Jumping out of a plane, Part Deaux

So perhaps in this case, insanity can be defined by doing the same thing twice expecting the SAME result.

After successfully surviving my first tandem skydiving experience in May 2009, for some unexplained reason, I decided to cheat death a second time last weekend. And I have to say that it was a completely different one -- both better and worse -- from the first time.

Let me first say that I was WAY more nervous the second time around. Perhaps because I actually knew what to expect. The first time, adrenaline started the minute the door plane closed and continued for a few days afterward. This time, the adrenaline wouldn't last as long, or help me through the hours before my jump.

Let me also add, it's not real wise to do youtube searches for videos of skydiving accidents the night before you jump. Call me morbid.

I jumped in a new location this time, in Winsted, MN, where the tandem instructor I had last year...Jumpin' Joe, formerly known as Crazy Joe, had opened his own place.

My nerves subsided by the time I got to the airport and started talking to Joe. His mixture of humor ("We haven't had a death, yet, which means we could have one any day") and intensity and passion for jumping helps keep you calm.

My last order of business was to hug my kids, hand them all my possessions, and tell them if it looked like something was going wrong when I jumped, to turn around and not watch.

As my plane took off, a Zen-like calm came over me as I realized that if I did have to die, this might not be that bad of a way to do it, other than the guarantee of no open casket funeral.

The view this time was so much better. Last year's jump was in flatland farm country in Wisconsin. This year's jump was in flatland farm country in Minnesota. But there were lakes. Thousands of them. Which I guess is how this state got it's nickname. Crazy.

But you could also see the famed lake of the Twin Cities, Lake Minnetonka, as well as the skyline of downtown Minneapolis.

As the moment of truth arrived, and they opened the door on the small Cessna plane, it was me leaning out over the edge of the wheel with 10,000 feet of air between me and the ground. There really are no words to describe this feeling. The wind is whipping you before you even begin to plummet at 125 miles per hour.

And as Joe and I tipped out of the plane, unlike last year, we tumbled backward and did a few flips as we left the plane behind and watched it soar into the distance.

The free fall experience is something you also can't put into words that aptly describe it. You really are flying at this point, albeit because of gravity, not wings. Nearly twice as fast as you typically are going down the freeway in your car.

I love the peacefulness of the descent after the chute opens, but the free fall is what keeps me coming back. Maybe it's the rush of knowing you're dropping like a lead weight toward Earth, and there is still a chance that the chute won't open. Cheating death. It can become addicting.

And while it's not the same thing, if you'd like to at least see what I experienced (even though it doesn't really do it justice), check it out here:

http://realxstream.com//video/5v6ghhz908z664tl

And if you ever find yourself with the opportunity to take life by the balls, do it. After all, life isn't a dress rehearsal. Happy jumping!

GUEST COLUMN: From my friend G, who is from Canada, which explains her weird spelling

I finally belong....

The 2010 college football season is about to begin and there are no words to describe the way I feel about this game, or how it has changed my life.

About 3 years ago I was inadvertently led to an online football message board and while there I started to get to know some real down to earth, genuine people. Each day I’d post about some random topics and engage in everyday conversation and banter.

These average folks posting along with me live in small town America and truly love their football. Some might say it's because they have nothing else to think about and nothing else to do, but I think they have something more than most. I think they belong to something simple, yet unspoken, I know they belong to something more than just a game.

It seemed peculiar to me at the time, their unusual relationship to football and their relationship to each other, but as I got to know them I realized that they were bound to one another. Their Hawkeyes connected them and I was intrigued, like a science experiment I was drawn to uncover the secrets to the bond they formed.

At first I tried to buy into what they were selling, but I will be honest I thought those young guys tossing a football around in tight pants were just kids and the people who loved the game just got together to drink beer and hang out with other like minded. I didn't know a “drop back” from a “drop kick” and I definitely didn’t realize why these people would count down the days until the next season started.

And now look at me, I’m counting down the hours like some love-sick teenager who spent an hour on the phone with her boyfriend, but is waiting for it to get dark so she can climb through her bedroom window just to spend whatever time she can with him. I admit it, it’s addicting. The more time I have had, the more time I want, and I never want it to end.

This probably seems a bit foolish to anyone who doesn’t love college football, especially the Hawkeyes the way I do and I am continuously questioning how it all happened. All I can say is that something transpired the first time I went to a game in Iowa City. On that crisp October morning I tailgated on the streets with almost complete strangers; I simply never felt alone, or uncomfortable. I was scooped up and taught immediately that being a part of game-day was full of tradition, a deep faith, a powerful loyalty, and patience for what’s meant to be.

To be part of this relationship you had to have staying power and you had to believe, always believe. Those Iowa Hawkeye fans never give up on their team and they never give up on anyone who comes along, curious about what they have, someone like me. They continue to embrace me, not only during the actual season, but each and every day until a new season starts. Talk about loyalty and faith, huh?

I don’t pretend to know what this season holds for my team; whether they will be winners or losers, and frankly I don’t care, that isn’t why I am here. You should know though that the promises by experts are that it will be an awesome year, with the word “championship” written all over the place.

If you are reading any predictions when it comes to college football, you won’t read an article anywhere regarding the Hawks that doesn’t state the expectation they will go far, further than they ever have in their history. Doesn’t that just make you want to watch one Saturday morning to see if “they” are right? I do.

It’s so tempting to think I am just star struck, and you know what I’m not going to lie, I am. When those eleven players walk out onto the field I get goose bumps, my heart swells with pride, and it’s a feeling I can’t describe.

I will tell you this though, my being enamoured with the Hawks has nothing to do with them winning, it is because I know those young men play each Saturday because I am there, and because I care and that is why I belong to the Hawkeyes.

It is why I also belong to the tens of thousands of other followers just like me, who shout each week, for 12 weeks, “LET’S GO HAWKS, LET’S GO HAWKS, LET’S GO HAWKS!” Every chance they get.

Yes My Car Is Possessed. But You're A Jerk. And I Can Fix My Car

So I'm snoozing away, minding my own business, when I get a call at 1:53 a.m. from a number I didn't recognize.

"Mr. Clem, this is Officer Miller with the Plymouth Police Department. We are here on the scene at *my address here* where there has been a noise complaint because your car alarm is going on and off all night."

"Ok, I'll be down to take care of it."

My car pisses me off sometimes. Ever since a small leak developed in the seal around my sunroof, anytime it rains, water seems to be collecting in the fuse box area inside the car, which is wreaking havoc with my electrical system.

Sometimes the door locks will just lock and unlock randomly. Sometimes the dome light will just decide it wants to stay on all night, no matter if you have it in the off position. Sometimes a taillight will work, sometimes it won't. And yes, sometimes, the car alarm decides to go off randomly.

I've been meaning to get it fixed, but was somewhat reliant on receiving my tax refund for 2007 and 2009 from the government. Now that that has FINALLY happened, I've got an appointment scheduled for early next week to get it repaired.

But back to the problem at hand. It's 1:58 a.m., and I can't find my flip flops. I knew I left them by the front door, but the kids must have moved them. I wander around in a sleepy haze, trying to find them without turning on the lights. Then I decide I'm just going to shove my stinky feet into my stinky hiking shoes because I really, really, really want to go back to sleep.

As I go out the front door of my apartment building, I notice not one, but TWO squad cars parked next to my vehicle. As I walk closer, one squad car peels away and parks about 25 yards behind, shining his lights on me as I approach the other police car. As I get within 5 feet, the female officer in the squad car looks jolted, and jumps out quickly as if she is preparing for me to launch a vicious attack or something.

I explain to her that I was the owner of the car she had just called, and was going to move my car to the unattached underground parking for the night, where nobody would be able to hear my alarm.

After a lecture about proper car maintenance and telling me I needed to update my DMV address, she moved aside so I could move my car to the underground parking.

And then I saw the notes. Two of them. Stuffed under my windshield wiper on the driver side. I pulled them out and read them. The top one said "RUDE! TOO LOUD!"

The bottom note read "Your Car Alarm is TOO SENSITIVE! It went off all night. I reported this noise pollution to the office. One more night & will report to police."

One more night, my ass.

And let me clarify, oh anonymous note writing neighbor. Despite the rumor to the contrary, not every man thinks of his car as an emotional attachment, or as a means to make up for a lack of height, size, or girth. I don't control my car. I don't like it when the car alarm goes off. So please stop calling me rude for my car's actions.

Secondly, oh note writer, you may want to edit your time frame for calling the cops before you leave it next time.

Thirdly, I'm getting my car fixed next week. When are you going to do something to fix your approach to life and people? Why don't you leave a note on my car to let me know.

xoxox,

Clemmy

I'm ready for the boom

I don't know when exactly I fell in love with the Iowa Hawkeyes.

I know it was before Hayden Fry came along to save the football program from near death.

Because I remember walking to school wearing my Hawkeye shirt, and getting made fun of by my Cyclone and Nebraska fan classmates.

But I will tell you that my love affair with the Hawkeyes has not waivered in over 30 years. Not once. It's in my blood. Win or lose.

My ex-wife, well, she probably wished she was the Hawkeyes at some point, I'd imagine.

Luckily for me, I've created two monsters in my sons. They both have their Hawkeye #12 Ricky Stanzi jerseys. They both talk about the Hawkeyes and the state of Iowa as if it is a religious experience for them. When we drove past the Gophers' TCF Stadium (The TCF stands for Terrible College Football, fyi), my kids yelled out "That's where the Hawkeyes are going to smash the Gophers this fall!"

I mean, come on, my oldest son is named Nile. (If you don't know who Nile is in Hawkeye lore, read here.

I'm happy that I get to share that experience with them, the same way I got to experience it with my parents. Growing up, Saturdays meant get the chores done so we could listen to the game on the radio, or watch it on TV (which was much less frequently back in the old days).

And they've learned very quickly that as a Hawkeye fan, we don't whine about losing. Only Nebraska fans do that.

So, my blog tonight has very little in the way of a point. Except that we're now less than 19 days away from the kickoff of the 2010 Hawkeye Football Season...and me, I'm ready for the boom.

GO HAWKS!

Not excited enough? Then click this link now.

The Silver Lining, I Kan Seez It.

I refuse to let this crap get the best of me.

I will not let the negative energy drag me down.

I'm focusing on the positives, such as:

• I am 93.6 percent sure that I'm more knowledgeable about head lice than everyone in North America except for whatever guy did all the research papers I read online.
  
• I've learned that my sons really, really, really, really, really don't want me to move away from them. Given some tough times in the last few years with my youngest, in particular, this brought a tear to my eye.
  
• I know who my friends are. And they make sure I know they are there.
  
• I still have my sense of humor. It's my medicine in life. If you can't laugh at the crap in life, you're going to be pulling a Mona Lisa for the vast majority of your life.
  
• I'm employed. I have a roof over my head, and more importantly Nile's and Grady's heads. I have my car and the repo men aren't anywhere nearby.
  
• I have two awesome sons. I mean we're talking 101.2 percent awesome. They're far from perfect, but they know I don't expect them to be. I just expect them to learn from their mistakes in life. As I am still doing.
  
• I am not as schadenfreude as some people. Which is nice. And schadenfreudian.
  
• I'm pretty sure that I'm going to survive pretty much anything at this point in life. Which makes me a ninja.
  
• I still haven't been arrested, so I'm doing something right."
  
• Football season is only 28 days away.

GO HAWKS! And remember to accentuate the positive!

The Two Wolves: A Cherokee Story about Native Wisdom

Thank you to Amy H. for posting this on my Facebook page tonight. I absolutely love it. First appeared somewhere else, a long time ago:

A Grandfather from the Cherokee Nation was talking with his grandson.

"A fight is going on inside me," he said to the boy.

"It is a terrible fight and it is between two wolves."

"One wolf is evil and ugly: He is anger, envy, war, greed, self-pity, sorrow, regret, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, selfishness and arrogance."

"The other wolf is beautiful and good: He is friendly, joyful, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, justice, fairness, empathy, generosity, true, compassion, gratitude, and deep VISION."

"This same fight is going on inside you, and inside every other human as well."

The grandson paused in deep reflection because of what his grandfather had just said. Then he finally cried out; "Oyee! Grandfather, which wolf will win?"

The elder Cherokee replied, "The wolf that you feed."

What I've Learned

As I near my 40th birthday next month, I've realized that there is at least one advantage of being older than dirt... knowledge.

I've learned some great lessons in my first 39.9 years. I hope to apply the wisdom in my next 39.9.

So here are some thoughts from an old, balding, almost 40-year-old guy. Take them for what they are worth.

- You are lucky if you find love and it lasts. If it doesn't last, you we're still lucky.

- When you have some money, enjoy it. It can disappear fast...so there's no harm in spoiling yourself once in awhile.

- Cherish the moments you have with your children. They do, I hear, eventually stop listening to you for a good 5-10 years.

- Appreciate your friends and family when you are with them. None of us are here forever.

- A night of eating, drinking, and making merry can cure all of your ills for the time being.

- Don't hold grudges. Or rattlesnakes.

- Make sure at least once in your life, you allow yourself to wake up and walk along a beach on the ocean.

- Women who wear capri's, a baseball jersey, and a baseball cap with a ponytail are perfection.

- You really can't go back. But it doesn't mean you have to forget.

- Hug your mom.

- When you wake up tomorrow, after you check all your extremities to make sure they work, remember to be glad you've got another day to screw shit up.

My Dead Cat

My cat, Rosie* died two years ago this summer.

* (Disclaimer: My sons named her. Not. Me.)

Well so she didn't totally die. Guess she technically has eight lives left.

But I remember her death vividly. I went off to a college friend's wedding in Dallas, and left my cat with my ex wife to have my sons watch her for the long weekend.

After a little bit of time in the NWA/Delta VIP Lounge at MSP Airport, my buddy, Gingo, and I boarded the plane for what was my virgin first class flight. By the time we arrived in Dallas, we were feeling JUST fine.

As we checked into our hotel, hours later than planned due to some beer-fueled detours, I got a phone call from Minnesota.

"I am kind of afraid that your cat is dead," my ex whispered into the phone. She whispers often when talking, both in person and on the phone, but she does it extra quietly when she has really bad news.

"What?" I asked back, mostly because I truly didn't hear what she said.

"I think my dog ate your cat today."

Now, many things flashed through my mind at that moment, but not once did I entertain the notion that her dog - remember the MINI-dachshund? - had eaten my cat.

"I'm betting she is just hiding, she's in a new place, and is likely hiding someplace where the dog can't find her," I said in my slightly buzzed state of calmness.

"Well, I went outside, and I found a carcass. All that is left is a bit of tail, and it looks like the same color hair as your cat had."

Ok, wait, is it physically possible for a mini-dachshund to eat a cat? My intuition said no, and I told her that it was probably a squirrel or raccoon skeleton that the dog had found nearby.

"No, I'm 99 percent sure this is your cat."

The last sentence would keep me guessing.

As I hung up the phone, not sure what I was supposed to do from Texas, my friends in the background were all breaking out in laughter, with all of them very familiar with the kind of relationship my ex and I had going back to the beginning.

"So, there's a chance that my cat is dead, but I'm guessing more likely it just got outside or is hiding." My friends know that I will be making jokes, as will they, about dead cats for the rest of the evening.

The humor was stifled for a moment when I got a second call from my ex's phone. It was both my sons, crying hysterically into the phone about how they hated their dog for eating their cat.

I spent a few minutes reassuring them that we didn't know what had happened to the cat yet, and that she could just be cleverly hiding, or got out, but will find her way back.

The fact that they said they never wanted pets again almost broke my heart. Especially since we didn't KNOW what had happened yet. But I couldn't undo that thought for them at that moment.

The next morning, a rather groggy minded, slightly achy me answered a bright and early phone call from my ex's phone again. "DAD WE FOUND HER! SHE WAS HIDING BEHIND THE FURNACE!" I heard two little voices screaming into the phone in unison.

After a conversation ranging from how they never really thought the little dog could eat their cat, to what kind of special treat they were going to give Rose the dead cat, I hung up and rolled over and tried to sleep.

But every time I tried to, I would start to laugh knowing that this was one occasion I felt very good to be right.

Now, a regular greeting for Rose when we return home from both boys is "Hi Rose, remember the time you died?" or "Hey Rosie, remember when Daisy ate you?"

And I smile to myself. To rip off Harry Chapin as I bid you goodnight, my boys are just like me.

Yippee Ki Yay, Mr. Banker Man, I'm Hittin' The Trail

Dear Mr. CEO of My Bank of 11 plus years:

Please accept this letter as my official two weeks notice as your customer. As soon as I finally get the automatic deposit of my long overdue tax refund, I'll be filling out a withdrawal slip for the full amount of my account that day.

With your recent $25 billion acquisition of one of your failing competitors, I can understand how you may not have time to hear from a customer. No I'm not a commercial customer. Nope I'm not a CEO like you. No, I just have been banking with your place for awhile, and thought I'd let you know why I'm leaving.

I'm sure you are aware that times are tough. I hope that your bonus this year was wisely invested. But if it wasn't, perhaps you can get another $25 billion bailout from the Federal government? Or perhaps get an additional $25 billion tax break for buying another failing competitor?

And during these tough times, your bank has steadily become a place where I am no longer a person, but instead a risk or reward, identified by a routing and account number, and PIN code.

Your personal bankers are not allowed to be personal. They are trained to be robots who follow your edicts passed down through your layers and layers of management to the front line.

I realize that I am responsible for some of my frustrations regarding my bank account with you. I will own that much. But there also comes a time where you have to take some ownership as well. And I don't mean of more of our tax dollars.

Anyway, Mr. CEO, thanks for taking time to read this. I need to run now because one of your competitors is running a promotion to sign up new accounts. I see the bankers there everyday through my job, and they know me on a first name basis, and ask about my kids and my store. They don't just do it because they want my business. They do it because that's what people do with one another. Interact. And give a shit.

So I'm going to wander on down the trail, now, Mr. CEO. I know you've probably got a yacht party or wine tasting or charity event or something to go to. Have a great weekend, and I know you won't lose any sleep over losing my little tiny checking account with you. But don't worry, the feeling is mutual.

Sincerely,

Your Now Former Customer.

Permanent Mexican Vacation Anyone?

"O h, Mexico. It sounds so sweet with the sun sinking low. Moons so bright like to light up the night. Make everything all right" _ James Taylor, "Mexico"

Today has been one of those days where I'm so tempted to pack up what I can fit into my little car and start driving south.

All I would need for sure would be some cash, my passport, some shorts, t-shirts and flip flops. Probably my laptop too.

I'd probably head west to Arizona, then south to Puerto Vallarta. I'd sleep in my car along the way, and live off chili dogs from the Kwik-E-Mart.

When I arrive in Puerto Vallarta, I'd probably head to the downtown bars first. Because that's what one should do in Puerto Vallarta.

Then I'd set up shop that week selling photographs and short stories on the beach. I'd sell them cheap, too, because all I would need to pay for is a bed, a roof, some food, and some cervezas.

Life for me would be cut down to the bare essentials. Work, sure, but only to pay for the good things in life, and most of them are free. The sun. Dancing to the vibrant music. Enjoying the sound of the ocean. The smell of authentic Mexican food cooking in the distance.

I'd spend my days on the beach, peddling my wares, and my nights enjoying the cool ocean breeze off the bay of banderas, hopefully on a balcony on the mountainside, sipping a cold Bohemia.

And everything would be all right.

Nile and Grady, some day I hope you know how lucky you are that your dad loves you more than the above scenario.