The Cheap Seats

Recently - thanks to Facebook - a friend of mine posted a picture that was taken 26 years ago. The picture included more than 50 "kids" who had only one thing in common - their affection and bond with each other. Fast forward to the present and many of us from that grainy snapshot have - or soon will be - sending our own children off to their freshman year in college. And if most of the people in that picture are like me, they now probably recall that first year away from home a little wistfully. We look on our children with some measure of envy for the experiences they are about to share, the friendships they will soon make and the lifelong memories they will forge.   Blakely Hall, a small dormitory on the campus of the University of Minnesota-Morris, was our home in 1985-86. I doubt any of us had a clue that late September day of the powerful and lasting imprint the ensuing nine months would have on many of us. We couldn't have imagined then that our freshmen

I seem to tire easily these days. Perhaps it's my age. God knows Friday nights look nothing like they did 20 years ago. Now they largely consist of staying awake on the drive home from work just long enough to collapse into a vegetative state on the couch. Way back when, Fridays were an event, and one that usually didn't end until the early hours of Saturday morning. Ah well, all good things . . .   But that kind of fatigue is to be expected, right? Instead, I've noticed a different kind of weariness setting in - one that has burrowed under my skin and whose sole function is to irritate. I'm talking about a growing list of "things" that are embedded into our culture that wear me out - that I often wish would go away. Repeated viewing and hearing of these items makes me unconsciously groan and roll my eyes. Near middle-aged, remember?   Warning - some of these things I'm tired of might be near and dear to your heart. My intent is not to anger anyon

Don't be fooled - they are doing it to us again. Our beloved Minnesota Vikings have surprised their entire fan base by starting the NFL season with four wins and only one loss (correction: 4-2 after last Sunday's disappointing turn of events in DC). This was an offseason of extremely low expectations, coming off a dismal 3-13 showing in 2011. So, with 1/3 of the regular season complete, many fans are already dreaming ahead to visions of playoff glory. Cue the screeching tires please. Duped. Fans are being duped. The fiercely loyal, intensely rabid, purple-loving Minnesota Vikings fans are being duped. To quote Minnesota's own Bob Dylan, "How many purple roads must a man walk down before you call him a delusional man?" Or something like that.  How many roads? Let's count them shall we. 1. 1969 - The Vikings were led by Joe Kapp, a hard-bitten warrior who's completion percentage hovered around 50%, slightly higher that the percentage of

She's gone, and it feels just as awful as I expected it would.   We went our separate ways last Sunday and I haven't seen her since. Neither of us acknowledged the relationship was over, but we both saw it coming. Slowly but persistently, nagging doubts had worked there way into my thoughts over the preceding months, probably years. For a longer time still, I ignored them, telling myself what I was feeling was normal. Still, what we had was automatic, like breathing. That was how deeply we were intertwined. And, regardless of the pain to come, that's when I knew it had to end.   I had known from the day we met that she was going to be nothing but trouble. And like most trouble, she was beautiful, inviting. At first I saw her infrequently. I didn't think much of it, or of her. I knew of her reputation - that she could be a charmer. Still, I kept her at arms length for years despite her best efforts.   Finally, after years of resistance, she broke through my