23:46

I set out on my first real 5k to break 24 minutes, and even though the second mile of the annual Lake Run's 5k worked me over pretty good, I hit my goal with 14 seconds to spare. I'd like to say that some year I'll tackle the 12k part of the race, which goes all the way around Oswego Lake, but who knows.  One step at a time . . .

Perhaps the Funniest Book I've Ever Read

It's not easy to write humor. 

Sure, a lot of writers think their writing is funny, but usually it's not. True, written-word humor takes just the right touch. 

Dan Kennedy seems to have that touch. I've never laughed so hard while reading a book. Granted, it could be the subject matter — the modern-day music industry via a somewhat cynical, albeit temporary insider.  It could be his matter-of-fact facetiousness. I don't necessarily know. Whatever it is, it's funny. 

But in Rock On, Kennedy also has a way of giving that humor meaning, like when he talks about Iggy Pop trashing the VIP section of a concert — proof that real rock still exists somewhere — or how it's OK to be an irony-free band like Kiss. 

Kennedy also struck a nerve with me by capturing the true draw of music: the over-and-over listening, the visions that music paints, the way going to a show can make you feel like a high school kid on a Friday night, not wanting to miss a thing. 

That, and it's funny, funny too. 

In Vino Veritas IV

It's bottled!

Last week, Stewart, Steve, and I bottled our 2007 Pinot Gris. We had a few samples along the way, and everyone's excited about it. It's tasting light and crisp, with hints of pear and melon and maybe even a little tropical fruit.

 

Stewart borrowed an old-school corker from work, and we bottled about four and a half gallons of wine in some clear bottles he'd scored as well. We didn't add any more sulfite for fear of what too much would do. Plus, with just eight bottles each, it probably won't last long enough that we'd need to be concerned with preserving it for an extended period anyway. 

Now we wait about three weeks or so. In the meantime, we'll come up with a name — Stewart suggested Bee Sting Gris since Steve got stung back when we picked the grapes — and do a little labeling. Then it's time for a crab dinner and release party. Should be a vintage to remember. . .

The View from Kauai

Just a few shots from a wonderful escape to Kauai, not only for a dear friend's wedding, but also for a rejuvenation of the soul. What a place...

The Napali Coast along the first two miles of the Kalalau Trail. 

Tunnels Beach on the north shore of Kauai.

A spinner dolphin during a cruise up the Napali Coast that included flying fish, green sea turtles, and loads of breaching humpback whales.

The Super Bowl at Silver Falls

Cabin number 6 at Silver Falls State Park

To me, there's always something refreshing, renewing and invigorating about even the smallest getaways that's simply good for the soul. It's especially so when getting outside and experiencing something nice and new.

After a few weeks of too much rain, too much time at home and too much of the same old same old, we booked a small cabin at Silver Falls State Park near Silverton to just get away. We've headed there before to tread the Trail of Ten Waterfalls, but it's been years. Too many, as it turns out.

Despite some sun breaks on Sunday and visions of kicking the soccer ball around with Madeline at Silver Falls, the park itself was essentially buried under at least a foot of snow. The roads were plowed of course, and our cabin was warm and lit, waiting for us, when we pulled up. But the trailheads were snowed under, the viewpoint turnouts buried, and snowballs much more at home than any soccer ball.

But the snow made it festive — and new for Madeline — and just outside our cabin, Silver Creek shushed by under massive Douglas Firs and hemlocks. The cabin was small but charming, with a front porch for cooking, a front living room and a back bedroom with bunk beds and a double bed. Throw in a microwave, a fridge, some speakers for the iPod, a little wine, and the Super Bowl on the radio, and we were set. 

Even though I'm not a huge football fan anymore — once a diehard Browns fan, I swore off the NFL when they moved the Browns out of Cleveland back in '95 or '96— I still appreciate a good game and the spectacle that is the Super Bowl. Mind you, it's not enough to keep me in town; past Super Bowl Sundays have found me climbing Mt. McLouglin or camping on the Oregon Coast. 

But we'd listened to the first half of Sunday's game on the way down to the park, and I checked the score again on the car radio with about four minutes to go. The circumstances of the contest were too much to resist, so we all — including our black lab, Oliver — huddled in the car to catch the last and most tense minutes of the game. When it was over, I had the satisfaction of knowing how the game had gone without any of the letdown and emptiness that almost always accompanies Super Bowl games and the commercials and the halftime shows and on and on. Plus, I was able to step back out into the snow, gaze up into a momentarily star-filled sky, and let the sounds of the great outdoors fill my ears. 

We did manage a few short snowy hikes to Upper North Falls and North Falls on Monday morning. The snow and rain mix didn't exactly thrill Madeline, and I think Oliver was bummed that he wasn't allowed on the trails, but we had gotten out and away, experienced something new, and refreshed ourselves just enough. Until next time . . .

Some late-night visitors outside the cabin. 

Live with Jason Isbell

Ah, live music. How sweet it can be.

Other than bluegrass or folk bands playing at kid-friendly outdoor venues, I have not been out to see some real live music in far too long. No excuse. At least no good ones.

But this past week, I joined my friends Erik and Ed at the Mission Theater to take in a pure and simple night of rock and roll with Jason Isbell, a former member of one of my favorite bands, the Drive-By Truckers. He's out on tour promoting a gem of a solo album, Sirens of the Ditch.

 

 www.jasonisbell.com     

The scene was surprisingly mellow, considering that the show was free and that past DBT shows I've been to in Portland have been relative mob scenes. We had no problem getting in, finding a table even, and watching and hearing pretty much every detail of the show.

A singer/songwriter named Jeremy Fisher opened the show with a pretty mellow set of acoustic tunes backed up by a pretty keyboard player. I know some of his stuff from various late-night radio shows, so it was good to put a face with a voice.

The second act was a southern singer by the name of Will Hoge, whose full band included bass, drums, keys, a lead guitar, and his own rhythm guitar. The music was intense and driven, heavy, southern-flavored rock with plenty of slide guitar and crashing drums. But Hoge's voice, with its powerful rasp and soulful current, was clearly the light. Think  Joe Cocker and Lenny Kravitz, Gregg Allman and Chris Robinson of the Black Crowes. It was hard not to be entranced when he sang quiet numbers like the spot-on anti-war paean "Bible vs. Gun" or "When I Can Afford to Lose"; hard not to be overwhelmed by the guitars and heartbreak of songs like "Silver or Gold."  I'm a new fan.

And then Isbell came on with his band, the 400 Unit, which includes bass, drums, guitars, and subtle keyboards. He opened with the first track off his new album, "Brand New Kind of Actress," and filled his set with a good mix of cuts from said album as well as some of his best material from his DBT days, including "Decoration Day," "Never Gonna Change," and one of my all-time favorites, "Outfit." Isbell's also got an incredible indictment of the war called "Dress Blues," about a high school friend of his who was killed in Iraq two days before he was to ship home for the birth of his first child. I wish more of these songs about the war would get some airplay, but at least they're out there, somewhere.

So it was a fantastic night of the kind of music that really resonates with me: honest and real; lyrical and literary; subtle at times, loud and forceful at others. It was the kind of night that inspires any musician to pick up his guitar, get behind his drums, or grab a pen and start making music that matters. 

Here's to more nights like these.

Justice?

Not really. 

But the cops did manage to recover some of the goods that were stolen from me a few weeks ago while working in an office in the Pearl District. 

I actually got a call from the officer at 2 a.m. Tuesday morning. (He works the night shift and thought the number I'd provided was a business line. But still, 2 a.m.?) Anyway, he'd pulled over a car in northeast Portland with four familiar thieves in it, and among all the other stolen loot were my briefcase and business cards. No laptop, of course, nor the library book that I'm being charged $30 for, but so it goes. And apparently there's nothing that links any of the guys directly to my stuff or when it was stolen, so there's likely little more to come of it.

Amy asked me tonight if I might still harbor some vengeful feelings. Of course I do. I must admit though, there's also a part of me that knows that the guy who stole from me probably has a life a lot darker than any I've ever known. That doesn't tip the scales in any way, but it does make me stop and think . . .