Five-oh-nine, 38 degree Hefe and Sammie the Big Shot

Ward casually speaks into his phone and asks "Give me the Wisconsin-Arizona score."

A moment later, Ward asks again,"What is the score of the Wisconsin-Arizona game?"  When nothing happens, he looks at me and says, "I don't think I'm getting a good connection.  Let me try something else."

I tilt my head up toward the wooden beams running along the ceiling and take a deep breath.  Maybe I should just get out of my chair, walk downstairs and see what the score is on the television playing in the bar area.  Standing up might feel better anyway.

"Here we go," says Ward, teasing me with a smile on his lips.  "It says.... Oh, now I lost it again."

God Almighty, I think as our waitress arrives with our green fried tomatoes, covered in a cheesy sauce and bread crumbs.  Suddenly, I have no appetite and fear that I won't unless I get good news quickly.  I close my eyes and take another breath.  Somewhere the thump, thump, thump of the music heard during someone's elimination on "Dancing with The Stars"  is playing.  Finally, from my right I hear Ward say "85-78.  Wisconsin."

"Honestly?"  I ask, as a jolt of excitement hits my body.

Ward nods and slides his finger across his phone.  "That's what it says:  Wisconsin going back to the Final Four.  Defeats Arizona 85-78."

And just like that, my weekend has suddenly gone from good to great.



We are in Galena, Illinois for a quick weekend with Betsy and Ward Jones, enjoying some fine wine and hearty beers.  It just so happens that it's during March Madness, with Wisconsin fighting for a chance to return to the Final Four in college basketball.

When Liz and I talked about making this trip, I knew there was a good chance that the Wisconsin Badgers men's team could still be playing.  As a number 1 seed, they had what it took to go far in the tournament with a possible match-up with second-seeded Arizona in the Western regional finale.  Such are the risks of going somewhere at the end of March.  Last year we were in Chicago visiting Liz's family.  This year -- it is historic Galena with friends from La Crosse.

Adding to the excitement was the annual Wine Lovers Weekend going on in Galena, one of the largest wine tasting events in the state of Illinois.  The Grand Tasting featured more than 40 distributors from across the United States with over 300 varieties of wine and spirits.  Having never been to it before, we really didn't know what to expect.  But it sounded like a good excuse to indulge our passion for tasting wine wherever we can.

By the time our shuttle dropped us off, the hall was packed with vendors, representatives from wineries throughout the country and tables full of cheese, crackers and fruit. The festival's Grand Tasting was scheduled between 4:00 and 6:00 on Saturday which meant I would be sampling someone's Riesling or Gerwertenimer about the time the Badgers and Wildcats would tip off at 5:09 p.m.

It's typical for me to wear my Wisconsin shirt on days when the Badgers are playing, so all day Saturday people in town (and the Grand tasting) would look at my shirt and say 5:09 meaning the Badgers' game.  It became kind of a secret code (or verbal high-five) for us Badger fans, signaling that we were excited about kick-off.  I was surprised to see how many Wisconsin fans there were visiting Galena, but now that I think about it, everyone is a fan of March Madness.  So why not the Badgers?

When Liz and I walked into the wine tasting hall, the man who greeted us assured me that us would announce the Badger score if we needed a quick hoops fix to get through the afternoon.  I never did ask, as it seemed out of place at a wine tasting event (like eating with your fingers at a Five Star restaurant).   But I did see a few Wisconsin fans walking among the crowd with a confident look on their faces as we bravely acknowledged each other with our 5:09 declarations.



Another Wisconsin win!  I've been saying for two weeks that all I want is one more victory...

As a Badger fan, it is indescribable how I am feeling.  Try as I may, I will never be able to act like we belong here.  For most of my life, college basketball has belonged to teams like Duke, North Carolina, Kentucky and Michigan State.  It defies all logical thought that we should be as good as them, and yet here are in the Final Four.   Again.

Maybe that's why I didn't mind missing the end of the game.  I still expect them to lose a lead in the final seconds, or embarrass themselves to blue bloods like Duke and North Carolina.  But not today.  I smile and shake my head in disbelief.  This is the most awesome feeling in the world.

Time to celebrate!  We are already celebrating at Green Fried Tomatoes, a great restaurant in Galena.  Years ago, Liz and I had enjoyed a meal at GFT when it was located outside the city limits.  We are surprised to see that they have relocated to downtown.  Osso Buco, steaks and lobster are listed on the menu, as is the obligatory green fried tomatoes.

I suggest a round of Jagermeister for the four of us, but nobody seems interested.  Or more accurately -- no one has room for a round of shots.  We are stuffed.

We have spent the afternoon and early evening at the wine tasting festival, and part of the day in Lena, IL where we drank beer at Lena Brewery.  Our friends are investors in a recently-opened micro brewery and it was our first chance to sample their collection of homemade brews, including one called Hefeweizen, or 38 degrees Hefe.

Lena Brewery opened in late January, with all the excitement of Dr. Frankenstein creating his monster and bringing it to life.

The owner, who used to brew his own beer at home, was finally able to make his passion his work.  Lena Brewery is located in an old mill building and is part of a complex featuring a furniture store, gift shop and restaurant.

The micro-brewery has a saying that "every beer has a story.  Some are even true."  We were eager to sample some of them, much to the delight of our friends the Jordans who lived nearby.  Our sample flight of beers included Scrap Iron Black IPA, Ravenscourt Park Chocolate Brown, Uncle Tyson's Dunkelweizen, Pog Mo Thoin Amber, Thrashed Oats, Bloodshed Extra Special Bitter and my favorite, 38 degree Hefe.

Ward, who thinks the world is a better place with IPAs, couldn't be happier with the dark, bitter flavor of the Scrap Iron and Bloodshed.  I on the other hand, need my beer to taste like something that wasn't scrapped off a burnt coffee pot.  The lighter taste of the 38 degree Hefeweizen (Hefe) reminded me of Spotted Cow, a favorite from New Glarus Brewery.  According to the story told by Lena Brewery, if the temperature of this golden-colored hefeweizen gets much above 38 degrees, it can spontaneously combust.  Fortunately for me, I didn't give it a chance.

The incredible rise in craft breweries continues to amaze me.  While not on the scale of a major brewery like Miller or Budweiser, we enjoyed our visit to the taproom and  brew house.  Unlike the wine tasting festival, we were able to take our time and talk to the men and women responsible for crafting these brews.  And to top it off (no pun intended) the men's and women's bathrooms--with their industrial look and ingenious use of beer barrels and tappers -- made going to the toilet an experience you won't forget.

Speaking of forgetting, someone in the taproom asked me if I knew when the Badgers were playing.  With pride, I said "5:09."



As we are leaving the restaurant, I spot a group of six people sitting at a long wooden table.  Two are wearing Badger tee shirts, and having a great time.  As I walk past, I proudly state "On Wisconsin!  How 'bout those Badgers?"

A couple of high fives later and we are on our way down the stairs to the main floor of the restaurant.  The excitement I feel is like some out-of-body experience that comes from thinking you're walking in someone else's shoes.  For me, it's like watching the NFC Championship game with a different ending.  In this version, Jordy Nelson recovers the on-side kick and the Packers run out the clock.  Super Bowl bound, baby!

I've asked some people what they think is harder to achieve the Final Four or the Super Bowl.  Given the number of games you have to play and the sequence of events that must occur for you to get there, I'd have to say the Final Four.  Of course I'm speaking as one of those teams that doesn't load up on one-and-done type players -- like Kentucky and Duke.  It is much harder to overcome the regional seatings and dominant players who create so many mismatches.  It's five on five -- the team with the best five with the deepest bench usually win.  There's no parity like there is in football.

So it is with disbelief that I am watching Wisconsin do it back-to-back.  Who are these players that are capable of beating the likes of Michigan State, Oregon, North Carolina and Arizona?  And how did they get to Wisconsin?

A big part of Wisconsin's winning season is Sam Decker.

The story going around local newspapers has Bo Ryan asking Sam Decker to come to Wisconsin to get to the Final Four and win a national championship.   How ridiculous, considering the UW program had endured a 46-year NCAA Tournament drought before Dick Bennett, a few years before.  After winning the title in 1941 - when the field was only eight teams - UW did not return to the tournament until 1994.  Eleven senior classes came and went without experiencing March Madness.

With Bo at the helm, UW has returned to the tournament every year.  And with the addition of Sam Dekker, the team has two Final Fours and more NCAA Tournament victories than any other Big Ten team.

So who is Sam Decker?  And has there been a better performance than the one he put on in Wisconsin's win over Arizona?  His big shots led UW to a blistering 78.9 percent from the field (15-19) and 83.3 percent from the 3-point line (10-12) in the second half.  For the tournament, WI leads  the field is scoring thanks to Frank Kaminski and Sam Decker.

Decker was the Wisconsin Gatorade Player of the year and a 2012 Parade All American.  He amassed 2,629 career points, finishing as the fourth leading scoring in Wisconsin high school history.  While not as prolific in college, he has started every game for the Badger and is second on the team in scoring.  His ability to put the ball on the floor and slash to the basket has made him difficult to stop.  At 6-9 and 230 pounds, he has the length and strength to dunk the ball or shoot a three pointer almost at will.

Today's announcement that Frank (the tank) Kaminski is the National Player of the Year, is awesome news.  But to me, who is still watching repeats of the Elite Eight game -- it hasn't made me forget the final dagger from the Arizona game.  A high-arcing three pointer that Sam Decker put up with 19 seconds to go, just beat the buzzer and propelled WI to Indianapolis where they face Kentucky for the second year in a row.  It is a big shot that will go down in Wisconsin history, and one that will be replayed in my mind for a very long time.

Together, Kaminski and Decker make one of the better combos in men's NCAA basketball.  But will it be enough to get them to the national championship game that his coach mentioned three years ago?

If Sammie the Big Shot has anything to say about it, I like our odds.

Conscious Capitalism

Liberals are like the Spartans from the movie 300.  They never give up.

On the heels of faking a story about campus rape because they think it's true somewhere, comes the latest attempt to shape reality and think "racial inequality" can be solved over a cup of coffee.

I'm talking about Starbucks decision to engage customers in a conversation about race by scribbling liberal activism on a cup.  This new marketing campaign is the brainchild of CEO Howard Schultz, who is urging Starbucks' employees to "perform a small gesture of writing 'Race Together' on a cup.  And if a customer asks you what this is, try and engage in a discussion, that we have problems in this country with regard to race and racial inequality, and we believe we're better than this, and we believe the country's better than this.  And if this makes you have a conversation with a customer about the need for compassion, the need for empathy, the need for love towards others, if you can do that with one customer (each) day, then you're making a significant difference as we go forward."

Schultz concluded, "I think this is really important not so much for the company, but for the country."

According to Schultz, "RACE TOGETHER is not a solution, but it is an opportunity to begin to re-examine how we can create a more empathetic and inclusive society — one conversation at a time.  Rules of engagement, in regards to this issue, must change."

I couldn't agree more.

Race relations have taken a big step back since Obama became president.  You have the "beer summit" following the arrest of Harvard professor Henry Louis Gates, the Trayvon Martin shooting trial in Florida, and the Michael Brown shooting resulting in the Ferguson riots.  It is my opinion that most blacks feel Gates, Martin and Brown were  innocent in each instance, and the offending officers should have been held accountable.  Conversely, whites agree with the verdicts handed down, and feel the riots that followed are an excuse to cause more trouble.

And thanks to President Obama -- inflaming tensions and fostering divisions among whites and blacks -- this country is in worse shape now than in the past 50 years.   I understand that's what a community organizer does.  It's not to make things better -- it's to keep things stirred up.   So slogans like "Hands Up!  Don't shoot!" and the conscious efforts made by NFL and NBA teams to side with other blacks is not a surprise.

And yet here is the CEO of a well-known business, thinking words can make a difference.  This self described conscious capitalism has nothing to do with solving the problem.  And it is nothing more than what the left has been doing for decades.  Describing good intentions and hoping they trump common sense. 

But here is the reality:  talking about a problem doesn't solve the problem.

It's the same concept used to describe Secretary of State, John Kerry, sitting down with known-terrorist supporter, Iran, to talk about nuclear negotiations and reduce sanctions while tens of thousands of protestors shout DEATH TO AMERICA outside the U.S. embassy.  If I was a political cartoonist, I'd draw a picture of Kerry signing the nuclear agreement, then handing over the pen to Iranian President Hassan Rouhani -- who promptly stabs him in the back.



There are other reasons why this "RACE TOGETHER" idea is bad:

. Some people are not morning people.  I wouldn't discuss anything political until after two cups of coffee.

. If you're rushed getting to work, do you want to wait in line while the person ahead of you carries on a conversation on race?

. What makes Starbucks think the people preparing your coffee know anything about race?

I'm betting most of them spend more time searching through Yahoo Entertainment (what is Kim Kardashian up to?) than reading Thomas Sowell's view on racial disparities.  I also don't think they get a very balanced discussion of race problems by absorbing what's being taught in our state's universities.  Three quick examples:

A Seattle university physics teacher has asked his class to study why there are so few black physicists.  Is it because blacks are not smart enough, not being exposed to science, or not getting opportunities?  Having made the assumption that whites have an advantage over blacks, the assignment continues by asking students to write about how they feel about this "white privilege"? The professor readily admits to feeling jealous about his colleagues in English and History who get to talk about society and morality every day.

Another example is having to write a history paper on early exploration and discovery in America.  Students are asked to take the side of native Indians in debates -- focusing on the death and destruction that Columbus and the pilgrims brought to the Indians when they arrived in America (my sons were given that assignment in 9th grade).  

A third example  involves a recent episode of "The Walking Dead," where students led a discussion about why only black characters on the show were being killed off.  Surely there was someone at the network making a conscious effort to discriminate against black characters in favor of keeping white ones alive.

So with this educational background -- white privilege gives some of us an unfair advantage -- what chance is there that I could have a balanced discussion about race? 

. If the left wants a conversation about race, shouldn't they be following their own advice?

Starbucks' initiative also includes partnering with USA Today. Larry Kramer, USA Today's editor and publisher said of their partnership, "Our nation is only becoming more diverse. To ignore, dismiss or fail to productively engage our differences is to stifle our collective potential. Diversity of thought and skills lead to more creative ideas and higher performance. Bias, even unintentional slights, sap our potential for shared prosperity while denying our shared humanity."

Like most talk coming from the left, that sounds pretty good.  How can you argue against diversity, collective potential and shared prosperity?  But if you do a little research to see if USA Today or Starbucks practice what they preach, you'll find something surprising.

According to a review of Starbuck's executive management team, which consists of 19 people, 95% are white.  USA Today has one woman and 7 men on its editorial board.  All white.  Other media that eagerly support race discussions are no different.  Time Warner (CNN's parent company) has an executive management team that is 100% white.  The New York Times' management team has one black on a staff of 14.  The Washington Post's leadership team has one woman, one Native American and 11 white men.  Not one black.



If "racing together" is so important to CEO Howard Schultz, why doesn't Starbucks have any coffee shops in Ferguson, MO?  Why is he so quick to put demands on us, when he refuses to do the same himself?   The answer is typical of so many liberal companies that have skin in this race game.  Words trump reality.  It looks good and makes them feel better than others.

How else would you explain the USA Today saying, "elevating diversity is not only the right thing to do, but ... also a necessity." Apparently the necessity is in creative ideas and diversity of thought, not black butts sitting in their board rooms.  Preaching tolerance, diversity and racial acceptance sounds good, but it seems like it has a hard time making to the top floor of all of these important organizations.



In the time it has taken to research and write this blog (about a week), the "Race Together" initiative has run its course.  Beginning today, Starbucks has put their much publicized initiative on hiatus.  Claiming "Race Together" was always meant to be a week long discussion (although I can't find any reference to it), Schultz and Kramer feel like it has been a success.

And Starbucks is still planning to foster conversations about race -- just not by having their baristas on the forefront of that conversation.  Therefore the following comments have been released:

"The phase-out is not a reaction to any pushback.  Nothing is changing."  

"It's all part of the cadence of the timeline we originally planned."

"We're leaning into it hard."

"While there has been criticism of the initiative -- and I know this hasn't been easy for any of you -- let me assure you that we didn't expect universal praise."

"This campaign... will make sure that the promise of the American Dream should be available to every person in this country, not just a select few."

I know that we have a problem in this country when it comes to politics, race and jobs.  And I don't mean to be critical of anyone attempting to find solutions to those problems.  But I will be critical of  businesses like Starbucks and USA Today that think they have the answers when they are the ones perpetuating the problem.  By throwing words on paper, money at poverty, forcing equality where none exists and blaming white priviledge they have made finding an equitable solution much harder than it needs to be.

Blacks and whites need to find common ground that can withstand the attacks of community organizers, and the prejudices of those who give credence to actual discrimination and violence.

Writing "Race Together" on a coffee cup does neither.

Adam and Eve on a Raft

I turn up the collar of my coat, hoping to knock down the icy blast of wind that creeps down my back before meeting the chill working its way up my pants legs.

Liz, Sean, Matt and I are standing in line outside Al's Breakfast, a 10-foot wide diner sandwiched into an alleyway between two buildings in the Dinkytown neighborhood of Minneapolis, MN.  The cold weather really has me questioning my sons' belief in global warming, and the wisdom of waiting more than 20 minutes for pancakes and eggs.  But ever since Matt attended the University of Minnesota, he has raved about Al's Breakfast.   So it's just bad luck that we picked one of the coldest days of the new year to check it out.

The Dinkytown neighborhood is located just north of the University of Minnesota East Campus and populated by locals and university students.  Through the years, it has been a central area for the 1950s beat culture, the 1960s counterculture and the 1970s anti-Vietnam movement.  In Dinkytown, notable landmarks include the Dinky Dome, the Loring Pasta Bar (rumored to have been where Bob Dylan lived for a short time), the Varsity Theatre and Al's Breakfast, possibly the smallest restaurant in Minneapolis.  Twentieth-century, low-rise buildings surround us on this cold morning, with hardly a frozen breath in sight. 

"I thought if we got here 20 minutes early we'd be good," says Matt, as puffs of white escape his mouth, only to be swished away with another gust of arctic air.  "But by my estimate, we still aren't going to be able to get a seat right away."

Matt explains that Al's Breakfast only seats fourteen, so I begin counting the huddled bodies waiting to get in out of the cold.  Sure enough -- we are numbers fifteen through eighteen, so I guess Matt is right.

What is it about diners that make them such a draw?  Even on a cold January morning?

Since their arrival in the late 1800s, diners have been part of the American experience.  Their influence has touched so many parts of our lives, including cooking, eating out, popular culture, design and television/movies, that it's hard to overlook.

The origins of the diner can be traced to Walter Scott, who supplemented his income by selling sandwiches and coffee.  Fourteen years later, with business becoming so lucrative, Scott quit his job as a part-time pressman and started selling food at night from a covered express wagon outside his old employer, The Providence Journal.   In doing so, Walter Scott gave birth to what would become one of America's most recognized icons --the diner.

Through the years, diners have "evolved" from Scott's simple lunch wagon to something much more elaborate (although certainly not elegant).  In the early 1900s, lunch cars became larger and more self-contained, with lengthy counters, mid-side entrances, tile work, porcelain panels and even bathrooms.  Although they continued to cater to night workers, many lunch cars assumed permanent locations which allowed around-the-clock customers and greater respectability.  Companies, seeing potential in these new permanent structures, brought new styling which included that of the railroad's Pullman dining cars, giving birth to the name diner.

During this period of growth, the main streets of America were also changing.  With the popularity of Henry Ford's automobile, new eateries popped up as road construction boomed.  Food stands like A&W and White Castle -- catering to the automobile -- could be found spouting up everywhere.

During the Great Depression, tough times meant small diners started to replace the larger complex diners which were too expensive to maintain.  These 8 to 10 person diners -- simple and boxy -- were often carted to certain locations just like Walter Scott's original lunch wagons.  The food was nothing special, but people came for good food and fun.

In the years following, diners continued to evolve.  Much of their charm was enchanted by art-deco designs featuring modern, futuristic lines and colors.  Many used neon (which was new at the time) to draw attention and create interest.  During the next 50 years, diners reached new heights before falling out of favor to homogenized food chains like McDonalds and Burger King.

Nonetheless, diners continued to have a nostalgic appeal popping up in movies like American Graffiti and Diner.  Television brought us Flo and Happy Days, which lasted for many years.  A famous painting by Edward Hopper called "Nighthawks" is based on a diner in Philadelphia, and shows a lonely encounter between a man and waitress late in the night.

Fortunately a few real-life diners survived -- and through the efforts of some to restore and preserve them, are still with us today.

There is something inherently different -- but fun -- about going into a diner.  Almost like its free entertainment.  If it's not the employees or food, maybe it's the nostalgia.  There's a sense of going back in time when you walk into one -- the round stools, the cooking appliances so black with use that it's a wonder they still work, and all of the memorabilia unique to the owner's guests and visitors. 

Don't expect any wi-fi hotspots, or polite conversation.  For the most part, regulars are acknowledged, but not patronized.  Menus are simple and don't change much.  Noises from the kitchen sometimes sound like a war zone -- complete with shouting and utensils flying through the air.  For its entertainment value, expect to spend as much time watching the staff as eating the food.

Diners are not only unique in the food they serve and the environment under which they operate.  Many also employ a unique vocabulary -- diner talk is as much fun to hear as it is a mystery to understand.  Who knows where some of this vocabulary comes from, but it is incredibly creative and transcends race, gender and age.

Adam and Eve on a raft:  two poached eggs on toast
Angels on Horseback:  oysters rolled in bacon and served on toast
Beagle Fingers:  sausage links
Blowout patches:  pancakes
Burn the British:  toasted English muffin
Cowboy with spurs:  western omelet with French fries
Drag it through the garden:  sandwich with all condiments on it
Dry stack:  pancakes without butter
Gentleman will take a chance:  a plate of hash


Heart attack on a rack:  biscuits and gravy
Hold the grass:  sandwich without lettuce
Let it walk:  an order to go
Mousetrap:  cheese sandwich
Nervous pudding:   American jelly
Paint it red:  put ketchup on a dish
Radio sandwich:  tuna fish
Soup jockey:  waitress
Spit in the eye:  egg fried in the center of a holed out piece of bread
Walk a cow through the garden: hamburger with lettuce, tomato and onion

I wonder if any of the employees find it hard to turn off this language when they leave work?  Or does the waitress, during a night on the town, walk into the bar and say,  "Hey baserunner.  Give me some balloon juice with a ball of fire.  And do you have any belly furniture to go with that?"



The bearded man behind the counter instructs us to wait a moment while two men get out of their seats and shuffle to the left, allowing us to sit next to Sean and Matt who were already sitting at the counter with menus in hand.

"Finally," I say.  "I'm starving, and standing behind people eating only makes it worse."  Because Al's Breakfast diner is so narrow, customers who are not eating must wait while standing patiently behind those eating at the counter.

In the kitchen (out of sight), a short-order cook yells, "Order up, John!  Jose with wheat on #2."   Shortly, a plate with two poached eggs with cheese, hash browns and salsa is placed before a customer sitting nearby.

Having waited 20 minutes for a seat, I've been able to take in the eclectic atmosphere of Al's which includes cheap, hanging Tiffany lamps embraced by strings of white Christmas lights above the counter where we are sitting.  On the wall before us is a greasy collection of foreign bills from Russia, Saudi Arabia, India, Portugal and other countries I can't identify.  Above a line of ceramic mugs, is a shelf with a sign that reads "Tipping is NOT a city in Russia."   Next to it is a jumbled mess of toys, books, a Daryl Strawberry bobble head and a picture of Al Bergstrom, the original owner of Al's Breakfast.  Al  sold the diner to his nephew before he died in 2003 at the age of 97, but his menu of buttermilk pancakes, bacon waffles, hash browns and eggs remain today.

"Try the Spike, Dad.  It's really good," says Matt.  He probably knows the menu by heart, which by its laminated condition, hasn't changed in decades.  "Their pancakes are incredible, too."

As I glance through the menu, I notice another short-order cook to our right pouring pancake batter onto a sizzling grill already populated with hash browns, eggs and some hash.  She seems oblivious to the line of faces peering through the diner's only window.  Undoubtedly, she could make these orders in her sleep. Her apron, at one time bleached white, is now stained with the remnants of many mornings spent standing in front of a hot grill. 

"Look at those tickets, " says Liz, pointing to a tray of yellow pads of paper with names marked by magic marker.  As chaotic as it seems, they are arranged alphabetically (A-Z).  Some look like they are used regularly, while others are stored in crates.  Some names I recognize, like Cory Brewster and Andre Hollins from the Minnesota men's basketball team.  Others simply say, "Jew Boy" and affectionately, "Alyssa (smart ass)".  

"Those are coupons for regulars, so they don't have to pay every time they come in," says Matt, who appears to have gotten more than just a college education while going to the University of MN.  By my estimate there are quite a few regulars besides Matt who call Al's Breakfast home.

As Liz and I place our orders (I eschew Matt's recommendation and instead order short stack of blueberry pancakes and toast), I find it hard to believe so many people would willing wait in line for up to two hours -- just for pancakes and eggs.  But for those who live in this neighborhood, there is a fierce loyalty to Al's Breakfast that goes beyond the food.  Perhaps they are like the village peasants who take up arms to defend the castle against marauding intruders.  It may not be much, but it is theirs.  And it will remain theirs until they graduate or move away.

Or perhaps this hole in the wall is nothing more than a place where people can enjoy a simple breakfast.  One that will get them through a morning of classes or a day filled with the challenges of a new job.  To those coming to Al's Breakfast, they know what to expect.  No surprises here.  

But for a visitor like me, I kinda like what Food Network's Guy Fieri called it when visiting Al's Breakfast for his television show, Diners, Drive Ins and Dives:  "A dump simply aspiring to be a dive."

Yeah -- I'll agree with that, and give me another cup of mud while you're at it. 

The Great Divider

People either like Scott Walker or hate him.  There is no in between.

The Great Divider

Such is the life of a man who decided to take on public employee unions shortly after becoming the 45th Governor of Wisconsin.  The reaction from pubic employees and national labor organizations is well-documented, so there is no need to agonize over their nauseating antics.

Nevertheless -- Scott Walker lives in the belly of the beast.  Every day.  He remains the left's number one enemy by getting out of bed everyday.  Whether it's blocking high speed rail money or refusing Medicaid money from the Feds, his actions are bordering on Armageddon.   

His distractors think the worst thing he's ever done is BEING BORN.  I know people who would have voted for Hitler before re-electing Walker.  Even the Milwaukee Bucks are more popular than Scott Walker -- and that's saying a lot.  Despite the constant criticism, he sees enough progress in Wisconsin to keep moving forward.

As I have said many times before, I am surrounded by liberals, both where I live and where I work.  La Crosse -- a kissing cousin to Madison -- always votes Democrat, no matter who the candidate.  When it comes to presidential voting, the state of Wisconsin hasn't voted for a Republican president since Ronald Reagan in 1984.  So it's always a long night for us closet-conservatives hiding in our bunkers on election night.  Republicans have had better luck electing governors, but that is usually a function of rural voters versus lefties in Milwaukee, Madison and La Crosse.  But as the number of voters in those key cities continue to grow (through union benefits and welfare handouts), I fear a permanent shift in state level politics is not far away for the fine state of Wisconsin.

Our greatest weapon against such a shift has been Walker, who has won three elections within his first four years in office.  Putting a cork in Tom Barrett and Mary Burke have been two of the most satisfying things I've experienced.  As I walk past a house in our neighborhood (where they tried to get people to sign a recall petition), I imagine its occupants throwing organic kale at the television each time Scott Walker gives his "State of the State" speech

Unfortunately, getting under their skin doesn't always translate to success.  His widely-supported attempts to require a simple ID to vote have been blocked by Democrat-appointed judges.  And environmentalists are still winning the fight against frac sand mining in northern Wisconsin.


*     *     *     *     *


I have a friend who asked me the other day:  "What do you think drives the left more crazy?  Seeing a sign from last year's election that says 'We Support Walker' or a new one that proclaims 'Walker for President'?"  It's a fun question -- fun in the sense that the left loses either way.

Personally, I'd rather he remain our governor for another four years.  He can do more good in the Badger State than getting lost on the national scene.  Recent polls have him leading, or a close second to Jeb Bush -- the GOP establishment's choice.  I realize it's way too early to get exciting about these results, but it is interesting to note that those paying attention right now like what he has to say.

Which goes to the heart of the matter:  conservative ideas get people's attention.  If I have to hear another RINO tell me that he (or she) supports legal immigration, defunding Obama Care, and balancing the budget I'm going to blow-up.  Last November we put a number of Republicans in Washington to stop Obama and his anti-American ideas.  Three months later, I haven't heard much about stopping anything, much less Obama.  My hope is that enough people are getting tired of hearing the sweet sounds of conservative thinking only to find out he/she was the Pied Piper leading us to our electoral demise.

Can Walker win?  Does he have enough experience and can he excite enough people to rise to the top of a crowded Republican field?  Or will his 2011 recall baggage weigh him down on his journey to the White House?  Can his conservative message appeal to college-age voters and minorities?

His supporters remind us that he hasn't lost an election since he went to Marquette University (his enemies will be quick to say that he dropped out of college).  And his conservative message is on target if we want to reduce the size of Washington and reign in the spending and socialist programs that are being proposed by our Dictator-in-Chief.

I haven't seen Walker in debate-mode, but I understand he's pretty good.  He likes to prepare for every possibility -- no surprises here.  I like that he will say what he thinks, rather than back off controversial positions (what could be more gutsy than taking on public employee unions?) or try to claim the soft, squishy middle that appealed to McCain in 2008 and Romney in 2012.  One of the most appealing aspects of Walker is his willingness to propose an idea, defend it and then take the heat.

And as a Green Bay Packer fan wouldn't it be great to see President Walker invite the Packers to the White House after winning the Super Bowl?


*     *     *     *     *


Governor Walker has proposed cutting state funding of the UW System by $300 million over the next two years.  As you can imagine, there has been a meltdown of colossal proportion on PBS and NPR, not to mention from the state's biggest newspapers, the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel and the Wisconsin State Journal.

If you didn't know better, you'd think that $300 million is a lot of money.  It is if you're winning the lottery.  But not so much if you're talking about the annual UW System operating budget.  State Rep. Bob Kulp had the following to say about the proposed budget cuts:

"The overall budget for the UW System... is $6.1 billion. 

"The $150 million cut per year represents about 2.5 percent of the total yearly operating budget.  I understand not all of these funds are accessible and many are already committed in "cost to continue" operations.  But many small and large businesses experience much greater fluctuations than this -- and they survive and even thrive.  A 2.5% cut certainly does not constitute the "end" of a very resilient UW System!"

When looking at the small percentage cut this represents, it makes you wonder why this is such a big deal.  It borders on the silliness that comes from listening to a liberal tell you that a smaller increase in spending is actually a decrease in spending.  Only in government and organizations like the UW System -- that are dependent on taxpayer money -- can an increase of 3% instead of 4% be thought of as a cut!

In addition, is it that hard to find a way to save 2.5%?   In my household, we have to find ways to cut more than that just to make up the additional cost of cable.  It's laughable watching organizations like the UW System do with less.  You'd think we're pulling toenails and putting needles under their eyes.  In the past, they could expect a small, but consistent increase, and they usually got it.  

That kind of thinking comes from spending other people's money -- when you can ask for more, you usually spend more.

Which is why I support Scott Walker as he attempts to change the way our university system operates.  Will they continue offering a free education to poor families at the risk of raising tuition on the middle-class?  Will we see more out-of-state students to the detriment of those who live in Wisconsin -- and will we accept it?  Will we continue to see new buildings on campus, or will they live with what they have?  Maybe professors will spend more than an average of 14 hours in the classroom if teaching assistants are cut from the school's staff?

Let's take away the hand that feeds it and see what happens.


*     *     *     *


Walker's opponents call him the Great Divider.  I think they couldn't be more wrong.

Look at Obama.  He came to Congress and the White House with a background as a community organizer.  His job was to agitate, cause conflict and tear people apart.  There isn't a single issue in his 6 years as President where he brought people together.  Can you name even ONE?  The war?  Race inequality?  Income?  Health Care?  His reaction to every "crisis" is to divide and blame the other side.

Walker's background is totally different.  He grew up in Iowa, far away from Chicago politics. Contrary to what his recall agitators said, he wasn't destroying our educators and public employees.  He was attacking their unions and their collective bargaining which gave them an unfair advantage.   Wisconsin benefitted from these moves.

By removing state money from the UW System and freezing tuition he has stirred the hornet's nest once again.  Whether the majority of voters in Wisconsin (or the United States of America) see the benefits of such actions remains to be seen.

Either way, there will be blood spilled.  That is the way things are when you live in the belly of the beast.

The Other Side of Truth

"Don't let the truth get in the way of a good story
No harm no foul no crime
Don't let the truth get in the way of a good story
It'll get 'em every time."

-- Gaelic Storm




ITEM ONE
Recent events from Ferguson, Missouri and Staten Island, New York, infer that American police officers are racists and that a bigoted white society tolerates unnecessary (sometimes lethal) force against black minorities.

The fact that grand juries in both cases determined that the officers were justified in using force to deal with a dangerous situation, has been ignored.  In fact, the verdicts handed down prompted more protesting, violence and looting.  Their reaction was "justified" in response to white racism that is keeping them from getting jobs, manipulating the legal system, and putting an unusually high number in jail. 

These protesters were not interested in the truth.

If they were, there would be a discussion about high black-on-black violence, the high abortion rate among blacks and the disintegration of the black family.  Imagine the positive outcome of Thomas Sowell, Clarence Thomas and Condoleezza Rice meeting with the White House to discuss ways to help black teenagers and families.

But no, there is more to gain by community organizing -- blaming police officers and grand juries.  Stirring the racial pot.  Damn the facts if they don't fit the racial template provided by Sharpton, Obama and Eric Holder.

ITEM TWO
On November 19th, Rolling Stone magazine published "A Rape on Campus," an article that described how "rapes are kept quiet" by students and administrators at the University of Virginia.  It focused on the story of one freshman student, known as Jackie, who said she was brutally gang-raped by seven men for several hours at a frat party in 2012.

It shocked readers, grabbed media attention and spawned protests and vandalism, and the university quickly suspended all Greek system activities and put out a call for zero tolerance of sexual assault.

Less than a week later, it was determined that regular Rolling Stone contributor, Sabrina Rubin Erdely, had fabricated the story.  She had simply taken the word of Jackie, without contacting a single one of the seven alleged attackers.

The reaction of people in the media?  They concluded that the writer was "simply trying to tell a really painful story, which is that sexual assault really does happen at the University of Virginia and also around the United States."   Hanna Rosin, a writer for Slate and The Atlantic said, "I think part of what went wrong is belief getting in the way of facts."  Rosin suggested that "wanting the story desperately to be true got in the way."

In other words, don't let facts ruin a good "story."



ITEM THREE
As I write this blog, the number one story in the world is the attack in Paris on the French satirical magazine Charlie Hebdo.   It is widely known for its provocative material and lampoons everyone -- Muslims, Christians and Jews.  Yet, it was radical Muslims who believed this satire to be so offensive that they attacked -- killing twelve offenders, while praising "Allah Akbar!" and shouting "we have avenged the prophet."

Despite these obvious references to radical Islam, President Obama has refused to associate them being Muslim or even denouncing the attacks -- without claiming that the magazine should take some responsibility for the attacks by being critical of the Islamic prophet.

The truth behind this attack, as well as those in Benghazi, Fort Hood and the killing of 121 children in Pakistan, resides with a radical branch of Islam that is spreading through the world.  Despite the facts pointing to these deliberate acts of terrorism, the Obama administration and select media continue to label these terrorists as lone wolves, nut jobs at work, and activists who don't represent the Muslim faith.  It's like a bad game of Taboo where you can't use the words radical, Muslim, Islam or terrorist.

Why is the Obama Administration so afraid of speaking the truth?  Don't they know that radical Islam doesn't care what we call them?  Their destructive behavior isn't going to change if the White House doesn't refer to Islamic jihad, or makes a point of disassociating Islam from terrorism in public comments.

How stupid -- who the hell did we elect as our President, and how long has he been a closet Muslim?

All three of these examples reflect the left's real agenda:  they will fake it if it promotes something they think is accurate.  Look at the left's biggest positions in recent elections -- 1) America is evil, 2) Republicans are waging a war on women, and 3) government knows best.

It just so happens that all three are lies.

For those of us on the right, America is a lot like "the shining city on the hill" used by Ronald Reagan when he described American exceptionalism.  We see America as a unique country of free people, who through the Constitution and God-given rights, work the hardest, give the most and fight the wars that need to be fought everywhere to protect other people in need.

The left will view this "exceptionalism" as bragging that we are better than other races and nations -- that we have only succeeded because we have stepped over others to get there.  Native Indians, blacks, and illegal aliens are the backs upon which this country was built.  What a bunch of BS!  There isn't a country on earth that hasn't become what it is without conquering someone along the way.  Genghis Khan, Alexander the Great, Napoleon Bonaparte, Julius Caesar and Attila the Hun are just a few.  Remember the British and Russian expansions that swept through Europe and Asia?

But the reality is that America has done far more good for this world.  Our freedoms have led to advancements in science, medicine, politics and literature.  When the world is in trouble, America comes to the rescue -- if not with money, then troops.  Or usually both.

So enough about being the bad guys.  No one's perfect, but we are far and away the best thing going.

As for a war on women -- let's do something the media doesn't.  Let's take the political party away from the name and see who's mistreating women.

Bill Clinton (rape and impeachment)
Ted Kennedy (murder)
John Edwards (out-of-wedlock birth)
Robert Filner (sexual harassment)
Anthony Weiner (sexting scandal)

If it wasn't for their support of abortion and welfare, these names would be reviled by women voters.  But because they vote the right way (meaning they agree with the media), their woman-abuse businesses get a pass. 

Look what the Democrats did to strong, capable women like Sarah Palin and Michelle Bachmann.  They quickly tore them apart by criticizing their looks, intelligence, family or religion.   Conversely, the media salivates over the likes of Hillary and Michelle who are where they are because of their political husbands.  

Conservative theory support strong family lifestyles, which provide higher incomes, better education and greater success.  Welfare, on the other hand, fosters dependency on someone else, single motherhood and few opportunities.  I realize not everyone falls into one category or the other, but come on -- if given that choice, why would you limit your future?

And finally, the idea that government knows best.

If someone told me the Packers beat the Seahawks yesterday, I would call them liars.  But for some reason if someone tells the voting public that Obama care will lower their health care costs, they believe it.  It defies common sense that the malcontents in Washington D.C. know what they are doing, when everything they do ends up over-budget, inefficient and compounding the problem.

I read recently that our national debt is approaching $17 trillion.  Here's a short list of government failures which comprise part of this national debt:

Obama Care failure
Raiding Social Security
Federal Housing Authority (2008 housing crash)
Medicare reimbursement
Quantitative easing
Environmental Protection Agency (climate change)
Department of Education (Common Core)
Michelle Obama's lunch program
Handling of the Ebola epidemic
War on poverty

I've always felt that voters send people to Washington to fix things.  Which is wrong to begin with --  it means every problem is compounded by adding another round of failure.  Today's politicians look at their jobs as full time.  The power brokers in the Senate and the House of Representatives look at every day as an opportunity to expand government, write new laws and create  bureaucracies designed to complicate and frustrate everyone.  This applies to both Republican and Democrat.

We need to bring back the days of people went to Washington part time, held real jobs back home and received minimum wages (I realize that's a pipe dream, but it feels good).  Take the money out of politics, implement term limits and give voters a voice in what needs to be done.  Somehow we need to stop believing that government knows the answers to the problems they are creating.  It's not their goal. 




Without philosophizing too much, all lying is bad.  Democrats lie on the self-serving basis that it achieves their goal:  accuracy over the truth. 

One of the biggest disappointments I have with liberal lies is that it discourages personal responsibility and self-improvement.  Do you think blacks will break away from poverty and crime if they believe that it's not their fault?  Will women find the confidence to compete for jobs and equal pay if they are led to believe there is no future without a welfare check and free birth control?  And will we ever defeat terrorism if we refuse to identify those responsible?  Of course not.

So where do we go from here?  Hopefully, people are finding various media that breaks through these lies.  When Obama stands before us and tells us he's fighting for the middle class, maybe a few more voters are not believing him anymore.  When a video shows the horrible beheading of an innocent journalist by ISIS, maybe a few more in the media are not believing the White House denials.

And as people look back on the Obama presidency for what it truly was, it is my hope that we will be better in the future than we were in the past. 

Paris Is Always a Good Idea, Part IV

We are sitting outside the La Maison Rose, the Montmartre bistro located just north of the Place du Tertre, taking a break from the steep climb that brought us to its summit and to the Sacre-Coeur Basilica.  Our waitress, a smiling, short-haired French girl, brings us four large glasses of Saint Omer, a sweet tasting beer that slides down easily.

To my right sit Liz, Kevin and Eric, who are together for the first time since they huddled around their dying mother in a hospice room in Iowa two years ago.  Our meeting today is a much happier affair, and it is great to see them laughing, messing with each other's hair and telling childhood stories.    Our hope that Kevin would find time to join us in Paris came true -- so far we have spent time at the Arc de Triomphe, Eiffel Tower and Bastille Day fireworks.  We decide that tomorrow will be spent at the palace grounds of Versailles before Kevin flies back to work.

 

So today we are spending the afternoon on Montmartre -- a 427 foot high hill in northern Paris -- exploring the historic neighborhood of artists Salvador Dali, Claude Monet, Pablo Picasso and Vincent van Gogh.

This hilly neighborhood offers some of the most picturesque views of Paris I have seen so far.  The steep streets that wind their way to the top feature artist shops, colorful cafes and historic locations like Moulin de la Galette (one of the original windmills still found on the hill), the stairs of the Rue Foyatier, Bateau Lavoire (Picasso's art studio) and Place du Tertre which is a beautiful square where artists gather to draw and paint under the watchful eye of the awe-inspiring Basilica Sacre-Coeur.  Red, blue and white umbrellas shade the artists as they sketch portraits of wandering tourists.  The cobbled stone streets lead to restaurants where waiters -- wearing black aprons over white shirts -- eagerly invite you in for an afternoon beverage.

Montmartre means "mountain of the martyr" and is named after the martyrdom of bishop Saint Denis who was decapitated by pagan priests atop the hill in 250 AD (the French have a thing about losing their heads). It is said that he picked up his head and continued for 6 miles from the summit of the hill, preaching his sermon the entire way.

During the nineteenth century, Napoleon III gave much of the prime land in proper Paris to his wealthy friends, so that meant the citizens (who were moved out) settled here on the outskirts of town where they quickly established their own rural existence without the rules and regulations of Paris.

As a result, Montmartre quickly became a popular place to drink and be entertained, which led to the establishment of nightclubs like Moulin Rouge and Le Chat Noir.  It was also during  the late 1800s that avant-garde artists began calling Montmartre home.  Pissarro, Degas, Renoir, and Picasso -- who at the time were penniless -- were some of the earliest artists to live in the area.

On par with the twisting and narrow streets is the Basilica Sacre-Coeur, which was built between 1875 and 1914.  The basilica is designed in a Roman-Byzantine style which is in contrast to many other buildings throughout Paris, which were mostly built in a Romanesque style.  Its white travertine stone is interesting because it will exude calcite when it rains.  This reaction is like a bleacher, which ensures that the basilica always remains white.

A highlight of our visit to the basilica is a climb up 300 narrow steps (can you confirm that Colin?) to the top where we look out over the city of Paris.  I am still amazed at how dense and closely constructed the buildings are.  From this height, Paris looks nothing like the city below, with its charming shops and cafes.  Nonetheless, the view -- at 272 feet -- is spectacular with the Eifel Tower in the hazy distance.  We shout down to Liz and Sharon, but the height is too much and our voices get carried across Paris like fog on a cool evening.  As badly as I want Liz up here with me, I don't think she would feel too good about the tight squeeze up the spiral staircase or the dizzying view before me.



"Laisse-moi seule!"  (Leave me alone!)

It is six o'clock in the morning, and the shout can be heard even from the fourth floor of our apartment.  Moments later we hear it again -- "Laisse-moi seule!"  This time with more force and a promise that a punch to the face is not far behind.

Liz and I step to the window and look down on a young couple who are on a bridge walking over the River Seine.  She is wearing a nice dress and high heels, while he has his dress shirt unbuttoned at the neck.  Despite the early morning, it looks like they are just returning from a late night on their way home.

"Wow -- what is she so mad about?" I ask as we watch them stop directly below our window. 

With a push she continues down the river as her partner struggles to stay close.  "Degage!"  She yells again and throws a punch that hits him in the chest.  Having received the message, he wanders to the other side of the street and continues to mirror her step by step.

How appropriate, I think as we turn our back to the window and continue packing our bags.  It's almost like Paris is sending me a message that it is time to leave.  I have been here long enough that I am comfortable walking the streets and no longer feel like I am a stranger in a strange place.  But like all good things, my time has come to leave the excitement of Paris -- with it's historic sites, wonderful cafes and interesting people. 

 

I will miss our end-of-day visits to Berthillon for ice cream, stepping out onto the balcony of the Palais Garnier, the wonderful risotto with scallops at Le Temps De Cerises, and how it stays light until almost eleven each night.  I will close my eyes while in my bed in La Crosse and listen for the boisterous river boats floating by our window -- and miss them.

In some ways, I'm looking forward to returning home.  Away from the constant buzz of traffic, the  thump! thump! of late night music and laughter.  They can have the Metro.  I am not going to miss washing my clothes in a hybrid washing/drying machine that never does what I want.  Nor will I miss climbing these 100 twisting steps that never get easier.

But the good outweighs the bad by a lot.   

I realize that spending time in Paris -- and by osmosis, Europe -- has made me appreciate how different we are as Americans than the rest of the world.   We pride ourselves on being free, and yet it seems so much more relaxed and less restrictive over here.  The French appear less interested in news, politics and money; they enjoy coming in late to work and think nothing about taking the day off if they were out too late the night before.  I am jealous that the French turn off the television and come down to the River Seine with a bottle of wine and some cheese and watch the sun set behind Notre Dame.  

I'm sure I'm romanticizing life in Paris, but I don't care.  This city does that to you.

As I finish packing my suitcase and prepare to leave, I catch a glimpse of a painting on the wall that shows two lovers standing in the rain at the base of the Eiffel Tower.  I have heard Paris called the city of lovers and light.  Having spent just seven days in this beautiful city, it is a little easier to understand why.  

Audrey Hepburn once said "Paris is always a good idea."  For many years that has been a very popular movie phrase when talking about this city.  She is also known for saying that if her world were to end today, she would look back on all the pleasures and excitements -- not the sadness, but the joy of everything else.  In looking back on our short time here in Paris, I can't agree with her more.  I will never forget our time together for one week in July of 2014.

Au Revoir, Paris!

Paris Is Always A Good Idea, Part III

I swing my leg through the bike's middle frame, lay it on the ground and walk over to the edge of the Grand Canal . 

Three hundred years before, this beech tree-lined canal would be the site of royal fireworks or the starting point of a real theater set. Unbelievably, these waters were used for battle preparation using a three-masted ship and galley.  Couples in gondolas would also pole along these waters accompanied by barges with orchestras playing celebratory Italian songs.  Originally, gondoliers -- imported with their boats from Venice -- lived across from me in a little settlement next to the canal.  Today, the canal sadly only reflects trees and blue skies, and the occasional rented rowboat. 




We are enjoying our bicycle ride through the grounds of the Chateau de Versailles, which is one of the world's most beautiful examples of French architecture and art.  Located 12 miles outside of Paris, the site began as Louis XIII's hunting lodge before his son Louis XIV transformed it and expanded it , moving the court and government  from Paris to Versailles in 1682.

As our biking group digs into our lunch, I hear our guide Rick tell us the cross-shaped canal is one mile long and ten feet deep (an accomplishment that took 10,000 workers and 10 years to complete).  To my right, the canal intersects the Petit Canal which vanishes around the corner.  To my left is the meticulously manicured lawns, parterres of flowers and sculptures with fountains leading up to the Chateau.

Much like the aristocracy of centuries ago, we sit comfortably eating peaches, strawberries, olives, some foie gras spread on a baguette and wine.  The only thing missing is someone keeping us cool with fans (although Liz has her handy-dandy fan at hand). 

It gives me a moment to reflect on the events of the morning -- including the ride by train from Paris to Versailles, riding through the surrounding town of Versailles using the "hand of power" and "finger of waggle" to stop oncoming traffic, seeing the golden Royal gate with its 100,000 gold leaves, and finally stopping at the Trianon Palaces and Domaine de Marie-Antoinette which features 12 thatched-roof buildings fronting its own lake.

While much has been said about the Chateau, Eric's idea of taking bikes has given us time to get a different perspective of the grounds surrounding the palace.  The stories by our Fat Tire bike guide (and part time movie director) keep us laughing while we learn more about the 100 year-reign of French monarchy -- Louis XIII, Louis XIV and Louis XV and finally Louis XVI.  Jacqueline and Colin, who act out the reign of two of the kings, discover that history can be fun -- as long as you don't lose your head over it. 

Of the four French Kings, Louis XIV is easily the greatest.  "The Sun King" ranks as one of the most remarkable monarchs in recorded history.  Crowned as king at the age of 4, he reigned for 72 years -- 54 of them where he personally controlled all aspects of the French government.  He ruled at a time of "ancient regime" -- when society consisted of rulers and the ruled, and when you were born to be rich or to be poor.  Versailles was where the rich ruled, in remarkable fashion.

King Louis XIV called himself the sun king because he actually believed that he gave warmth and life to all that he touched.  He was also thought of as the god Apollo --the Greek god of the sun.  Versailles was his personal attempt to create a temple to the god Apollo. And based on the amount of money spent on this "temple," -- at one point four times the GDP of the entire country -- I must say he succeeded in glorious fashion!

Having finished our lunch, our guide tells us to retrieve our bicycles and we head toward Sailor's Gate, past the Apollo Basin, the Lake of the Swiss Guards and back to the central courtyard where we began our day.  From here it will be on foot through the Royal Courtyard and Chateau.

It is very difficult standing here, surrounded by all of this excess -- to think of the people who were kept under the royal thumb while more and more money was spent on its expansion.  The idyllic gardens, lakes and royal residences could not have even been a thought to those living and dying in Paris.  Needless to say, as the reign of Louis XV -- and later Louis XVI -- came to an abrupt end, the people let it be known that such opulence would not be tolerated ever again.




Getting around Paris -- to say the least -- is worrisome.  I suppose it's true anyplace where you don't know where you are going. 

At the moment, Liz, Sean and I are taking a three-wheeled bike taxi from the Musee du Louvre to our apartment on lle Saint Louis.  After being on our feet for the last eight hours, we are in no condition to walk even another few steps.  So despite the number of passengers, we have been told by our bicyclist that he can easily pull three people.  "I am a strong cyclist," he says in a Bulgarian accent, as we squeeze our tired bodies into the small, enclosed bicycle saddle.

Remembering our taxi ride from the airport, I am not as surprised when our bicycle surges forward into traffic, oblivious to the flash of cars, trucks and the occasional tuk tuk.  I cannot make much sense of traffic lanes other than to recognize that our driver is staying on the right side of the road -- cars and motor cycles continue to pass without giving us a second thought.

What is surprising is the effortlessness of our driver, who is pulling between 500 and 600 pounds while in a reclined position.  I'm impressed until he tells us that there is a motor on the back of the bike that will kick in when he takes off from a traffic stop or going uphill.

Our route back to the island takes us down Rue de Rivoli past the wonderful Comedie Francaise, the Palais Royal, Saint Germain L'Auxerrois and the remains of Tour St. Jacques.  As it is late afternoon, the city is buzzing with excitement and anticipation of a warm summer evening.  People are either finding shade along tree-lined boulevards or catching a quick bite in a small sidewalk café.

I'm still impressed with our driver's ability to maneuver through traffic while listening to rock and roll songs blasting from a radio hanging from a bar overhead.  Between songs, he is telling us that he will be going back to his home to finish engineering school at the end of summer.  "Not an easy way to make money!" I tell Sean as we pass a long row of department stores topped by apartments located above.  As we turn down the busy Boulevard de Sebasloppl,  I am surprised to see our first glimpse of a McDonald's, Starbucks and GAP.

At last, we arrive at the River Seine and we make a plea for the driver to let us out.  Our squished bodies have had enough and we are in familiar surroundings, so we pay the driver $20 Euros and cross the Pont au Change Bridge toward Ile de la Cite.  Rest, relaxation and Berthillon ice cream are within sight!

Welcome to my nightmare!

Two days later, I am watching an old man on the Metropolitain, Paris' underground subway system.  Of all the ways to get around Paris - compared to the RER speed trains (which takes us to Versailles), and a river boat called Batobus (which we take regularly to different locations on the Seine River) -- the Metropolitain is the most confusing.

Despite some experience with the subway systems in Washington D. C., Montreal and St. Louis, I cannot wrap my head around the confusing tunnel system of trains that feature 303 stations and 62 transfer stations.  Much of my confusion comes from walking five -- sometimes fifteen! -- minutes through twisting underground tunnels to the next station.  Intersecting tunnels, like the spokes of a wheel, head off into different directions, only to intersect with another spoke only 100 meters away.

Interestingly, these underground tunnels and concourses are still decorated in the art nouveau style that was popular during the Metro's opening in 1900.  Tunnels walls and ceiling are lined by small white earthenware tiles, chosen because of the poor lighting originally found in the early twentieth century.  Walls are covered by advertising, with posters announcing the opening of the new Transformers IV movie and a David Bowie exhibition at the Cite de la Musique.  At a few intersections, I encounter what looks like a small village consisting of newsstands and a market selling a variety of fruit and vegetables.

Speaking of underground tunnels, it is well known that another city exists beneath the streets of Paris.  Known as  the Catacombs de Paris, they form a labyrinth beneath the very heart of Paris.  Many of these tunnels were created in the galleries of the former quarries whose stone was used to build the city above.  Located below the Metropolitain, these ossuaries contain the remains of six million Parisians, transferred between the late-18th and mid-19th centuries as graveyards were being closed above ground because of the risk they posed to public health.

But as I was saying --

I am standing on the Metro train watching an older French man play an accordion.  He is a well-dressed man, wearing grey slacks with a blue and black striped shirt.  I don't know if this is a regular occurrence on the Metro -- perhaps in an effort to relax passengers, the city has hired him to entertain during certain hours.  I'm enjoying this little piece of old French cointe until he finishes, smiles and comes around asking for money.  So much for being hired by the Metro.

Disappointed, I turn my face to look at a train car filled with passengers returning from work.  Many of them share a vacant look on their faces as if they have been infected by the body next to them with some soul-sucking virus.  It's like I'm watching the 2014 remake of the Invasion of the Body Snatchers.  I adjust my grip on the pole as a sharp turn on the tracks shifts my body weight to the left then right.  To my side, I see Colin firmly attached to Sean's waist -- I wonder what his young mind is thinking as ghostly images of graffiti and patches of darkness flash by the train's dirty windows. 

Finally, the train slows and I see a blue and white sign that reads Cluny La Sorbonne.  It vanishes as quickly as it appeared.  In mass, we exit the train and check to make sure everyone is still with us. Eric, Kevin, Sharon, Liz, Jacqueline and the hybrid Sean/Colin.  Check!  Wallets, backpacks and purses are still in place, meaning the pickpockets have been foiled again. With a rush of air, the train departs -- taking its collection of zombie passengers with it.  As we exit into the sunlight of Quai De La Tornelle, my spirit is renewed with the sounds and beauty of the River Seine and old city Paris. 

Indeed it is always a good idea to visit Paris, but it is best to travel above ground.

Continued,

Paris Is Always A Good Idea, Part II

My stomach drops like a bomb on Paris during World War I as I realize my camera does not work.

Sean is standing in the Cour Carree courtyard of one of the most famous museums in the world -- the Musee du Louvre -- and my camera 's battery decides to die!  Damn it to hell -- if only the mail had delivered my back-up battery a day earlier! 

A few days before, as we waited in the Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport for our flight to France, I checked my Amazon.com order and discovered that they had attempted to delivered it to our house at 9 that morning -- mere hours after we had left.  A lot of good that would do since I needed it for the trip.  I tried to tell myself everything would be ok if I kept my existing battery fully charged.  Liz, always so full of wisdom said, "Maybe that will teach you to order these things sooner than a few days before you need it."  My mumbled reply would only encourage more wisdom, so I licked my wounds and kept my mouth shut.

 

Two days later, as my battery dies on the threshold of the Louvre, Liz's words echo in my mind again.

As Sean disappears through the arch into another area leading to the museum's main courtyard and entrance, I remind myself to keep my mouth shut again -- this time because it is hanging open in amazement at the massive, yet beautiful building before me.  Its symmetrical design with vertical pilasters and colonnades resembles a majestic palace infused with decorative Greek gods and statues of important French figures.

As I rush forward to find Eric, Sharon, Sean and Liz, I enter the museum's main courtyard which is dominated by the Louvre's famous glass pyramid.   To my left and right (as well as behind me) stretch the Denon, Richelieu and Sully wings of the museum with more pilasters and colonnades topped by black steep boxy mansard roofs.  Fountains adorn the courtyard, with people standing nearby snapping pictures.  Damn the U.S. Postal Service!

In the distance I can see Jardin des Tuileries with its geometrical gardens, the Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel and a picturesque Ferris wheel.  Blue skies have finally returned after this morning's rain.  It's a glorious view, one that French rulers like King Louis XIV would see every day before this palace was moved to Versailles.

A braid of people snake through the courtyard, waiting to enter the museum and get out of the day's heat.  Thanks to our museum passes, we are able to skip the wait and enter through doors which are integrated into the pyramid's glass walls.  I am excited as we descend the staircase that will take us into the museum's galleries and exhibits.  After so many years, I am about to see great works of classical art like Venus de Milo and the Winged Victory of Samothrace.  And famous paintings like Da Vinci's Mona Lisa and Rembrandt's The Supper at Emmaus.   

It is just the beginning of a week filled with great museums like the Louvre, Musee d'Orsay,  the Petit Palais Musee des Beaux Arts and of course, the Fragonard Musee du Parfum.  Ok, maybe the last one isn't on the list of Paris' greatest museums, but rest assured Eric, Sean and I won't forget our tour guide anytime soon.




The architecture in Paris is so opulent that it stops you in your tracks -- often right in the middle of the road.   Which, given the way people drive in Paris, is not a good idea.  The city's museums, hotels and gardens feature such an abundance of riches that it amazes you when you come across another structure that's even more decadent.

I've spent the morning on my own following the River Seine on my way to the Eiffel Tower.  Along the way, I see Gothic architecture represented in Notre-Dame and Sainte Chapelle, the royalty of la Consiergerie (the prison where Marie Antoinette lost her head), and the renovated train station called Musee d'Orsay with its beautiful twin clocks. 

Even bridges are adorned with gold -- like the Pont Alexandre III, a beaux-arts style bridge with its exuberant lamps, cherubs, nymphs and winged horses on either end.  It practically puts the Eiffel Tower to shame. 

Don't get me wrong, the Eiffel Tower is awesome.  Next to the Mona Lisa, is there anything that says Paris like the Eiffel Tower?  It's size dominates the skyline as I walk along the river, passing newsstands selling everything from newspapers, magazines, posters, old books and artwork.  I pass people selling various-sized Eiffel Towers and small crowds of people playing a game where you try to guess the location of a disappearing ball.

But compared to the collection of museums and hotels that I passed on the way, the Eiffel Tower is simple -- almost mundane.  It's best features appear at night, when the tower is lit with alternating colors that can be seen from miles away.

It reminds me of Disneyland.  If you've ever been to the Epcot Center in Florida, you may remember its World Showcase featuring little villages from different parts of the world.  In "Impressions of France" you will find a little French village that looks just like parts of Paris.  You know you're looking at something that looks like it's centuries old, but it was really made in 1998.  At the time, I thought it was pretty cool.  Today, standing in Paris -- doing my Mary Tyler Moore impression -- I look all around me and see streets filled with Disney impressions.   The difference is, here the buildings really are four hundred to eight hundred years old.





 

Speaking of impressions, everyone should add sitting at a Paris café to their bucket list.  You can't walk more than a few blocks before you run into one.

Sidewalk brasserie-style cafes are the epitome of what it means to be French.  With their colorful awnings -- highlighted with red, yellow and purple flowers -- they add instant appeal to every corner. 

A typical café will have small tables under an umbrella for shade, with chairs facing the street so you can watch people walking past.  These tables are so close that you think you must know the people next to you.  If you're lucky, the sound of classical music from a school across the street or someone playing the accordion will reach your ears when there's no traffic driving by.

On the day we asked Sean if he wanted to join us in Paris, you could tell his first thought was:   sitting at a café, sipping on a beverage and reading a newspaper?  Yeah, I could do that.  He didn't even have to open his mouth -- the answer was written all over his face.

Today we are sitting at a quiet café for a breakfast of freshly baked croissants with jam, a pain au chocolat, some sliced fruit, yoghurt and a cup of hot chocolate.

Sitting outside, with the morning sun highlighting the dome of a gothic church across the street, I am able to see a delivery truck delivering fresh fruit, the ever-present moped buzzing by and a few people walking to work after last night's Bastille Day fireworks at the Eiffel Tower.  Next door is a market where you could buy fresh vegetables and fruit.  Next to that is a butcher shop, and next to that a bakery.  You get the idea.  In Paris it seems like everything you need is within reach of a café.  Sit long enough and you'll find what you're looking for just a few steps away.

That reminds me... did anyone see an ice cream shop?  There must be one around here somewhere -- it is summer.  And we are in Paris.

To be continued,

Paris Is Always A Good Idea, Part 1

Despite the rain, I force my eyes to look up toward the upper reaches of the cathedral.  Through the drizzle, I can see the transept and spire dominating the verdigris copper statues of the twelve apostles.  With today's weather, I can easily imagine the spire being a true "spiritual lightning rod" protecting everyone inside from the storm. 

 

Facing the cathedral's West façade, dominated by its two large towers, I am greeted with the ringing of the 13-ton, bourdon bell known as Emmanuel.  It's a magnificent sound -- filling the surrounding buildings, alleys and cafes, forcing its way into the gutters and catacombs beneath Paris -- one that is accompanied by the remaining four bells ringing from the cathedral's South Tower. 

I wonder how many storms, much worse than this one -- this building has weathered.  During the radical upheaval of the French Revolution in 1793, its walls were assaulted by common Parisians determined to tear down religious and political  hierarchies.  And yet it survived and was rebuilt in the years that followed.

As the rain continues, I see water exiting from the stone mouth of a hideous gargoyle, as though it is vomiting anything sent from the heavens above.

I feel sorry for Eric, standing to my side who is the only one in our group without an umbrella.  A jacket and baseball cap, pulled low over his eyes, is his only protection from the drenching rain.  Even Jacqueline and Colin seem tickled that they have umbrellas, but dad does not.  Elsewhere, multi-colored umbrellas -- muted by the morning's grey skies -- dot the long line of people waiting to enter the cathedral's massive wooden doors.  Many of them are waiting for Sunday Mass -- the rest of us will have to settle for the rain to wash away our sins.

For the first time since our arrival, I look down.  My feet are standing in a puddle of water, soaking my shoes and socks -- but I barely notice.  Standing before  the entrance to this eight hundred-year-old architectural marvel known as the Cathedrale Notre-Dame De Paris, I am reminded of how small and insignificant my time on this planet has been. 

It will not be the last time I feel that way.



We are in Paris, France for a week, joining Liz's brother and family from Chicago.  Just saying something like that -- in Paris, France -- takes some getting used to.  Adjusting to a different time zone, foreign language and new surroundings will take more time than we will have on vacation.  But that doesn't mean we won't try.

Our arrival at the Charles De Gaulle Airport is uneventful, but without a cell phone to call Eric or Sharon we are left wondering how we are going to find them among Europe's second most busy -- and the world's seventh most busy -- airport.  Fortunately, we are able to find the correct terminal and arrival gate after dashing through a sea of foreign speaking travelers.

How utterly confused I feel as we rush from one screen to another searching for an incoming flight from Chicago.  The gentle chimes of the airport's overhead speaker system is doing little to settle our nerves.  We discover that the Ogden flight will be delayed by a couple of hours, so we need to find our taxi ride to the apartment on our own. Fortunately, Liz has a packet of information and a phone number to call.  With the assistance of help from the informations su l'aeroport, we are soon face to face with our smiling escort, holding a sign that reads OGDEN.

Ten minutes later -- exhausted from our overnight (and sleepless) flight -- I am left speechless as our taxi zips between speeding cars, buses, motorcycles and fearless pedestrians.  I still can't believe we are in Paris!  While Liz and Enzo talk about family and his growing taxi business, I look out the van's dirty window at a world that is as foreign to me as the language being used by our taxi driver.  A quick look at the speedometer tells me we are maneuvering through traffic at speeds of 130 kph (80 miles an hour).  As we approach a four lane, traffic junction, we slow, then suddenly stop waiting for traffic from the right to merge.  Enzo beeps his horn at the car ahead and -- muttering something insulting in French -- we're off again.

Three bouchons (traffic jams) and forty-five breathless minutes later, we are on the Ile Saint Louis, standing before our temporary home away from home --  Bour 55, 5 Quai de Bourbon -- Paris.

Ile Saint Louis is one of two natural islands in the middle of historic Paris.  It is a small island connected to the rest of Paris by four bridges to both banks of the River Seine.  While much of Paris has modernized over the years, Ile Saint Louis remains romantically frozen in the 17th century when Ernest Hemingway rented a room here.  I can tell immediately that it will provide an oasis of calm in an otherwise busy part of the city.  As we look out of the large open windows onto the gentle flow of the river, I am already forgetting our ride from the airport.

Our townhouse is typical of the beautiful 4- and 5-storied French architecture that is common through out the island.  Dwellings are oriented towards the outside, rather than towards an inner courtyard, with large open windows and balconies looking out to river views.  As I would find out later, we are surrounded by narrow one-way streets with several restaurants, markets, bakeries, fromageries, toy shops (puppets!), cafes and ice cream parlors at street level, as well as one large church.  It will not take us long to visit Berthillon, with its primary ice cream store on the island.  Within two blocks are three or four additional shops, each with their own unique flavors of ice cream.  We all agree -- it's some of the best in Paris!



 

At the moment, I am just standing in the living room of our townhouse.  Too tired to move.  That's because to get to our apartment within the townhouse, we must open three locked doors and climb more than 100 steps to the main living room.

The charm of the old building can be found in its unique characteristics and solid construction. But these steps are a killer!  In addition, we have three large suitcases that need to be brought up.  Our Parisian "greeter" invites us to use a small (Liz will tell you very small) elevator on the second floor.  It's big enough for one person and a suitcase.  You slide the door open, step into its cramped space, shut the grill, push the up button, and ... pray.  Miraculously, a few minutes later it opens on the fourth floor just like he said.

Despite the steep stairs, we use the elevator only to bring the suitcases up on the first day, and down on the last.

Much to our surprise, we are told that there a no bugs to worry about ("too cold!"), so we throw open four large windows to let the sounds of Ile Saint Louis wash over the apartment.  With no screens on the windows, we can look straight down to the narrow street below and the River Seine, which is flowing right to left.  It is a beautiful view -- either sitting in a chair or perched on the ledge -- and one that we will cherish in the days and nights ahead as we are reminded that Paris in the summer is always a good idea.

To be continued,