Blue Skies

For whatever reason I started my fourth hour today talking about George McConnell and Samantha Johns' "Snowfuck."  Explaining this to them went about as well as you would expect - whether you know the show or not.  I remember why - I was thinking about music.  George this morning posted the song "Blue Skies" which is a painfully beautiful song that I first heard during the painfully beautiful "The Thing."  (a flavorful sample of their work can be seen here.)

I was thinking about The Killers (whose song I Can't Stay has held a similar beauty/pain in my heart for the past few weeks), and about how all these kids in front of me knew them already, and more and were carrying these little bits of beauty and sadness in the form of music we hadn't heard or known about.  But we still didn't know about the music they had.  So I asked them about music and talked with them about The Killers and Noah and the Whale and ultimately Snowfuck and The Thing.  I ended up on a bit of a rant.

Part of my internal narrative is that as I age (grow up) I would mature out of states of emotional turbulence.  I shouldn't limit that to my internal narrative - that is how we tend to talk about 'growing up' isn't it?  We tell people who are upset about this or that to grow up (unless we justify their turbulent state - death or a breakup - at least for a period of time).  My Mom once said to me that being an adult meant being able to cope with difficult circumstances while being able to carry on in other parts of life.  I was an emotional kid, and while feeling down was a serious bummer, I also frequently felt up, which was amazing.  I figured adulthood would provide me with a more stable emotional life, with the highs and lows replaced with some abstract sense of tranquility and inner-peace.

Well I'm starting to call bullshit on that one.  Certainly there is some peace out there for us to access from time to time, when my schedule relinquishes me for a moment or two.  Much more enjoyable were those periods in my 'youth' where I touched on something risky and powerful; when I was nearly incapacitated by my feelings.  This was called drama by me and others.  Drama!  Look out!

When I made my attempt at explaining the strange and beautiful performances, my students balked.  The scene from The Thing that persisted for me, that is intractable from the song Blue Skies, was two characters lightly boxing or wrestling, then locking eyes and facing off.  They looked like they were about to fight or make out, and they sort of did both.  It was an intimate moment - it looked unrehearsed.  It was intimate.  One pulled out a sandwich, took a bite, then the other took a bite and suddenly they were kissing - this tender moment mediated by a pb&j.  But my students weren't having it - 'you paid to see that??'

So I tried again - a friend in high school crushed on someone, took an opportunity in an elevator and kissed him - no words - and they went on their way.  My kids demanded to know what happened to them - did they get married, and so on.  This moment was more recognizable to them but still did not fit the narratives they knew.  It was an episode, I told them; it was a moment suspended in time, just like the first.  Two people acting on an impulse that drew them together.  Here I held up my hands like puppets with closed mouths and drew them together, like for a kiss.  Don't we all just wish that would happen to us, I said.  These moments so beautiful they almost hurt.

Maybe I'm waking up from something; I can't really justify not knowing The Killers.  But discovering them was truly an exciting moment.  Here was a range of songs that I thoroughly enjoyed, some of them beyond reason, and they seemed to just appear on my horizon.  Blue Skies was similar.  These songs articulate something beautiful and sad.  They seem to capture a suspended moment of potential.  The songs have a deadline, a finish, and when we rehearse them, play them back again and again they lose something.  They age.

The Thing, like a lot of the work from George McConnell and Samantha Johns, also generated a charged gap between me and my hopes, the beauty and excitement of a potential connection and the sadness of our longing for that connection.  Those works felt immediate, unrehearsed.  I've sometimes wondered if watching TV and movies of the moments we hope for in our lives is like rehearsing them.  How can we avoid measuring our experiences against those we see?  How refreshing to see a performance that felt like listening to great music for the first time.  Hearing that song again brought me right back there.

I'm not sure what part of me is horizonal at this time, experiencing that gap.  Maybe that's just part of being a person.  I finished my rant to my students and with some effort pulled back on course.  I was shaky and distracted.  These pop songs like candy.  Fleeting, unfulfilling, earth-shattering songs.

Thanks for reading!

Winter Biking Part Duex

Steph Hart had a great suggestion for staying warm in the wintery breeze in the comments section of the last post.  It reminded me of a few extra little tidbits concerning winter biking.

First of all, as C pointed out, how far you are biking can have a big impact on how to dress.  I bike about 5 miles, most of which is uphill on my way in.  That generally means I am chilled when I start and warm by the time I reach the 3 mile mark.  If I was only biking 2 miles, I would probably dress warmer.  Also, C used to bike 10 miles (both ways!) to work, which meant that her extremities would get way colder by the time she arrived.  Even the secret trick of putting baggies under her boots didn't keep her feet warm on those extra cold days.

Speaking of baggies, there are some indispensable bits of apparel that I neglected to mention, the most important of which is the neck gator.  I have a lovely smartwool gator ($30 at Midwest Mountaineering) that has kept me warm for 4 years of winters.  I only wear it when it gets below freezing - it is hard to adjust the gator like you can a scarf if you get warm.  Another must for those super cold days are wrist warmers or long gloves.  I have some knit wrist warmers that someone left at the River House after a party a few years ago.  They are homemade with little thumb holes and I wear them under my gloves on extra chilly rides.

Most important is to find what works for you.  I'd rather be too cold than too warm, so I err towards less clothes - you may be different.  I hope these posts encourage you to treat the colder weather as just a new type of biking - not a no bike zone.  Especially when there isn't much snow and ice on the ground, biking in the cold is pretty much the same as biking any other time.  Try it this Friday!  You won't regret it!  Thanks for reading!  

Winter Bike Minneapolis!

Hey folks!

After those last few posts, time to lighten things up a bit with some post-holiday bicycle cheer! As many of you know, I am (or lately, attempt to be) a year-round bicycle commuter. I'm so proud of myself for that I even put it on my grad school application. It isn't the easiest thing to do, but it is much easier than it appears at first, and it has so many benefits that once you get going it can be tough to stop!

I'll spare you my hyperbolic praise of winter biking for the time being, and give a short overview of how I manage to be a world-class athlete without being anything close to a world-class athlete.  I should title this "Winter Biking is for Everyone!"  I'm going to give an overview of how I dress for success when I pedal through our winterwonderland.

Alright - so it's cold now, and admittedly if you are not already riding your bike it will be tough to start now.  It's best to have a nice biking routine going in the nicer weather for that transition to winter.  But it's not too late to look like a hero just by showing up to work!  I for one am in the worst shape of my life, my body is practically falling to pieces but I biked this morning!  5 miles!  Uphill!  Through three feet of snow! ... But seriously you can always hop on your bike.

I ride a 12 speed Motobacane from the 70s - road tires, no front brakes and I never shift, ever.  You can ride one of those fancy fattie tire bikes but you can ride absolutely anything.  I'd recommend trying whatever bike you would ride during the summer months.  Whatever you are comfortable on.  There is a tiny chance you will fall if you keep it up (I fall maybe once or twice a winter - often on the same ride), so not anything too delicate.  Once you have your bike, head to your winter gear basket cause it's chilly outside!

Biking is different than walking - your body is more active and there is more wind.  Scarfs and gloves rather than heavier coats.  That kind of thing.

Everyone is different temperature-wise but there are a few rules of thumb for dressing well for winter biking.  Try to be a little chilled when you leave.  If you are warm at the start of your bike ride, you will be overheated before long.  Your fingers, face and toes might get cold, but if your core is warm you are warm.  Unless you go out bare-chested, your core will be warm.  Today, at +10 degrees, I wore my work clothes (button down plus sweater) under a windbreaker shell with no lining and I was never cold.  I don't wear much more than a sweater until it gets below freezing.  Don't over dress beneath a windbreaker - you will bake.  For me that's no more than 3 layers under a windbreaker until it gets well below 0.  I'll double up sweaters at +20 or +30 and be comfortably warm after a mile or so.

I almost always wear regular chinos or cords or whatever pants I wear to work when I bike, unless it gets below 0, then I add a layer of windpants or something.  My legs were chilly today, but didn't make me cold.  If you wear skirts or dresses, warm leggings is a must below about +20 (so I'm told).

Worry about your hands, face/head and feet.  I wear a light balaclava on my head/face all winter (under my helmet!) - nothing else, and my head is always fine.  I pull it over my face at 32 degrees.  I generally have a scarf around my neck, which is helpful for temperature regulation when I start getting warm.  When it gets below +10 or so, I'll pull the scarf over my mouth and nose.  My breath then keeps my nose and eyes warm.  If you are out for a while, or if it is windy, ski goggles are a good idea, but I have not found a good way to keep them from fogging up, so I don't wear them unless it is below -10.  I have light and heavy gloves, which do the job.  I wear the lights from +40 to +20, and the heavies below +20.

My first winter, I over-estimated how much to wear every time the temperature dropped.  This isn't a huge deal, but it does make for an uncomfortable ride and a smelly morning.  If you underdress, you will be chilled for a while but you will warm up, and you will know for next time.  It took a few weeks, but I found the right clothes for me for the temperature ranges I faced each morning.

Thursday and Friday of this week both look nice - get out the bike!  It will be in the low 30s - wear your normal clothes, a light hat and gloves and a light jacket and you should be fine!  Remember, be a bit chilled when you start and you will feel great when you arrive!  If your core is warm you are warm!  Good luck and thanks for reading!  

The Borderland Between Sick and Well

In a scene of The Great Gatsby, Nick Carraway mentions how ill George, another character, looks.  Fitzgerald then gives him one of the many profound lines of the novel: "It occurred to me that there was no difference between men, in intelligence or race, so profound as the difference between the sick and the well."

I have struggled with this distinction.  Foucault and queer theory have struggled with any distinction.  I am not what I experience, nor a tidy sum of my actions or beliefs.  Sometimes I am sick, sometimes I am well.  Much more frequently I am both.

The more clear distinctions happen rarely - though they have both happened recently.

I was in the hospital a few weeks ago with a UTI.  This simple little SOB landed me in Abbott for three days.  Some people, god knows why, talk their way into a hospital.  I generally resist going in and spend most of my time in trying to get out.  I've thought about being that guy who sneaks out, but I respect most of my doctors and nurses.  Besides, this time, I was sick.  Like, sick sick.

This has happened to me a few times; I go from feeling fine - you and me fine - to asking for a ride to the ER because I can't hold anything down and I've got a climbing fever of 103 or 104.  This typically takes six to eight hours.  I undergo a profound transformation from the time I walk in the door, clothed in my clothes, my wrists free from hospital plastic wrist bands, looking and feeling like a healthy person.  This is when I feel awful, but am still my own person - sick but not hospital sick.  Not naked in the gown.  I might lean on a wall for support but I am leaning with my shirt sleeves, with my phone in my pocket, with my shoes on.

An hour later I am in the gown, toting an IV pole.  And I am seen anew.  The hospital is the place where I am home.  Think about that.  Where are you 'home?'  When I walk through a hospital for some other reason I am a visitor - passing through this land of the sick, this quarantine of disease and infirmity.  I think of the hospital as hallways doorways and elevators.  Transience.  A place to pass through.  When I am 'sick,' the hospital is a room, a bed from which I move reluctantly and with caution.  It is the space between my bed and the bathroom.  Asking for another blanket.  Asking for a glass of water.  Asking for a drug to make me feel less nauseous.  Being asked to take four deep breaths.  Listening to the ragged breath of the guy sharing my room.  I'm pretty sure he never left.  In the hospital I am attended to.  I can ask for things.  I give up something to gain access to this treatment.  Perhaps this is what Fitzgerald was talking about when describing George Wilson, desperate with jealousy - a person loses a piece of themselves to sickness or death when the hospital is the place from where they exist.

I imagine a struggle for nurses as well, working with dozens of partial people every day, humans at a valley of dignity.  On the one hand there is so much suffering in the humanity of these people, of me in a bed, dirty, unshowered, weak and emasculated - how could a nurse remain open to such suffering while administering care within the confines of a hospital.  There are only so many kinds of nurses, and at the heart of it just two - those who see patients as humans and those who cannot.  I do not fault those who cannot - I cannot.  What an awful place to be; sick.

Being well is much more familiar to us - to you, really.  Biking to work on a crisp morning, passing cars at a stop light, dodging potholes, having cold thighs taut with blood.  Powering up a hill with some leg left at the top.  This is being well.  It is miraculous, and the gift of being so often sick is to have ready access to that miracle.  Feeling the cold wind on my face is sometimes everything.  The unmitigated world is a miracle, but the condition of this experience is wellness.

Most of the time I live between sick and well.  I'm like a spy, surveilling the country of the well, passing as not-sick.  I don't make a habit of talking about why I missed school, or how I spent my weekend trying to catch up on sleep and work.  But I do those things - miss school and sleep a lot.  I struggle to carry my share along with my guilt for not always carrying it.  I navigate the collateral damage my health inflicts on the people who love me.

I standardize my answers; I rarely know how to talk about myself, or about my weekend.  I lie outright sometimes, which comforts me as much as it does them.  I sometimes enjoy the secret, that I am secretly sick and most people would never know.  Other times I feel alienated and alone in the middle of a crowd - that people do not know my reality.

Of course these experiences are not uniquely mine, but I may experience them more profoundly than most.  We all attend to the various unfolding crises of our lives.  And many of us exist in the space between things.

Nick Carraway eventually abandoned the jaded East to return to the cultural subtitles of the Middle West.  The hard, defined living with the likes of Jordan and Tom and Daisy didn't suit his temperament and he went home.  Plurality affords him a more flexible interpretation of who he is, and that seems to suit him.  Thanks for reading!