I’d like to use this blog entry to clean up some loose ends, none of which seem to fit anywhere else.

First, in one previous blog entry I followed Dr. Horch’s advice when reporting results: “write what you observe.”  And at the time I had only ever observed men with snowblowers, but this morning I saw evidence to the contrary, so I’d like to amend my previous entry.  However, the women I saw did not display quite the same giddy excitement about it as the men.

On a related subject, last Thursday night we had our first really big storm of the season.  Local news stations correctly forecasted it for days, and this provided plenty of time for fear and anxiety to grow disproportionately to the actual size of the storm.  At Chris’ work they started canceling seminars scheduled for Thursday afternoon, even though it was sunny and snow was not predicted until early Friday morning!  Anyway, on Friday they had continuous live coverage of the storm for several hours, during which they had reporters all over the city, each providing some variation of: “Um…it’s still snowing”.  These in depth reports were interspersed with listings of all the essential services that were closed due to the storm, including Kochanski’s Beer Hall, which was reported at 9 o’clock in the morning!  Apparently they take beer seriously here.

Melissa recently bought a hat for Everett which has the tag shown above affixed to it, which we did not make up.  Maybe the hat is made for infants of some other species?

In one previous blog entry I asked if there are any teams with cows as mascots.  Well Melissa’s parents are both from Texas, and Amanda pointed out that the Texas Longhorns have a steer as a mascot.  Despite the fact that my paternal grandparents are lifelong farmers, and despite more years of education than I care to remember, I still do not know answers to basic agricultural questions such as: how many cobs grow on a single corn stalk?  I thought 5 or 6, but it turns out the answer is 1.  Or: what is a steer and how is this different from a cow or a bull?  Please don’t tell Gramsy and Grandpa that we did not know the answers to these questions.  Anyway, the Texas Longhorns’ mascot is a castrated bull.  I am not sure why they chose a steer over a bull, and I’m willing to bet they don’t mention castration very often in their team cheers, but I will say that Longhorns have a much more imposing presence than other cows I have seen.  Beyond that, a lot has been written about the almost mythical abilities of this species.  But I think we have to keep in mind that most of this was written by Texans, who as a group have been known to spin a jingoistic yarn about a few things.

Lastly, we have been told by many people to write things down when they happen with Everett or they will be forgotten.  In this spirit I’d like to record the following behavior which he has since moved on from.  When he was young (younger than 6 months anyway) and he was finished nursing he would abruptly push himself off Melissa’s breast, roll over onto his back and throw both arms up over his head, as if to say “Aaaaaaaaaaand…I’m out!”.  It was hilarious to watch and I wish we had a picture of it.

Everett has developed a busy social schedule for someone who is only 6 months old.  He has several standing engagements each week, along with several special ones now that the holidays are approaching.  His latest appearance was at a neighborhood party last weekend at the local ice skating rink, which also happens to be home to the Wauwatosa Curling Club (as an aside, curling could be Chris’ last chance to get into the Olympics, but this will be left for a future blog entry).  Part of his busy schedule is because there are many families on the block with young children.  But the real reason is that our new neighbors on Kavanaugh Place are an extremely social group of people with a tradition of community get togethers that was going strong by the time we arrived.  One recent get together made the national news.  It turns out that our neighbor Dan Johnson decided to fulfill a promise he made 32 years ago and have a pie fight with a friend from high school.  Others before me have described this in much more detail, so I will leave you with Jim Stengl’s story in the Journal Sentinel and the CBS News video below.

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When I was young I noticed that the acoustics in our house changed after a snowstorm.  I think the snow dampened a lot of the ambient noise from outside, and this was usually my first clue that I might get the day off school.  Snow changes the acoustics at our new home as well, but in a different way.  The morning after a snowstorm we usually awaken to the gentle rumbling of snowblowers, small gas-powered carts with rotating monster teeth that are used to move snow into your neighbors yard.  Not that I am complaining.  By the time I am out of bed and have had a cup of coffee, the sidewalk in front of our house has usually been cleared by neighbors.  This week we had the first big snow of the year and someone had cleared the sidewalk of our entire street, end to end.  My guess is that because winter just started, the men have been apart from their snowblowers for a while (for whatever reason, I have only observed snowblowers being operated by men; please correct me if you have evidence to the contrary) and they are eager to be reunited.  Maybe they are practicing to get their technique back, maybe they enjoy the meditative state induced by blasting large amounts of snow and ice into the sky, or maybe they are just darn nice people.  Whatever the reason, Wisconsinites love snowblowers as much as they love to tell you how bad the winters are here.  The subtext of these comments goes something like this: “You’re new here, and until you have proven yourself by making it through one of our winters, we’re not going to get too attached.”  The first few times I heard this I made the mistake of mentioning that we just moved from Cleveland, a city that gets far more snow than these parts, and we shoveled our snow there.  One time I also mentioned that there is an entire country north of here and I’m pretty sure their winters are worse than ours, though they are much too polite to make a fuss about it.  But I stopped doing this after I recalled that the news in the Midwest is really just window dressing for the weather report – it is one thing that provides solidarity among the locals.  At least that’s what was reported in the book “How To Speak Minnesotan”, and in Wisconsin we speak something that is similar but definitely distinct.  I can do a decent job of mimicking the Minnesota accent, but I have to admit the Wisconsin accent it pretty hard to nail down.  It is a bit more nasal, and our long “ooooos” aren’t quite as deep, and we don’t go around saying “you bet” or “you betcha”.  Thankfully, soft drinks are called by their correct name “soda”; you have to cross the western border before they become “pop”.  I know this firsthand from visiting family in Iowa and Minnesota throughout my life and enjoying my share of orange or root beer floats.  Everett does not yet have a detectable accent, and because he has been visiting his grandparents for the past week has not been exposed to the snow yet, but we will keep everyone posted on his accent and interest in snow machines.

We now live in the land of ferocious rodents, at least judging from the Midwestern mascots that surround us: groundhogs, raccoons, gophers, wolverines, badgers.  Our home is in the Badger State, mostly referring to the University of Wisconsin football team, an association that is now so engrained that on the occasions when I have asked locals if they have ever seen a badger they assume I mean a Badger, and reply that they’ve been to a few games (if you would like to see a badger then look closely at the coat of arms on our state flag, http://www.wisconsin.gov/state/core/colorcoat.html).  Among these rodents, the general consensus is that the wolverine is the most ferocious (go Blue), however this has been perpetuated largely by Michigan fans who have never met the Wisconsin hodag (see photo above).  This is an animal that was originally captured by settlers over 100 years ago.  It has the head of a frog, the grinning face of a giant elephant, thick short legs set off by huge claws, the back of a dinosaur, and a long tail with spears at the end.  It has been described as the “fiercest, strangest, most frightening monster ever to set razor sharp claws on the earth” and is the mascot for Rhinelander High School in northern Wisconsin.  It was first described by Native Americans, who have shaped Wisconsin culture in many other ways as well, particularly the city names.  Milwaukee has its origins in a Native American name, as those of you who saw Wayne’s World learned from Alice Cooper, as do Oconomowoc, Mukwonago and many other towns nearby.  One sure sign that you live here is that you can pronounce these names without hesitating.  Another sign is that you know that the last workday of every week is fish fry Friday, a tradition that is attributed to the large Catholic population and that spilled over from Lent into the rest of the year.  Or that you know how to polka (our official dance); if you want to square dance then you will have to travel south to Illinois.  Lastly, you know our state motto, “Forward”, which could be an attempt to differentiate us from our Midwestern neighbors.  For example, in past blog entries I mentioned that our official state beverage is milk, which has been true since the 1980s.  About 20 years later our neighbors in Minnesota chose the same official state beverage.  I’m sure they were considering this long before we ever thought of it, but being the careful and measured people that they are (except when elections are involved), didn’t want to rush into anything.  With all of the local emphasis on dairy I am surprised that no one, to my knowledge, has adopted the cow as their team mascot.  They aren’t as ferocious as rodents but they certainly have a more imposing presence.  If anyone knows of a team with a ruminant mascot then please let me know.

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday.  I think the main reasons for this are: it is uncomplicated by gift giving or ceremonies; it is a 4 day weekend to spend with friends and family; it celebrates the turn of the seasons with a lot of my favorite comfort foods.  This year Cress and Amanda drove up from Cincinnati for the week.  We spent a few days relaxing and preparing, and on the big day we took Everett to the zoo for the first time, then came back and had a Thanksgiving dinner that couldn’t be beat, followed by a nap and seconds before bed.  We also enjoyed one of the Butson family traditions, which is to listen to Alice’s Restaurant by Arlo Guthrie on Thanksgiving.  Everett got to hear the song for the first time, and for good measure he joined us for dinner with his own comfort food: rice cereal.  This was his first solid food, and he got the hang of it right away.  He seemed to intuitively understand that the spoon headed toward his mouth contained food, and that he should eat the food off of the spoon and swallow it.  This seems like a lot of steps to master at once for something that he had never tried before.  Clearly the Barber-Butson genes have once again served him well.



I assume that everyone is familiar with Arlo Guthrie, and with the Alice’s Restaurant Massacree in particular, but if not then Friends, I am here to tell you that Arlo is one of the great singers and storytellers of our generation, and our parent’s generation as well, so he’s worth a listen at least once a year, perhaps even more often if you are trying to turn your child into a modern-day hippie.  Hearing Arlo sing Alice’s Restaurant live was on the short list of things I wanted to experience in my lifetime, and so I was pretty upset when he publicly proclaimed in the 1990s that he would never sing the song again.  Fortunately he softened his stance and I got to hear him at Cain Park a couple years ago.  There are a couple of different recorded versions out there.  The original was 18 ½ minutes long, but if you can spare an extra 4 minutes I recommend the longer version with full orchestration and five part harmony where he describes how the song changed the destiny of the Nixon presidency.  It may also interest you to know that a couple of decades ago, Arlo recorded a Tom Paxton song called “I am changing my name to Chrysler”.  It was pretty funny when it came out, and in these uncertain economic times it turns out it is just as poignant today, especially considering recent events with US automakers, which is why I decided to include it here.  Originally I thought about just including the lyrics.  But it’s impossible to understand why he is such a master without hearing his voice (however, please ignore all of the cheesy graphics in the video which someone pasted onto the song).

Lastly, if you just want the experience of Alro live then check out this updated version of the song as he adapted it to Fannie Mae.  And Happy Thanksgiving!

Since the recent presidential election there has been a lot of speculation about who the new administration will hire, which issues they will tackle first and what approach they will take.  And in case you haven’t heard, one of those issues is the college football bowl championship series (BCS).  For those of you who don’t know what the BCS is, and for those of you who are expressing disbelief that Chris knows anything about it, allow me to explain.  There are no playoffs in college football, so it is difficult to establish a national champion, especially when there are multiple teams with the same win/loss record.  As a result, team rankings used to be decided through a voting system, and not surprisingly this led to a lot of problems and controversy.  The BCS was created to dispel the impression that college football rankings were subjective and capricious.  In response, the BCS ranks teams using a secret computer algorithm that is based on the emphatic opinions of a very small set of individuals, and this algorithm is fudged at the end of each season to meet everyone’s subjective expectations.  This system is based on the premises that the best team comes from one of the six major conferences, and that Notre Dame gets to do whatever the hell it wants to.  On the surface, this sounds like it was designed to create even more controversy than the old system, and some would argue this is true, including President Elect Obama (see video).  Fortunately, our government has a reputation for not shying away when faced with such difficult issues.  You may recall the time when members of Congress each sat down in private and spent a few minutes quietly reflecting on how many gallons of water should be required to flush a toilet (answer: 1.6).  Or the time that a congressional committee attempted to determine if Roger Clemens was a vegetarian, and after he answered “No” they proceeded to ask if he was a vegan, to which he replied “I’m not really sure what that is”, effectively demonstrating that Congress isn’t really sure about it either and that they might want to move to higher ground.  However, college football is way more popular than veganism, so I am optimistic that the legislative and judicial branches of our government will be able to engage in an articulate discussion on the issue, though I am certainly not ruling out the Supreme Court from getting involved.

Having said all of that, some of you may be wondering what effect the BCS has on Chris’ life and why he is taking the time to write about it.  The answer is that 1) he took an interest in the BCS when he found out it involved an algorithm, thinking that this might make spectator sports more compelling; 2) college sports have way more spirit and gumption than professional sports, and if we are going to have more football it would be great if it were college; 3) for years Chris has heard complaints from friends and coworkers about college football rankings, particularly from fans of a certain team in Ohio, and is hoping a playoff will finally put these to rest.

During the last couple weeks Everett has started paying very close attention when Melissa and I eat.  He is intently focused as food or drinks move from the table to our mouths.  As he watched mealtime from his highchair, he seemed to be circumspect at best about what we were feeding him.  I guess breastmilk via a spoon isn’t much of a substitute for his normal method (see photo above).  But then he started sitting in our laps during mealtime, which provides better viewing and, it turns out, better access to our food.  This was probably his secret plan all along.  So what was simply observation on Friday turned into a run at my coffee mug on Sunday morning (see photos below).  By Monday night any of my drinks were fair game (last photo).

Over the last few months (5 to be exact, as of yesterday) Everett has been experimenting with more and more sounds, and every few weeks he adds one or two new ones to his vocabulary.  Just this week he started putting those sounds together to form his first word: Obama.  We aren’t quite sure why he chose this as his first word.  He has certainly been exposed to it a lot lately in our house, but by comparison he heard Bush and McCain equally as often, though perhaps in a less flattering tone of voice.

Everett decided to go as a pea pod for his first Halloween.  He made two appearances at parties during the week beforehand and then put his costume on again to greet trick-or-treaters, at least until his bedtime at 7:30 (rules are rules, especially for parents who are trying to establish a sleep schedule, partly for their own sanity).  He enjoyed seeing everyone come and go, but seemed particularly fascinated with the toddlers who stopped by, and young children are our favorite trick-or-treaters as well.  Perhaps this is because of their obvious sense of wonder about the world, or because they are still in disbelief that by saying three magic words they can get free candy for as far as their legs can carry them.  Or the fun they seem to have by being someone else for a night.  I have a friend with a young son about two or three, and when his parents took him to pick out a costume he immediately latched onto a chicken outfit and would not let it go, despite strong encouragement from my friend to pick something else.  So he went as a chicken for Halloween.  Even more distressing for my friend was the fact that his son wanted to wear the chicken outfit for a long time afterward.  But who wouldn’t?  It sounds fun to try out different personas from time to time – I always wanted to be a train engineer when I was growing up, but eventually lost my interest in trains and am now seeing how I like being an engineer…

In contrast, the teenagers who stopped by our house were clearly interested in candy but perhaps less interested in some other parts of the tradition such as wearing a costume or saying trick or treat.  The first group of them came by about 6pm and did not seem to be dressed as anyone in particular.  Afterward I decided to start asking everyone who they were dressed as, and I established a more than generous rating system that dictated how much candy each would receive.  If you said “trick or treat” and had a costume then you got three pieces of candy; “trick or treat” with no costume or vice versa got two pieces; everyone else got one piece.  Really, the last group should have received none but I didn’t want to pick toilet paper out of the trees the following morning.  So when the next group of teenagers came by I asked each of them who they were dressed as:

Teenager 1 in some kind of red jersey: [blank look, no answer].

Teenager 2 in a black hoodie and a black curly wig: “I don’t know.”

Teenager 3 in a blazer and pants: “I was Obama, but my mask fell off.”

Congratulations, Teenager 3.  Amazingly, that answer was the best of the bunch, though 6:15 seems a bit early in the evening for a wardrobe malfunction.  I guess they rubbed me the wrong way by not participating the way I expected, and I feel like they should know better.  If small children behaved that way I would probably have said it was cute and forgotten about it.  But teenagers, you are not as cute as you used to be.  None of us are really – it’s an unfair and unfortunate fact of life.  Also, you have an additional burden because the general consensus is that you have some kind of temporary cognitive impairment due to your age.  Again, this is unfair.  The only reason this belief is so firmly entrenched is because your parents and grandparents remember the shenanigans they got into at your age.  Despite the unfairness of it all, I feel obliged to offer the following advice to teenage trick-or-treaters who are interested in making up for their lack or cuteness:

1. Say “trick or treat” when someone comes to the door.

2. Wear a costume when doing so.  Note that a Packers baseball cap by itself does not meet this requirement.

3. Be prepared to act out, or at the very least identify, who you are dressed as.

Following these recommendations would be a small step in sprucing up your image, and could spare everyone else from the curmudgeon that I fear I am slowly becoming.  Everett: please read this in 2021.

So it turns out that not only is Wauwatosa where the beautiful people live, it’s also the only place in the world where you can buy Schlitz.  That’s right, for a limited time the beer that made Milwaukee famous is available at the grocery store around the corner from our house.  Remember the 1960s?  Without going into too much detail, let’s just agree that those were wild times, back in the days before political correctness and aerobics, when real men drank real beer.  And keep in mind that this is the original 1960s recipe, not the Schlitz that was later reformulated for tofu and fern bars, a move that ultimately led to its demise.  The only thing amiss so far is that Schlitz is now only available in bottles, which seems…wrong.  Schlitz was meant to be in a can, but I will defer to Dad and Cress as the experts on this issue.  Perhaps the marketers are trying to upscale it, taking advantage of the fact that people who drank it in the 1960s are (hopefully) finished with college and can afford bottled beer now.  In any case, I invite each of you to visit us and have a Schlitz, taking some time to recall the last time you had one (or took one without your Dad finding out).  I had one with dinner last night and it was surprisingly good, though the sleep deprivation from travel and baby might be a confounding factor.