The Rob Report

Well, that's just weird

2009-04-01T14:43:00.002-05:00

The harder I try to understand all this technology the more it kicks my rumpass. It took me 20 minutes to post a picture to my blog, and there's no telling how long it's going to take to remove it.

2009-04-01T14:40:00.000-05:00

No turning back now

2009-04-01T07:45:00.002-05:00

I started writing a play on Thanksgiving Day. I finished it three days later and have been re-wrting it ever since. I think it was Hemmingway who said "The first draft of everything is shit." He was right.
I have a habit of embracing ideas and talking them to death and letting them die. I thought that was going to happen with the play, which is titled "Two Men and a Boat," so I started painting myself into a corner. I got another actor on board. Lined up a director. Got the theater at the high school, got a lighting and sound man. I started promoting it arond the lake every time I went out on my route. I got an artist to do the posters and the ads. I got everything but a boat. I can get a boat.
There's really no going back, now. I'm excited about it, but I sometimes wish it was somebody else's baby. I'm a quitter. It's true. I quit hard, but I do quit. This is going to get hard and I really want to see it through. I can't imagine not seeing it through at this point.
This is me battling my self doubt, dipping the brush, painting around my shoes.

It is morning...

2009-03-16T06:38:00.002-05:00

"The very word morning is a rich cluster of grapes. Let us crush them and drink their sacred wine."
from "Streams in the Dessert"

Cracklin' Rose

2009-03-16T06:18:00.002-05:00

This morning I woke up with Cracklin' Rose by Neil Diamond playing in my head. I could have done worse.
I also woke up feeling... optimistic. What's up with that? I said my morning prayer and stood up and had a thought; things are going to happen, things are going to change. Things are not going to happen, things are going to change.
That was my thought. Somehow I found comfort in that.

Me, George and God

2009-03-12T06:51:00.004-05:00

What do you think of this? I don't know who wrote it.

"The shallow nature lives in its impulses, its impressions, its intuitions, its instincts, and very largely its surroundings. The profound character looks beyond all these, and moves steadily on, sailing past all storms and clouds into the clear sunshine which is always on the other side, and waiting for the afterwards which always brings the reversion of sorrow, seeming defeat and failure."

I don't kniow about the clear sunshine on the other side, but I think it has merit. Most of the time I feel like George Costanza coming to the realization that all his instincts are wrong. I'm like a poker player who bets his gut instead of his cards and walks away penniless and swearing by his system every time.
I'm convinced of two things:
1) There is a God.
2) I ain't Him

Out on a limb

2009-03-06T18:44:00.002-06:00

I'm going to go out on a limb here and say milk chocolate is the way to go when making fudge. Sure, dark chocolate has its alure, but I think its exhalted status is largely because people are just looking for ways to appear more interesting. They like dark chocolate because they think they should, because they think that's what Hemmingway or Patricia Cromwell would reach for. I just finished scarfing down a milk chocolate and walnut fudge delight I picked up at Cabelas. Yeah. Cabelas makes fudge. I may never eat dark chjocolate again. I think I'm interesting enough already.

It Ain't Easy

2009-03-06T04:29:00.002-06:00

This morning's early morning wake up call song was "It Ain't Easy." Not sure who sings it. Probably Three Dog Night or The Guess Who.
I gotta wonder if the songs my mind reaches for, when my frontal lobe is shut down, mean anything. Maybe my subconcious is like a whole other person, trying desperately to send me messages from the other side. Warnings,advice, fashion tips... I have a feeling this other guy is a lot better at everything than I am.

McGrath meltdown

2009-03-06T02:48:00.002-06:00

In the sleepy little town of What-To-Be-Done
The barefoot boy is the shoemaker's son
The hay cutters horses are growing thin
The mayor forgot to vote again
The football coach is a ballet fan
The banker hides muney in a coffee can
The postman thinks he's Lady McBeth
The woodcutter dang near froze to death
The dry cleaner shrunk all her husband's pants
The Sisters of Sorrow are learning to dance
The travel agent's never been anywhere
The local barber is allergic to hair
The marriege counselor just left his wife
The sheriff's in the pokey doing twenty to life
The firemen are all afraid of cats
Someone stole all the wellcome mats
The doctors kids are all down with the flu
In What's-To-Be-Done there's nothing I can do

This morning's song is...

2009-03-05T05:24:00.003-06:00

"All of Me," sung by Willie Nelson. That's what was playing in my head when I woke up this morning. In case you just jumped into my musical pcychosis pool, I have a song playing in my head all the time, usually something I pick up along the way in my day, but the morning songs? They get there on their own.
Oh, yeah, and I'm a lousy speller. Is there a spellcheck on the blog site?
Here's what id like to see happen: I know there are at least 2 of us musical psychotics. If you qualify I'd like to know the song you woke up with. Write all you want or just list your song. I don't care.
That song that's playing in my head during the day? It's irritating more than it is comforting. Yesterday it took me an hour and a half to shake "Who Let the Dogs Out."
The day before that it was "Love in an Elevator."
Will the madness never end?
Some day they will come up with a pill for it. Wonder if I'll take it.

Help me make it through the night

2009-03-04T05:58:00.002-06:00

This morning I woke to Chris Christopherson's "Help Me Make it Through the Night" playing in my head. Am I the only person around who always has a song playing in his head? Should I be concerned? Is there a cure? When the white coats ask me if I hear voices in my head should I say Leneord Coen?
I'm going to keep listing the songs I wake up to and see if I can detect a pattern. Nothing so far. They seem to be randomn.

"A Man Needs a Maid"
"Help Me Make it THrough the Night"

If tomorrow's song is "Just When I Needed You Most" I'm going to be concerned.

A man needs a maid

2009-03-03T04:11:00.002-06:00

I always have a song in my head. No, I'm not talking Mary Poppins stuff here. It's not a good thing. I wish I could turn it off.
I go to sleep with a song in my head and wake up with a song in my head. Sometimes the song is cool. Sometime's it's not. This morning I woke up to the tenor bleats of Neil Young singing "A man needs a maid." I considered my reaction as I stumbled to the coffee maker and decided I was nuetral. I was OK with it. I mean, looking around, I gotta admit it's true.

The Head Honcho

2009-02-26T06:34:00.002-06:00

I've decided to make myself lifetime leader of the Liberal Christian Movement.(LCM)
I'm not really a liberal in the strictest sense of the word, but I think I'm close enough. Besides, you can't really be a liberal and run a religious movement at the same time, at least not since Martin Luther.
Members of my movement will be required to sign over their paychecks to me, of course, and pre-marital and extra-marital sex will not be tolerated... except with me, of course.
Members of my movement will pay dearly for their sins... to me. I am the mouthpiece of God, after all. I, on the other hand, will be sinless, so anybody who says I sin will be wrong, no matter what I did. In the event that the federally funded jackboots stomp in and haul me away, they will all burn in hell and no matter what the corrupt court system says I did they will be wrong and I will be forgivin for my alleged transgressions anyway so why bother to prosocute me and condemn yourself to hell pointlessly.
I will, of course, have a retreat where I can more clearly hear the voice of God... preferably an Island. And I'll need a private jet to get there. I can't be expected to bump elbows with the heathen masses. I am God's mouthpiece, after all.
More to follow. I've got a lot to say.

God and Beer

2009-02-25T05:25:00.002-06:00

I joined "The Facebook" as mothers are calling it, and I'm learning to keep my mouth shut. THere was a friend of a friend that ended up on my home page ranting about the liberal media and the distortions they were responsible for. He didn't mention Fow News so I decided to do it for him. What was I thinking? He waited 24 hours to respond. He had to research do his research. He read all my blogs (meager as they may be) and every column I ever wrote, apparently. I was impressed at his dilagence, truth be told. THen he wrote me a 1,200 word, 3-part novel on why he couldn
t be bothered to respond to my nonsense and I should stick to writing fishing reports.
Near the end of his rant he told me he used to be a screaming liberal before he accepted Jesus Christ as his personal Lord and Savior in 1999. Yeah. Didn't see that coming. I didn't bother to tell him I accepted Christ in the summer of 1967. When did it become immoral to vote your concience. Talk about irony.
There's a missionsary (of sorts) who's taking a different approach to the whole...I don't know what to call it. Liberal Christian Movement seems a little over the top, but I'm going to copyright it anyway. I herbye introduce the Liberal Christian Movement (LCM) Copyright (c) 2009 Robert Wesley Passons. Check out godandbeer.com
to see what I'm going on about. Makes me wish I was still drinking. (Man i miss an ice cold Fat Tire)

2009-02-24T22:21:00.002-06:00

I think I may have just deleted my blog. Like, all of it. I have no business being around machinery. If it can go wrong it will.

2009-02-24T21:52:00.003-06:00

Today a lady came into the Messenger office and asked for me. She was in her late 60s and she was visiting from Wisconsin. She'd never read any other column of mine except "The dark side of Valentine's." "Oh, crap on a hammer," I thought. She wanted to make sure I was alright. I know this because she said, "I just wanted to make sure you were alright."
I swore to her that most of the time I'm doggone Chippy McGee. "I'm really not that gloomy," I said. "Sometimes I'm even kind of funny."
She looked dubious.
I ran back to my computer and frantically searched for something funny. She waited patiently. I came back with "Dog turds and 45s."
"I really think you just need a hug," she said.
"OK," I chirped, and we embraced at the front of the office.
Wisconsin? How could I have seen that coming?

Jesus is not a Republican

2008-11-04T19:10:00.005-06:00

I voted today. It was kind of anticlimactic. I waited until later in the day just to keep everybody in suspense.
I wanted to get a picture or two at the booth. The guy behind me said the only picture he would be a part of was one with an arrow through Barack Obama's head and him holding it in place. He was a real wit, that guy. I guess he was hoping to get on our hunting page.
I used to vote Republican all the time. For 20 years I thought I was doing the right thing. The Democrats did not lure me over to their side. The Republicans drove me from their camp.
I'm no more a liberal Democrat than I was a conservative Republican. News Flash! Not all Democrats are liberals.
For the record:
The earth is not 5,000 years old. Please stop talking.
Abortion is a really stupid form of birth control.
I don't care who marries whom — period.
You want state sponsored prayer in schools? Move to Iran.
Ethanol is no more a green fuel than I am a hamster.

Me and Michelle - Proud Americans!

2008-11-04T19:02:00.004-06:00

by Rob Passons
Messenger Staff Writer

I’ve been listening to the comments of Rep. Michelle Bachman of late and I’ve got to say, it’s about time somebody stood up and called it like they see it. She makes me proud to be an American, and I think she should stand tall behind her accusations of un-Americanism in Congress. Bunch of Godless liberals are sending this country right down the pooper.
I like to think of myself as a student of history, and I harken back to the heroes of my youth in times like these. I remember the day Lance Armstrong first set foot on the moon and said those fateful words, “I just stepped on the moon and I’m a American!” Yessir, old Lance made us all proud to be Americans on that day. It’s 20 years later now, and the un-Americans are starting to outnumber the rest of us.
I think Rep. Bachman was brave and honest when she told everybody it was God’s will that they elect her to the U.S. House of Representatives. There’s a woman I can stand behind. There’s a woman who will get prayer back in school where it belongs, and make sure none of those Godless Easterners bow down to Mecca during lunchbreak.
When Abe Lincoln delivered his Gettysburg Address in Philadelphia in 1776, and then put his John Henry on the Declaration of Independent, he made it pretty darned clear how he felt about hordes of Hindus invading our public schools.
When General Charlie McCarthy said, “I shall return,” in WWI, and later strolled through the surf of Burma fulfilling his promise, I don’t think he had an America in mind that was presided over by a guy named Barack Obama. I mean, c’mon! Barack Obama? He’s got to be un-American! If I was on a plane with that sucker and he bent down to tie his shoe, I’d be on him like gravy on a tater.
Michelle Bachman has shown what it truly means to be leader throughout her reign. When she went up against the left wing enviro-conspiracy nut jobs who were trying to push “energy efficient” light bulbs on us, she loudly declared her pro-choice on light bulbs. The old light bulbs were good enough for my grandaddy, and their good enough for me. And God’s not going to let us destroy ourselves by polluting the environment. That’s un-Biblical and, therefore, anti-American. God’s gonna destroy us Himself when he’s good and doggone ready!

I'm not a Hilary fan

2008-06-04T14:23:00.000-05:00

It's not that she's a woman, or a Democrat, or that she so effortlessly forgave Bill for his (ahem) indiscretions. She's just more of the same, from where I'm sitting. She doesn't inspire me. She plays the numbers, takes no chances, spews the same old bipartisan crap that's become the ineffective norm. I want to vote for someone instead of against the candidate I can't stand the most. When Obama made his comments about small towns in the Northeast (google guns and religion) Hilary shook her head and condemned him for his lack of appreciation for the American experience, nevermind that he was right.
I want to hope. I want to be inspired.

Neanderthal poet... That's awsome!

2008-06-02T16:12:00.000-05:00

I got a great email from a Messenger reader today. She called me a Neanderthal poet. I think that's as close to perfect as anyone has ever gotten. I've always been torn between being the guy who fixes his own plumbing and the guy who throws dinner parties with homemade salsa from ingredients grown in his yard. I want to be able to handle myself in a bar brawl, should it come to that, but, gall dern it, I like Jane Astin. I really do. I can't help it. She's brilliant.
I'm a big flippin' girly boy. I'm OK with it.

All about Jane

2008-04-16T09:19:00.000-05:00

I'm serious about this Jane Austen book club. I know I've kind of dropped the ball lately as far as my blogging goes, but I'm back.
I'd like to start with Sense and Sensabilities on May 1. Anyone who wants to be a part of it won't have to leave home. You can post your comments on this blog site.
If you're wondering why I'm starting a Jane Austen book club, the reason is simple: I want to read everything she ever wrote, but I won't do it unless I am accountable.
There will be an announcement in this week's Messenger about the club.

Rob's Jane Austen Book Club

2008-04-11T14:51:00.001-05:00

Right out of the gate I got to say I did not much care for the Jane Austen Book Club movie. It was like all the charactors were borrowed from tv shows, and the poignant moments (both of them) were buried in predictable dialogue that failed miserably to parallel its inspiration. It was, ironically enough, a glorious representation of the mediocraty of modern day romantic comedy compared to the stratospherical literary manifestations of Jane.
So I want to start a Jane Austen Book Club. I'm aiming for May 1.
Anybody interested?

Lookit the big brain on Jmo!

2008-02-29T14:13:00.000-06:00

I'd respond (debate?) you on the finer points of your analysis concerning the "error of my ways" but I'm pretty sure you'd kick my rumpas, and I, quite frankly, do not presently feel inclined to have my rumpas kicked.
My ways are quite often erroneous. There. I admit it.
You're a first time responder? Wow. I'm flattered. You pretty much nailed the nature of my intent where my columns are concerned, at least some of them. I want readers to roll their eyes, and keep reading.
I try to devide my columns up into laughter, tears and outrage. I don't like to be overly predictable and I don't want to get bored.
The laughter weeks are the most enjoyable for me. I basically say, "Hi. I'm Rob. I'm an idiot." I have found it's a lot easier to convince people I'm an idiot than it is to convince them I'm smart. Go figure.
Here's the thing: On one end of the spectrum you have a red neck gopher trapper who has all the romantic imagination of a hockey puck. He pees with the door open, burps after sex, and buys his wife a carton of smokes for Valentines.
On the other end of the spectrum is the boho coffee shop metrosexual, steeped in transendental poetry and chia tea. He refers to God as a woman in an effort to improve his chances of getting lucky, has an Edvard Munch shower curtain and couldn't fight his way out of a wet paper sack with a bayonet.
I don't know which level of hell I lean toward. Probably the hockey puck guy. I'd rather be dense and disgusting than pithy and pathetic. Brett, my editor, is more the shower curtain guy. Don't think ill of me for making that observation. He would readily admit it.
I'd think twice about setting me up with any of your friends, Jmo. In the words of John Malkovich, "I am not to be trusted."
Thanks for the note. I was entertained.
-Rob

Where have all the cowboys gone

2008-02-14T12:10:00.000-06:00

My last column was a big, weepy decleration of love to a woman I've never met. It would have made the troubadours blush. I didn't tell the other side of the story, the part where the woman wonders where her romantic man is, searches for him, loves to read about him, conjures him up in her mind, prays to find him and then runs like a scalded squirrel when he shows up.
I think a lot of women long for a ghost. That's what makes it such a pleasant daydream: It can't come true.
I think women are drawn to the cowboys — the hunter/gatherers. The poets are fun for an afternoon, but, seriously, at the end of the day, they want someone who can punch out the bad guy. Poets aren't big on punching, generally.
I'm off to melt some snow to fill up my toilet tank. Very romantic.

Searching for my inner Martha

2008-02-11T12:24:00.000-06:00

As Tyler Durden said in "Fight Club," "We are a generation of men raised by our mothers." It's true. Our battles are becoming much softer in nature. No more blazing six guns at high noon. No stampedes to die beneath. No punching Nazis in the nose. What's a guy to do?
I find myself standing an staring at the plethora of mustards to choose from at the Super Valu. I become lost in Mustardville, wondering at the meaninglessness of it all, until a stock girl interupts my reverie. "Can I help you find something," she asks.
"I need a weeks worth of quantifiable substance in my life," I reply.
If she had a whistle she'd be blowing it.
"...and a jar of olives," I add.
She perks right up. "Right this way," she says.
I think I'm going to take up knitting and quiltmaking. I may as well embrace the horror.

Someone is actually reading this stuff?

2008-02-07T13:17:00.000-06:00

I was going into the bank today and I bumped into Carolyn Avaire and her daughter, Saffron. I took a picture of Saffron a little over a year ago for a library peice I was doing. Saffron stood holding a library donation bottle, looking absolutely adorable, and I wrote about how the big old mean county commissioners wanted to charge library patrons for library cards. I think that picture of Saffron did more for the story than all the outraged quotes from the Friends of the Library and the ill concieved speculations from the county board combined. (See Commissioner Jack Edmonds comments that went something like, "I don't use the library and I don't know anyone who uses the library," etc...)
Carolyn said she and her daughter are fans. I got fans? Who knew? Carolyn left feedback for me on my blog and everything. I thanked her profusely and swore I would figure out how to access my blog site as soon as I got back to the office.
My lunatic editor drops by my cubicle once a week to threaten me with expulsion if I don't update my blog. I always say, "What for? Nobody reads it."
Apparently there is at least one person reading it, and that's enough for me.

Somebody is lying to me.

2008-02-01T16:40:00.000-06:00

I wrote a peice about the ice roads and the access points this week, and everyone I talked to, except the DNR rep, told me the problems they were having on the southest side of the lake was somebody elses fault and if so-and-so would just stop being so unreasonable there wouldn't be a problem. No one was at fault. Everyone was being totally honest. Right.
Grown men still battling like little boys over some prized corner of the playground.

against my better judgement

2008-01-16T13:34:00.000-06:00

Valentines Day is coming, and last weekend, after watching "Deja Vu" I was feeling sappy in a detatched sort of way, and I sat down and wrote a Valentines Day column. I've kind of made a name for myself writing columns that bash Santa Claus, illogical women and cops who shoot dogs, so the expectation was that I would write a scathing review of a clearly commercial holiday denouncing women's expectations and the guilt that drives men to spend millions of dollars just to stay out of the friggin' doghouse. I didn't write that column. Just when the women I work with had given up all hope I wrote a sweeping sentimental saga that stretched over 800 years, in 600 words or less. All that was missing was 1,000 violins. I said right in the column that I had pretty much given up hope of ever finding "The Woman," but that didn't stop my lunatic editor from accusing me of trying to pick up women. His words were, I seem to recall, "I thought I'd seen you stoop as low as you could go."
Happy Valentines Day. For those of you who haven't found your true north, take the oppertunity to kiss a frog.
-Rob

When a cop shoots a dog.

2007-10-31T13:04:00.000-05:00

I seperate myself from my stories all the time. It's one of the harder parts of this job for me. I was tired of the seperation when I wrote the column on the deputy and the dog he shot. My editor was not thrilled when I said I was going to give voice to my anger. He suggested I do a news story. "Call him up. Get his side of the story," he suggested. I declined. "We tell stories all the time," I said. "We report the facts, get the quotes and move on to the next one. We never get to say 'This really sucks.' That's all I really want to say."
My editor and my publisher both struggled with that column, and in the end, they let it run. Most editors would have pulled it. Most publishers would have screamed bloody murder. Imagine my surprise when neither occurred.
I recieved a lot of feedback on that one. I heard rumors of people vehemently disagreeing, but I never heard from hem directly. What I heard a lot was, "You just put into words what I was thinking."
That works for me.
Rob

2007-10-31T09:34:00.001-05:00