Saturday, April 2, 2011

UPDATE Grutz says, "THE BALD EAGLE CHICKS ARE HATCHING!"

The eagle cam.  All the cool kids are doing it.

Quick, got to to the Decorah Eagle cam.  NOW!

One was early already hatched this morning.

Why are you still reading this?

Update--- Due to the reports on KCRG tv back in Iowa, over 140,000 people have been watching (as compared to 6,000ish) and the cam keeps going offline.  But the Raptor Center has provided a youtube video collage of the pip of the eaglet.  You can reach it here.

Not only is this exciting, but it will be great watching the eaglets grow.  Man, if I was teaching now....

Friday, April 1, 2011

Grutz says, "Hey, hey, it's spring. Holy cow!" or "I can run, but I can't hide."

It's opening day at Wrigley Field and April Fools can be damned!


And no, I did not get the announcer job at Wrigley.  But it's not for lack of trying and I'm now a youtube hit (by hit, I mean 30 odd views).  As I was saying, it's opening day here in Chicago.  Now, it's not as exciting as Cincinnati, where kids cut school and offices empty for the opening day parade, a tradition most befitting the oldest franchise in baseball.
The Reds Opening-Day Parade have been held for over 90 years!

Reds great Joe Morgan.

But back to the 2nd City, home of the Cubs and the White Sox.  So what does all this mean.  A long season of a game that involves very, very long periods of, well, nothing, followed, occasionally, with heart-stopping, fist-clenching, screams of joy or agony (depending on who you're rooting for).  It means spring is here, a little early this season, to avoid the fall classic not stretching into November (abomination).  The 96th opening day at Wrigley Field.  How 'bout that?  Now, every opening day is pretty important to any fan of any team, but for Cub fans, each season begins with the possibility, however remote, that the Cubs have chance to end the drought.  Now at 102 years. Plus a new coach and a lot of new faces, and some old, welcome back Kerry Wood!  Personally, this season will be a tough one.  As my wife and many you know, I spent many, many, many afternoons and evenings listening to 720 WGN radio over the years.  The joys of not having a TV for so many years.  As some you may or may not know, longtime Cubs broadcaster and legendary player Ron Santo (I won't even go into why he should been in the Hall of Fame, it's a joke that he's not.  It breaks my heart.) passed away in the off season.  No words can describe this loss.  It will be very, very hard not hearing the utterly-biased, randomly hilarious, exceptionally personal voice he shared with Cub fans. I get choked up just thinking about it.  As much as a successful season would be great, it would be bitter-sweet not having Ronnie around to celebrate.  This season is all about #10.  They're only flying his number today on all the flag posts at Wrigley.  Ok, I am tearing up, different topic. AS I POST THIS CUBS UP, 1-0 in the 1st!!!!!

Even across the pond, my past can still come back to taunt me.
I received a letter from the United Kingdom!  Oh joy!  AirMail no less.  Inside was a message from a very special friend of mine, Mr. Matthew Peckosh.  A message from my past.

This grainy photo from the Telegraph Herald has me on the left, with flag, greeting VP nominee John Edwards way back in the day.  Not included: the lovely word-bubble Matt drew professing my love for Ashton Kutcher. 

This goes way back our youth, specifically notes and Secret Santas at Wahlert High School.  The "correspondences" usually we're limited in topic to comical threats/witty questionable mockery.  I actually still have some these notes (I'm saving them to blackmail Matt.  Seriously).  This continued sporadically through our college years.  Of course we 'outgrew' this and I'm happy to say that it did NOT continue with the advent of electronic mail.  It just doesn't have that personal touch of iffy drawings, doctored clippings, and flat out lies scripted by our own hand.  But now the gauntlet has be thrown down!  It's on Peckosh!  So if any of you out there have any photos of MATTHEW PECKOSH, specifically from Nativity, Jones, or Wahlert get them to me ASAP!  Aston Kutcher indeed!

Lastly, what baby wants, baby gets.
In our brief time together as husband and wife wife and husband, I've learned a few things.  I can't say I've learned a lot, just a few things REALLY well.  Ok, one thing really, really well.  What ever makes Carleen happy, well, that's it.  If it makes her happy, that's what's going to happen.  Carleen wanted roasted veggies for dinner tonight, to which I reply, "Yes, dear."  Luckily, Carleen's request are all manageable and never violate any of my morals (such as making me do something silly* during Hawkeye football games).
Mmmmmmmmmmmm.  Carleen's wish is my command.
Infuse your IQ with some high-octane fuel!

To be added later........something came up!


Milan Kundera, born 1 April 1929, is a writer of Czech origin who has lived in exile in France since 1975, where he became a naturalized citizen in 1981. He is best known as the author of The Unbearable Lightness of BeingThe Book of Laughter and Forgetting, and The Joke. Kundera has written in both Czech and French. He revises the French translations of all his books; these therefore are not considered translations but original works.


William Raymond Manchester (April 1, 1922 – June 1, 2004) was an American author and biographer, notable as the bestselling author of 18 books that have been translated into 20 languages. He was awarded the National Humanities Medal and the Abraham Lincoln Literary Award.

*Silly being just about anything involving me NOT watching the game.

Wednesday, March 30, 2011

UPDATED - Grutz says, "As long as we head north and west, we'll get there." or "I'm middle aged, aren't I? You'd tell me, right?"

Forget the expressways, we're taking back roads!
En route to our bed and breakfast in Wisconsin we ran into some traffic.  And by some, of course I am referring the the ever so spectacular Friday-get-the-hell-out-of-Chicago traffic.  Our exit on I-90 was waaaaaaaaay backed up, so I decide/delcared, "Forget this".  We were relatively close to the Wisconsin boarder, it's literally a question of direction.  My wonderful, amazing, patient, and gorgeous wife put her fears aside to my bold decision.  We don't need no stinkin' gps system!  We had a map.  And Carleen, by all appearances, was cool with it.  In my mind it was simple, north and west.  No problem, right?  Exactly.  Made it there, no worries.

It actually reminded me of driving from Chicago to Dubuque way back in high school.  A bunch of friends would load in to a car and leave directly from Wahlert to head to Chicago to catch a band on a Friday night.  Now on the way back we'd be all jazzed (and for the record, anyone who knows who I ran with in high school knows we were jazzed in the most honest sense, would all our folks let go to Chicago if we weren't upstanding citizens? That's right.) or sleeping so we'd miss the highway 20 exit in Rockford.  All of a sudden we'd be passing into Wisconsin.  What to do?!?!  Take a left, head west, eventually you'd run into the Mississippi River and Iowa.  No getting upset or worried.  Cardinal directions will get you home.  Kind of like our journey to Stoughton, Wis.
The Stoughton Courthouse.  Full of small-town Wisconsin charm.  (Not pictured, the nice art galleries, fine dining, and total dive-bars.  It's Wisconsin and what's a small-town Wisconsin without a half-dozen or so dive-bars?!?)

Ok, back on the task at hand.  As I mentioned in the previous post, my lovely wife inquired after a B&B.  Well, I found one, in Stoughton, Wisconsin.  We've never been there before, but, from my observations, it's in that Scandinavian/Swiss corridor that include Mt. Horeb, Monroe, and New Glarus, friendly, interesting,  and fun.  We had reservations at the Naeset-Roe Inn.  Carl and his charming dogs we're exceptional hosts.  He had long list of places of interest, shops, and fine cuisine around town.  We settled for the Main Street Pour House (get it, "pour" house?!?!? They pour beer!  Get it?!?!) for some good eats, a brew, and some local kareoke.  Including a singer giving a shout out to unions! Which received a hearty and positive respond from the bar-goers.  It was great, but we were tired so we I turned down any opportunity to belt out The Bay City Rollers', "Saturday Night".
Oh.My.God. It's a single rainbow over the Main Street Pour House.  Good food, great beer selections, and refreshingly entertaining local kareoke.  Really!
Naeset-Roe Inn.  Highly recommended on the Healy-Grutz scale.  We give it a  3 1/2 cranberry-orange scones out of 4. (C'mon, it's a B&B, scones is a staple, har har har!)
We made it back to the Naeset-Roe Inn and crashed, only after Carleen enjoyed the whirlpool bath.  We woke early, made it down to breakfast, met the other boarders, and consumed more delicious calories than you can shake a stick at, even vigorously.  The two other couples were in town for a concert, Tim O'Brien and Bryan Sutton.  I've heard of these two pickers/blue-grass/americana fellas before so it was a great conversation.  Carleen and I have stayed in numerous B&Bs over our short (though magical) time together, and we both enjoy the innkeepers and the guest so.  I would recommend a B&B any day over a regular hotel.  Sure, you're paying a bit more, but you can't put a price tag on the experience.

Birthday and Baraboo!
After the coma-inducing breakfast, Carleen and I hopped in the Forester and head to our next destination.  And where was that?  Well, nowhere in particular, eventually Baraboo, of course, but it was early and it was time to explore.  We visited Oregon (Wisconsin!) and then headed toward Madison.  We ventured into the city center, abandoning the safety and security of the beltway.  We circle the capitol building couple of times, giving our support to the protesters.  If you don't know what I'm referring to you ought to have something terrible happen to you.  I still can't believe that crap went down Wisconsin, of all places, in Madison?!?!?  Welcome to Mad-City.  Progressive HQ of the state.  It was great.  There were even cops protesting in support of the unions.  Like working an 8 hour day?  Thank the unions.  I'll stop now.

We then made it out of Madison, stopping in Black Earth, enjoying Sauk City, and eventually ending up in Baraboo.  We strolled through the quaint main street square (where people were taking signatures for recall of the governor/state senators.  Wisconsin is taking this union sh!t seriously!), stopping at The Village Booksmith (which has a ridiculously pathetic website that I won't dare link here, but it's still a neat store), grabbing some joe at Coffee Bean Connection, and getting some great flowers for Jane at Amber Moon.

We drove through the countryside surrounding Baraboo and finally made it to Jim and Jane's.  If you're new to the blog, I'v known Jim and Jane for roughly 30 years. They were our landlords/friends way back on Lincoln in Dubuque and we've been friends since.  Add they've appeared in this blog in the past here, here, and here (this particular link include Jane's sister, Marcia and her husband Steve, who made it to Jane's party in Baraboo). We were in town to celebrate Jane's 60th birthday.  Food, drinks, and good times ensued.  Sure I can go into the details, and I'm sure I will, (in my memoirs!), but it was a grand gathering of friends and family.  We got to finally meet Mike and Jean, exceptional folks that I've heard so much about over the years, but hadn't met.  I will elaborate on this fantastic couple in the future as their story is an excellent one and it has a resounding Iowa connection(!). Enough of your ramblings....photos!

OK.  I can only seem to upload one photos at this time.  I will include more asap.
Jane and her brother-in-law Steve from S. Dakota.  Baraboo! Catch the fever!  Steve was stoked to be back in Wisconsin, especially to grab some Leinie's and New Glarus brews
Not only is she smart and beautiful, Carleen is a mean candle-lighter.

Jane and Jim.  Awwwwwwwwwww.


As per the question of being middle-aged from above.....so as the festivities progressed through the night and into the wee morning, Carleen and I called it a night at 2 am while many others were still up and about, having a joyous time.  It was such a wonderful party and everyone had a grand time, including us.  But it begs the question, if 50+, 60+ year old are partying it up and we, Carleen and I in our early 30s, are crashing, are we middle aged?  Yes, young people annoy me at times.  I talk about the weather.  I am slowly finding it harder to tolerate ineptness in services.  I insulate things.  I'm still down with new music, as long as it's tolerated by NPR.  I complain about mundane and in-the-grand-scheme-of-things unimportant.

Good god, I'm middle aged.  And that's ok. But it doesn't mean I'm giving up the ghost.  I reckon I'll get a mo-hawk tomorrow, yeah, that's the youthful action I can take to secure my 'hipness' at 33.  I'll still rock out with the Firebird, fuzz pedal, and amp at 6 (ok, really at 1.25 and only before 8 pm. D'oh, see! I'm too damn considerate. I am middle-aged!).  Needless to say, the weekend was a blast.  I'm not terribly worried at my own mortality or lack of acting like I did when I was younger, but it was insightful the witness it happening firsthand.  And speaking of mellowing down, I watched a great Harry Nilsson documentary entitled, Who is Harry Nilsson (and why is everybody talking about him).  Check it out if you get a chance.  Ok, that paragraph was really random.

Get smart.  Not Shaka Smart (who's leading VCU into the Final Four, oh and he went to Kenyon (shout out to all my Kenyon peeps, take that Denison!)), just get smart.

Stanisław Leśniewski (March 30, 1886, Serpukhov – May 13, 1939, Warsaw) was a Polish Mathematician,philosopher, and logician.
Leśniewski went to a high school in Irkutsk. Later he attended lectures by Hans Cornelius at the Ludwig Maximilian University of Munich and lectures by Waclaw Sierpinski at the Lviv University. Leśniewski belonged to the first generation of the Lwow-Warsaw School of Logic founded by Kazimierz Twardowski. Together with Alfred Tarski and Jan Lukasiewicz, he formed the troika which made the University of Warsaw, during the Interbellum, perhaps the most important research center in the world for formal logic.

Eric Patrick Clapton, CBE (born 30 March 1945) is an English guitarist, vocalist, and songwriter. Clapton is the only three-time inductee to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame: once as a solo artist, and separately as a member of The Yardbirds and Cream. Clapton has been referred to as one of the most important and influential guitarists of all time.  Clapton ranked 4th in Rolling Stones magazine's list of the "100 Greatest Guitarists of All Time" and fourth in Gibson's Top 50 Guitarists of All Time.


Thursday, March 24, 2011

Grutz says, "Darn it! No, really, you need to darn it." or "No, no, no, tell me more, more about the surprise."

Post-birthday glow.....
Carleen and I are still giddy from the effects of Saturday's (late) surprise birthday party.  Aunt Peggy sent us some more pictures from that joyous evening.  Without further ado.....
Shocking Carleen at the Honky Tonk BBQ, from l-r, Tim, Laura, Paul, Carleen, MarySue, a wee bit of Kristina, and my nose.

The happy birthday girl, Carleen, with super-fantastic-awesome pistachio cake.

Carleen eating my beard, like any good wife should.  Right?

The only drawback to this uber-boss night is that I have set the bar high for Carleen's next birthday.  I'd best get on that, only 350 days to go..........

Hey, I'm going to sew your a$$......
(Seriously, I have a million of 'em.  I suggest sending me money to stop with the terrible jokes, a guys got to make a living.)  So of the many domestic duties (hehehe, duty, hehe, honestly, send cash and I'll stop) I do around the apartment, needlework is one of my fondest.  Really.  I'm fixing something, using tools, and it can draw blood.  Manly. Oh, and instead of a scissors, I use my pocketknife, like a man.  So today I darned (I can't even begin to tell you how many awful jokes/puns I can put here) a few socks and re-attached all the buttons in Carleen's new, VINTAGE spring coat.  Yo, check it....
I placed the button just so.  It was ever so important for the light to dance off the mother of pearl.  I mean, yeah, it's reinforced with coated-kevlar thread with a pneumatic-piston suspension back-up.  I had to put it on the lift and use an a torque wrench, too.  Oh and I dropped an engine block on my foot, too.  But I didn't go the hospital, cos, you know, I'm manly.
Get Away Weekend!!! (Only one left in March!)
This Saturday we will be paying our great friends, Jim and Jane, a visit in Baraboo, WI (oooo, forgot to include THAT in our interesting city name game a while back) for Jane's 60th birthday party!  Carleen and I always have such a great time with them.  And we most certainly will report back with all the crazy details.  Soon.  But as for Friday, we are planning a nice b&b get away for the night.  So I have be entrusted to find a place with/that has/is (according to Carleen's commands): "romantic", "a tub", "a hot tub", "cute", "romantic", "bed & breakfast-y", "cute", "pool",  "nice".  I'd like to add in, on the way to Baraboo from Chicago, also.

Such is my quest now.  To find a place to stay to satisfy my lovely ladies (boy, that bad grammar would have got me in a warm pile of doggy poo!) lady's requirements.  Hopefully, I'll find success, as Wisconsin has a good number of wonderful b&b's (it also has atleast one douchebag governor, too).  Whew, calm down Nick.

Brainiac transformation: Execute!

William Morris (24 March 1834 – 3 October 1896) was an English textile designer, artist, writer, and socialist associated with the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood and the English Arts and Craft Movement. Morris wrote and published poetry, fiction, and translations of ancient and medieval texts throughout his life. His best-known works include The Defence of Guenevere and Other Poems (1858), The Earthly Paradise (1868–1870), A Dream of John Ball (1888) and the utopian News from Nowhere (1890).


Norman Fell (March 24, 1924 – December 14, 1998) was an American actor of film and television, most famous for his role as landlord Mr. Roper on the sitcom Three's Company and its spin-off, The Ropers.


Yeah, that's a pretty long stretch.

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

Grutz says, "Don't pick your nose, or you'll get rhabdo." or "Ma! Call the boys! We're getting the band back together!"

..it's just an old wife's tale. (Or is it?)
Remember back in the day, when you did something stupid silly, you might get warned with a reference to getting carted off by gypsies?  Ah, those were the days.  Now it's rhabdomyolysis*.  Now some of you, okay, all of you might be asking yourself, "Rhabdomyolysis?".  Anyone following the Hawkeyes knows.  Don't cross your eyes, you might get rhabdo.  Break a mirror, 7 years rhabdomyolysis.  Or my new fav, step on a crack, give your mom rhabdo.

*Rhabdomyolysis is a terrible condition to endure, and in rare cases, can lead to death.  And I personally would NOT like to pee brown, end of story.  I am not making light of it.  I AM making light of the copious amount of coverage it and the Hawkeyes received when the story broke.

Out with the old, in with the new.  And a big thanks.
As Carleen posted earlier, we had a little surprise (late) birthday party Saturday evening.  Alas, after the birthday manifesto, I scrambled to make my lady super happy for her birthday (golly, the dinner, cake, a new bag and ME wasn't enough?!?).  The crew that loves Carleen the most came through in perfect fashion.  I thank all the wonderful people that braved that dire trek down to Pilsen on Saturday.  You are the ones that made that night so special for Carleen.  I only wish I had a photo of you all "hiding" at the back of the Honky Tonk BBQ.  My memory of  the sight was Matt, surrounded by a bunch of people hiding their faces in coats, just staring at me.  All of you that made make up the core of Carleen's most important people in the city and she was shaking with emotions.  And thanks for getting such great bbq carryout!  As the husband of a vegetarian, nary do I get to sample such divine meats.  Bacon candy?!?!  Game over.  And a big thanks to MarySue for making the infamous pistachio cake.  (You may remember MarySue and Matt from a previous post, long before our adventure out west.)  My hat goes off to you, my dear.
Party hard, or don't...party.....at....all?  Enjoying the Carleen (Late) Surprise Birthday Party Supreme '11!

MarySue with the boss cake.  I do not hate cake. 
Trekkers to the land of Lincoln from the land of Tall Corn(?).
Mother Theresa and Aunt Peggy made it in for the weekend and they, too, were instrumental in pulling off the party, thanks.  It was super fun venturing around Pilsen and Chinatown this past weekend.  And also transporting a ridiculous number of plants and other possessions hanging out in Mom's basement back in Iowa.  Selfishly, I asked for one of my guitars.  Sure, I have my tele, casino, lap-steel and dano (that's a 1963 Danelectric to non-musicians), but I was lacking a certain something................
Yes, THE gold Firebird.  It's got that sumthin-sumthin'.  A very unique kind of swagger.
Woo-hoo!  I got my baby (second only to Carleen, of course!).  Sure, I have better sounding guitars, smoother and easier to play guitars, and more expensive guitars, but there's just something about the firebird.  And when I plugged it in..........well, the selector needs some work, and so does the bridge volume, and the necks a wee bit off, BUT, when we got groovin', she was all that and a bag of chips an extra side of hummus.  Good times.

Brain times.  
March 23 birthdays.





Carl Gottfried Wilhelm Taubert (born Berlin, 23 March 1811 – died Berlin, 7 January 1891) was a German pianist, conductor, and composer.
Taubert studied under Ludwig Berger (piano) and Bernhard Klein (composition). In 1831 he became assistant conductor and accompanist for Berlin court concerts. Between 1845 and 1848 he was music director of the Berlin Royal Opera, and was also court conductor in Berlin from 1845 to 1869. From 1865, he taught music at the Royal Academy of the Arts: Theodor Kullak was one of his pupils.

 Roger Martin du Gard (23 March 1881 – 22 August 1958) was a French author and winner of the 1937 Nobel Prize for Literature.  Trained as a paleographer and archivist, Martin du Gard brought to his works a spirit of objectivity and a scrupulous regard for details. For his concern with documentation and with the relationship of social reality to individual development, he has been linked with the realist and naturalist traditions of the 19th century. His major work was Les Thibault, a roman fleuve about the Thibault family, originally published as a series of eight novels.

Sunday, March 20, 2011

Post birthday

Sunday night, tomorrow is ready, lesson plans and homework sheets are printed.  This weekend culminates in the best way: satiation.  I'm going to make this brief, as one more episode of The Wire waits for me, and tomorrow's 5:45am start will arrive sooner than desired.  I am full in so many ways.  Nick orchestrated a birthday surprise for me last night: after I recovered from being stunned, I was so so happy that I got to spend a few hours with some of my favorite people ever.  I was surprised at the Honky Tonk Barbeque under the guise of showing off this eclectic place to Nick's mom Theresa and Aunt Peggy, who were visiting for the weekend.  It was really crowded so our friends ordered take out and brought it back to our place.  This was kind of perfect because I'd been really wanting to to share our apartment with our friends.   Mary Sue brought homemade pistachio cake, and, if you read my birthday post from last week, you know how special that was.  It was delicious, just like Mom's.  Today I took the morning to recover from staying up late last night, and at noon got myself swiftly up to the Contact Jam, in which the combination of Links Hall energy and rolling and flying always rights me.   On the drive up I noticed that when the sky is grey, the lake is lovely light sea foam green, which is the exact color of a new scarf I got yesterday.  Theresa and I split a 2 for 1 deal at a shop in Chinatown and I now have a new scarf to put into the rotation.  There is something so comforting about wearing a soft, beautiful scarf, that can both hide me and act as an undercover security blanket.  I love it. And tonight we've had a bit of an apocalyptic looking lightening storm and audible rain that clears the air.  I love that too. 

Thursday, March 17, 2011

Grutz says, "If only St. Patrick was from Iowa." or "Marsha Blackburn is ruining my St. Patrick's Day."

On this wonderful day of St. Patrick's, let up begin with a poem by the late John O'Donahue, entitled "Beannacht", gaelic for "blessing".  Here's a link to a slideshow of western Ireland from NPR's Being, in which John O'Donahue recites his poem.

"Beannacht"
On the day when
the weight deadens
on your shoulders
and you stumble,
may the clay dance
to balance you.
And when your eyes
freeze behind
the grey window
and the ghost of loss
gets in to you,
may a flock of colours,
indigo, red, green,
and azure blue
come to awaken in you
a meadow of delight.
When the canvas frays
in the currach of thought
and a stain of ocean
blackens beneath you,
may there come across the waters
a path of yellow moonlight
to bring you safely home.
May the nourishment of the earth be yours,
may the clarity of light be yours,
may the fluency of the ocean be yours,
may the protection of the ancestors be yours.
And so may a slow
wind work these words
of love around you,
an invisible cloak
to mind your life. 

Well if that doesn't put a warm ember in your heart.....may this blessing find you all.

And now, something completely different.

If Saint Patrick was from Iowa, I would be set.  Nothing against the home of my ancestors, Ireland, but this is a much more than petty whim.  Alas, traveling and moving so much has left me less than prepared for St. Patrick's Day, specifically, green attire.  Now, if the Patron Saint of Ireland were the Patron Saint of Iowa, I would be dancing a jig in black and gold.  I have more Iowa Hawkeye gear than you can shake a shillelagh at, which is a good, good thing, just doesn't help on St. Patrick's Day.  I lamented to my Aunt Jill about my black and gold heavy wardrobe while visiting in Denver and she felt my pain (both she and my Uncle Dave went to the University of Iowa).  She graciously sent me a University of Colorado t-shirt for my birthday back in October.  Oh wait, the Buffalo's colors are.........wait for it...........black and gold!  Oh the irony was not lost on me Aunt Jill!!!  Needless to say, it's the most comfortable t-shirt I've ever had, thank you so.

Ok, there has to be a solution for my green/hawkeye/St. Patrick's Day wardrobe malfunction........

BAM! Problem solved.

Now that that's out of the way, now there's this: House to vote on cutting off funding for NPR.  Hearing Rep. Mrs. Blackburn (over the chirps of bald eagles, of course) on NPR this morning started my day off on the wrong foot.  I do not even know where to begin on this issue (Let alone the John O'Donahue piece above was from Being, an NPR show!).  Oh yeah, I think I start and end with one thing: facts and news.  NPR provides news and facts.  What does most private "news" media provide?  Commentary and opinion.  End of story.  Contact your representative in the House vote down this bill.  I'm off my soapbox (for now).  

Have a wonderful and safe St. Patrick's Day.

Now for some info that you'll probably erase with green beer later today.  Birthday!!!

Paul Green (17 March 1894 - 4 May 1981) was an American playwright best known for his depictions of life in North Carolina during the first decades of the twentieth century. He received the Pulitzer Prize for Dram for his 1927 play, In Abraham's Bosom.