johnvano.com

Remember When...

...the Kansas City Royals were good?

They're 7-15 so far this year, but back when I was growing up, they ruled the AL West. Back then, I rooted for the Twins, but liked most every other team in our division--the A's, Mariners, Angels, Rangers, White Sox--but absolutely loved the Royals. They had the grit of George Brett, midwestern sensibility, and success on the diamond. But today, with four 100-loss seasons in the last five years, it takes a second to remember them as the class act they were.

Their hey-dey was from 1975 to 1985 when they won 951 games against 772 losses (.552 winning percentage). If you throw out the strike-shortened 1981 season, their average record those years was 90-72. They appeared in three straight League Championship Series, losing every time to the Reggie Jackson-led Yankees. They again reached the LCS in 1980, '84 and '85. In 1980 they lost the World Series to the Phillies, before winning it all against the Cardinals in 1985. I loved those teams.

Remember Brett, Dan Quisenberry, Willie Wilson, Bret Saberhagen, Dick Howser, Dennis Leonard, John Mayberry, Whitey Herzog, Hal McRae, Buddy Biancalana, Frank White, and Steve Balboni? Good times... good times.

Book Review: I Feel Bad About My Neck

Nora Ephron is famous for writing the films "When Harry Met Sally," "Sleepless in Seattle," "You've Got Mail," "Heartburn," and "Silkwood." Her most recent project is a series of essays on growing older called I Feel Bad About My Neck.

The book was at first an interesting disappointment as it focused on her belief that a woman's neck goes downhill from her early forties and always reveals her age no matter how much work she has done. This was clever and cute, but then I had to endure her diatribes about her hair and nails, but fortunately, the book got much better--fast.

Listening to it was like enjoying several entertaining lunches with a great storyteller. Your relationship with one another is simple--they need you to just sit and listen, and you're completely fine with that. It's kind of like how Ed McMahon must have felt sitting on the couch all those years listening to Johnny.

As "Idol" Gives Back, We Throw One Back

To quote Spidey, "With great power comes great responsibility"--and this is what "American Idol" showed Tuesday night with "Idol Gives Back." My hat is off to them for trying to make something positive out of a program that is completely trivial. Though I will say that this effort sucked momentum from the performances and I wondered just exactly how the money was going to be used... but I am not in the business of charity assessment, so I will leave it at that.

On to the performances! I have to give the night to Melinda (4.5 out of 5). She was mature and classy and her song was full of vision and hope. I also liked that it was Gospel-oriented. My wife tells me that she sang a Faith Hill song and made it her own. I thought the performance felt a little quick and emotionally empty so I'm docking Melinda slightly.

LaKisha wasn't as bad as the judges said (4.0), but she wasn't fantastic either, though she was solid. I liked that she returned to the power ballads, but the judges would like her to move on. I don't know much about Fantasia, but yes, the thought crossed my mind that she sounded like she was failing to be Fantasia. I was surprised to learn it was a Fantasia song she was attempting.

Phil (4.0) is indeed moving up and becoming solid, which is bad for me because he would have been my easy pick'ns for removal tonight. He chose the perfect song for the night, but I didn't like his over-wrought dramatics. He does better with smaller notes than large ones.

Chris (3.5) chose a good song, had a good approach, and a good look. But he didn't give us a doorbuster. Blake (3.0) was not passionate, turning in yet another robotic performance. He did nothing to improve upon the song "Imagine." As a Christian, I hate the lyric of that song because what it's describing (for the most part) is heaven itself while complaining about the earth that man has infested with sin (claiming that mankind can make it better if there was no religion). It's a great tune, but Blake made it bland. And he underplayed the "Whoo-hoo-hoo" part which was a shame. He was too exacting with the notes and continues to look funny when he holds a note (his mouth turns square).

I expected a barn-burner from Jordin (3.5) but she started out very rough (to my undeducated ears) and continues to be exceedingly breathy. She seemed jagged, brassy, and whiny. She's got mad skillz and I'm a fan, but I thought she was off her game.

Here are my fearless predictions for the bottom three: LaKisha, Chris, and Blake. Goodnight, Blake.

Chin-Rubbing About the Church

While I'm on the theme of my past life, I thought it might be high time that I began a blog series that I've long-contemplated.
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Few things have influenced and shaped me as much as the Church has. My parents, my God, my wife and children, my friends, my experiences, my jobs and supervisors, my mentors, the television shows I've watched and the books I've read... these are all factors in who I have become and am becoming, but it is to the Church that I circle back and rub my chin reflexively.

The Church can be written with a capital "C" for the Body of Christ--understood as such, it is a reflection of all that is good and pure, and at least intentionally, God-honoring. When it is written with a small "c," it is in understanding a local, unique gathering of people, a building or location, or the imperfect or incorrect representation of what God intended. I will try to tally between the capital "C" and the lower case "c" in my writing to indicate the mode of the memory accurately. Many instances of the lower case "c" may in fact not be bad moments for the church, but just a recognition that it is a very human organization at times.

Here are a few random things I remember warmly about my childhood experiences with church:

• We went to church religiously: every Sunday morning (Sunday school and worship), every Sunday night (worship), and every Wednesday night (scouting program).
• My best friend was always the pastor's son. This was Brad from my earliest memory to about 1976. Then it was David until 1981.
• As pre-teens the big deal was to get your dad's keys after church Sunday morning. And if your dad had the best car of the bunch, everyone would sit in your car, and you'd get to rule sit from the driver's seat. You'd listen to the radio and run the engine (heat on) while waiting for your parents. My dad had the best car for about three weeks once. Our Ford Torino was totaled and my dad got a Ford Grenada that the guys all liked. Then my mom wrecked the Granada and dad bought a gray Chevy station wagon. Thus ended my short rule in the captain's seat.
• Children's church was always taught with flannel-graphs. "The Prodigal Son" was riveting.
• I loved Sunday nights. The service was fast-paced, and there were usually specials: The girl you liked might strut about singing a song in a foreign language (very alluring, even though I was 10), or you might catch the Dobson family video series. And it seemed like half the time there were refreshments and a social following the service. We'd grab some punch and cookies and then play tag outside. And once a month, the pastor had all the people with birthdays over to his house for cake after the service. This was awesome--and since my dad was very involved with the church, we usually got to go every month.
• I still remember most of the songs we practiced in children's choir. This met between 5 and 6 on Sunday nights before the regular service. If you were a guy, you participated enough to avoid getting in trouble, but not enough to look uncool in front of the other guys.

I have tremendous appreciation for what Mrs. Fischer invested in us every Sunday night at choir--and for so many years. Today, someone may volunteer for something at church, but then once Spring comes, they'll move on and take a break or do something else, but what I remember, is the same adult sticking with their particular ministry and doing it for years and years. Yes, sometimes you need a fresh voice. But these were people who loved children and felt passionate about the long-term benefits.

I pretty much loathed my time singing in the choir, but on the inside, it was okay. And I have Scripture ingrained in my head that has come to me in song all these years later when I've struggled with sin, etc... I have great hope because of this for the many guys I did this with who no longer darken the door of the Church. Who knows how God might use these lyrics to convict and compel these men in the future?

Five Memories of Me

A comment was recently submitted to this forum, desiring some commentary about my life in Minnesota. Sadly, the Minnesotan life ended for me 22 years ago, so many of those memories are simply tucked into the folder called, "Childhood." And to tell you the truth, I think a reflection on childhood would be good for the soul.

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Herewith are the first five things that come to my mind about my childhood:

1. The backyard. We lived in Anoka, Minnesota (a suburb of Minneapolis and the childhood home of Garrison Keillor and at least one Miss America). I only lived there for 5 years, but it represents the most significant time of my remembered youth. In the backyard of this house--on Yoho Drive--I had an entirely imaginary world through which I could enter from the side door of the garage. Once through that door, swingsets, trees, and picnic tables would instantly transform into very different objects in a parallel universe. I could spend hours playing alone in this new world. My buddies and I would also use the backyard to stage our own Olympic competitions complete with handmade medals.

2. When Reagan was shot. I remember coming home from school after President Reagan was shot. I sat on a barstool in the kitchen and watched the blow-by-blow analysis of the shooting and the condition of the president and his aides. My mother was there to help me make sense of it and journey through the shock of it all with me. Cookies were provided.

3. The old-fashioned car. My dad had an old Ford. It was from the 1920s or 30s and brown. He kept it in the garage, rusting. When we lived in our first house in Fridley he would tinker with it a lot and we'd take it out for a drive from time to time. But in Anoka, it was pretty much a drain on his time and income, so it just sat. I remember getting a final joy ride after he decided to sell it.

4. Comic books. I first met Spider-Man through The Electric Company television program. And I saw a bit of him in animated form, when I was lucky. Then one fateful day, I found what one would call a graphic novel today in my grandmother's library. My mom let me check it out and I lived and breathed that 50 or 70 page comic book full of the origin stories of Spider-Man. But I never knew how to move beyond this one book to read more of his continuing story. It was several years later that I discovered a comic book shop in downtown St. Paul, and was immediately hooked on buying all five uniquely published Spider-Man comics with my paper route money each month.

5. Pre-pubescent machismo. My buddies and I used to ride around the neighborhood on our banana seat bicycles, pretending to be CHiPs. We also imagined that we each had a babe from Charlie's Angels on the back of our bike.

The Politicization of Jackie Robinson

As I wrote last time, my wife and I took in a Braves’ game on "Jackie Robinson Day" this past Sunday. What a great idea—honoring an American hero, who was a man of great character, faith, and strength. Someone who deserves to be looked up to because of who he was and what he endured.

Branch Rickey showed great wisdom in selecting Jackie Robinson to break the Major League Baseball color barrier—because he was everything you could have hoped for in a pioneer. Anyone can be the first at something, but it takes a real champion to make their moment significant, and to be more than just the answer to a trivia question. I like what MLB has done to honor Jackie over the last few years— retiring his number ’42,’ and making Jackie Robinson Day an annual event on April 15 of each year. But it is with Jackie that this honor should begin and end. There should be no similar tribute (as some have suggested) to Roberto Clemente for being the first Latin American superstar in MLB (also signed by Rickey), or to Masanori Murakami for being the first Japanese player in MLB—the significance is not in being the first of a particular race or creed, but in cracking a wall of blind prejudice for all, with class, dignity, and humility.

But there is an odd issue that MLB and various sportswriters have been crowing about since the first Jackie Robinson Day some years ago—and that is their concern about the dwindling representation of black players in professional baseball. Jackie Robinson broke a barrier, and it was through his integrity and faithfulness to the mission those first few years, that he created a widening berth for people of all backgrounds and likenesses to play baseball, and to a larger degree, pursue more equal civil rights. He did not break the color barrier, for the sake of a numbers game. To some, it may be significant that the numbers of black players in MLB have declined in recent years, but this really has nothing (beyond emotional identification) to do with the legacy and purpose of Jackie Robinson.

The issue is now a matter of choice and competition. Were told that the number of African-Americans in baseball has fallen from 27 percent of players in 1975 to 18 percent in 1982 to 8 percent this season. Is this an issue of national concern? Should committees, campaigns, and dollars be spent to change this total? Fathers have every right to bemoan the fact that their sons don’t want to play baseball, former players very naturally should feel remorse that others like them aren’t as interested in the game as they once were, but is this an issue for national concern and action?

AI: Country Wannabes

As a reborn country music fan, I was disappointed by the lack of country crooning chops among Tuesday's "American Idol" contenders. Odd, no one chose to wear a cowboy hat. Odder still what Randy was wearing--did he steal that cardigan from Harrry Potter?

Surprisingly, Melinda (4.5 out of 5) sounded most comfortable in the genre--she had some good twang in her voice, she looked good, and seemed to really enjoy herself. But the performance of the night went to Jordin (4.5) who was absolutely fantastic. Her performance was terrifically memorable and mature, and I'm only giving her a slight deduction for sounding more pop than country.

I viewed LaKisha's performance (4.0) as solid, but not "country" enough. And Phil (4.0) surprised me with a  performance that had him fully involved in the lyric and singing with feeling. I thought it could have been a bit better, but it was Phil, so how good could it really be?

Though the judges raved about Blake (3.0), I felt his song rang hollow. He didn't inhabit the story, and he ended up with a servicable and lame rendition--though it was fine musically. He actually sounded more British invasion (1980's) than country.

The bottom dwellers of the evening were Chris (2.5) and Sanjaya (2.0). Chris sang some bad notes, and his performance was detached as he brought us yet another "rock your head and whine" interpretation. Then there's Sanjaya, who slipped back down to his usual place--there were tonal problems throughout, and he once again utitlized sashaying as a form of charm. He never told the story of the song, and by the middle, he grew so tired of the lyrics ("Let's give them something to talk about") that he just talked his way through them the requiste number of times. Also, he has no business riffing.

It is honestly a bit of a challenge this week--even for someone as gifted at these predictions as me--to pick those whom America will not be voting for. But my best guess says that Melinda and Jordan are untouchable at this point, and I don't think anyone will be cherry-picking LaKisha or Blake. The others, are all in danger. Except Sanjaya, who might finally fall to the bottom three, but I can't really conceive of his fan support dwindling so fast overnight that he's eliminated.

So my fearless prediction is that Sanjaya, Chris, and Phil will be in the bottom, with Phil (due purely to evidence that his popularity is weak) going home tonight.

The Girl Who Wasn't There

My day with Paula Jean and Jada Pinkett Smith.

I spent Sunday at the ballpark with my wife—it was a cold, windy, and rainy day—where we collectively celebrated "Jackie Robinson Day." Tim Hudson punched in with a strong pitching performance for the Braves, while the Jones boys (Chipper and Andruw) each hit a homer to left field.

Paula bought us $10 tickets—and I couldn’t believe how good our seats were for that price. First row (called Row 12) of the right field bleachers (Section 137). We were within shouting distance of Braves’ outfielder and childhood neighbor of one of my wife’s friends, Jeff Francoeur. Many of the young women (I use that term loosely, because their potty mouths sure disqualified them as ladies) screamed his name, but thanks to the wind and that cute little hoodie he was wearing, their efforts were in vain.

I was proud of Paula—she howled in pain at the bite of the wind as we walked through the remains of Fulton County Stadium (the old ballpark which is now one of the parking lots), but she stuck it out through all nine innings. It rained almost the entire time, but you couldn’t really tell with the new Braves hats we were wearing.

That’s right, this is my first year as an Atlanta Braves fanboy. I once hated this team of perpetual division winners who stymied my home team of the moment, the Florida Marlins. It has taken me almost seven years to forgive and embrace the Braves. But seeing the new talent come up, and the rebuilding, sure helps. Plus, that stadium tour I took with the kids in February—sealed the deal. The tickets were purchased for me so that I could enjoy the Marlins—but I actually rooted against them in my new state of fandom.

From the moment we took our seats, this little Jada Pinkett Smith wanna-be two seats over from me began to chew my ear off with baseball banter. She looked to be about 17, possibly 20—and she was pleasant, with huge brown eyes, but she seemed entirely unaware that I was on a date with my wife. I didn’t even find her conversation that stimulating, but rather juvenile.

johnvano.com Round-Up

I want to thank all those who submitted their feedback, and their "touching tributes" on the last post. After that, I feel like I should have my number retired or something... But I am most grateful for those of you who held your tongue, following your mother's advice that, "If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all..."

It looks like I'll need to do a Minnesota post soon for Micah, although it has been 22 years since I moved away from my childhood home, so the memories are blurred at the edges and in black and white. Perhaps I'll do a "Memories of Childhood" post and hit some Minnesota stuff in there while not alienating the rest of my readers in the process.

More reflections:

• I need to work on my pecs.
• Our attorney general is apparently getting his news from this site--that should scare you.
• "Man Trip" got two favorable mentions against one ambivalent response--so it will stay.
• Also, "American Idol" got two thumbs down--that's about 29% of the comments. Which is pretty close to the percentage of TV sets not tuned to the show each week. Sorry you two, I gotta complete my commitment to bring the reviews--at least through this season.

...And the novel, you ask? I actually worked on it TWICE last week! Yes! Here's the boring facts: I had written about 50 pages consisting of 9 chapters. Then I started editing because I wrote chapter 1-2 about 9 months before starting 3-9. The newer stuff was much better and far different than the first--so I had to fix some things. I spent a while on that. Then when I was just about to begin chapter 10, I realized I just didn't like chapter 1 and 2, so wrote them over ENTIRELY from scratch.

What's johnvano.com to You?

What is it that draws you day-in-and-day-out or just once-a-month-in-and-once-a-month-out to my prodigious mumblings on johnvano.com?

• Is it the satire?
• The random ruminations from my day?
• The family photos?
• The travel recaps?
• Is it to see a frustrated novelist divert his writing time into a useless blog?
• The growing legend that is "Man Trip?"
• Or do you come for the scarily correct "American Idol" predictions?
• Do you visit for social change?
• Are you a stalker?
• Have you not laughed until you've come here?
• Is it my non-award-winning photography?
  
• Are you hoping to see some sort of growth in my person-ness?
• Do I inspire you?
• Are my pecs your private obsession?
  
• Are you visiting for the book and movie reviews--which have been missing for awhile?
• Do you get tips on what to read from my book log on the right?
• Maybe sports are your thing, and you enjoy the collective consciousness of fandom on these pages?

Whatever it is, I'd love to know. Actually, I think I might throw in a little more of the serious (or even the historical) on these pages soon. If you like it, let me know. And if everyone says that they just have to have more of the "fake stories"--well, I'll write some more of those, too.