Milwaukee Specialty Food and Coffee

I Declare Fiddleheads a Princess-Free Zone

I note that some kind of (IMHO) ridiculous "Princess Tea Party" has been held in Cedarburg today. If I am blessed with children, I hope that my hopefully princess-free daughter(s) will learn that her desire to explore and experiment with various aspects of reality is a wonderful gift--and that I only ask and advocate that she use it wisely. "83% of CHS students choose NOT to use marijuana" reads a poster at Fiddleheads in Cedarburg. I'm going to play devil's advocate (and risk disinherit-age) by stating that I'm skeptical--both of the statistic and the principle behind it. Basically, I believe that life presents us with a wide variety of mind-altering substances and situations. Ultimately, we can only "choose" whether or not to be robust enough to withstand them.

If my daughter's appetite for the mind-altering ends up as a strong desire to go to the tea party--or, heck, to join the Tea Party--I hope that I'll suck it up and bite my tongue, or at most state my opinion in a matter-of-fact fashion while affirming that my love is unconditional. In that light, their inevitable acting out in an inappropriate way can be just a stepping stone towards a deeper relationship with my child. As an older Dad, I'll need plenty of reminders that some aspects of my view of the world may have passed their sell-by date. I'll have the ability to adapt and adjust, though at times with a grimace. That way, not only does my daughter not need to fit into some ridiculous pidgeonhole--neither do I.

Much more damaging, in my view, is the impulse to turn way-preteen girls into objects to be paraded around and segregated. (Mind you, I mean girls under 12 or 13--I was a precocious kid and know that the game can change quickly and drastically at around that age.)  With all of our tea parties, girls' nights out and girls' nights in--not to mention our man caves--we learn that to be truly unthreatened, we have to be in our treehouse, keeping the other sex out. Accordingly, it is only natural that divorce should be the peak experience in adult life in our society. Only by systematically declaring war on our spouse's flaws and annihilating our engagement with them can we truly develop ourselves as individuals, this philosophy holds.

I think that psychologically wholesome life comes only when we learn, pardon my French, that other people will do all kinds of crazy shit. And that we ourselves will do all kinds of crazy shit. Our choice is whether we can find opportunity for connection in the good and the bad--not in the kind of physical and psychological segregation that our boy-in-a-bubble society insists upon, but in the dirt and dust of interaction with others who are vigorously championing their own wants and needs.

East Side: Snapshots: When We're Together (Brewed Cafe)

I headed back to Brewed Cafe fully prepared to sit near Continuum Guy. I figured I needed to practice just dealing with it. He's not here, but fate has upped the ante. There's, like, a lesbian match.com date going on a few feet from me. I think I'm experiencing the kind of regret women often talk about, where gay people of the other gender are so pleasant and well-spoken (not to mention reasonably attractive) that you wish they were playing for your team.

Nevertheless, I'm in a darn good mood--of the kind where I look twice both ways before crossing the street, lest I get hit by a truck. And I should be in a fine mood, as my consciousness is basically woven of 24-karat spun gold at this point. This morning, I noticed that my counselor had acquired a MacBook Air. I'm pretty good for the bottom line at the ol' Lighthouse. But I have to entertain the thought that I am getting a square deal, and maybe more. Maybe the clincher is the realization that I would rather be 38 years old and have my new mentality than go back to any previous point in my life as I was then. And what's fun is that it isn't like I won the lottery or signed a book contract or anything of that nature--all the other variables remain largely unchanged; it's me that's different.  And I'm so fortunate for this to have still been possible (albeit at great cost and effort) at my age. 

Snapshots: Make Mine Decaf, Please (Follow-up)

I'm sure this will be spoon-feeding, but I realize that my Halloween post was more of a parable than I intended. I listed a few sources of anxiety that I encountered over my day, one of them being the fire alarm in my apartment building--which goes off all the time, so I'd just ignored it. Aha! Of course, anxiety is nothing so much as my body's malfunctioning fire alarm. 

Snapshots: Make Mine Decaf, Please (Happy Halloween!)

I'm drinking a decaf cappuccino at Brewed Cafe. Today has been one of those days that reminds me that someone with my central nervous system has no business drinking regular coffee, much less blogging about it! Every six weeks, I have Merry Maids clean my apartment, and today they arrived about fifteen minutes before I was ready for them. Fortunately, the fire alarm went off, which bought me five minutes--that happens so often in my building that I just put in earplugs and ignore it. Then, about 4 p.m., I happened to pull out my iPhone: "Pretty nasty blog about you, no idea who started it" read the Twitter DM, "pushed" to my phone's main interface. It then provided a gibberish-y Twitter link, which had been disabled. I try to stay focused at work, especially as I start fading in the late afternoon, but of course this unleashed a few moments of panic. It took even fewer for me to realize that this was most likely an instance of someone's Twitter account being hacked. 

Just last night, I blogged: "If we allow them to drive a wedge into our identity, that is harmful." And boy, did I get a wedgie this afternoon. Which makes me wonder: Why? For the past month, I've been writing blog entries that are mostly unflattering towards myself, along with several posts that might lead one to believe that I'm aspiring to be a low-rent version of someone who hosts those PBS specials they show during fundraising drives. (Because, you know, I am--there would seem to be worse hobbies, after all.) Any infuriation I've earned with this blog is likely to have been years ago. It's dismaying that on some level, all of this self-improvement isn't registering with my central nervous system, which seems to be occasionally living in some parallel universe. It'd been a good while since I had anything so far in the direction of the full monty--and if you don't know what I mean, I hope you never do.

Of course, there's a chance there might indeed be a "pretty nasty blog about" me. If not now, maybe someday. I hope not, but if there is, I will pull myself through it somehow. I hope that someday soon, I can bring myself to a point where I wouldn't lose a minute's sleep over it.

Wellness: Off Topic: Darling's Daring Dental Doings

File this one under "unexpectedly painless experiences": this afternoon, I had a wisdom tooth extracted by Dr. John E. Darling of Glendale.  It was not only effortless, it seemed downright reasonable at $164.  Granted, it took about 30 seconds of wiggling for the tooth to come out.  Dr. Darling and his friendly staff made the experience anything but the stereotypical dental experience (though I've never really found dentist visits disagreeable). Coincidentally, as I started writing this post (at 8:30 p.m.), Dr. Darling called my cell phone to check up on me.  That's pretty impressive!

Snapshots: Alterra Costa Rica Herbazu Honey

I'm at Alterra on Prospect, having just enjoyed a double shot of the espresso of the week, the Costa Rica Herbazu Honey.  I was in the neighborhood for a dentist appointment (no cavities--thanks for asking!  But as you can surely imagine, I do need that whitening, so do tell him Mike Miller sent you if you go).  The doppio was on a par with any of the best espressi I've had here, a high level indeed.  As attentive readers will know, I have a strong preference for Costa Rican coffee, so I can't wait to try it as drip, also.

Ristretto: Random Thoughts: Help, I'm Stitting and I Can't Get Up!

Lately, it seems like every time I go to a restaurant or coffeehouse, I sit with my right leg crossed over my left and before long (OK, maybe after about 30-45 minutes or longer), my right leg falls asleep.  Sometimes, when I then attempt to stand, it's as if I were handicapped.  Would it help if I were sitting on a cushion or something to make me sit higher off the ground?  Or maybe it's useful negative reinforcement to prevent me from messing around on the Internet for hours on end as in days of yore...

Editorials: A Lil' Bit of Everything

WARNING: There will be too many ideas jammed into this blog post.  I've been thinking a lot lately about economic justice and related topics (I know, sexy, sexy stuff).  It seems like every time I open my Facebook home page, some new criticism of President Obama, Winner of the 2009 Nobel Peace Price, is being voiced.  I know that the difficult economic environment has impacted many--perhaps even most-- more than it has me.  Still, I'm detecting a vibe that makes me highly uncomfortable.  In too many instances, people seem to be lashing out in anger at those less fortunate than themselves.  Opposition to President Obama's initiatives, whether in health care or other areas, may stem from dislike of the idea of redistribution of wealth.  Well, maybe we're only focusing on some of the ways we redistribute. 

I just redistributed $20 by getting gas.  I have to do that to get to work, but mostly to get out to Mequon--where I write this--to the hiking trail, coffee shops and other activities I enjoy.  If this were Germany, there would be an S-Bahn (suburban metro railway) that would get me out here.  As nearby as Chicagoland, a weekend Metra pass allows unlimited riding for $5.  The Metra system extends into Wisconsin.  Though slow advances seem to be being made in Milwaukee-area transit, it remains in the Pleistocene compared to other regions of its size.  Attitudes are formed by talkers such as Mark Belling.  I don't hate Belling, but he's in the Mark Belling business.  I'm in the Mike Miller business.  You, dear reader, should be in the (insert your name here) business.

Now why, oh why, would Mark Belling be against transit?  Because if we had good transit, you might be in a fast-moving train at 5:30 p.m. instead of stuck in traffic listening to his show while getting angry and constipated.  Hello?  I'll be the first to admit that I often lack common sense, but that sure seems like common sense to me.  I'll also be the first to admit that I'm not exactly a financial wizard, but it seems odd to sit in one's car listening to the radio so that advertisers can suggest ways to spend your money--so that they can buy more advertising time.  I've been listening to a fair amount of radio lately, mostly in the evening while at work.  Kessler's Diamonds is a heavy advertiser and has been for years.  Now, this isn't an attack on Kessler: his folksy ads are endearing, though annoyingly omnipresent, and reading the biography of Richard Kessler, he actually sounds like a really cool guy--the kind I could look up to.  But again, he's in the Richard Kessler business.  I'm in the Mike Miller business.

If I'm sitting in my car listening to ads for Kessler's, who am I working for?  To what end is my life?  To put gas in my tank, I send money to Saudi Arabia and other governments with whom I disagree.  To buy a token of my love to give to a significant other, I'm supposed to give money to Richard Kessler.  Even though he's a really cool guy, I don't think he needs any of my comparatively modest income.  To be honest, I think it would make a lot more sense if society's custom were to give $10,000 in cash to your significant other.  (Please don't consider that an offer and try to take me up on it.)

Wanna be in business for yourself?  I don't pretend to have the answers, but I can share some things that have worked for me.   If you occasionally get out of your car and walk someplace, you're actually accomplishing several things at the same time.  You can check transportation, health care, and entertainment off your list.  It'd be interesting for some more numbers-oriented person to put a dollar value on walking.  I believe it would be substantial: consider fuel savings, accident prevention, savings in public works projects, and health care costs not incurred due to the preventive value of exercise.  That's money going back into your own pocket.  No radio programs or commercials are going to tell you that, because no radio programs or commercials are going to tell you to do anything that's in your own financial interest.  (OK, Suze Orman is probably an exception!)

So, to get back (somewhat) to my original point--I'm not worried that President Obama is going to redistribute some of my money to black people who might spend it on 40-ouncers or worse.  That notion is a divide and rule strategy being perpetrated by the powers that be.  Americans wisely saw through that strategy in electing President Obama.  If we exercise similar wisdom in our everyday financial decisions, consumer choices and other actions, we will be a society of stronger and healthier individuals.

Wellness: MBT Shoes

I realize I'm deep into off-topic overdraft this year, but I'd be remiss if I didn't write about what has been by far my most rewarding purchase of the year: a pair of MBT shoes. The model I'm sporting, the Chapa, usually retails for $250 or more a pair, but I was able to find a discontinued style for about $175.  Trust me, I would be the first to come back with the objection that that's far too much to be paying for a pair of shoes, despite the fact that I walk at least 25 miles a week.  My last few pairs have come from Sears--but then came this summer's chronic back pain and physical therapy, to the tune of about $1500.  I wonder how much of that could have been prevented by springing for the MBTs earlier.

Wellness: Links: You Fill Enjoy It: PCMH Nurse

I seem to have fallen into a Kopp's habit, so I need a healthy habit to counteract this newly acquired unhealthy one.  Luckily, this wonderful blog happened to cross my virtual path: PCMH Nurse.  In this article, the author actually relates her experience giving up coffee in order to be able to better empathize with her patients.