel. When I played the tapes they sounded vaguely familiar. But it wasn't until the tapes were slowed down on the computer that I realized, "This is the Beatles!"
I thought to myself, "Obviously this is just a copy of the Star Club tapes." But when I checked they weren't the same.

Victor was more interested in the polka tapes. "I could use them as a theme song for the Railroad!"
"What? What the hell are you talking about? Didn't you hear what I said, 'I've found early Beatle tapes.' They could be worth a small fortune. They will more than make up for your little railroad disaster."
Vic's eyes lit up, "You're right. With the money these Beatles tapes will bring we can probably finish building the railroad."

Lindsey Buckingham, The Venue 6/28/07

2007-07-06T10:40:00.001-05:00

I got to Playmakers 'The Venue' before the doors opened. There was a line- maybe twenty people deep in front of me. Club members got in at 7:00, but there weren't many of those. I went in with everyone else at 7:15. I milled around for a few minutes, getting my bearings before heading in. The stage was at the end of the hall; past the bar and a couple rows of tables. There were more tables up in the balcony. I crossed the concrete dance floor and stood in the front row; center stage. There was one guy in front of me. Any minute I expected a tap on the shoulder from my friend but he never showed. I brought a Molekine Cahier notebook and a pencil to do a quick drawing of the stage. To my left was the electric piano and Korg keyboard, along with Brett Tuggle's monitors and pedal board for his guitars and bass. Indicator lights from Lindsey's eight guitar amps glowed red in the subdued stage lighting. It looked like only three were mic'd up. In front of me were his stage monitors. I could stretch out my fingers to touch them. Three pedals and his mic stand were between the monitors. In the back to the right, was an electronic drum kit, acoustic cymbals and percussion set up. To the right was Neale Heywood's seat with a row of acoustic guitars, electric guitars and a bass stacked an upright rack. By the rack Neale had an acoustic guitar amp, and electric guitar amp. There was a raised area to the right of the stage where the soundboard was located. To the left of the stage, at ground level, was an area the roadies came from. Above that area was a private patron area full of young ladies overlooking the stage.

I never did start the drawing, although I was there for over an hour before the concert started and my friend was MIA. I met a really nice guy: George- the guy in front of me. He went to get a beer and I moved up and rested my elbows on the stage where I remained all evening. When he came back, I introduced myself. George was from Denver and looked a little like me when I sport a goatee. He was self-employed and decided to follow the tour- catching the last three dates. George had seen Lindsey eight times. George was a big fan and had discovered Fleetwood Mac about the same time as I had in 1975. He knew a lot of trivia about Lindsey and Fleetwood Mac, so we had lots to talk about. We talked in detail about "Tusk" and Lindsey's association with John Stewart and Walter Egan. I also chatted up the lady on my other side. She was there with her husband, who was just there... mostly to get beer. She had seen Fleetwood Mac in Grand Forks on the last tour. I showed her the set list I brought with me and we shared favorite songs. George knew more about what was coming up, "During the solo for 'So Afraid' Lindsey will stand right here with one foot on the monitor." This is why he was standing off to the right side of the stage. He also chatted with David and Lindsey- fellow tour followers. George was very excited. Thanks to General Seatting this was the closest he had ever gotten on tour.

At 8:00 PM the roadies came onstage and did a last minute sound check. Lindsey came onstage with a Nylon string Turner RN-6 acoustic for "Not Too Late". I noticed he had no low E string. A couple of his guitars were missing the low E-string. He played the song by himself. I was watching his fingers pick out the notes. Lindsey was in a black t-shirt, black leather jacket, black leather boots, and a pair of tepid faux blue jeans. The second track was "Trouble" from the 'Law and Order' album. Another Turner acoustic guitar- steel string this time. Lindsey played one song from almost every album except for 'Mirage' and 'Out of the Cradle'.

The crowd was boisterous, but I didn't think anything of it. Lindsey looked through cupped hands, through the spot lights- looking on with mock concern. I thought he was going through the motions. Some guy was yelling out "My Little Demon". George told me Lindsey plays the same set list, so we were both surprised when Lindsey broke into a minute of this song. Later someone yelled out "Louie Louie", Lindsey looked at Neale and asked, "Should we?" Neale shook his head no. Later still, some lady yelled out "Long Distance Runner." Lindsey stared her down and replied, "you don't even know the name of the song!" and that was the end of requests.

The band joined him for the next song. I shouted to George, "I see a Turner Model 1." A person favorite, the Turner 1 is a beautiful guitar that you only see in Lindsey's hands.

The sound wasn't very good from where I was standing. I was between 'The Venue' PA speakers- I might have been slightly behind them. Lindsey's guitar amps were facing me, and his stage monitors were at my chest. George seemed happy where he was. Behind me the floor was full, as were the tables, but I could squeeze back and find the sweet spot for sound. I made a decision to stay put. I have never been this close, and when I remember concerts I rarely remember much about the sound. It's the details that stick.

During "Castaway Dreams" I could actually hear Lindsey and the acoustic guitar over the PA. So as bad as the PA sound was, during the acoustic half of his set, the sound was good. Man, if I just had a switch to turn off the PA!

Lindsey introduced "Red Rover" as a strange song about the gods looking down on some horrible event. Some wag in the crowd yelled out "one God." Lindsey fixes him a look and continues on with his canned explanation before starting the song. The acoustic guitar had a Roland guitar synthesizer pick-up and is plugged into a Roland board, but I don't hear anything unusual- this after the build up from Lindsey. What I do hear is a disconcerting delay between when his fingers pluck the strings and the sound from the amp.

I was watching Brett and Neale play, as I was interested in the arrangements. Usually both where playing guitars. There was some bass played during the uptempo rockers, but mostly the sound filled the high frequency spectrum. Some people had ear plugs. I had a pair in my pocket but I didn't think it was too loud. I did have some trouble with the bass drum coming out of the right PA column, but as the band switched up the rockers and acoustic numbers it never got too bad. Brett was pretty good about making eye contact. He would catching me looking his way and would nod and smile. Brett also seemed to have a fan club. There was a clutch of young ladies to my left trying to catch his attention holding up signs "We Love You Brett". Odd, because Brett isn't exactly famous, and is only moderately good looking.

I was looking at Lindsey, Brett and Neale during "It Was You" - someone was out of tune. I had a hard time figuring out who- I think it was Brett or Lindsey. It's also possible that the harmonically complex song caused dissonants when distorted by the PA.

I was looking forward to hearing the fast acoustic version of "Big Love". I was so close that I had to crane my neck up to see Lindsey's face. On this song I just wanted to watch his fingers. I was surprised by how little fret board activity was going on. The song sounds like it's going 100 mph, but his fingers just slowing making the rounds on what looks like an open tuning. The guitar is a Chet Atkins Nylon String Gibson.

I had read that Lindsey recites a poem before "Go Insane" so I was prepared. I thought he had finished so I yell up "Amen." But he had only paused. Lindsey looked into the crowd and yelled to some noisy girls behind me, "I'm trying work up here, shut up!"

After "World Turning" starts to fade out, Lindsey sits on the stage, towels off and has a drink of water, while Alfredo Reyes does a percussion solo in a similar vein to what Mick Fleetwood would do during this song. The difference is Mick is a great rock drummer and Alfredo is not very good. Alfredo sits on a wood box with a contact mic. By lightly taping different area's of the box he gets different sounds. It's very boring and self-indulgent. I laugh to myself when I wonder, "What if he farts?" George told me, "The drummer is new and he's really good." Looking to my left during the concert I begin to understand. George is dancing; his hands are tucked in. He's shadow boxing, his body is gyrating and his movements seem to have no relation to the beat of the song. I don't mind- music affects everyone differently.

I love the slow jam that is "So Afraid" it builds and builds. Lindsey is standing on the left stage monitor and blasting out that slow linear one note solo. George is right there for it. That is until a fight almost breaks out between George and some nazi guy. I was in sonic nirvana at the time. I looked over and some guy has George by the shoulders and is making a threatening face. The people around him intercede and the incident burns itself out after a couple bars of the solo. I wonder what happened. I assume George was in sonic nirvana too and had completely spazzed out: crashing into the guy and spilling his drink? *

Lindsey was warming up to the crowd, smiling more, making eye contact. After the rave up finished "So Afraid" he was slapping hands. Unfortunately, because I'm front row center his monitors are in the way. I did catch the back of his hand but that's the closest I got, except for "Tusk" when Lindsey did his little foot tap dance at the edge of the stage. I had to pull my hands back so he didn't step on them. During "Tusk" and for much of the concert I was clamping my hands or pounding on the stage, but not in any simple 4/4 beat but in a nice syncopated rhythm in the mistaken belief that Lindsey or the band would notice my 'chops'. ** The stage had a nice bounce to it. When Lindsey would start stomping around I could feel it- for a full five sense experience.

The roadie hands out a Black Les Paul. I look at George, we had just discussed this topic. Lindsey hasn't played a Les Paul in thirty years. The guitar is plugged in a different amp. It takes a few bars before I recognize "Go Your Own Way" as the sound is so distorted it sounds like death metal. I'm confused- this doesn't seem right. It doesn't have the bouncing light quality of the original. The answer arrives with the coda. Lindsey is slapping the fretboard, dancing wildly, then he slips off guitar and starts smashing it into the stage. But the stage is bouncy and the Les Paul (cheap clone?) is heavy and won't break. George can't believe this, "You're witnessing a rare event." I'm thinking, "Pete Townshend Jr."

The band leaves the stage. The crowd surges forward. I have my wallet in my front pocket. No one can get in front of me- there is no front. If all those young ladies want to grope me - who am I to argue. What I did mind was a girl with a vinyl copy of 'Law And Order'. She was waving it back and forth from one side of the stage to the other hoping Lindsey would sign it. He just ignored her. The girl behind me is chastising me, "You have to pound on the stage!" The band is coming back whether I do or don't but I humor her.

Lindsey and the band return and perform "Holiday Road" - a rare song. He encourages us to join the dog barking and howling at the end. Lindsey introduces the band. Neale had been with him a long time. A tall lanky guy with a cool demeanor. Alfredo, 'the Cuban' joined the tour during the the 4th leg- this may explain why I found the drumming weak. Brett is introduced . Lindsey comments on Brett's fan section. Brett thanks his sister and his mother, "I'll see you at the family reunion later." Lindsey states, "This band is more than band-mates, more than friends, we have become like brothers." Brett takes to the mic, to thank his brother. Brett seemed taken with Fargo, "This has been the best concert of the tour." Lindsey announced he would release a new album in early 2008.

"Show You How" is odd because both Brett and Neale are playing bass. Lindsey is playing just the bass strings on his guitar. Lindsey comments on Fargo again. He's throws out the guitar pick- it sails over my head. He dedicates the next song to the fans that have followed his tour. I'm thinking of George, but he names Tom. Tom's father is struggling with cancer. I can relate to that. "Shut Us Down" closes the concert. Lindsey thanks the audience with "Fargo... You're Out of Sight!"

I share my reaction with George. It was a very good concert but I've seen some pretty amazing concerts so this one rates a B. The bar empties quickly. The roadies come out to turn off the equipment. I ask for a pick- he takes them all off the mic stand and throws them... over my head. He comes back with more, and they end up with some young ladies- I can't blame him. Oh well, I still had a front row center experience. George takes off- I thought he might stick around. If he had I would would have stayed. I wonder if Lindsey might come out for autographs and a chat with the fans? *** I had my doubts but you never know. I did get a souvenir as a hostess was handing out concert posters at the door.

Set List

Not Too Late - Under The Skin (2006)
Trouble - Law And Order (1981)
Never Going Back Again - Rumours (1977)
Second Hand News - Rumours (1977)
Castaway Dreams- Under The Skin (2006)
Red Rover - Say You Will (2003)
It Was You- Under The Skin (2006)
Big Love - Big Love (1987)
Sardonic World/Go Insane - Go Insane (1984)
Under the Skin- Under The Skin (2006)
World Turning - Fleetwood Mac (1975)
I'm So Afraid - Fleetwood Mac (1975)
I Know I'm Not Wrong - Tush (1979)
Tusk - Tush (1979)
Go Your Own Way- Rumours (1977) Encore:
Holiday Road - Vacation (1983)
Band Intro
Show You How- Under The Skin (2006)
****Say Goodbye- Say You Will (2003)
Shut Us Down- Under The Skin (2006)

Comments: * The Nazi guy's girl was trying to squeeze George out of the way. George was politely removing her arms from his shoulders. Nazi guy took offense at that. After the concert this big Linebacker type guy came up and said, "Hey Man, what happened?" After George told him, the Linebacker said, "You handled that right. I can't believe some of these people. He must have been drunk."

**I also wore my tan vertical stripe shirt that looks like something from the Beach Boys- knowing Lindsey is a huge Beach Boy fan.

**After the concert: George, Lindsey #1LiddyBuckFan (to the left of George), and David (behind Lindsey) did meet Lindsey Buckingham. I found photos and some comments from DavidMN and #1LiddyBuckFan online.

***Track 19 may not exist, but I thought he played this song from "Say You Will". My memory is not that good. I thought I saw local anchor Robin Huebner by the stage after the concert, but there was no local press coverage.

Wrestle The Platypus

2007-05-22T22:00:00.000-05:00

It was a hot summer afternoon in early June 1974. I was at my first Civil Air Patrol (CAP) encampment at Camp Grafton on the shores of Devils Lake. I was only 13 years old but had been a member of the Fargo CAP for about six months. My hut-mates and I were trying to cool off. This was difficult because we had been marching in the parade field for a couple hours in a green fatigues with white T-shirts underneath, heavy black combat boots, and green baseball hats. Some of the cadets had fainted in the sun. They had not learned the secret to standing at attention for long periods of time- keep you knees bent. Our galvanized metal huts were already hot under the sun. There was no breeze, but we were not authorized to go anywhere else.

Some older cadets appeared at our open door.

"Anderson, Maas, and Stein, Fall In."

My hut-mates and I quickly moved outside and stood at attention.

"At ease."

We moved easily to a relaxed position with our legs spread and hands behind our backs.

"Because you are new cadets and have never been to encampment before, we feel it is time for you become acquainted with the traditions of CAP encampment. Traditions that if not followed would lessen your enjoyment of encampment and would possibly jeopardize you future in CAP. We're going on a little mission."

"Sir, what mission?" asked Stein.

"Well, Airman First Class Stein, we will tell you when we get there. Now, right face, 'harch. Forward... March!"

Off we went down the line of metal huts. The younger cadets looking on questioning. The older cadets were laughing. We didn't know what to think. Nothing at encampment is ever good. We turned away from the parade field and toward the lake. At least we would not be doing more close order drill.

When we got down to the shoreline, the three of us were ordered to take off our hats, shirt, boots and stocks.

"Now, roll up you fatigues and wade into the lake," barked the Sergeant!

I looked at Stein. He shrugged his shoulders. Anderson said, "Well, at least we'll cool off a little in the lake."

As we waded into the lake two fisherman in a boat about 100 yards out turned and pointed in our direction.

"Gentlemen, we're looking for a Platypus," The Sergeant looked at each one of us and then continued, "we have reason to believe there is a Platypus in this location. Your job is to find it and wrestle it into this net." With that he proceeded to hand a weighted fishnet to Anderson.

Anderson looked at the net and said, "Sergeant, there aren't any Platypus in North Dakota."

Stein piped up and said, "Yeah, they're in Australia or something."

The Sergeant turned toward me. (Even as an Airman First Cass I knew nothing good would come from arguing with an officer or the Sergeant.) I said nothing. The Sergeant turn back to Stein and Anderson, "Well then I don't suppose it would do any good to look for it would it."

"No Sergeant," Stein and Anderson said in unison.

"Then you two can put your uniforms back on and report to Major Henderson in the parade field for a fine afternoon of marching."

Stein and Anderson looked crest fallen in the beautiful cool lake. Stein was the first to come to his senses, "Sergeant, I believe I may have been mistaken. I think I read somewhere that wild Platypus have been spotted on this very lake. And because they are not indigenous to Devils Lake they need to be captured and removed."

"Well, I'm glad to hear you have decided to rejoin our little mission. What about you Anderson."

Anderson wasn't about to claim there were Platypus in Devils Lake but he also wasn't about to pass up wading in the cool lake rather than spend the afternoon marching in the hot sun. "Sergeant, I'm already wet, and if there is a Platypus in this lake and if Maas and Stein can coral it toward me, I'll catch it in this net."

"Outstanding Gentlemen!"

Stein and I waded further in the water, not too concern about getting wet. The Sergeant and his buddies encouraged us to moved down the shoreline and into deeper water. Stein who was a couple steps in front of me stepped into a hole and disappeared. I stopped not knowing what to do. He popped up a moment later. The Sergeant was laughing, his buddies were laughing, the fishermen in the boat were laughing. Even Anderson was stifling a laugh behind me. I could only wonder if it had been me in the lead- would they have fished me out or let me drown?

I went around the hole carefully probing with my feet. As I took point, Stein and Anderson were behind me. I made my way closer to the shore, we were approaching a point where the shore jutted out with some trees and foliage. It was then I thought I heard something in the foliage. Now I didn't really believe there was a Platypus within a thousand miles of this lake, but you never know. The Sergeant told us to be careful; he seemed so sure of himself. I made the hand-sign to hold up. I worked my way into deeper water and around the point. I signaled Stein to take a position 90 degrees off mine and for Anderson to bring up the net.

The Sergeant and his buddies grew quiet. The fishermen put down their poles. The three of us got closer and closer to the source of the noise. Just as we were about to make an unbreakable chain, the Platypus jumped up and headed for Anderson. Anderson panicked and dropped the net, but his splashing scared the Platypus back in Stein's direction. This gave me enough time to grab the net and toss it over the Platypus and Stein.

Stein yelled and thrashed about, "Get it off me, get it off me! The Platypus is attacking me."

I grabbed the side of the net and pulled it tight around the Platypus and off Stein. Stein moved back and fell over into the lake. Anderson was already halfway to the shore. Sergeant was yelling, "Maas, what the hell do you have?!"

"Sergeant I have either caught the ugliest Platypus in existence or we have caught a duck." I said this my loudest military voice.

A second later I could hear the bark of laughter coming from the boat on the lake, followed by "Oh crap, the fishing poles!"

This caused the Sergeant and his buddies to roar with even more laughter. They were rolling on the beach and verbally beating each other with the punchline. Even Anderson stopped his panicked run to shore to stop, turn around, and see what evil beast he had narrowly avoided.

Of course we let the poor duck go. But I became the hero of the encampment. Every time the Sergeant told the story it became funnier and I became more important. At dinner that evening, Sergeant tapped his glass, "Gentleman, a toast to the hero of Encampment 1974, Airman First Class Maas." Two hundred cadets stood as one, gave a hurrah, swallowed down their milk, and then laughed for five straight minutes.

Where does this Story come from?

I have two nephews, aged 10 and 8. I started reading the older one stories at a very early age. One night I was babysitting and decided to tell him a bedtime story based on my own childhood. This was very popular. I've always been blessed with a vivid and creative imagination. Whenever it's bedtime and I'm over at my sister's house I hear, "Can uncle Craig make up a bedtime story for us?"

I rarely have one ready or even a topic. I asked them, "What's the story about?" and they throw out some ideas. My stories range from true but exaggerated events in my childhood, to comic farce, to Superheroes, to amalgamations of real life events and fiction. Often I take whatever topic the boys bring up and just start talking. I find the stories seem to tell themselves.

The older nephew likes stories about my life: the adventures I had with my childhood friend, and my adventures in Civil Air Patrol as a young cadet. The younger nephew likes cartoons. Recently he has become very interested in animals, marine life, and Australia. This is why he has the Platypus on his mind. As I told the story he became the Platypus I wrestled, and the story was loosely based on the classic 'Snipe Hunt'.

The Civil Air Patrol (CAP) encampment was held at Camp Grafton on the shores of Devils Lake. CAP Cadet squadrons ranged in ages from 12 to 18, at which time you would graduate to the Adult squadron. Our role was to prepare for the military and also do Search and Rescue missions (S&R) for missing air craft. During summer encampment all the CAP squadrons around the state would arrive at Camp Grafton where we would: March, Study, March, Play War Games, March, Work Kitchen Patrol (KP), March, Awake in the middle of the night for Fire Watch, March, and go on short field trips to the Grand Forks Air Force Base. Oh yes, did I tell you we did a lot of marching? The Fargo Squadron was the largest, most active, and craziest CAP Squadron in the state- and from what I read in the national newsletter- the country.

Postscript

I started this story a couple days after I made it up. I only got a few paragraphs done of the story and the background information and then it sat for month. Too long for me to really finish the story as it was told. I'll have to tell a slightly different story.

I also was looking at my Journal Addendum and found some CAP info including some names. Our Cadet Commander was Lt. Col. Kelly A. Vorachek.There was another Lt. Col. who was crazy (in a funny way) he was the leader of the maroon berets. I was awarded a 'CAP new member for 1973' on 2-25-1974. I think I quit right after 1975 CAP encampment or the Fall of 1975 after the Bismarck S&R mission. Some interesting names that appear in my CAP newsletter: Mark & Paul Finstad, Kevin Fitzgerald, Joe McPherson, Scott Brottlund, Chris Koesterman, Debbi Hinton, Max Roesler. Max was a little kid (when I read about Ortner abusing some small kid in CAP this is who I think of.) Joe was like a Sergeant, as was Kevin but I get the feeling Kevin started later than me and raced past me. I left with 4 or 5 stripes but was never too interested in getting ahead, just getting out.