Dorks of a Feather...FLOCK TOGETHER!

It was 20 years ago today, that the dorks of a feather came to play.

Ok, maybe not. But I do know that 20 some years ago, there was a little thing called a Keg Race held, and I may or may not have had something to do with it.

And there was "Ten Guys Throwing A Party," "Guys Who Stuff Their Crotch Disco Party," "Frank Sinatra Birthday Party." A party for all occasions, and I may or may not have had something to do with it.

Bricks on the hood.

Bottle rockets buzzing Sgt. Randy Hansen's head.

The Oompa Loompa.

White Lines dance.

My circle of friends from Grinnell College are much more than just friends. They are brothers. We don't see each other often, but when we do, we pick up right where we left off, at least in spirit. There's no way possible for us to pick up where we left off physically some 20 years ago, when we may or may not have been involved with "that one time when... ."

Grinnell was a tough school, academically. But for some reason, my friends and I didn't let our classes get in the way of our education.

Underwear parties. Another great memory.

Night Train Party. Kamikaze Party. It's Clem's Birthday Party. We found a reason to get a keg quite easily.

At the time, we proclaimed of others that "dorks of a feather flock together!"

Now we proudly proclaim the same cheer toward ourselves.

We could have all achieved so much more in college. If only we had put down the beer stein and picked up our book a few more times each week. If only we had applied ourselves more.

To quote one of my Grinnell brethren, "Mmmm, nah."

My brothers and I all are in agreement these days that we wouldn't have changed anything. Anything.

I raise my glass to my fellow dorks of a feather!

My Slice of Heaven - Spearfish Canyon

As the summer inches closer to reality, my mind drifts away to a favorite spot that I don't take advantage of often enough.

My little slice of Heaven, nestled into the rimrock of Spearfish Canyon in South Dakota's northern Black Hills.

My brothers and I inherited our family cabin from our great uncle Herman. It is a place where I can essentially melt into the canyon's always changing colors and forget that a problem exists in the world.

Herman was quite the character to put it mildly. He stood all of about 4'10, I'd imagine, if that. He wore horn-rimmed glasses, and walked with a humpback gait. He'd always be telling jokes, even if half of us never got the punchline. He was known for squeezing your knee and saying "Do you like girls? If you like girls you'll squirm when I do this." As my oldest son, Nile, used to say when he was 5 years old "Herman looks like Yoda."

The cabin was Herman's pride and joy. He had hand-built it after moving to the Black Hills to work as an x-ray technician at the VA Hospital after serving in World War II. He went and collected every rock that forms the foundation. He found every wood plank that covers the floors and walls. He religiously chopped down trees on the property to provide fuel for the wood burning stove and fireplace, and to help take away fuel from the constant threat of fire in the canyon.

What makes the cabin so perfect is the tranquility. Hearing the gentle sound of the water cascading down the canyon in Spearfish Creek. Seeing in every direction that you look a watercolor mix of pale white, rust-like orange and charcoal gray rocks that have been chiseled down by years of Mother Nature having her way with them. The smell of evergreens and wild flowers from the creek bed combine to give a hint of nature's perfume to the air.

If you want to get groceries, you better plan for at least an hour long round trip. If you forgot something at the store, you're more apt to adapt and figure out a way to make something out of what you have.

Going for a walk at the cabin might mean ending up scaling down rimrock while only inches away from falling down to your certain hospitalization, if not death.

Time moves at it's own pace at the cabin. Nobody is calling you. No computers to distract you. There's TV, but that's really only for the rainy days, if you don't have a good book to read.

When the time comes for me to sit down and take my collective life experiences and craft them together into the great novel I know I have in me, it is a safe bet that you'll find me in Spearfish Canyon. Sipping my coffee or beer on the front deck, watching the world slowly pass by like the clouds above me.

And you can rest assured that somewhere in the book, there will be a humpbacked man with a "unique" sense of humor who looks like Yoda. Thank you, Uncle Herman.

I'm a one man guy

I'm gonna bathe and shave
And dress myself and eat solo every night
Unplug the phone, sleep alone
Stay way out of sight
Sure it's kind of lonely
Yeah it's sort of sick
Being your own one and only
Is a dirty selfish trick.

__ "One Man Guy," by Loudon Wainwright

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oyW0dbZPg8Q

When I went through my divorce four years ago, my good friend E.C. Fish, who had gone through his own divorce already, burned me a CD full of songs that have become very personal anthems for me. Included was the song quoted above and linked on youtube.

At the time, the song didn't really describe me. I was hardly living a life of solitude. After being with just one person since I was 18 years old, I did what any red-blooded man would. I was a dating whore.

Fast forward four years, with a few serious relationship gone bad thrown in for good measure, and this life is definitely me now.

But as the song states, it's not something you should pity me for. Hell, I know quite a few married friends who would KILL to be able to be in my shoes, though I'm not sure why outside of the "grass is greener" mentality.

Regardless, in the past 12 months plus, I've really become comfortable in my own skin (which doesn't mean I wish it to stretch or sag so much where it shouldn't, but I'm comfortable nonetheless).

Between frightening images of me as "the 80-year-old guy who sits his front porch yelling at kids who come in my yard" I have learned a valuable lesson. If you can't be ok on your own, you can't be ok in a relationship.

I didn't make a purposeful decision to be single the last year, it just felt right. For the first time in a long time, I wasn't worried about making someone else happy (other than my flesh and blood of course).

I was focusing on me. What made me happy? What kind of people did I want in my life? What were my goals for myself going forward in regards to my sons, my career, my social life, and how did the people in my life fit in with those goals.

Over the last year, as I focused inwardly, I began to get better at rejecting the bad energy around me. Pushing people out of my life who brought that energy with them. Most importantly, I learned to start saying "no" to people asking me for favors. Was it selfish? Maybe. But was it good for me to do it? A resounding hell yes.

So while I make my Hungry Man frozen TV dinner, watching infomercials at 3 a.m. in my boxers and a smelly t-shirt, I don't ponder for one minute why I'm here and not somewhere living a "normal" life with a wife, 2 kids, a picket fence, and a dog. I embrace it.

Do I want the good life, to know what it's like to grow old with someone and wake up every day feeling lucky to have them in my life? I'd be full of crap if I said no.

But I don't need it. And THAT is the secret to my happiness.

'Cause I'm a one man guy in the morning
Same in the afternoon
One man guy when the sun goes down
I whistle me a one man tune

So I've Got This Friend...

S o I've got this friend.

Most of the time, this phrase is code for "this story is about me, but I'm thinly veiling it so as not to embarrass myself."

But this isn't one of those times.

Not that it couldn't be. See my friend and I, we were pretty much sliding down the path of destruction and depression at about the same pace.

One day everything seemed ok. Then suddenly our worlds were upside down. Divorced. Fighting to retain our parental rights. Dealing with a legal system that is still heavily biased toward the mother in custody matters. Being owned by that system.

And while it is true that when you hit bottom, you bounce back up, it's not always as fast of a path as we'd like. There's two steps forward, three steps back. There's good days and bad days.

But my friend, well, he endured quite a bit more hell than I ever had to. But we stayed in touch, albeit sporadically.

The last time I saw him a few months back, he stopped in to see my store and buy some steaks. He seemed to be doing pretty well, but seemed a little tired. That wasn't uncommon for him though, as he tends to burn the candle at both ends 24/7.

So when I returned a missed call from him today, he greeted me in a tone I hadn't heard from him before - giddy.

"Hey. I'm moving to Florida next week," he said with the smile coming through the phone.

"You're what?"

"Moving to Florida. Remember that high school sweetheart I had told you about reconnecting with on Facebook?"

From there, it was an hour long conversation about how he couldn't find words to describe how he was feeling, and that he felt like this was the reason he endured hell.

"I believe in karma," he said, still grinning through the phone line.

"So do I, and you're obviously riding a nice payback wave of it right now," I replied.

As the conversation turned deeper, he said something that made a hell of a lot of sense. "I guess I got tired of driving off cliffs. In the past, it didn't matter if I was driving, or someone else was driving and I was just along for the ride, the car went right off that cliff."

This time, he said, he moved to the backseat, and didn't have any involvement in the path of the car. And now, he's headed down the highway, literally and figuratively, to a better life. Almost a Zen-like quality to something that he can't even put into words.

A toast to my "friend." May his good karma continue on. And may we all sip of that cup of indescribable bliss at some point in our lives. Cheers.

You farkin' fork in the road!

Anyone close to me knows this: I suck at making decisions. Really suck.

Actually, let me clarify that - I can and have made great decisions, I just take forever to get there. I'm one of those ruminaters. I ponder. And ponder some more. And some more.

Last weekend was a prime example of this. I had originally planned to attend a wedding in Iowa City. Then I hit a financial speed bump, and had decided not to go. Then a few friends who were also going tried to convince me it would be a good time, and they'd take a rain check from me on the costs of the weekend.

It took me over 3 days to sit on that one before I finally, two hours before I had to leave for Iowa City, decided to go. I'm so damn glad I did, as I had an incredible time with friends, and soothed my soul through making some new fun stories and laughing quite a bit in the process, but we'll save that for a future blog.

So before me right now is one of the most difficult decisions I've ever had to make. To move or not to move.

My ex-wife and I have been talking off and on for the last few years about the fact that we aren't necessarily in our "ideal" spot in terms of where we live. Without getting into the mundane details of school district rankings and the voting tendencies of various Twin Cities suburbs, let's just say I have yet to find a place in the Twin Cities that feels like "home."

Add into this the fact that she is wanting to move so she can be closer to her boyfriend she has been seeing off and on for 3 years or so.

So...while I'm not exactly in love with my current apartment, or my current social life in the suburb I reside in, it comes down to what is best for my kids.

I have never in my life been so torn. The last time I made a similar decision, to leave two great jobs, a dream house, and an incredible social life in Iowa City to move to Minnesota (if you aren't real quick on the uptake, it's where the "Tundra Prisoner" idea for this blog's title comes from ;) ).

My kids have all of their friends here. They are both doing very well in school. If you ask both of them, neither one wants to move.

At the same time, the older they get, the more pressure will be on them academically. And they can presume they won't be making any varsity sports teams unless they plan to be signing a National letter of intent to a major university.

I've done the cost/benefit analysis, the pro's vs. con's list, I've flipped coins, and prayed to St. Ronald, the patron saint of wisdom, but at the end of the day, my mind is frozen on what to do.

So the farkin' fork in the road is one I'm not ready to decide upon just yet. I think I'll go read some Robert Frost while I try to make a decision.

Still no closure for Z

Tammy Zywicki was a familiar name to many people in August of 1992.

Her name and photo and story were a constant for about 10 days nearly 18 years ago.

But unlike others who watched this story unfold, from her disappearance on a rural stretch of interstate in Illinois, to the finding of her body on a rural stretch of interstate in Missouri, I knew Tammy.

"Z" as many people called her at Grinnell College, was known by me and many of my friends at Grinnell. The school was small - 1,200 students or so at the time - and it was pretty difficult not to to know most everyone, in some way or another.

Tammy was such a strong and vibrant young woman. She was athletic, artistic, and knew how to mix working hard and playing hard. At just 5'2" tall, her personality made you think she was 6'1".

For most of the country in August 1992, Tammy Zywicki was a sad story.

For those of us from Grinnell College, she was a classmate, a teammate, a friend, a study partner, a drinking buddy...anything but just a headline.

And the reason it was her that lost her life to some monster who has never been found guilty or even charged? Because her car broke down.

In the year after Tammy's death, a group of current and former students started a non-profit group, Fearless, in her honor. I served for a short time on the board of directors, and one of the early goals was to do something to stop this from happening again.

An early plan was to fund putting emergency call boxes at certain distances across the entire US interstate system. This was in the days when cell phones were still a luxury, not commonplace.

As time went on, the technology of cell phones eliminated the need for the call boxes, and in fact made our streets and highways much safer. But it shouldn't be assumed that Tammy's story couldn't be repeated.

It could be your sister. Your girlfriend. Your neighbor. Your co-worker. It could be you.

One small thing you can do is join the group linked below on Facebook. With some strength in numbers, we might just be able to get Tammy's case back on the front page again.

http://www.facebook.com/n/?group.php&gid=71031476920&mid=1ea9a99G689dfce8G4f10c9G6&bcode=TI14e

Let's find out who killed Tammy Zywicki.

She deserves that, at the very least.

The Bet? Love. The Stakes? Steaks.

As I listen to Jason Mraz playing on my mp3 shuffle...

I'm lucky I'm in love with my best friend, lucky to have been where I have been, lucky to be coming home again

...I begin to cringe.

It's the day after Valentine's Day. And the day before an anniversary of a bad break-up.

I try to remember if I have J. Geils Band's "Love Stinks" in my MP3 collection. Nope. Time to add that to my wishlist next time I'm downloading music.

I'm texting with an ex-girlfriend who to this day is such a great friend to have.

We're lamenting our situations, knowing each other very well, and knowing that we can pretty much finish off each other's sentences if we were talking in person.

We are also both keenly aware that we were not meant to be together, for whatever reason, as more than friends.

Which makes it great, because we can be blatantly honest with one another, and give the perspective of an ex-lover.

I assure her that she is going to find the right guy, and she tells me she doesn't think so.

I tell her she needs to stop going for the bad boys. She knows she needs to, but doesn't know why she can't stop.

Finally, I remind her to not settle...that I saw in her at one time someone who deserves so much more than a guy who will ultimately break her heart because with the bad boy image comes bad boy actions.

She feels better.

I then go on to tell her how I'm not sure that I'll ever be able to find "the one." Or really at this point, "any"one.

In the last year I've really built up some walls in terms of dating/relationships. And this mofo is huge. We're talking people should be taking tours of it, and taking snapshots like they do on that one in China.

But my friend reassures me that she saw me before the wall was there, and that maybe there's a woman out there who can knock it down to dust.

And she does know me well.

Thinking for it a little longer, I decide to test her on her prediction.

A wager: That I will remain single the rest of my life. The stakes: A box of steaks.

So at the very least, if I remain without a partner the rest of my life, I'll be eating me some steak with my gums in the nursing home some day. I know you're jealous.

We Are Living in a Retail World...

So I'm now a few months into this whole retail thing, between time in Chicago training at existing stores, and then opening my store 5 weeks ago.

I'm thoroughly enjoying the interaction with people who come into and out of the store, and am already finding some repeat customers coming back and remembering me and my staff by name.

And 99.9 percent of the customers are really pleasant and interesting to talk with.

It's that .1 percent you have to watch out for.

Take for example, Mr. Magic.

Mr. Magic called our store the first day we were expecting large crowds due to a marketing mailer that had gone out.

"Hello there [Prominent City in the Midwest] Steaks, I'm Mr. Magic, and I'm trying to find your store." Well if you're magic, buddy, shouldn't you be able to find it?

Mr. Magic came into the store wearing an orange t-shirt, blue jeans, and a black blazer with a multi-colored flower on the lapel. Eyeing the flower, I thought to myself that if he squirts water out of that thing at me, I may be the shortest tenured store manager in the history of retail.

He performed some lame card trick to a few scattered applause, and then approached the counter to pay for his purchases. I looked over at the sales rep ringing him up and noticed Mr. Magic laying out about 50 $2 bills across the entire countertop.

"Mr. Magic pays in $2 bills, because just like magic, they are rare to find and amusing all at once," he announced to everyone in earshot. It wasn't a magic trick, but he stopped for effect, as if he was waiting for the customers and staff around him to break out in applause.

*Crickets*

My only thought was that I needed to remember to deposit those $2 bills in the bank so that I didn't have a bunch of useless bills in my cash register.

After about an hour of "entertaining" people in the store while we were busy trying to keep up with the crowd, Mr. Magic finally went on his way. But not after handing me a business card for Mr. and Mrs. Magic (yes, his wife was in on the act as well).

"Call me if you ever want me to come in and entertain for your customers on busy days." I told him I would, knowing I wouldn't.

And I thought he was now just a bad memory for me.

Until the next morning.

As part of my morning routine, I count the cash for the registers. As I went through one of the stacks of dollar bills, I came across a stack of approximately 50 $2 bills.

Damnit.

A Day That (ALMOST) Brought A Tear to My Eye

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This was originally written, before the blog, "A Prisoner in the Tundra" was started. It was originally written as a Facebook note on 3/22/2009. Tonight, I ran into the dad mentioned in the story again, and it brought back my memory of the day written about below. For those who have already read it, thanks, and for those who haven't, enjoy. -Steve

So today was camp day for the Cub Scout den my youngest son belongs to. We had an awesome day of bonding...hiking and looking at wildlife, doing skits, learning how to use a compass in the woods, talking about deer poop.

At one point during a hike, the dads all congregated at the back of the line of the hikers, and the conversation turned to the economy. We all talked about some of the things that have been impacting us, and I was blatantly honest about my situation as a single dad who pays 50 percent of my kids' expenses despite the fact that I make far less (well nowadays even more so) than their mom does. The law would not set it up to be this way, but I agreed to it because I'm 50 percent of their parents.

Fast forward to the dinner time prep, and another dad, one I had not met before today, approached me. He asked if he could tell me something. I said sure, assuming it would be something like "your gas is really stinky, I smelled that bomb you dropped on the hike."

He looked me in the eyes and very genuinely said "I want you to know you are really great dad." Kind of threw me, since I wasn't expecting that. Not something I'm used to hearing often. He went on to say "I know I don't really know you, but I can tell you have sacrificed alot in your life for your sons. That is something that money can't buy."

We had about a 30 minute conversation after that, and he talked about his first marriage, and how because of difficulties with his ex, he was not active in the kid's life that he had with her. He essentially said in the fight or flight moment, he chose flight. And he told me I could have done the same, but I didn't. He told me he could see how much my son that was there admired me, and that I was doing an incredible job.

So it made me think, too many single dads are not praised out there. We always hear what a great job single moms do, and they deserve that praise. But single dads need a shout out now and again too. So I'm raising my glass to the single dads out there. Cheers!

A Proud Graduate of The University of Okoboji

Like the Native Americans who first lived around her, the beautiful waters of Lake Okoboji will always be sacred to me.

I now live in a land of 10,000 lakes, but there's only one lake for me, and it's in northwest Iowa.

Growing up, my family would spend two weeks straight every summer in a cabin on West Lake Okoboji that we rented for somewhere in the neighborhood of $7/night.

And not only was it my family there, but it was my extended family. And by extended family I don't mean uncles, aunts, grandparents, cousins, et al (of course they were there as well). My extended family in Okoboji was my friends of the same age, all of us finding our way through the world of childhood and adolescence, and all of us feeling freedom for the first time.

Whether it was a night of playing card games inside, or telling ghost stories on the docks at midnight, or a fun afternoon of swimming, boating, skiing, or an outing to Arnold's Park for the tilted house, the roller coaster, or the legendary fun house...Okoboji was always an adventure.

For the people who were there - many of them on Facebook -Jeff L., "Keeks", Tracy H., Lisa R., I challenge you to think of a more pure, more innocent, more exciting point in your life than then. No responsibilities, other than making sure we had enough money in our pockets for a few games of skee ball and taffy from the boardwalk.

Like summer itself, Okoboji represents to me the best of the best. The warmth of the hot July sun seemed to always beat down on us at Okoboji...and for the days it didn't, well there was always a good game of pictionary, or that book you wanted to get to, or if not that, a trip to the Emporium to buy crap you'd never have a use for again.

Hearing "Little Red Corvette" for the very first time. Watching the cars cruise the loop past the cabin every night. Cruising the loop past the cabin every night when we were old enough to drive. Tasting my first sip of purple passion, and then spitting it out. Falling for a girl, only to think that my world was over because she liked another boy.

If I could make a virtual time capsule of my life, it would be Okoboji in the 1980s.

I'm proud to say that I'm a graduate of the University of Okoboji. And I'm thinking it's about time for a class reunion.