One of the best things about being a fan of Bruce Springsteen is the fact that he is always re-interpreting his own songs. Not only does he have a catalog of music that approaches a thousand titles, several of those titles have been reworked and re-arranged into different styles. The pounding rock of "Born In The USA" sometimes becomes a blues number. The piano invitation  that opens "Thunder Road" sometimes becomes a harmony of acoustic guitars.
So sometimes when you're listening to an old Bruce song, you find yourself listening to a brand new Bruce song. That, my friends, is beauty, art, love and music at its finest.
This is a shining example ... the studio album cut of the song "If I Should Fall Behind" isn't bad, but it doesn't stand out as especially brilliant, by anyone's standards. It's just a nice little song, and even when Faith Hill remade it with her lovely voice, it was still just a nice little song, but nothing special.
But Bruce's reinterpretation of this, his own song, performed live here in this clip, is something special. He turned it into a folk waltz, and let the fiddles provide the musical hook. Suddenly, this is one of my most treasured Bruce songs.
And today I dedicate it to Mrs. Iowa Scribe ... love, like music, needs to live and grow and change -- and it needs to be granted the patience to do so. 
And that's what this song is about.

The western sky was angry today, my friends.
The western sky needs to chill. We got married.
We forged ahead, directly into the heart of the incoming storm, with Iowa Scribe at the helm of the always-reliable four-door maroon Oldsmobuick. Four of us, including Mrs. Iowa Scribe To-Be and a faithful and honorable wedding party of two, followed by a staff of certified ordained clergy. 
The incoming storm, brewing like your Uncle Billy's micro-beer in the sky, was not going to stop us from tying the proverbial knot.
The day had begun sunny and clear, rain-free enough that Mrs. Iowa Scribe To-Be had actually gotten up early and mowed the lawn before it became time to forge west. Before our eyes as we traveled, the buttery brightness of the day began to dissolve. 
We were looking for what I am certain is the smallest chapel in the world, besides 20 or 30 other chapels. It's actually the Little Flock Chapel, a part of the Little Flock Chapel Roadside Rest Area on highway 2 just west of Centerville. We needed to settle, once and for all, exactly where the chapel is. Everyone has passed it at one time or another, but none seem to know precisely where.
"It is located along highway 2," everyone will say.
"Where, exactly?" we will ask.
And no one knows where, exactly.
And that is exactly where we found it.
Biblical digression: Luke 12-32; "Fear not, little flock, for it is your father's good pleasure to give you the kingdom."
We feared not. Our little flock reached our destination just seconds before the torrential rains began to pelt an already oft-pelted world. We set things up in the smallest chapel in the world (besides 20 or 30 or maybe 40 or so other chapels) and prepared for the ceremony.
Iowa Scribe and Mrs. Iowa Scribe To-Be had decided to make a statement with our attire. Iowa Scribe To-Be's wedding gown was an Iowa State Cyclones shirt, while Iowa Scribe wore an Iowa Hawkeyes shirt. The point: Love conquers all! Through our love, we have been able to raise the level of our discourse to the point where we can float over the canyon of dissent forged by our college athletic loyalties. It was even suggested that perhaps Iowa Scribe To-Be should wear the Hawkeye shirt while Iowa Scribe would sport the Cyclone gear. Of course, that did NOT happen, as it would have been just TOO crazy. Love is a wonderful, amazing thing that can bridge our differences, but don't push it, Babe.
The differences in our backgrounds were also obvious beyond the college attire, as Iowa Scribe To-Be is of Dutch/Swedish background while Iowa Scribe, as you all are well aware, was born in Kenya to a single mother and had to fake his birth certificate in order to claim US citizenship. Again, love conquers all.
The wedding party witnesses, not wanting to take sides, got into the spirit of the diversity. Our female witness donned a stunning blend of Iowa and Iowa State attire, and the two mixed together on her in much the same way that water and oil won't. Our male witness stayed out of the athletic fan game altogether and instead dressed as though he was going spear-fishing for Summer Gar on the southernmost point of Nova Scotia. Which was perfect.
As a favor to me, our beloved ordained minister began the service with the lines of The Impressive Clergyman in the movie "The Princess Bride." He remained deadpan as he spoke the words, "Mawage. Mawage is wot bwings us togeder toooday. Mawage, that bwessed awangement, that dweam wifin a dweam ..."
Then after a laugh, he got down to the serious business of matrimony, and as the thunder rolled overhead, we got ourselves good and legally married.
No messes, no fusses, no worries about caterers or tailors or disc jockeys or place settings or whether or not Cousin Joe is going to interrupt the Best Man's speech by vomiting into the punch.
Just me looking into her eyes, and her looking into mine.
Declaring faith and love for each other, as long as we both shall live.
And it's a good thing. And if the sky is angry about it, then the sky must chill.
Because I love her, and she loves me. And we could see it in each other's eyes.
And that is an amazing, wonderful thing.
We got married today. In a tiny chapel with our tiny flock and one God as our witnesses, we got married.
Yeah, we did.

Sometimes a grown man misses his childhood comforts.
For me, one of those comforts arrived at 3:30 p.m. every weekday on channel 2 out of Cedar Rapids.
I miss you Dr. Max! And Mombo the Clown, too! I even wrote a column about you a few years ago! Here it is again!

Take it easy, play it safe, and be careful

 A Blast From The Past: Originally published August 10, 2007

When I paid for my lunch today, the guy at the counter startled me a little bit.
“Be careful,” he said as handed me my change.
I guess I wasn't expecting that.
I was expecting him to say something along the lines of “Have a nice day” or “Thank you, come again.”
Be careful? I didn’t see that coming.
I worried that maybe he was clairvoyant, or maybe he just knew something I didn't. If I were a fireman, or a soldier, or even a race car driver, “be careful” would have seemed appropriate. But I’m none of those things. What do I need to be careful about?
But then I got to thinking. That guy was actually giving me some pretty good advice, and I’m grateful for that. It was a very kind and considerate thing to say.
My grandmother, bless her heart, would always say “safe home” whenever we left her house. Her words are still repeated often — they are a common farewell among many members of my family. Granny’s words will outlive her for at least a generation or two, which is nice.
I recall the big, tough sergeant from the old 1980s television show “Hill Street Blues,” who, to start every show, told his cops, “Let’s be careful out there.”
He was a hard-nosed cop — but an honest one with a sensitive side. His biggest concern was the safety of his fellow officers. It was a nice touch to his character.
But the guy at lunch today actually reminded me of Dr. Max.
If you grew up when I did, and you lived in eastern Iowa, you probably recall Dr. Max. He was the best reason to hurry home from school.
He had a sidekick — Mombo the Clown — and the two of them put on a show of cartoons every weekday afternoon on WMT television out of Cedar Rapids.
Actually, Dr. Max didn’t call them cartoons, he called them “colortoons.” I really don’t know what field of medicine Dr. Max studied, but his show was the best. He and Mombo would entertain us between the Warner Brothers clips — you know, Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck and my personal favorite, Foghorn Leghorn. 
“Boy — I say — boy! Put away — I say — put away that egghead book ...”
I loved that giant redneck rooster.
The few times I’ve ever brought up Dr. Max in mixed company, someone who grew up in central Iowa will always bring up “Duane and Floppy.” I’m sure the two shows were very much alike, but for my money, you just couldn’t beat good old Dr. Max. Some 30 years later, I can still whistle the theme music to the show.
He had a “magic board” that he played the cartoons on. A different name would appear on the magic board at the start of the show, and the show would be dedicated to that person.
Sometimes Mombo the Clown did magic tricks, and sometimes he read poems or stories. Regular guests included Paulette the Puppet Lady, while someone from a local animal shelter brought down a puppy or a kitten about once a week. Sometimes a local police chief or fireman would stop in and talk with Dr. Max about some things kids could do to stay safe. We never got a lecture, just an informative conversation. Often some local youth group was on the show, and the kids got to wave to the camera during the closing credits.
Dr. Max always ended his show with the words, “Take it easy, play it safe, and be careful.”
And he meant it. It was sincere. Dr. Max never talked down to his audience. When you’re in grade school, and spend most of your time being talked down to, it’s refreshing to spend a half an hour with an adult who talks to you as if you are his equal. 
He never lied to his audience, and never let any of his guests lie to his audience, either. Once when I was watching, one of the puppets got into an argument with Dr. Max. As part of some gag, the puppet insisted that the world was flat. Dr. Max corrected the puppet, but the puppet wouldn’t yield.
For the sake of entertainment, Dr. Max decided to abandon the argument and allow the puppet to go on with his bit, but for one brief moment, Dr. Max looked directly into the camera, shook his head and whispered to all of us at home, “The world is not flat.”
Dr. Max wasn't about to let anyone on his show lie to us, not even a puppet. It’s unfortunate that the cable news hosts and others on our TV screens coast-to-coast these days don’t have that same kind of integrity.
I don't know what became of Dr. Max, and I don’t know what happened to Mombo the Clown either. They've likely both passed on — they seemed pretty old to me at the time, but of course, everyone seems old when you’re seven.
Wherever they are, I miss them sometimes.
We didn't know it back when we were watching Dr. Max, but the world can occasionally be a frightening place. There’s a war going on. Bridges collapse. Mines cave in. Violent crimes and car accidents happen every day, while health care is becoming more and more expensive and less and less accessible. Our government lies to us, and far too often, our mass media allows it. Some folks I see every day are perpetually angry, and a few others are constantly afraid.
I believe we’re all here on this earth to help one another get through this thing, whatever it is. I guess there aren’t many clever and wise words out there to help us do that. That guy at lunch today and Dr. Max are two among a select few who got it right.
“Safe home.”
“Let’s be careful out there.”
“Take it easy, play it safe, and be careful.”
Simple advice, but pretty good. And not just for kids.

In Memory ...
U.S. Army Sgt. 1st Class Michael A. Benson, a Winona, Minnesota native and husband of eight years to Elizabeth Brown of Colchester, Vermont, was a career soldier assigned to the 1st Battalion, 314th Regiment located at Fort Drum, New York and was serving in Operation Iraqi Freedom as a member of the 2nd Brigade 78th Division, a support unit that trains reserve component soldiers. 
He enlisted in 1985 after graduating from Winona Senior High School. During his two decades in the U.S. Army, he was awarded at least 23 medals, awards, or decorations in recognition of his outstanding military service. Throughout his military career, he was stationed in Hawaii, North Carolina, New York and Italy. He also served in the first Gulf War, Operation Desert Storm, where he helped clear minefields in northern Iraq. He saw time in many other hotspots, and in some places he was not allowed to reveal. He worked his way up from ammunition bearer to squad leader to recruiter to trainer. He was in Iraq assigned to train Iraqi police and security forces. He was in his final year of service. 
He did not have to go to Iraq, but he wanted to. 
He was always a soldier, a teacher and a student. He was described by some who served with him as a person who never looked for a fight, but never backed down from one.
He was known for his wonderful sense of humor and positive attitude. He sometimes claimed that his middle initial “A” stood for “Airborne.” He often used his quick wit to loosen up tense situations. He loved fast cars and spicy foods, and rooted passionately for Dale Earnhardt, Jr., the Minnesota Vikings, and the Minnesota Twins. He had a deep belief in God and country.
He was also my cousin.
On August 2, 2005, Sgt. Benson was riding in a gunner’s turret in Baghdad when a suicide bomber driving a car that was carrying an improvised explosive device attacked his three-vehicle convoy, resulting in his sustaining severe head wounds. Sgt. Benson was initially transferred from Iraq to a hospital in Germany where he was awarded a Purple Heart, and, while he did not immediately perish from his injuries, he died in a military hospital in Maryland on August 10, 2005. He died on American soil.
He was 40 years old. His real middle name was Allen.
A lot of people miss him.
I am lucky to have known Mike. A cousin and friend. Remember, today, tomorrow and always.

The New Vending Machine -- A Working Man's Wish
They are putting in a new vending machine at the office. 
I saw it today, not too far from my desk. It will be refrigerated and soon it will be filled with all kinds of goodies – goodies that aren't in any of the other vending machines at the office. 
I am told there will be sandwiches – both cold sandwiches and the kinds of sandwiches you can heat up in the microwave – as well as milk, juice and relatively fresh fruit. 
All of those things will be put into the vending machine soon. None of them are in there right now, but right now, the vending machine isn't exactly empty. 
Right now the vending machine is full – full of hope. Full of wonder. Full of exciting little questions. 
Will this new vending machine really be special? Or will it betray my trust, like all the other vending machines at the office? 
Will it rip my dollar bill in half? 
Will it keep all my quarters and not give me any food or drink? Will it sit there smugly and not say a word after I give it my entire week’s chow budget in change? 
Will it break my heart into a million pieces like a ball peen hammer on a stained glass window? 
Will it hydrate its cold, dark soul with my warm, salty tears? 
Will this new vending machine cause me months of lower back pain when I attempt to shake the living shit out of it because the Raspberry Danish I pay two bucks for almost falls out of its slot but instead just hangs there, halfway out, like a sugar-glazed bat in the corner of a cave? 
At some point in time, will I have to find a Sharpie and a piece of paper so I can write a little note that says "Owes James $3.75" and tape it to the new vending machine? 
It will hang there for about a week, and every one of my co-workers will read it and know that James was the one dumbass among them who was stupid enough to keep sticking his money into that sunuvabitch even though no refreshments were coming out. 
Some will stop by my desk and say something like, “Have a problem with the vending machine?” and they won’t realize that every time someone at work says something like that to me, a little part of me dies inside.
No, this vending machine won’t be like all the others. This vending machine will accept me for who I am, treat me like a human being, and keep all of its promises. 
This vending machine will reward my trust with chilled beverages and tasty snacks. 
This vending machine will love me. And I will love it. 
And maybe it will even have slices of lemon pie. 
I like lemon pie.

A little shout out to all the kids who wrapped up the school year today! Have fun, but keep the hell out of my yard!

You're young and you're graduating, and you may feel like you’re on top of the world right now.
You’ll get over it soon enough.

A BLAST FROM THE PAST
This column originally published May 21, 2007
View more columns here

A few words for the graduates
You're young and you're graduating, and you may feel like you’re on top of the world right now.
You’ll get over it soon enough.
You may be heading off to college, or perhaps you’re joining the workforce right away.
Or maybe you intend to begin leading a life of crime.
Whatever you do, give it your best shot always. The world of academia needs bright, young minds with fresh ideas. The workforce needs new faces and renewed energy. And although crime is never a good thing, it would be refreshing to have some unique, creative crimes committed, as opposed to the boring old crimes we’ve all gotten used to. Just keep your crimes out of my neighborhood, and we’ll get along OK.
For those of you entering the workforce, either now or a few years from now after college, you’ll probably at some point come into job competition with some people of my generation. Here’s a tip you can use to your advantage — remember that many of the people from my generation are very afraid of the people from your generation.
That’s right. The low pants make us nervous, we wish you’d pull them up. Also, all the piercings make us very uneasy.
Also, we don’t understand all the gadgets, and we have trouble working them. You have cell phones, camera phones, Blackberries, iPods, and lots of other things that we don’t understand. We’re not exactly sure what a text message is. To us, a “download” meant something very, very different than what it means to you.
It’s all pretty intimidating to us. All we had was a digital watch that was also a calculator. We planned on using our digital calculator-watches to cheat on our math tests, but most of us couldn’t figure out exactly how they worked, and those of us who could were thwarted by the fact that our watch-calculators made little beeping sounds whenever the buttons were touched. We were so busted.
So at first, we didn't believe you when you told us that you could fit something like 80,000 songs inside one little tiny piece of plastic. Now, we don’t understand why you would choose to use the worst 80,000 songs imaginable to prove it.
Come on, 80,000 songs inside one thin little piece of plastic and no old Van Halen tunes? Not one Paul Simon track? How about a little Warren Zevon or Jimmy Buffet?
Anyway, as you live your life, always be kind, courteous, reliable and respectful to those around you. This way you’ll make a lot of friends. Then, when you go through some tough times, you can move in with some of these friends, instead of moving back with your parents, who won’t want you anymore.
Your parents will instead want to party like crazy, the way they did before you came along and screwed everything up for them.
Keep in mind that your parents still love you and they’ll miss you a bunch — and they’ll even probably let you move back in with them if you really have to — but you will be cramping their style.
Speaking of partying, you probably shouldn’t drink, but at some point you probably will. If you do, don’t ever drink and drive, and try not to drink too much. Some members of my generation drank too much at times, and strange things happened. Sometimes some of us woke up to find tattoos on our bodies that weren’t there the day before. In your case, I suppose it’s more likely that you’ll wake up to find that some of your tattoos are missing.
Either way, try your best not to make this kind of behavior a habit.
There are a few other things we need to tell you.
First of all, we’re sorry about the mess that’s been made of the environment. The health care system is kind of messed up, too. These things were already pretty screwed when we got here, but we haven’t done all that much to fix them, and we feel bad about that. We’ll keep trying, though. Maybe you can help us.
Oh, and the wars. We’re sorry about them. We probably should have done more to prevent them from happening. Some of your bravest friends might have to fight in them, even though they aren't your fault. Some of our most courageous friends have fought in them, are fighting in them, and are dying in them. The same goes for every generation that came before us. It’s a terrible cycle, and we're sorry we couldn't break it.
Maybe you guys are the ones who are smart enough to put a stop to them once and for all.
Of course, that seems to be an awful heavy burden to place on your shoulders right away, so go ahead and put it on the backburner. You can save the world another day. Until then, try to enjoy yourself as much as you can.
Someone once said that we’re all here on this Earth to help each other get through this thing, whatever it is.
So laugh through the tears when you can, it feels good. And don’t be afraid to cry when you watch a sad movie. It feels good, too.
When you’re content, take a minute to appreciate it, and say it out loud, so that others can appreciate it, too. Just pause and say something like, “This is nice, isn't it?” You’ll be surprised at how good it makes everyone around you feel.
When something was fun, say, “That was fun!” It’ll help you remember how much fun it really was.
Once in a while, tell a friend you love them. Take a moment to make a stranger smile. Write an awful poem and pretend it’s important literature, then laugh at it.
Never forget where you came from, but never let where you came from be an excuse for anything.
You’ll be fine. We’ll be pulling for you.
We’re all in this together.