The Perils of Bowling

Did you know that bowling can kill you? Bowling fatalities are rare but they do happen. Just last week I read a media report about an unfortunate bowling alley employee who died in the mechanical apparatus behind the pins.

Bowling mishaps of lesser severity are easily imagined. "Ouch, dropped the bowl on my toe!" "Whoops, smashed my fingers while retrieving my ball!" Things like that must happen all the time.

But fatalities? It turns out that the machinery behind the well-illuminated ivory ten-pins is a throwback to the industrial revolutions origins. Think meat-packing in Chicago in 1873 or George Orwell's "Animal Farm". Whatever you do, don't let your children grow up to be pin-setters!

Ever heard of extreme bowling? Take an ordinary bowling alley. Then turn down the lights, turn up the music and bowl the night away. Turns out that bowling fatalities multiply exponentially in the world of extreme bowling. Look it up.

I remember my grandfather and his fellow bowlers. They appreciated a night out with the boys, downing beers and rolling those beautiful, shiny balls down the laminated hardwood lanes like figure skaters on ice.

Turns out that idyllic fantasy blinded us all to the mayhem behind the lanes---bowling alley personnel carnage. Where oh where is OSHA. That's right, the Occupational Safety and Health Act and all those government employees whose responsibility it is to make the American workplace immune from injury and death?

Did you know there's a one-lane bowling alley in the White House? Former President Richard Nixon had it installed. Not at government expense. Oh no, it was paid for by Tricky Dick's friends who appreciated that government should not fund the frivolous leisure activities of government employees, not even the president. If only Nixon's moral compass has remained true to the ethic of privately funded bowling.

Subsequent presidents have made little use of Nixon's alley but W did. Some consider it unfortunate that Dick Cheney didn't take a stab at studying the internal mechanics of pin-setting.

Thank goodness ESPN doesn't pay much attention to bowling. Something about the "athletes" just doesn't measure up to the guys in the NFL or the NBA. Ever watched "Kingpen"? Now there's a bowling story worth seeing. My advice: If you should decide to take up bowling, whatever you do, don't pull a Munson.

Oregon's 150th Birthday: February 14, 2009

Oregon just turned 150. Easterners shrug, especially those from the original 13 colonies. To them, Oregon is more like a distant cousin than a ruggedly handsome, more athletic younger brother. For any true Oregonian, our beloved state's 150th birthday is a big deal.

Oregonians, though, aren't the type to draw attention to themselves. So February 14, 2009 arrived mostly in a St. Valentine mood, even for Oregonians, few of whom seem acquainted with the bloated word "Sesquicentennial".

My first knowledge of sesquicentennials came in Texas. Folks from The Lone Star State are famously disinclined toward humility, an unfortunate fact from a Northwest perspective. Texans seemed determined to have their state's 150th birthday rank second only to "Remember the Alamo" on the top 10 list of Things Memorable About Texas.

Oregon's 150th was notable mainly for recognizing the role of Native Americans in the history of our state, complete with high ranking politicians offering them apologies and genuflections to assuage the social injustices of the mid-19th century. Of course, the Indian tribes of Oregon are now exceptionally well-funded, thanks to casinos, so they've got that going for them. And nobody suggested out loud that the political homage to them might somehow be related to their newfound prosperity. Oregonians are too polite for that.

The truth is, I love this state. As a native Oregonian, I'm in the minority. My ancestors came out west in covered wagons on the Oregon Trail in the 1840's, which makes me as Oregonian as a person can get. I've been fortunate to see much of the world, and I can't image living anywhere else. Our quality of life cannot be surpassed. Sure, the rainy winters can be dreary, but the turning of seasons builds character and helps measure the passage of time. That's what I tell myself. And my sun-loving wife, a native Oregonian herself, who benefits from the occasional reminder of this fact.

So Happy 150th Birthday Oregon! We know our slice of paradise is an acquired taste for some. We like the fact that Oregon is relatively undiscovered, like the undetected beauty of the girl in the back row with dorky sunglasses and her hair in pigtails. We prefer it that way.

The Danville Mystery

Bet you didn't know the name "Dan" is special. I didn't either. And if any of the roughly 237 Dan's I've met over the course of my life knew it was special, they didn't say so. Which is a mystery unto itself. But that's not the mystery I'm blogging about today.

Ever heard of Danville? Nearly everyone can recall, at least when reminded, the memorable opening line of the song "The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down" by The Band, and later covered by Joan Baez (factoid: this song was the biggest hit of her career):

"Virgil Cain is my name and I drove on the Danville train...."

This was a song about the Civil War and at one time the Virginia town Danville was the headquarters of the Confederacy. The primary north-south train in the eastern United States ran through Danville. But why, I wondered, was the town Danville so named? Well, I learned, because it rests on the banks of the Dan River. OK, then why was the river named Dan? Nobody seems to know for sure.

Turns out that there many states that have Danvilles. They are located in Pennsylvania, Illinois, Kentucky, California, Georgia and for all I know there may be more of them.

Why are all these communities named after "Dan"? That's the mystery. I challenge anyone to find a good answer. I don't think you will.

Now consider this. How many other communities are named after a male's first name? You won't find any Billvilles, Jeffvilles, Bobvilles, Johnvilles, Stevevilles......I could go on but you get the point. Could it be that the name Dan is the subject of a well-guarded secret, like the Masonic rites or the silly bullshit in that Nicolas Cage movie The National Book of Treasures (here's another mystery---why do they make a sequel out of such a lame movie?).

When traveling in Israel last year, I was shocked to learn that Dan is big stuff in the Holy Land. Imagine my surprise when I found that my travel agent booked me into the Dan Hotel in Tel Aviv. It turned out that there's a whole chain of Dan Hotels there. Why? Because the Tribe of Dan was one of the original twelve tribes of the Holy Land. There you go. No mysteries in Israel about the reasons for the prominence of Dan.

But I find no evidence that the mysterious appearance of so many Danville's in the USA is even remotely related to the Tribe of Dan.

All great mysteries have spellbinding endings which neatly resolve the seemingly disconnected threads of the story in an unexpected, intellectually satisfying way. So it should be with The Danville Mystery. Maybe someday I'll write it if I can make any sense of it. For now, I've gotta say, I'm stumped. I guess I'll simply accept my mother's explanation. "Dan's are just plain special."

What's Next?

All the build up. All the preparation. The result? Whew, wipe my brow and exhale deeply: This was very fulfilling, the culmination of all my efforts, a performance to meet or, dare I say it, exceed, my high expectations. I'm talking about last Saturday's performance at The Shedd in Eugene.
Thanks a bundle to all of you who showed up and made it a magical night. At the top of this list, I include my musical comrades: Brent and Gary from LA; Greg from Portland and Stan, Matt and Pete from Eugene.
Several earlier blog posts focused on this gig and how performances in your home town acquire a unique sort of importance. The thing is, when you're performing for friends and family, plus fans from your hometown, along with many people who've never seen you but have heard that it's worth their time, trouble and the price of admission, you want to give them all you've got. You want to be the best performer you can be. You want to deliver in a way that will be remembered.
More than that, you want to achieve the ultimate musical trifecta: flawless performance, soulful delivery, memorable night. Did I do this? Well.....ok, flawlessness was a goal not quite achieved, but the performance was pretty darn solid, if I do say so myself. And soulfulness was there, no doubt about it. As for memorability, I really think....based on what I'm hearing from those who were there...that this was achieved.
The end result? I am relieved, fulfilled, content, satisfied and ultimately quite honored that things worked out so well. And, oh yeah, grateful to those who came and supported me and my band. Extremely grateful. I say again, as I said many times on Saturday night, THANK YOU VERY MUCH!