Reggae recap

Saturday was a beautiful day and it seemed all the stars were alined. I had enjoyed a wonderful morning shooting photos of the brilliant fall colors. I had a handfull of coupons and found major bargins on an afternoon shopping trip. Everything was just fitting into place so nicely. It was a chocolate mouse without any calories, sunshine on your shoulder, wind in your hair and no limit day!

The evening was gorgeous! I was all excited for the reggae festival on Saturday night. What a wonderful evening for an outdoor concert. I arrived between bands and waited patiently for the music to start. I anticipated a Jamaican sound with provocotive percussion in 4/4 time with A-minor chords producing a kind of repetative and hypnotic sound.

After a seemingly extended period to set up, a 3-piece band took the stage. With the first chord of the guitar an explosion of electrical feedback pierced my eardrums. "Oh, ah, sorry, dudes," the lead guitar player said.

And I was. Sorry, that is.

The music reflected nothing I had anticipated. I was completely dissappointed.

I met a couple of wonderful people, tho. Which is probably pretty good odds considering there were only about 30 (pronounced tirdy by my new Jamaican friend) people in view at any one time. One of my new aquaintences told me the next band would be better. I should stick around.

I did. I gave them all the benefit of doubt. Certainly the band could not be any worse. And I enjoyed talking with some fascinating people while I waited.

I met Rasta Ziggi and Sterret Morrison, two charming Jamacian men currently residing in the Twin Cities. They were sharing a vendor booth - one of the two vendors set up at the festival. Sterret was selling jewelery and T-shirts with impressions of Bob Marley screen printed on the front. Ziggi was selling wildlife wood carvings, each with intricate details. Both of the men had personality unmatched by any folks I have met, well, since We Fest in August. Both men were highly entertaining.

"It's not easy to play reggae," Ziggi told me. "People try, but most don't get it." He was rolling his own cigarette as he spoke. Tabacco. Regular, not a green leafy substance, but perhaps it was imported.

"You ever been to Jamaica, mon?" Sterret asked.

"No. I have been to Wisconsin," I told them.

Apparently Wisconsin is not anything like Jamaica.

"You get your lily-white (mule) down to Jamaica, mon. You hear real reggae. This is not. They need a Jamaican to teach. See, it is backward, forward, backward, forward like 'dis," Ziggi said. "You try."

We all laughed and Ziggi sang a song - reggae style - he made up on the spot about me - "the camera lady who take a 'de pictures. "

A friend of Ziggi's stopped by the vendor booth. I apologize, but I cannot recall his name. They said they would make sure next year's festival would be better organized and publicised, perhaps even advertised. Time will tell, I suppose.

The guys said the next band would be better and they were. Quite good actually. Still not exactly what I had anticipated, but then after the first band I heard, the second was a delight.

The fire dancers would not be performing until around midnight, but they were running at least a half-hour behind schedule, I was told. Every person I talked to said the fire dancers would be worth the wait. But, quite honestly, I had had enough of the festival. I just had to leave.

"Come soon, mon," Ziggi said.

The evening was not a total loss. I can't say from experience, but I heard the next couple of bands were excellent. I enjoy meeting new people and there certainly were a handful of characters at the festival. Sometimes, it only takes one or two people to make an evening somewhat remarkable. Certainly unforgetable.

I haven't given up on reggae music. It is fun to listen to. And I haven't given up on trying the next festival.

"Backward, forward, that is all."

Weekend buzz blog

It is time for the weekend buzz — another work in progress for me guaranteed to get nothing but better as time goes on.

This weekend I will be broadening my horizons and exploring a venue of music I have to admit, I don't know much about. I will be covering the Reggae Festival held at Jacks on Mille Lacs. The festival runs from today, Friday, Sept. 21 through Sunday, Sept. 23.

I like the music of Bob Marley, so if this festival is anything like his Jamacian sound, I am in for a treat. If not, I have exposed myself to something new. Either way, I will be sure to tell you all about it as soon as I can.

There will be bands with names like Zion Tribe, Jon Wayne and the Pain, the Limns and Hydoponic Party Pants.

Some of them claim their reggae style has roots in rock, funk, hip-hop, soul and even physilla-phycha-funka-della-regga-hipa-hopin-blues. What that means, I have no idea, but it sounds intriguing doesn't it?

I am looking forwad to bumping into a gal I met at Log Jam last August. Her name is Celestial and said some friends of hers will be fire dancing at the reggae gig this weekend. She explained fire dancing to me and it certainly aroused my curiosity. Perhaps I will even give it a try myself. Or maybe not. Either case it is sure to light up the night.

So folks, if you are not into reggae there are some other venues offering live entertainment around the lake this weekend. I looked through this weeks copy of the Messenger and found Work Release is playing at the Blue Goose in Garrison on Friday and Saturday nights. On the other side of the lake at MSA Sound Wave will take the stage both nights this weekend as well. That's all I found for live music. If you hear of anything, let me know.

Check back to see if I tried my hand at fire dancing and get the buzz on the festival and other weekend entertainment.

Be safe and have a great weekend!

Lesson in sensitivity

When I first started writing for the paper I usually just wrote features and so called fluff pieces. When I first starting writing "hard news" a woman much more wise than I (Kathy) told me to remember that everyone has a mother. And mothers read the paper when their kid's names appear for whatever reason — good or bad.

I sometimes forget that.

I have been reporting on cuff's and collars, courts, accidents, government, city councils and other hard news for a while now. It sometimes all seems to blend in together. Not in a bad way. News is still very interesting to me. What I mean is I have developed a pretty thick skin. Some things just don't bother me anymore or appear to be down right funny.

When I showed up on the scene of my first fatal accident I trembled. My knees shook. My stomach turned and I all but lost my breakfast. I sat in my car and cried before I drove solemnly away. I had nightmares. At similar situations now I still feel a sense of sadness and sympathy for those involved, but I don't have nightmares — usually — and I can do my job of reporting instead of sitting in my car crying. It is never funny.

But some things are sort of funny. At least at first.

I was reading through the weekly sheriff's report the other day. It had the usual tibits of information. Dog bite, suspicious ativity, possible theft of stereo from a boat, cows on the road and a gunshot wound reported by the hospital.

So I checked out the gunshot wound. The official word was "Accidental discharge of a firearm by a dog." Everyone was ok, I was told. The guys knee was pretty messed up, but he is ok. "Ummm, did you say by a dog?" I asked. Correct.

So right away I get this cartoon-like picture in my head of the guy retrieving the bird and the dog holding the gun, taking aim and firing.

Perhaps, it was watching too many Looney Tunes cartoons as a kid. I mean, how many times did watch Bugs Bunny turn around and get Elmer Fudd? Although, Bugs Bunny rarely fired a weapon. He merely outsmarted the old hunter. Bugs occassionaly made a useful purchase from the Acme company and Elmer would end up shooting himself.

The real story: apparently two guys were grouse hunting. Both very experience hunters. A bird was wounded but not killed. As is customary, one hunter picked up the grouse to finish what the buckshot could not. The dog who retrieved the bird jumped around excitedly. While doing so he stepped on the trigger of the gun. The firearm discharged scattering bb's into the young mans leg.

So is it the cartoons? Or maybe just the job. Have I desensitized myself so much that even gunshot wounds can appear humorous?

Well, it wasn't funny to the family of the young man who was injured. The guy was ok, I heard the official word. But I wasn't listening to Kathy's words of wisdom — the guy has a mother. And getting a phone call from your son sitting in a hospital announcing that he has been shot is not a call any mother wants to hear.

It turns out I know the mother. Quite well. But didn't know I knew her and her family until after I had this cartoon running through my head like it was Saturday morning instead of Monday afternoon.

News needs to be reported. In cases where serious criminal charges are filed names will be printed and the story written as straight-up as possible. That is my job. No charges were filed in this particular story.

The young man is recovering. Slowly. He is in a lot of pain. The mother is recovering, too. Slowly. I think I may have wounded our friendship. I apologized to her for being so insensative. And I apologize to her again, right here, right now.

Time heals all wounds, so they say. Time will heal the young hunter. Whether it can heal a friendship, I guess only time will tell.

A tough lesson in sensativity.

Learning something new

So, here I am trying to figure out how to slip a photo inside the blog. Bare with me -- this may take a while. Although I can type about 115 WPM, it takes me a while to figure out this computer stuff.

My first job in the business world was the position of secretary. I was hired at CPT Corporation in Eden Prairie to be a secretary for a director. She had a big glass office. I sat outside her glass bubble so I could anticipate her every whim. I felt l was watching a little gold fish in an aquarium. It could have been worse, she could have been a piranha.

I had a very nice cubicle all by myself. There I had a CPT word processor, a typewriter, phone and a telex machine.

I knew how to use the phone.

Computers were just beginning to move into offices. Not many desks hosted personal computers. But CPT manufactured some of the best word processors and desktop publishing for the times, or so I was told. I didn't know the first thing about computers and I couldn't type. So, my boss sent me to school to learn how to type.

I learned to type. I got a raise. Then she sent me to learn shorthand. That didn't work out as well. But I tried and I learned to write really fast and made up my own symbols. The ones in the book didn't make sense to me. I didn't do well on the shorthand tests in school, but I wrote so fast in the board room, nobody ever really knew. I got a raise.

I worked at CPT for quite a while. Everytime I learned something new, I got a raise. And continued to type making my way up the administrative assistant ladder. I survived about three lay offs as the company began downsizing before its final demise. I finally took my lay off and moved on to a new career. Actually, I took the summer off, waitressed at a few local pubs and had a blast (thanks to a severance package) before I started a new career. That is another story.

But learning a new skill takes time. I like learning something new, just for the sake of learning. When I can look at something and say to myself, "Hey, Self. You did that -- yourself!" That is pretty cool. Learning to post photos to my blog mightl take time as well. When I learn that skill, I might try video and audio clips ... and then ... well, you just never know what you will find ....

Ummm, of course, I would never turn down a raise.

My first blog

So here I am writing a blog. It is an absolutely beautiful day out there and I am writing a blog. Call me crazy! Or just afraid of being fired!

Seems everyone is writing blogs these days. Katie Couric writes a page in her notebook and reads it on the radio every weekday morning. Brett Larson has a blog. And of course there is Hannabelle.

So here I go.

Blogs began as sort of on-line diaries where daily (or less often) entries were posted for all the world to see. Some blogs have specific topics such as food, entertainment, journal entries, politcs, news and more.

Sometimes blogs contain personal attacks. Now I am all for freedom of speech and freedom of the press. Why wouldn't I be? I am a writer - a real journalist working for a real newspaper. But I do not believe personal attacks belong on my blog, or really, any blog for that matter.

Some folks feel there is a need for a Blogger's Code of Conduct to enforce civility by being civil themselves and moderating comments on their blog. Some guy named Tim O'Reilly apparently said, "I do think we need some code of conduct around what is acceptable behaviour, I would hope that it doesn't come through any kind of regulation. It should come through self-regulation."

So the guy and some other people came up with a list of ideas. I kind of like them and will share them with you.

1. Take responsibility not just for your own words, but for the comments you allow on your blog.
2. Label your tolerance level for abusive comments.
3. Consider eliminating anonymous comments.
4. Ignore the trolls.
5. Take the conversation offline, and talk directly, or find an intermediary who can do so.
6. If you know someone who is behaving badly, tell them so.
7. Don't say anything online that you wouldn't say in person.

I guess number 7 is my favorite. In all it boils down to the Golden Rule: Treat other people the way you want to be treated.

Messin' with the news is going to be fun to write and hopefully, fun for you to read. Like it says in my intro over there, you just never know what you will find. It is not AP Style or really any other style for that matter. It is unedited and uncensored -- at least for now, until Kevin stops me from something. But I promise, I will never use it for personal attacks.

So please come back often. It will be great to see you!


Peace,
Vivian Clark
The Messy News Girl