. . . or get off the pot.

Yup. That's what life's all about. One way or. Another way. It all comes down to making a choice. My young nephew already has it all figured out. Lucky boy.
Coffee or tea.
Boxers or briefs.
Cat or dog.
Cotton or poly.
Flats or heels.
White or whole wheat.
Window or aisle.
NCAA or NBA.
Hardback or paperback.
Network or cable.
Upstairs or downstairs.
Stick it out or head out.
Fries or slaw.
Mac or PC.
Car or bus.
Stay-at-home or back-to-work.
Love or hate.
Smoking or non-smoking.
Good or bad.
War or peace.

Not that I'm equating choosing fat-free half and half over the real thing with a major life choice. Thing is--whatever your situation, you've just got to make your choice and get on with it.

The Husband and I would never be accused of over-thinking a situation. We're the ones who uprooted our little family from south Minneapolis and moved to LaCrosse, Wisconsin. Almost on a whim. Not once, but twice. In fact, during our 30-year marriage we've had 8 different addresses and disproved the old axiom: “you can’t lose with real estate”. Twice. We hemorrhaged cash, but do you see me crying about it. (Well, not any more.) It’s just money, we can make some more. Of course, we won’t be retiring until we’re 97.

Rule Numero Uno here in MadgeWorld is that once “Everything Will Work Out.” And it does. I could have completed the student teaching assignment and not dropped out of college. But then I wouldn’t have worked at Haskell’s which led to my first job in advertising. (Long story.) Which led to a job at Target.

When I left Target Advertising, my sister, Rita, took my place. At 10 cents MORE per hour! I went to work for Cy DeCosse (thanks Cy, without you I would not be earning a living today. Another long story). Sure, I could have stayed at Target for 30 years and been a millionairesse with stock options. But then Rita wouldn’t have met Mike, who also worked for Cy. I wouldn’t have three gorgeous nieces. Honestly, I couldn’t live with the guilt.

I’ve tried to drill Rule One into my kid’s thick skulls. I thought they’d learn my go-with-the-flow method by imitation. But no. I’ve got one who makes a spreadsheet for everything. Another one who overthinks everything. Another one who borders on the neurotic. And another one who remains a mystery. Whatever their methods, it seems to be working for them.

Real estate disasters aside, our modus operandi has worked for us. It's like the string theory of physics. In fact, I’m getting a little restless. I feel another whim coming on. One way or. Another way. That’s life. Enjoy the journey.

And now, if you'll excuse me, I’m going to have breakfast.
Cereal or eggs.
Toast or hash browns.
MPR or Jazz and Traffic.

Baby, you can't drive my car.

I was gong to write about my sojurn in Palm Springs, but that will have to wait for another day. Because, today, within the span of 5 minutes I received 3 e-mails with the same subject line. ”Your help. Can it impact prices. . . . ”
An e-mail about how lil’ ole you can help control the high price of gas, simply by boycotting Exxon and Mobile and forwarding the e-mail to 30 people exhorting them to do the same. “Buyers control the marketplace!” “Join the resistance.”
It encourages you to forward the e-mail to 30 people. “Do the math. We can reach 30 million people.”

Where do these things start? And why do people forward them. They don't even have the courtesy to delete the forwarded trails so you have to scroll through several thousand lines to find out what the inane message it. The e-mail claims to have started with Paul Kingsley RCDD. (should I know who he is?) The e-mail mentions a “retired coca Cola executive with an "engineer buddy who worked at Halliburton.”

OK. Think about the above for just a second. Halliburton is in cahoots with GW and has made millions off of government contracts to provide “services” to the U.S. in Iran. Let’s just call it war profiteering and leave it at that. So, now they’re the experts behind this pseudo 60s movement to bring down gas prices. Really people. Think. Think before you forward an e-mail and clog up my in box.

I also love the left wing language of this particular junk e-mail: “Join the resistance.” Makes me remember my faux-protestor days at the U of M and the Students for a Democratic Society. Yes, now protesting is sanctioned by Halliburton and Coca Cola. Two big American Capitalistic Pig Corporations -- Up against the wall Muthaf***er, but stay refreshed ‘cause Coke is it.

I usually just hit the delete button, but today, I got cranky and responded with something that went like this:

Gas prices will continue to rise no matter what.
If you haven’t noticed, China is poised to become the largest consumer of oil on the planet. China is becoming a major market for everything – computers, software, and yes, cars.
There are over 1 billion people in China.
There are only 298 million people in the US.

Most Chinese people don’t have cars.
Many Chinese people WANT a car. There are likely several hundred million who will have one. Real soon.
Cars use gas.
The US consumes 20.03 million barrels of oil per day.
China consumes 6.391 million barrels of oil per day.
Do the math. Real math. Not play-junk-e-mail-math.
As the Chinese start driving cars and consuming oil, they will far outstrip the US consumption of oil.

So, the best solution is to STOP silly boycotts that will not affect gas prices in the short or long term and START developing alternate types of fuel and conserving energy. Real soon.

What about saving gas by carpooling, or using rapid transit (i.e. the bus or Light Rail if you live close enough),
or driving less – consolidate your “errand” trips, or ride your bicycle and get your fat ass some exercise (that would help reduce obesity, too. So, score on two major issues facing our nation today.).
Or move closer to your place of employment.


Americans have been spoiled by low gas prices for too long. What goes up, unfortunately isn’t gonna come down. Get used to it people. Baby, you can drive my car. But it's going to cost you.

Listening to: Highway 61 revisited, Bob Dylan.
Eating: Drive-thru food.

Memory and Desire

April is the cruelest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.

Ah yes, the over quoted Wasteland by T. S. Eliot.

But, something happened recently that drop-kicked memory and self-reflection into high gear: I went to see “Imprints: a Photo Project by Tom Berthiaume” at the Bookmen Stacks.

60+ portraits of Minneapolis luminaries. Our local celebs, if you will. Politicians, artists, singers, impresarios. Artists and politicos. The people that shape our city. The stuff of great show. Very hip and definitely, not square. Tom's style: elegant yet without pretension. Spare. Avedon-esque, even. Tom was gracious, sincere and generous with his credit for all the contributors. Classic Berthiaume. It was a great evening for him.

The subject matter guaranteed a successful opening night party, and the place was packed. Was it the valet parking, the open bar or the fact that Tom worked with some of the biggest names in the local ad and art scene? Some of his assistants went on to start studios of their own. Young art directors climbed the ladder and ended up as VPs and Creative Directors. His client list was the Who’s Who of Minneapolis Advertising.

Me, I was just a lowly studio manager at Arndt and Berthiaume photography back in the early 80s before the studio split up. Booking models, finding props, billing, finding 4 old bathtubs to hold the booze at the annual party--all good skills for a foundation in Project Management. Too bad I didn't pay more attention to the art and craft of photography. Getting knocked up with Baby #3, aka Nora, ended my full-time studio manager career.

In the 70s, I also worked w/ Tom at the “Twin Cities Express.” An artsy newspaper he started that was a precursor to City Pages and other rags. Great fun but he hemorrhaged money. The Express later inspired our own paper, “The Revue,” when Steve and I were exiled and bored living in LaCrosse, Wisconsin. Also fun. Also a big money loser.

I was ready to see more of Tom's brilliant portraits but I was not prepared for the trip down memory lane. Faces I hadn't seen for years. Talk about stirring dull roots with spring rain--there's nothing like seeing old friends that brings emotion to the surface.

Doris! Doris was there! The people who know and love Doris could populate a small planet. She arrived the day of the opening from Italy looking gorgeous. Expatriate. Luccesian landlady.

il Mulino.

Amazing cook. And ad scene drop out. She's also one of the first people I met while I worked for Tom. Embraced me into her life and in the process became part of our family. The godmother of my youngest son, Paddy. Former business partner of my brother, Tom. Thirty years started flashing before my eyes. Too much.


















Lucky me. I've got a small collection of Berthiaume images here at home: Steve's dad, Aut. (Image from an old contact sheet.)













Steve and I taken the week his mother was dying.

















Meghan in her first communion dress. My imprints. The people who shaped my landscape. And I am grateful to have them. Here in MadgeWorld we also like to give credit where credit is due. Never again have I had a job where the entire scruffy staff took all afternoon for lunch at 510 Groveland, then went home drunk. Thanks Bert, for a great time in my life.

Listening to: Jackson Browne