A Life Well Lived

Michael "Flathead" Blanchard
1944 - 2012

Michael "Flathead" Blanchard

A Celebration of the life of Michael "Flathead" Blanchard will be held on April 14th, 3 pm 8160 Rosemary St, Commerce City. Weary of reading obituaries noting someone's courageous battle with death, Mike wanted it known that he died as a result of being stubborn, refusing to follow doctors' orders and raising hell for more than six decades. He enjoyed booze, guns, cars and younger women until the day he died.
Mike was born July 1944 in Colorado to Clyde and Ethel Blanchard. A community activist, he is noted for saving the Dr. Justina Ford house from demolition and defending those who could not defend themselves. He was a Republican delegate, life member of the NRA, founder and President of the Dead Cats MC. He loved music.
 
Mike was preceded in death by Clyde and Ethel Blanchard, survived by his beloved sons Mike and Chopper, former wife Jane Transue, brother Stephen Blanchard (Susan), Uncle Don and Aunt Cynthia Blanchard(his favorite); Uncle Dill and Aunt Dot, cousins and nephews, Baba Yaga can kiss his butt. So many of his childhood friends that weren't killed in Vietnam went on to become criminals, prostitutes and/or Democrats. He asks that you stop by and re-tell the stories he can no longer tell. As the Celebration will contain Adult material we respectfully ask that no children under 18 attend.

- The Denver Post, April 12, 2012

Everyone is a Little Bit Racist

With all the controversy surrounding the Trayvon Martin shooting and the recent attacks in Oklahoma, the question of racism in America is again under scrutiny. In a society that many have dubbed "post-racial", some are wondering how far we've really come in the mission for equality that began over half a century ago.

On a Chilled Iowa Night

The midnight sky was normally inky-black, but the iridescent glow of a perfectly circular white orb cast a brilliant glow across the landscape. The fog that was rolling in across my grandfathers eastern fields lit up as if comprised of neon gas let loose from a thousand beer signs from a hundred taverns and allowed to float free of the cigarette smoke and cheap liquor that swirled about the wooden floors and pool table legs and starched blue jeans and well-worn leather boots.

Contact - When Science and Religion Collide

Last night I stumbled upon the 1997 film Contact on AMC - complete with Story Notes. First, let me say that I love Story Notes. The nerd in me loves to learn more about the details and impetus of those who create film, and this program allows a peek into that world.

Contact, aside from being a great science fiction film, is an amazing philosophical conversation between science and religion. Ellie Arroway, the films protagonist (played by Jodie Foster) is driven by an empirical focus on science that leads her to the discovery of an extraterrestrial communication from near the star Vega. Alongside this attempt to communicate with a far off civilization is a deep internal and external conflict between faith and science. Arroway is an atheist, but romantically entangled with philosopher Palmer Joss (played by Matthew McConaughey) who is constantly presenting Arroway with soul searching quandaries. The film is truly an exploration of faith, science, and the balance between the two.

Something to Talk About

Sometimes good news is better when it is heard second hand, so rather than postulating on the thoughts that have been flourishing through my mind the last few months, I'll leave the telling to the professionals - my family.

Please feel free to send your own reactions and well wishes via facebook or email - Chris.Walljasper@Gmail.com. We hope to compile a large video from all of our friends and loved ones for posterity.

~CW

Flamethrowers and Cacti - Lessons from a Renaissance Man

My undergraduate career was riddled with employment opportunities of various measure. I worked at the theatre shop, constructing sets for shows. I worked as a Speech Tutor for the freshman speech classes and guided upperclassmen through presentations. I even worked one semester as a Resident Assistant, one of the few jobs I have been asked to leave.

Be like Water

Bruce Lee is often seen in caricature as a little man in a yellow jump suit, throwing lightening fast limbs, training Chuck Norris and Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, and throwing his foes across the room with naught-but-a one-inch punch.

Run for Your Life

Sometimes you just need to run for your life.

I am in no way a proficient runner. With bad posture, a titanium rod running the length of my left femur, and two screws lodged solidly in my knee, the act of running is a burden and a continuous inventory of the premature malfunctioning of my twenty-six year old frame. Add to this the fact that I am deceivingly out-of-shape for my slight and wiry stature, and one might wonder why I would run at all.

To clarify, I do not run on a regular basis. In fact, I can count on one hand the number of times I have ran in the last year.

But sometimes, running is the only option.

Lunch on a Sunny Afternoon

It is all too common that, on any given weekday, my waking hours are spent rushing from home to office, appointment to conference in a flurry of corporate glad-handing and client-serving correspondence. The meantime is riddled with conference calls and emails, techno-jargon and corporate-America productivity babble. The days are a whirlwind of faux-synergy and rarely are the emergencies my clients present me anywhere near the panic level they assume.

A Thousand Fibers...

"We cannot live only for ourselves. A thousand fibers connect us with our fellow men."

-Herman Melville

Consider for a moment the way in which you define your existence. OK, I realize that this is a pretty lofty concept, so let me clarify.

We've All Gone to Look For America

These words, penned in 1968 by Paul Simon, encapsulate such deep meaning and cultural angst, even thirty years later.

I posted this simple line to Facebook this weekend:

"We've all gone to look for America."

Without connotation and without direction of what I thought the words meant, it was a concise observation, pregnant with contemplation. Several people reacted politically, a few commented appreciatively, and others simply "liked" it. So what does it mean?

When in Hawaii

I've always been of the mentality that, when in a place who's culture differs from your own, the best experiences are to be had when you fully submerge yourself in that culture. Which is why, when Annie and I visited the Hawaiian Island of Kauai, there were few items on my to-do list that ranked above surfing.

If You Can't Laugh at Yourself...

If you can't laugh at your own mistakes, do you really have any justification for enjoying the folly of others? The ability to see the humor in our own embarrassment is a skill that many of us in this self-conscious, vulnerable, defensive world lack.

But comedians, actors, politicians, and renaissance men of all variety have been perfecting this blend of humility and confidence for years. Where it may be crass and inappropriate to belittle the failings of the folks we interact with on a daily basis, there is no harm in displaying our own weaknesses, failings, and ridiculousness for all to see and publicly besmirch. It takes a real man (or woman) to laugh at their own faults and failings.

Here are a few icons of our time who have perfected the art of self-ridicule. Feel free to add your own thoughts in the comment section.

The Machine Stops

As we continue to descend down the rabbit hole of technology - phones, computers, Netflix, blogs, social media and now media aggregates such as Reddit, Pintrest, and Gentlemint, the question continues to arise:

Are we, as a society, growing closer or drifting further apart?

Eating at The Greek

It was eight o'clock by the time we arrived at the Mediterranean restaurant off of Laclede in downtown Saint Louis. Although the frigid street was bustling with carousers enjoying the frivolity of Mardi Gras, the restaurant was barren as we entered it's warm, glowing dining room.

The owner greeted us as we hung our coats from our chairs. Arms outstretched, his boisterous welcome filled the empty space, bouncing off chairs and ringing from the chandeliers.

"Hello my friends! How are you tonight? You are hungry?"

It's Half-time, America

Last weekend, I watched the Superbowl not so much for the action on the field, or Madonna's geriatric acrobatics during the half-time show. I think the most anticipated part of the Superbowl for me was the commercials. This television event has taught consumers and advertisers alike a new way to approach commercials. In a world of Tivo and DV-R, the commercial is no longer an irritating necessity. Advertisers must earn the right to show us the value of their products, and the production quality of the Superbowl's sales pitches is a perfect example of ads that engage the home audience.

The Green Line

Seldom am I given the opportunity to ride the colorful public transportation system that snakes throughout Chicago's city and metropolitan neighborhoods. So when I was invited to a birthday celebration taking place at Jake Melnick's Corner Tap in the heart of downtown, I leapt at the chance to ride the rails into the city.

The Creek - Reminiscence and Discovery

As a frigid north wind battered the edges of our winter coats, Annie and I carefully chose our footing across the clods of frozen dirt and stalks of forgotten corn silage in the field that lay south of my opa's rural farmhouse. The sun shone brightly on the snow, eluding to warmth that was nowhere to be found. Reaching the bottom of the hill, we followed the edge of the field, past the derelict barn that had been neglected and in decay since I was a child, and on to the creek that lay below. Drawing closer to the trickling water in its frozen bed, Annie and I noticed that we were not the only ones looking to navigate the water at this crossing. several tracks of forked prints revealed the recent presence of turkeys in the fresh snow. The cloven prints of a deer could be seen a little further on. Raccoon prints abounded, their articulate fingers making soft indentations around the running water. A little further on, a marking that I first thought to be a coyote revealed itself to likely be a bobcat, as the prints looked more feline than canine. Annie and I paused a moment, taking in all the traffic that had evidently commuted through this crossing since the snow had fallen the night before. The scene must have been breathtaking.

Remembering a life, Immortalizing a Man

Earlier this week, a friend, fraternal brother, and greatly respected man died while bicycling across Taiwan. The outpouring of love, tribute, and sorrow has been both agonizing and beautiful to witness, and is a testament to the awesome impact that Andrew Kuebrick had on so many people. I've struggled to form words that would be adequate in expressing my emotions at the passing of a person who so obviously had the potential to indelibly affect the world in ways none of us could even imagine. The facebook tributes from friends and family have all encapsulated my emotions, though not quite embodied them. So instead of attempting to weakly piece together imperfect sentences on Andrew's greatness, I have decided to approach the event from a different perspective.

Let's Talk about Poop, Baby - Exploring Bathroom Etiquette

Last night, Annie and I went to dinner and the movies with some friends. Dinner was delicious and the movie was mildy entertaining. As we left the film, Ben and I discussed the strengths and failings of the production. We went back and forth on the technical elements, the dialogue, and the development of the characters. As we continued down the hallway of the cineplex, I paused to use the bathroom.