boy makes list

It's true; "Best of this" and "best of that", we can't help it. The wonders of the genome. It's that time of year when the yahoo music group starts to toss out our top ten CDs of the year. It'll all be correlated, tabulated, and put forth into a second round of voting for the overall champeens that I call the "Ommies". The whole process of voting sounds like a distant European election but the results are always excellent.

Just a start for tonight.

I had an inordinate amount of Ryan Adams today. First of all, I needed a new rear wheel for my townie bike "Dooley" (best bike ever!). I stopped in at College Cyclery on So. Virginia and promptly rolled my horribly mangled aft boot across the floor. The wrench working this morning, a dead-on Ryan Adams impersonator, said, "that thing don't even ROLL straight", and truer words were never spoken. After some twisting, banging, axle greasing, and all-around monkey business, I had a new wheel, two new tires and four tubes. Bingo. Back on the road for a brunch at Pneumatic Diner (up to number two on my all-time restaurant list) in downtown Reno. I diverged from the norm and ordered a Shredder Bazukka (third best on the menu) and listened to...an entire Whiskeytown (fourth best group ever) CD with Ryan Adams crooning away. Can't be any more, can there? Back to the car and the drive down to Soundwave CDs (best music store in town) for a look at the new CDs and a run through my list of 'to listens' (see above). What do you know but the new Ryan Adams (third CD this year) is staring straight at me. I'm sure you know the rest. Oh, and when the cashier girl rang in my order and punched in my phone number for my 'buy CDs get free stuff program" she asked if I wanted to use my $50 credit. What? I have no credit. The owner taps my shoulder and tells both of us that I'm not "suppose to know about that"...it's coming in the mail. Shopping local and hanging with the crew always pays off...

I'll be house and dogsitting over the next ten days. The girls (first and second best) get in on Tuesday...two dogs, two girls; seems fair enough. I'll have my cell...

Happy Hoidays to all.

x

t

black's

Will someone explain to me how my life has become intertwined with 'my people' in Reno and Christine? She's very pushy.

I have a very specific path that I run when in town on Saturdays. As long as I've been here I've chased the same rabbits, leapt the same holes, done the same thangs. I pitch my man-purse over my head when I wander into Soundwave CDs on West Moana. I have the discussion of upcoming shows with the (alledged) ingrate at the register. Yesterday we debated the merits of New Year's shows: the Blasters at Liquid Lounge in Reno (fifty effing dollars), or Chuck Prophet and the Mission Express in Oakland ($15). Hmm, $40 for gas...the Mission Express! You see, Soundwave ended up a part of a lovely (long distance) hunt that someone sent me on last year (who?). Also, I saw Chuck in Reno about this time in 2004 and pushed someone to see them in London three nights later. We have horribly goofy pictures of me with Chuck in Reno and 'her' with Chuck in London.

Before that I was in Dharma Books on the river. Christine wanted me to see if they had a copy of Black's (my thought exactly). There was a text fired back saying... 'dictionary', but it wasn't until I almost purchased the wrong Black's (rulings, not dictionary) that I was subtely guided in the right direction. Cheron (that's her on the right) didn't have any dictionaries but called over to the other locally-owned bookshop and found the fifth, sixth, and seventh editions available...and promptly had them put on hold. Oh, before I go on, you should know that when I walked into Dharma, Cheron greeting me thusly, "Hey. How's it going? How's Christine?" It never ends. Off to Black and White to grab a sweet copy of Black's seventh edition which cut my mpg back by about five. Why do lawyers need a whole seperate dictionary? The twenty volume Oxford ($1200 used at B & W) isn't good enough?

While on the river I stopped in to see the gals at Bussola. Hang on...the converation starts, "Hey. How's it going? How's Christine?" Really! She's never lived in Reno! She just another pretty face. Get over it! The girls at Bussola played in the hunt last year, volunteered to wrap and pack a 'pirate' book while we walked about in July '05, and generally are the coolest. I wouldn't be put off by a reference to 'Todd'...girls; can't do a lick with 'em.

Started the day at Pneumatic Diner with a plate of Huevos Rancheros. Fine. Yes. She's been there. Something about Sunday waffles, finding lost watches, smiles about the concert from the night before. I sat at the table reading the Times, glancing at the puzzle, wondering about how sweet it would be live near Tahoe: all the hiking, skiing, high blue skies, white-water kayaking. I remember walking down the street one night and some well-versed street person saying, "Hey, you two look good...have a nice evening..." I think it was her, not me, that drove that comment.

I stopped by the Nevada State Capitol as I headed back home. Gov. Kenny Guinn came out to say hi...the conversation started....nevermind.

and that's that.

t

but i must work

Near impossible to sort out what weekends are meant to be; relaxing, cleaning, crosswords, cooking, or combinations. In the end, what we choose to do on Sat and Sun reflects how we see life. Do we sit down and make sure we finish everything on our 'to do' list?; do we do some, forget others, and just get on with it? Is it a time of accomplishment or a time of just letting things move through the dynamic? I think I've got an answer...I have my answer. If you spent 48 hours pounding away at life, you've lost the plot. Life can be defined in so many ways...I'm using the 'todd' definition of "something that has to be done because someone told me it had to be done." Very simple. If you're spending your weekends traipsing down that little path...you need to think about the newspaper; think about a a long, easy breakfast with the ones you love; think about sitting on the back porch wondering when you'll get up to refill your coffee. "I think I should rustle up some grub for dinner. What? About three hours away? Perfect." Stumbling over a Will Shortz puzzle, listening to Garrison weave his yarns, checking on the plants, walking up the road to see of the horse and goat are still friends; nothing more, nothing less. I think it's a loss of time away from the world, and time with those very cool people in your life, that drives us down the road of misery. As Todd Snider says, "I'm only one man..."

Love to all. Come over for dinner on Sunday and we'll play games.

t

soup kitchen

Well, well. I recall chatting, not so many months ago, about how I felt Autumn in the air; the leaves changing and the fresh smell of MY new year. Now it's just a few weeks to official Winter, and my, how things have changed. Our second good snow of the year is fluttering down this evening and pasting the ground with a beautiful flock. Fallon actually gets very little annual precipitation (about 5"), so two snows by early December is near crazy. For those who get snowbound early year, you must remember that a 'snow' here is just a few inches on the ground...gone in a day or two. The Sierra, about 70 miles due west, gets dozens of feet each annum so the skiers have some resort. Funny enough, little snow up there so far; late openings at Squaw and Sugar Bowl with booming bases of 28". I'll be taking the girls up tubing over the New Year and I'm sure they wonder why sledding can be so difficult; after all, you've got to sit on your gigantic tube while the lift pulls you back to the top. Arizonans.

The kitch. Why make anything but soup when the temp changes? Exactly. Corey make some fab soup over Thanksgiving because you can't NOT make soup when the weather changes. You think it's a subtle thing, something you can control, but you can't. This house has been filled with sweet roasted peppers and a lovely lemon / egg / onion soup. Perfect.

I'll wander next week and find that thing who makes my life happy. The girls come out on the 27th and we'll spend a week doing all the cool stuff that kids do...okay, cool stuff that I do, which by default, is the cool stuff.

t

duds of culture

My chemisty professor, Dr. Vaz, Dr. Apollo Vaz, is from Pakistan. As Dave Porter and I sorted years ago, you have your cricket-playing nations of the world, and then you got the rest. The primary benefit of being a cricket-playing nation is your position relative to the Queen when Remembrance Day comes in November. Your emissary has a better seat...luxury boxes of a sort. A cursory review of wicket-loving locales: England, India, Pakistan, the West Indies, Australia, South Africa, Canada, New Zealand, Sri Lanka, Wales, Scotland. Yes, I'm missing some, but if you aren't on that list then the Queen isn't, or never was, your head-of-state. Not only do these nations compete at cricket but they blend very nicely into the atmosphere that is the business paperdoll kingdom of England. This isn't a good or bad thing, just an observation. The dress of professionals in England, and the cricketeers at large, is deafeningly similar. I'd say 'continental' but that's not right, nor true. Dr. Vaz dresses in that European/sub-continent/cricket style: pleated, cuffed slacks and open collar long-sleeve shirts. I imagine there's a tie while at hospital during the day but it's more casual in the classroom. The blend of colors is very interesting and something you cannot buy in America. Those colors remind of a 128 crayon box, not the horribly inadequate 24 or 48 that my kind get by on. This is stuff that you need a shopping destination of London or Islamabad to buy. I quite like it because it's so different than the standard Tom DeLay-power suit that thrives in America.

Boston is whole 'nother joint. I spent a fleeting few hours involved with Logan airport and the type of folk you see in the terminal. I think major airports represent a nice cross section of what you might see in the greater Metro area. I think I've the ability to eliminate those that are clearly imposters, visitors, and transients. Coming into Logan last week I decided that Boston is made up of professors (and their associated progeny) and punkers. London punkers, no less. You get a feel for both in the photos above. Speaking of duds; the baggage claim at Logan is the worst thing ever! My first movement through that airport and it jumps above Atlanta Hartfsield and the Phoenix AirGarage on my list of most awful places in the world. At least on my way out it was 4:30am so it didn't seem so bad....aside from the detour through downtown Beantown that takes you somewhere out somewhere....and then ceases to post signs. I ended up somewhere near the early stomping grounds of the New Kids.

I've a fine story about my wonderful holiday...

soon enough.

t

incognito

Add a long weekend in Omaha together with three nights of class back home and I've been away for a while. Laurel participated in her first wedding last Saturday. Her Uncle Geoff got married and she performed in the much acclaimed role of "flower girl". Since it was an Autumn wedding she was more of a "leaves-from-the-cornucopia" girl; either way, the Academy loved her. The snap above is her in fancy dress (sans accessories) the morning of the wedding. I'd taken her to the salon to get an 'up-do' that morning...amazing to see her whole face since she's very unwilling to have her hair up. We saw a movie, made salmon and pototoes, did her homework, practiced her clarinet, played games of chess, and generally had a hoot. She's just a hair shy of five feet tall, greatly enjoys school, and is more than happy to do whatever's on the agenda...such a great one. Funny thing about chess...she plays just like me. This isn't meant to be a genome discussion, but we both tempt the other into crazy moves that lead to seriously imbalanced play. Get the queen out, bring the bishops, rooks, knights...jailbreak! The pawns are merely in the way. One game she took my queen as I lost focus on what was happening, I got her back, then lost her, then got her back. Kasparov never got his queen back twice in one game. I guess we're better players; maybe we're more fun.

no such thing as a stupid question

The checkout clerk/bagger/high school graduate at the grocery store asked me this question as she put my loot into my canvas bag, "Why to you use these bags?" Maybe not...

them kids

I work with someone who bought my beloved Geo Metro two years ago for her 'stepson'. At the time he had turned 17 and just then procured his driver's license. Oh, the stepson bit. He wasn't the step back then, he is now, but at the time he was living with her while his father finished his overseas duty. At some point he got a new truck and the Metro went the way of the wooly mammoth, of the way of someone in Fallon who needed a very economical means of transportation. Moving on. Young man (dubbed Cabin Boy by your's truly) finished high school in the Spring and is waiting to start his military career in a few months. Over the summer he moved to his own apartment (bought my couch and entertainment center) and was set to revel in new found freedom. Fast forward to this week and a little update. He's been in and out of the house since summer, gone through some girlfriends, and decides on a weekly basis to just not get up and go to work. Apparently, it's too much work. I think he's worked every hourly job the town has to offer. His only responsibility is to pay his $225 truck payment to my co-worker (the loan is in her name)...that's it, nothing else. Well, she pays the payments every month and has grown weary of chasing him down for the money. Last weekend the ultimatum was issued: come to the house on Friday (tomorrow), by 5pm, with six months of payments (to cover him through basic training) or the truck keys. Pretty simple. As I do...I started the idea of having a BBQ at her house, starting about 4pm, and running book on the following: would he show? would he be early or late? would he bring the girlfriend? would he give her the money or the keys? check or cash? repentant or not? Lots of action all ways. So what happens? It's not Friday. Why am I typing? Well, Cabin Boy decides the way to make his feelings felt is to take his 10-month old truck out to the desert and beat the holy hell out of it. Destroyed. Unrecoverable. Just enough juice to get it to her driveway in the dark hours....where he leaves the remnants and the keys. Adjustors say it's a total loss...over $10,000 in damage. I'm gobsmacked. At the same time, I'm not surprised. Those feelings are strange bedfellows.

variations on the simple life

It's vitally important to understand that of the eleven folks in my office, ten drive either SUVs, mini-vans, or colossal pick-up trucks. In fact, amongst those ten, there are 15 jumbo vehicles tearing about the wilds of northern Nevada. (In case you're wondering, and you are, there are also two trailer-campers, one boat, two ATVs, at least three motorcycles, eight other cars, and enough armament to hold off Bolivia for a week.) It's math beyond the tangent of 270. Not really the point of the entry, but the numbers started crawling around in my brain and I couldn't expel them. Christine and the boys 'did' camping last weekend at Harper's Ferry, W. Virginia-Marlyand-Virginia and suddenly camping raised its silly little head at work this week after a question from a co-worker. To be fair to him, he's got a big ol' pick-up and big camper that he uses quite often...not sure how that gets him off the hook, but there you have it. Way back in early 2004 we had many a laugh trying to figure out the difference between (in his words) 'tent-camping' and 'camping'. Seems rather obvious, but it's another in a long list of off-beat descriptions that gnaw at me. If you'd like to know how my little brain works just think about fiction and non-fiction, and camping and tent camping. I'll explain just the one and let everyone scratch chins and think. Camping is, by default...camping...in a tent or in the open. The grammar of it SHOULD be 'camping' and 'RV-camping'. You can't take the original idea, repackage it by adding some adjective, and smoothly replace the original idea with the lazy idea. I'm sure everyone just left the blog...sorry. So. On Monday the good lieutenant was asking if anyone knew anything about batteries, connections, power, and other manly tasks required of manly men. I immediately offered up sarcastic advice that had nothing to do with my ability to do anything with tools, power sources, or directions; but it did offer a spotlight for my ability to pick up the male lingo (Holley double-pumper carbs, boring stuff out, brake horsepower, 220 or 221s...whatever it takes). Show me flatpack and I'm off to the library for a few hours of Latin study. Come to find out he's trying to figure out how to run batteries, power, generators, possible solar panels, and myriad other devices to/into his camper in order to...drum roll please....run the AC in the 35-foot luxury trailer. Now, I'm just one man, but I think you can sit home in your underwear, on the couch, drinking a beer, and have the same effect of 'camping' as you will in a 35-foot, three-bedroom, Manhatten apartment of a camper. As Kramer so beautifully said in a 'Seinfeld' episode..."I can't go outside. There's nothing out there for me!" How very true. I'm guessing we've moved to another level, another place in outdoor history....'tent camping', 'camping', 'climate-controlled camping'.

"Honey? Seems the camping gear is packed. Did you remember the 500-count sateen sheets, Chianti, and oysters?"

I jest, even if the story is true. And to be fair to X and the boys, they did camp in a tent on the banks of the Hoohah river. Thankfully, when all was unpacked, food was stored high on a tree branch (bears, you know), guns were loaded, and all seemed swell...a headlamp and a nice Consitutional Law book was pulled from the rubble to save the intrepid explorers.

hey to all.

t

abracadabra, voila, open sesame...

Everyone doubts the otherworldy around us. We doubt, yet we can't turn away from the approaching scent of mystery. A street magician tugs us close even as we try our damnest to walk away. Have you ever been to a restaurant that had table-to-table entertainment while you wait for your meal? That's probably a too-specific question so I'll just come right out and say what I need to say, tell what I need to tell. There was (still is) a Mexican place in Omaha called Julio's that had a very good sleight-of-hand magician on selected Friday and Saturday nights (he is the was, the restaurant is still there). He'd move around the place doing two or three very quick and deftly executed tricks before moving along to the next top. Not only was he a great trickster, he was hugely funny. (As an aside, his name was Pat Hazell. I can remember that because my friend dated his sister and he had finished second one year to one Jerome Seinfeld as funniest new comedian in America, circa 1982.) But back to me...in my house I have my very own tricks. Tricks that not only astonish and bewilder but also filly your tummy when I'm done. I'd certainly offer thanks to my magical mentor but I don't have one...my bestest monkeyshine is something dubbed 'magic' potatoes. The onset of this mystical doing came as I prepared some salmon and potatoes for Laurel way back when. (We've covered her love of both off in some other post.) The fish is easy enough, but it seemed to me that pototoes can be a little bit...bromitic: baked, mashed, french fried, boiled, on and on and on. I was overcome with the need for something different, easy, and appealing to the ever increasing loss of taste you get with those six or seven-year olds. It struck me as I stared at the new pototoes in the the stainer....slice, oil, salt, pepper, and in the pan. I thought some more, eyed my salmon accouterments, and suddenly I knew what to do....slice, oil, salt, pepper and in the pan. Crispy discs of delight with just the perfect texture and flavor for the fish. Now, I know that this is something that's been done with potatoes for eons and eons all across the galaxy, but the wonderment when people see it for the first time is just silly. I could just as easily pull a rabbit from the hat and get the same response. Laurel called on the phone Saturday evening and asked if the pototoes needed to be cooked before they were put in the pan. Cooked? Isn't that was the pan is for? It can't be...potatoes cooking in a pan! Shazam!

Many thanks to the lovely that gave the moniker "magic pototoes"...she had her doubts.

t

so it tumbles

Finally, the best season of the year is in full bloom. Get out the sweaters, nice jeans, and just-cool-enough kit...it's really Autumn. September and early October are all well and good, but Fall really kicks you in the behind between mid-October and the 1st of December....everything else, imposters. The leaves are getting raked and that strange smokey smell takes over the days. I don't know if it's burning leaves, burning old wood from last year, clearing brush, or whatnot, but it smells of Autumn. The last two weeks here have been beautiful and it's because the temperature in the afternoon is so perfect. I'll refine that; the temperature from 9:30A to 5p is perfect. I never felt that morning freezes and cold nibbles meant much in the grand scheme of things (tomatoes, flowers) simply because it's the brace of hours after sunrise, and few before sunset, that tell the mind and body all. How nice it is to wander over and close the windows about 6p; the feeling of starting a fire near dusk so the house is warm by sundown; that chill that sets in and makes you start thinking about the flannel sheets on the bed. I went out on Sunday and tried my best to get some pictures of the colors around town. Fallon is full of irrigation canals... it isn't so much desert as it is a green strip of agriculture across the high plains. Water flows with the roads and the fields are full year-round. Very East Anglia...pitch in the overcast and I'd swear I was back in England. A few colors in the picture for all to see. Wednesday always seems to end the week as my classes are finally done until Monday. My mid-week hopes are in Florida....

xxx for those that need them

t

would you rather have the tuna?

There are things that computers can't do for you. Actually, that's not so true...there are things that search engines can't do for you. If I correctly remember those crap tests they used to make me take, the old "this is to blah as that is to blah" was for applesauce. Is that logic? Is that hoohah on the LSAT? Someone? Anyway, I'll try - chefs are to waiters as computers are to search engines. Let's give it a go. The chef can pretty much make anything on the menu, it's his (or her) menu. Excellent, step one is complete. The waiter comes out to our table, spews forth the memorized daily specials (the memorized, not the specials) then wonders off to get our drinks (red for me, and you?). We thoughtfully discuss the full menu and weigh our options against the canvas of daily specials. What we should do is order the calamari off the menu, the blackened catfish from the specials portrait, and freely share the dishes. What could be better? Nothing. The waitron returns, pad or computer in hand, and cross-examines the table for the order, "We'll have the calamari and the blackened catfish special please. We're going to share dishes..." To which the lunkhead (he or she-lunkhead) says, "sorry, we're out of the catfish". What the hell? See? See it? Wait... Okay, here goes. We had the menu from which we could order but the dolt-waiter comes over and blindly offers up the specials....catfish included, yet there is NO catfish. All gone, can't do. The chef knew it, the waiter didn't. Figures. Chefs are to waiters as computers are to search engines. Have you ever googled for something, let's say "cottages in England", and google comes back with no hits and the sweet, loving touch of "Did you mean cottages in Wales?" Why, yes I did, I adore Wales.... Then the blow to the chops, "SORRY, NOTHING FOUND". What the hell? Why offer if you can't fulfill the g-damn offer? Why? This little story is brought to you by the word "undickered". Go ahead, go to websters.com and type in undickered. Nothing but the sweet kiss of "did you mean un-dickered?". Why, yes I did......

You know the rest.

Someone thinks my laminated periodic table of the elements signifies something other than "total cool".

Kisses to all

T

about effing time

There were five, and now here's the follow on... Somewhere there was discussion of eleven, but I don't think that "selling your house before moving and paying rent", meets the 'so much fun' criteria I'm throwing out. Damn good advice, but meant for a more serious list.

Old Crow Medicine Show...Live - I don't know where to begin. My initial worry is that I'm doing a disservice to Slobberbone, but I'm not...apples and oranges. You will NEVER in your life have as much fun as you will at an OCMS concert. I'll personally refund any monies spent if you find yourself bored and/or left wanting at their show. These are guys named Ketch, Critter and Willie and they play what's known as NewGrass...bluegrass updated (just a little) by young folks with strings. I first saw them in SanFran last Fall, then London in November (lots of making out!), and again in the Tenderloin area of SanFran in May. The May show was the first 'bar' show that Sarah's ever been to...she bought the CD and t-shirt! If a 16-year old girl can hang out with me and be transformed then I know I'm right. 'Wagon Wheel" has usurped Springsteen's 'Thunder Road' as my all-time favorite song.

The Current, Minnesota Public Radio - MPR brought the Current (KCMP/89.3) to indie format almost a year ago. You can stream online and listen to the best playlist in radio...with NO commercials. KEXP out of Seattle has a similar format but the DJs aren't quite as polished. The Current online represents everything that can be good about music, online surfing, and lazy days...what technology should be.

Drinks at Mr. Toad's Library in Omaha - So many years ago that Todd, Skip, Jeff and I used to sit at Toad's before shows at Howard St. Tavern. The Old Market holds so many memories but for some reason sitting on the 'patio' at the corner of 10th and Howard holds up the best. The library is still there, the patio is always full, and maybe that's why it rings so strongly with me. Howard St. Tavern closed about 15 years ago, some of the Market has changed, the city's music scene is different, but Toad's is still gold. My strongest memory? Todd Wagner ordering us Campari and sodas while we sat at the bar and moaned about where our lives were going. We've survived wherever we've been and now we both seem to be off to nursing school. Funny.

The Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam - Here's a list that's nearly impossible to sort: The Orsay, the British Museum, the National Gallery, the Louvre, the Van Gogh, the Miro, the Uffizi...but the Rijks is the best for me. Barring Bottecelli's 'Primavera' and 'Birth of Venus' in Florence, I have everything I need in Amsterdam. The Dutch Masters are my favorites and the half-dozen Vermeers make up for Italy. Throw in the Jan Steens and Rembrandts and I'm VERY happy. The dif between the Louvre (too damn big), the Uffizi (too many annunciations), and the Rijks, is that the you can live with just a piece of the Rijks, no need to feel compelled to do it all. I'm very comfortable going in for an hour, leaving, coming back a few days later, and not thinking ever feeling there's much I haven't seen. Can you really argue with Dutch still life? I didn't think so...

and finally,

Sunday mornings - It's really a myriad of stuff that makes Sundays what they are: the season, the paper, the location, who you're hanging with, that end of the weekend feeling. Much like Labor Day, I think Sunday marks the final stage of a long something and beginning of another. Rules state that nothing overly important can be done before noon...nothing. The smell of coffee in the air, the NYTimes crossword throwing you a sideways glance, the windows open (spring, summer, fall) or the fireplace going (winter), and those hours padding around in pajamas or sitting on the sofa. Ah, Sundays....

There you have it. It's my list and I'm sticking to it.

t

what happens when life moves on

Yes, I'm alive. About ten days seem to have run together but I'm back at school and my DNA and RNA words got mixed up on my A&P exam the other night. No real worry, merely a bump in my road. The weekend was spent in San Francisco listening to Bluegrass (Hardly and Strictly) and lamenting Sunday's trip to the airport. I'd drafted in all the supplies needed for the weekend: lawnchairs, cooler, blankets, corkscrews, extra gloves, hats, containers for wine and water, survival silverware, camp cups, and a miniature version of the two-day playlist (not laminated...but don't think it didn't cross my mind). We met at the airport and I proceeded to drag Christine (she had to carry the cooler) through the park on Saturday in search of the ever-elusive Star Stage. But to back up...on Saturday we started at the Rooster Stage and saw Chip Taylor and Carrie Rodriguez perform the opening set of the festival. Funny enough, Chip Taylor wrote both "Wild Thing" and "Angel of the Morning", what are the chances? The residuals from "Wild Thing" must be huge, but the 14 million copies of Shaggy's ripped-off sample from "Angel" is surely sweet. Funny to be with someone (hmmm?) that recognizes "Angel" from her clubbing days in Cambridge and London...whether on a fiddle, or on a turntable. This was followed by Patty Griffin and then Joan Baez. Joan is forever engaging, and hearing "Hard Rain" by the 'Monster' (see Mr. Dylan), and "Jerusalem" (see Steve Earle), was worth the weekend. Off to the Star Stage (hey, it's over there, over here, behind the trees...trust me) to see Buddy Miller (again) and the Knitters. We managed to sneak in between sets and had an excellent view of the stage. Sunday brought the crazies (and I mean the indescribable freaks that only the Bay can provide) to the Star Stage. We opened with the Be Good Tanyas (unfinished business), followed by The Legendary Shack*Shackers, Austin Lounge Lizards and Split Lip Rayfield...bluegrass of sorts. We didn't stay for Dolly, who finished the festival on our stage, because I put forth the idea that dinner before running to the airport would be nicer than fighting crowds and wondering if we'd make it. There was some concern amongst the crowd (around us) that we were leaving before 'The Arrival'. Hey, I love Dolly, but I had other stuff that was much more important (pssst...bus to Fillmore and dinner at the Grove). Through the BART, the MUNI, the in-and-out of travel, SFO, and the freaks (see above), it was a dreamy two days. The funny bit is that I don't have my festival, my falafel shop, my hotel, my bus routes, or my lovely SanFran to hide behind anymore. Once you give up the secret hideout you've lost the mystery...and losing the mystery dents the aura. A fews shots from the Bay...what you wear on a sunny day in SanFran, the Shack*Shakers onstage, and a sweet, obidient dog across the street from the Grove. love to all.

laboratory

Mr. Crampton once said (well, once to us) that Chemistry Laboratory was "the first five letters, not the last seven"...genius. Still my all-time favorite teacher; Westside High School was so much fun. That nugget crosses my mind as I try to engage my Chemistry and Anatomy/Physiology lab classes on Tuesday and Wednesday nights. Chemical reactions do not need absolute silence...law of mass conservation and all. Maybe a little less chit-chat and little more labor....nevermind. If I'm not having fun than school's a drag. Some little bird told me that lab partners can be dangerous so I've paired up with the class savant...that's a picture of him above, and he's NOTHING if not business. I'm well safe. There's also a shot of Western Nevada Community College/Fallon Campus...go 'Cats!

Speaking of labs, what's with this little 'life' lab from the 'Unlikely Angel'? There are few things that rub me the wrong way but this is one of them. Reminds me of the book written by the wife of the man who allegedly said "let's roll" on the flight that crashed in Pennsylvania on September 11th. I remember seeing it in the store and wondering why there was a picture of her on the cover, alone, and the title was something like "Billy's life, a hero". Where was his picture? So now we have Ashley spouting on about her ordeal and I'm left to wonder; can you be a 'hero' if the only hostage you save is yourself? I mean, there weren't others, it's not like she was the only one left after the slaughter...she was the only hostage, period. If I lift a fallen tree off my battered body and make it to hospital before I die, am I a hero? I have nothing more to say on that... (rub rub rub)

Glad to see that former FEMA director Brown has decided to defend himself and blame everyone else. The mayor blames the governor, they both blame FEMA, FEMA blames me...endless circles. I think Mr. Brown would be best served by heading out to the stable and concerning himself with the horses. Wait, I learned something from FEMA. Had it not been for Mr. Brown and the 'Judge of Arabian Horse Judges' qualification, I wouldn't know that Arabians have one fewer vertebrae then other horses (see the shorter backs). Thanks X. Someday I'll win Trivia Night with that sweet tidbit...

Laurel has enrolled in Adventure Guides in Omaha (Cherokee tribe) and her tribe name is Nutty Bear. Perfect.

Shadow is back to the chase, pictures soon. I'll quit bitching...don't want to drive away the masses.

The best to all...

T

cool side of the pillow

Just like those nights when turning the pillow rewards you with the perfect salve for the heat, Buddy and Emmylou are just what one needs to forget about the world for an evening. We all have those patches of light that make everything brighter: the dahlia garden at Anglesey Abbey in September, Laurel showing me a new magic trick, X walking from the Reno terminal, or that perfect cup of coffee and NYTimes on a cool Sunday morning. It's all about stuff that kicks the rest of the world, and it's ills, to the back of the queue. A cool night at the base of the hills in South Reno and the outdoor amphitheater were just the tonic to forget about the news. I don't have TV so I don't find myself dwelling on the non-stop reporting...I can just click my mouse and move onto something else so it's not as if my days are overrun with horror, but still. The stage was set with only two microphone stands and a plethora of guitars. I figured we were in for just the two of them intermingling songs from their catalogs throughout the show, and that was the case. You won't hear two purer voices anywhere in music and the years touring together mean that everything is perfectly synchronized. Overall, almost three hours with a thirty minute break after Buddy's set. Wow. Funny stuff that happened? Well, at one point Emmylou's guitar got a little flat between songs and Buddy just told her "not to play that string", to which she responded "I paid for it, I'm playing it". She also referred to him as "all the band a girl needs", which was true enough. Some Townes Van Zandt songs, a few Gram Parsons diddies, a trio of Louvin Brothers songs, and a herd of originals. An excellent show under the stars...now I'm ready for anything. A shot of the two during her set...and one of me and Buddy after the show. Love to all.

divulging the secret

For those wondering about stocking stuffers...everyone will get a copy of "Universal United House of Prayer" by Buddy Miller. Maybe I'm a year late, I've had it all along, but in the end everyone'll be happy. I'll try to make the background quick. Buddy Miller is a country singer-songwriter that singlehandedly represents everything that country music was years ago. His guitar playing and singing are second to none in the industry (apologies to Lyle Lovett), and the respect he commands is beyond pale. Buddy was Emmylou Harris's bandleader/guitar player for eight years, Steve Earle's guitar player (a true Duke) for a couple of years, and now tours with his songbird wife Julie and the blues-based McCrary sisters. If you're at a festival you'll see every artist standing stage left to watch Buddy play his set. The reason this comes up? I'm off to see Buddy open for Emmylou Harris tomorrow night in Reno; outdoors at the beautiful Hawkins Amphitheater...bundled up for a cool night in the mountains. A bad word against Emmy gets you in hot water, a bad word about Buddy and we'll be fighting outside on the sidewalk...be warned! From this I get the pleasure of two days at Hardly, Strictly Bluegrass in San Francisco next weekend (Buddy and Emmy playing). Not only is the music singing through the park, but the lovely Christine joins me for two days of the best that strings can offer. I haven't sorted whether she's coming to see to me or if she's ensuring that I don't have too much fun without her around (last year she listened by cellphone). Her intentions seem true...

The girls are doing well. Laurel and I had a long talk about friends, skating parties, slumber parties, and how difficult it can be when you're nine. She's always been a simple soul and now she worries about friends and hanging out...she'll be fine, but it can be heart-wrenching to hear such a sweet voice worry about friendships.

Sarah's doing well at school though we debate some grades...the easy ones...that slip away. Maybe it's best if she came here and we went to school together. Between A&P and Chemistry I think I could get her on the right study schedule...well, my schedule....

I've settled on the house and garden I want. Be warned....

xo

T

ten for my age

Lots of ideas have driven me to the list of ten. Much like John Cusack's character in "High Fidelity", I tend to keep lists in my head, sometimes I even write them down. Once I get going I find categories expand and page upon page full of writing falls to the floor. I decided that at 40 I'd make a list of ten that I would want anyone to see or hear, regardless of what you think you may, or may not, like. I try to keep age and the spectrum from the tally. As much as anything, I'd like to take my family and friends on a tour of the sights just so I can sit back and watch reactions. I'll do the ten in bits-and-pieces, no need for everything at once. Here we go, in no particular order...

The Office (BBC) - Apologies to Seinfeld, but the Office is the best TV series ever made. Ricky Gervais has the benefit of density (only 13 episodes, including the Holiday special), but every one was amazing. There isn’t a character to match Kramer but the cast and idea is so true to life that you have to turn away because it often hits too close to home. I'll put forth that living in England for ten years makes it easier to understand the lingo, but the premise is dead-on. If you don't start singing along with 'Free Love on the Freelove Freeway' then you've got no humor (or humour).

The Grand Canyon - This summer has added Mt. Rainier and Lake Tahoe to my list of devastatingly beautiful scenery. Something about how nature signs its name that makes a very small piece of the universe (me) wonder what's going on. I'm still struck by what I saw at the Canyon a number of years back: mountains in reverse, unbelieveable colors, California Condors soaring at 5,000 feet....below me. I'd love to hike the canyon south to north with a night camping at the base. It's the most amazing vista I've ever seen. Sarah and I stayed at a beautiful B & B in Flagstaff on that trip and the drive to the Canyon was a wonderful thing.

Tammam in Hania, Crete - THE best restaurant in the world. At least the best place I've ever been. A bevy of appetizers, a fabulous house wine, a nice atmosphere and a surprising bite for dessert. I've probably eaten here 30 times and I've never been disappointed...the hot cheese salad, tzatziki, hot peppers, saganaki, and skordalia. The restaurant is an old Turkish bath off the city's main area and allows a nice long meal before heading to the harbor. You can sit and people watch, drink some cocktails, and enjoy Greek life.

Michealangelo's David - Yes, it's Florence. There's endless amounts of art throughout the city (the Uffizi, the Botacellis, the Rembrandts...) but David is the centerpiece. Don't let the David bobblehead dolls, 'fridge magnets, and postcards put you off. If you have time, go to the Academy on a Wednesday night (it's open late) and have the place to yourself. Standing before this massive sculpture is like nothing I've ever seen...deep, moving, dark...massive. Move about the room and see how his eyes watch you. Stand before him and take a little time to contemplate how human he is...and how human we are...

Someday, Someway by Marshall Crenshaw - It's what pop music is suppose to be...the best song of the last 35 years. The lyrics certainly aren't philosophical but the tune and chorus are so very sweet. I could listen to this on loop for days on end but I try to keep it fresh. I've seen Marshall twice and he always plays the great old man...I think he knows.

That's five for now....xo to all

where does my time go?

In the build-up to last Christmas I was gabbing on the phone with Christine at a fairly regular clip. A "fairly regular clip" would be something between once a week and once an hour; I'll let you imagine the pyramids of time. With the trans-Atlantic time change I'd catch her at the end of her day while I was either just beginning mine or sitting around early on my Saturday. As one does, I'd ask her how the day went, if anything interesting happened, what they had for dinner...the usual going steady chit-chat. Not knowing the secret of the quilt (she made me a beautiful handmade quilt for Christmas) I always thought her days sounded a little, well...boring. What was this woman doing with her days? While on her end, she had to come up with various stories, events, and embellishments to fill the massive gaps that the quilting demanded. Now, this story doesn't mean much aside from wondering where my time goes. I always end up saying the same stuff when I talk on the phone, "nothing new here, just studying and doing the laundry". That's not really true though, I do a lot beyond those basic necessities, but most of the activities are in kitchen. In fact, today I was staring at some really brown bananas that needed help (or saving), talking on the phone, and wondering if I had both a recipe for something baked with bananas, and the ability to not completely screw up the baking part. I'm not much of a baker, too exact (baking, not me), but I managed to give it a go with the help of my Moosewood cookbook; a batch of banana-walnut muffins. Voila! What this led to was remembering my Mom's banana bread, circa 70s and 80s. I thought about calling and getting that recipe because everyone's mother's banana bread is the best ever. It's a part of childhood just like her meatloaf, green bean casserole with french onions on top, and Western Springs spaghetti. Hmm, would Mom make all the dishes of yore if we showed up one Saturday night for dinner? After some time I'm sure the recipes fade from memory, the cards get brown and tattered, and once the kids are gone there's no need to worry so much about piles of food on the table. So, anyway, this long process led to the muffins and some more answers to my weekend. Saturday and Sunday usually mean a batch of romesco sauce, a pile of hummus for wraps, a load of falafel and getting the fruit and veg ready for the week. My time is valuable...full of using and cleaning the Cuisinart. Now I just need someone to show up and need lunch made for the day, "Here, look! I've got a wrap 'strip mall' in my 'fridge. Come on, hurry...". Unlike my mother, I don't yet have the stalwart dishes that fill my repetoire, but Laurel always insists on Salmon and pototoes for dinner on our first day together. Sarah just wants a large slab of meat, but what can you do? If I could convince them to eat Nan with shrimp, pesto, chevre or my eggplant/almond enchiledas I'd be set. Hello to all. Have a piece of cheese and some OJ before you leave. xo

secondhands, head of the line, friday nights

There was an article written in some magazine or other a few months back by someone who'd purchased a coworker's old iPod. For those not on the fast train (read: "geek ride") of earthly needs, the iPod and it's progeny are more duplicitous than the feeling a little puppy gives when kids and parents shop for a new companion. I, for one, have had only two iPods; an original 10Gb model and it's better (smarter and more caring) sibling, the 40Gb model. I've managed to restrain myself from the iPod photo, the U2 iPod, the 60Gb (lord only knows I've got the music to fill it), the Mini, and the Shuffle. Actually, I did order a couple Minis for gifts but that doesn't count. Now we have the iPod Nano...but that's not what this is about. We're not talking about new-y stuff, we're talking about secondhands and Netflix movie queues. Back to the start. This guy had purchased his coworker's iPod, taken it home, charged it up, and then taken a gander at the playlists before erasing the hard drive in order to load up his hoi polloi of tunes. As he looked through the list, and listened to some of the stuff on the player, he suddenly had a completely different view of that coworker. The music was quite different from the picture he'd drawn. No adjectival decision was made: hipper, cooler, less interesting, wierd, but something clicked. Unless you really hang around someone in a relaxed atmosphere you have no idea what taste they have in music. Often I wonder what other people listen to all day, all evening, or when they're working out. I can't imagaine it's different than my musical tastes, right? No one really buys the new Jessica Simpson, do they? That's all just a gag that MTV and the checkout tabloids have perpetrated on us. If someone nabbed my iPod they'd really wonder what I was about, examples: the Be Good Tanyas, Caitlin Cary, Futureheads, Gear Daddies, Olympic Hopefuls, Volebeats. All great bands but a bit in the 'who-the-hell-are-they' neighborhood. You'll find Neil Young, Dylan, the Stones and whatnot, but the vast majority is stuff that seems so off the beaten path. What would they think of me? If they listened, they'd think I was genius, that's what! So, now they have my iPod and suddenly they're looking at my Netflix queue. I don't know why they are, but they are...right now, and this is what got me on the subject tonight: the Netflix queue. You might ask what I have at the top, well, I'll tell you: Bottle Rocket (a comedy by Wes Anderson), The Harder They Come (a Jimmy Cliff movie), Lost Boys of Sudan, Death in Gaza, and Born into Brothels...the last three being documentaries. You don't need to know the rest, that 'list nibble' should be enough. Not all my documentary doings are depressing real world vehicles. I've been very happy with Spellbound, Supersize Me, Word Wars, and Deep Blue (respectively; the Nat'l Spelling Bee, eating nothing but McDonald's food for 30 straight days, the U.S. Scrabble Championships, and Kasparov vs. IBM's Deep Blue in chess). See? I'm FUN. FUN! Isn't it a whole new world when you plan a list on what movies you want to see? It's not like opening the paper on a Saturday to see what's showing, or falling into a Blockbuster and mindlessly walking up and down the aisles in search of entertainment. Planning ahead. Between the musical relish populating my iPod and the ability to queue up desires on Netflix, I'm so set. It's like having a list of people you'd like to meet...and in what order. "Yeah, Karen's pretty cool, but have you listened to her iPod?. Yeah, exactly. Put her at number 8 in my queue (CLICK-REORDER)." Strange. So many combinations of music, movies, magazines and things to do on a Friday night amongst the people. I'm going to do some Anatomy study tonight, maybe watch a documentary, and then cue up R.L Burnside on the stereo. Don't tell me you don't want to come hang with me tonight...just don't bring Karen.

drawn to mars by love

I remember the first period of time I spent in Tucson...horrible. Actually, the first time I was there was back in 1978, as a thirteen-year old, and I think I spent some time hanging out of a sunroof while someone drove the streets of the city. That one doesn't count. 'Period of time' was actually in 1993 when I first went down to visit Sarah after she moved back from England. The city was hot, dusty, hot, tumble-weedy, dirty, dusty, hot and hot...we stayed at a La Quinta out on I-10. I remember waking up about 6am and deciding to walk across the parking lot to the Denny's for a coffee to go. No worries, Sarah will sleep until 3pm if you don't rustle her, and I had no intention of waiting for that bag-o-bones to get up. Anyway, I open the door (at 6am) and it's a million degrees out. Literally. Who lives like that? Who? The trip was nice because we were together, but I remember thinking "this place is horrible, I'd never live here...". Of course, if the opportunity would have been there (it never was...) I would have moved down in a heartbeat. Back to the story. As the trips to Tucson piled up, I found myself sorting out the city and knowing that I'd have no problem living there, and here's why: the things I need....live music venues, a good record store, a good bookstore, some scenery, a decent place to live, and an excellent grocery store. In order in Tucson: Plush, Hear's and Zip's, Bookmans, Mt. Lemon, Civano homes out West, and Wild Oats. Shhh...yes, and Sarah. Stay with me, please. There was a time when I needed a good barber but my clippers and my vanity have been powerful and have waned, respectively. You see, it's not much one needs...a focused core of important things. For the last twelve years I've begun to rapidly develop ideas for where I could live, and in the end, it could be anywhere. It's nothing but a rabbit trail and eventually you'll sort out the the important stuff. Which brings me to the District and thereabouts. I'll take the easy route and not type it over again: Iota and the 9:30 Club, [fill in the blank], the Bay, N. Park Dr., and Whole Foods/TJs. Shhh...yes, and what's-her-face. (Ducking.) Throw in a job down the road and public transit and I see I've gotten to a point where setting foot somewhere isn't even necessary. At some point, it all sorts. Maybe it's people, maybe it's place, maybe it's both. Actually, it's people and where they are....but it's nice to know everything else will fall in order. You aren't there for nothing, you're there because that's where there is. The District or the river of Monks, either would be fine. Morning to all... x

the end of summer. no more whites

Just a year ago I recall standing over Lake Tahoe and positing that Labor Day, not New Year's, should be the time when we make resolutions and revelations. I think it may have been the company. Labor Day is much more significant as a 'time' than the wholly arbitrary idea of the first month...the first day of the first month. In fact, nothing changes on New Year's Day, nothing but the dayplanner you rarely use. Yes, that one....Audubon Society, New Yorker, the gift from Auntie May. New Year's could fall on a Monday, it could be a Thursday, there's no rhyme or reason, it's a floater. Does anyone ever roll out of bed on a Thursday morning and say, "right, got to quit smoking, and Thursday IS a perfect starting point"? Mondays are the more logical dock of departure on journeys of hope. (Don't even start with Mondays being arbitrary...don't!) So, as you put away your summer white shoes and matching pants; you drink the last of the Chardonnay because white is so not post-Labor Day; the kids (and olden people) are back in school; the dog days of summer are over and the coming Autumn signifies the work ahead for the harvest...make those promises. We're already changing clothes, the weather's turning, the summer wines are gone, back to work we go, getting on with life. A PERFECT time to start on some new reclamation project in your life. New paint around the house? Back to the gym? More time with the kids? Labor Day, a perfect beginning. New Year's? What? Do you get up that morning and change anything? Nope. Nothing. It's still cold, dark and a little bit depressing. In fact, you're probably not working over the Holidays and the idea of combining getting back to work (argh!) and some crazy, vice-halting, life altering new habit is beyond comprehension. Who came up with this tomfoolery? I can't give you Dick Clark in Times Square to signal a new beginning, but I can give you a Monday to get started. So little stress over the Labor Day weekend. It always seems like such a point of change...the last of the Summer Festivals, the putting away of shorts, sandals, and shirt sleeves...the beginning of a new time. Spread the word, watch the leaves start to change, and get off to the gym. (Cue Auld Lyne Syn....trust me, it'll work.) Love to all

my margaret yang

It's near impossible to be struck by something so obvious, such a memorable piece of my youth, the behemoths that have disappeared from our lives. It's a strange combination of the unbelievable and the wholly acceptable that catches us off guard: Nebraska passing the football, Cubs winning the World Series, a Londoner smiling. Now I'm digging in the dictionary for a word better than impossible...things CAN happen. The new central Seattle Public Library is nothing short of amazing (into the thesaurus). The leadership required to get the job done is something so lacking across the American landscape. Who, in their right mind, goes to city leadership and puts forth an idea to build a library that encompasses a city block...in DOWNTOWN Seattle? In this day and age? Who? We have computers, we have the internet, we have TiVo and DISH Network, what more could be need? We have GOOGLE. A library? Are you kidding me? When you back up a step and realize that computers do nothing more than the grunt work of our lives, you realize how vital community interaction and actual words and pictures can be; something more than 1s and 0s on a flatscreen. Christine and I found ourselves touring the library...touring! tourists! at a library. Taking pictures and buying t-shirts. The insanity of having a central location for research, quiet study, a repository of knowledge seems so foreign these days. It felt like being back in Mr. Crampton's Chemistry and Biochemistry classes at Westside High School...the place bursting with knowledge. Blogs, emails, IM chat and text messages be damned...I'd rather meet at the library and hang around talking about the issues of the day. After, we can amble down to Elliot Bay Bookstore and have coffee. After that down to the Irish Pub on First St. Bring your book bag, it'll be a gas...

and the brooks babble

None much a fan of the heads in the press (see my draft pitting Coulter v. Dowd. Wait, it's a draft....sorry). The least likely of my subjects is David Brooks of the Times. Seems an arbitrary voice amongst the chaotic chatter of the Times op-ed page. I always read him because he's got valid points and they're generally well thought out....bastard. D. Brooks and I could hang out and drink beers; lose the pink tie and relax...Maureen is NOT invited, she'd ruin the mood. Anyway, gathering the thoughts of Katrina and wondering about how we've failed. I've decided that I'll allow Brooks to speak. Seems like me and my gavel making arbitrary decisions...as I do. Here's his column today in the Sunday Times, well said Mr. Brooks. Morning to all...

views from a tart

I've taken to bringing my camera on the rides to and from work. The original idea was to get a picture of Shadow (my canine nemesis) some morning as he gave chase into the street. I figure that if I have the camera ready I'll be able to get a blurry snap of gnashing teeth and ferocity. Then I started thinking about other transit vistas: the road, the dark, the canal, a cow or two. Then I started thinking about what to call my transit. Then I thought that everyone else seems to use 'ART' as the area rapid transit baseline so I just added my 'T' as the prefix. My very own rapid transit system. Digressing. There's something cool about riding every morning and afternoon and how quickly one figures out the weather: when it's turning, how windy the day will be, how the pollen will fly through the air, whether rain's a-coming, and how strong the water supply in Northern Nevada is at any given time. It's like my very own trick knee. I'd imagine anyone who doesn't drive to work everyday (any input from those that walk to underground stations?) makes the same observations. And another parallel for all commuters; effing cars. Word from D.C. is that 'drivers' have no respect for walkers in crosswalks; all cyclists have similar issues all over America. I don't THINK there's a law saying that drivers are required to pass cyclists while staying within 6-12 inches of my knees. Regardless of driver stupidity, it's refreshing to have a 25-minute ride to start and end the day. Add in the crazy $3.50/gallon out here and I'm quite happy. Here are some vistas; most importantly, note the driveway (picture 2) and imagine trying to get a visual on Shadow sprinting out the driveway, through the trees, in order to attack. Add in morning darkness and the fact that Shadow, as you'd expect, is black. Love to all

now it's gone, nothing but a thong, think it's a country song

awaiting a musical score...

a beige skirt on an open field
those long days of living
wondering and forgetting, never giving
knocks on Sundays; deal never sealed

years of coffee, standin’ out back
finding middle ground
those days he came ‘round
but baby won’t do flat pack

dinner at gaps and quiet visits
a left open question
hanging and wanting, our obsession
left at home; show with my tickets

years of coffee, standin’ out back
finding middle ground
those days he came ‘round
but baby won’t do flat pack

the end comes and across the floor
a sudden final grab
standing and waiting, a final stab
from my life; off forever more

time away over such distance
the short line extinct
too far away, we always blinked
nothing to help; a lonely existence

years of coffee, standin’ out back
finding middle ground
those days he came ‘round
but baby won’t do flat pack

reno and london shows and parks
the long miles erased
pulled to the stairs, once embraced
finally we solved; and lit the sparks

no staring at shoes, no wonder out back
together on holy ground
these days he comes around
but still, my baby won’t do flat pack

men of mud, dr. atkins, and my text message

Blind doings can be hazardous; always danger lurking over the horizon. As an example I'll speak of my cellphone skills. Catching up on a few texts this morning, heading out the door, click-click-click and send...off I go. Off IT went, to someone who probably didn't need to know about my Anatomy study skills. As it where, I completely trusted my phone and its ability to sort out what I REALLY meant. No need to double-check anything, click-click-click and send. Easy peasy, blind faiths is go easy. Which brings to mind the infamous Atkins Diet (stay with me...). We'll say that the diet plan is similar to my little cellphone screen and what I believed was a simple plan that needed no oversight. Nothing to support its success, "trust me, everything's well sorted". Do this, do that and everything'll be peachy. Much like my blind trust in my button-mashing ability, and the beautifully easy use of the phone, I think the diet was nothing but an idea that seemed to be the easiest way from point A (big) to point B (small)....AND with bacon! Jump on board! I think that in hindsight (can we call it that now? Does anyone even remember the Atkins Diet?), everyone would agree that eating bacon, eggs, steak, eggs, bacon, and more steak to the near exclusion of grain, fruit and vegetables is ludicrous. Really...raise your hands. Okay, I'll start (visualize my hand in the air 'fessing up to horrible texting skills). So, off the diet went into the dustbin of bad ideas just as my text message flew off some unintended (but easily amused)cellphone owner on the East Coast. The point isn't that trust and belief are bad, it's something that should taken with some thought...and not just texted. Trust and absolute belief in anything can be bit dicey. And with that, I'll refer you to the New Yorker article on Mud and Man. Off to the gym....

sunday waffles

A few times a week I drive into town (really it's just around the corner) and pass an old, dilapidated gas station that sits on the southwest corner of a four-way stop. It's almost overgrown, no idea how long it's been vacant, but the sign surely gives some clue; I'll bet a research grant could be awarded. The keystone of the mystery would be any idea of what the second digit was the day it closed: 2? 5? 9?. Maybe by combining the tumbleweed growth, the number, and some really good cypherin', I could come to solve the puzzle. Maybe I'll jump the fence and dig around in the weeds for the fallen digit...the 'fallen digit'! Maybe, in the end, I don't want to know. The other picture is of my local Indian-owned, government-subsidized gas and tobacco station on my end of town. It's the cheapest in town...for what that's worth.

Drove into Reno this morning ($12 of gas right there!) to get the NYTimes (so I can romance someone with my crossword prowess), school supplies (Super Wal-mart), and Sunday morning waffles at the Pneumatic Diner. I know you're asking "why are they called Sunday morning waffles?", well, because they only make them on Sundays...easy. In the end, I ordered the Huevos Rancheros as always; and in the end, they were excellent as always. Nice coffee and a lemon fizzie rounded out the meal.

Calling the girls tonight to check on their weeks. Details to follow....

Love to all...

Greenspan reports strong ecomony; textbook prices rise!

Just a few days of summer remaining for me. I stood in line at the WNCC bookstore yesterday afternoon and purchased (mortgaged? financed? gnashed my teeth?) textbooks for my Chemistry and Anatomy classes that kick-off Monday night. Maybe I'm venting, but $460 for two courses worth of books seems a wee bit expensive. Afterall, the two classes (eight credits) only run $510 total...trying to do some ratios in my head. We also have a three-week training evolution, sorry intelligent design, starting at Fallon this week. I feel like I'm in high school again...the dogs days of summer are quickly receding in the mirror, loading my backpack and heading back to the autumn of class. I thought about saying I felt like I'm in college again but I didn't really do much in college, funny. If I might add a bit of sport to the morning; this marks the first time since the 70s that I've not cared one iota for the forthcoming college football season. Talk about something so opposite from the earlier memory of feeling like a high schooler again. Anyway, after 30 years of Nebraska football I've given up. Not because last season was so bad, but because I loved 'running' football and the program has jumped to West Coast populism. No fullback? No counter-trey? Nothing I need to see. If I want West Coast offense I'll watch USC. I think I decided this over a pint of stout in the Detention Bar at our hotel in Portland. I'll ask my receptionist for the notes. A final thought? Dad always said school should start after Labor Day and be done by Memorial Day and I agree. School before next weekend's Cantaloupe Festival in Fallon? I protest...

ah, the Dutch

I could have written this completely true, dead-on dissertation of the Dutch and Amsterdam (click on the following days at the bottom to get through the whole story). All who know me (and I think that's everyone) know my inclinations to Holland as a whole, and Amsterdam in particular. In the battle of cities I've seen and loved, Amsterdam sits above Florence in the worldwide cast of characters. Don't confuse the worldwide cast with the charted, ranked, tallied (and then altered) cast of cities I would/could live in...that group is ever-changing and will no doubt come up soon. But Amsterdam...hmmm, the museums, the people, the location, such a dream...I've often thought about moving there. Okay, the coffeeshops, 'shrooms, and hookers aren't necessarily well researched for me (some for some reasons, some for others...). If nothing else, it made me laugh out loud, and that's something.

northwest green

A week-long sojourn to Washington state made for some welcome color and relaxation. You know, Fallon is famous for "Hearts of Gold" Cantaloupe that's grown along the banks of the mighty Carson river, but the entire area is mostly high desert scrub. The trip northwest gave Christine and I a chance to get out of very hot, and humid in her case, environments and put-on some 'perfect weather duds'. A two-day trip to Portland at the end of the week simply added to the fun as we saw the classic Chinese Garden, Rose Garden and Japanese Garden over the course of a half-day. I was able to meet Christine's long-time friend (and fellow Army-destructor) Shawn and her...her...her Mark while in Seattle. A few get togethers, some sushi and the new Miyazaki movie one evening, bookended by the 'girls having coffee'. As expected, by me, there was much salmon to be had, places to be seen, city streets to walk and Mt. Rainier for a hike. We ALMOST didn't do the hike down at the mountian after the excellent planning for the day after sushi and day before Portland, but some little bird convinced us to get up and get out. We've done hiking at Tahoe, seen the sights, but Rainier was more (most?) fabulous. Don't believe me? See the pictures. We were hosted (fantasically) by Connie and visited a few times with Heather, Michael (in between his high-profile travels...), and Ben. In fact, tip o' the trip goes to Michael for getting us to head to Sunrise, Washington and hike the Bourroughs Mountain trail at Rainier. We made it back to the airport (in time! no running!) and safely home on Sunday the 14th...with a Southwest Airlines bonus of 300 clams because I so righteously volunteered my seat and hopped on a later flight. I AM gracious.

back to school

Both Laurel and Sarah are back in school as of the 15th. Laurel has Ms. Ouren for fifth grade and duly reports that there are 21 kids in her class at Oakdale. I asked her if she found everything to her liking and she told me that sometimes it's a bit boring and she finds herself staring at the lava lamp. Apparently Ms. Ouren has a lava lamp on her desk which is near Laurel's at the back of the room. Fifth grade and already caught out by groovy 70's stuff. Sarah had to decide over the summer whether to stay at Cienega H.S. or move to Empire, which is the new high school in Vail, AZ. She decided to stay with most of her friends and finish the last two years at Cienega. I, for one, would have gone to Empire, it's closer and they are a school that has gone to issuing iBooks to all the students versus using textbooks. Nothing cooler, is there? Plus, that new school smell! I start Chemistry and Anatomy on Monday and will be in class Monday - Wednesday evenings here in Fallon. My lab coat is ironed, my periodic table t-shirt (with glowing radiation symbols!) is clean, pencils sharpened and notebook at the ready. This should be fun...Love to all

a quick shot of the summer

Catching up and decided to post some pictures of the Bear from our visit in July. I flew into Omaha and we did the round trip drive to the Cities for a visit with Anne and the Apple River. I think Laurel got through 8 or 10 books during the week while she waited for the new Harry Potter. We took our annual trip to the Minnesota Museum of Science in St. Paul (see the lab coat) and a day of tubing down the Apple River. Almost lost her glasses, and then almost lost her, as she fell off her tube in the final set of rapids. Luckily, I had my super powers available and nabbed her from the gates of death....the Apple can be diabolical. The picture from Anne's back porch should be blamed on either Anne or Char...who had the idea for s'mores can be debated. We only had them after dinner twice that week...addicative.

the genesis

So, the dealio. Sometimes doing everything just once seems best, and the thought of repeating things can be unduly cumbersome. Don't much care for the phone: lots of holding, signals, moving around the house, dialing...all that stuff. Much easier to bring everyone to one place where pictures and daily life can be relived...at least in some small part. Much nicer then worrying of email and endless diatribes about the state of affairs. Here it is, something updated many times a week, something (hopefully) broken up into little nibbles so if you don't want to hear my rants, you need not.

The weekend is here and I'm off to the Tahoe Rim Trail tomorrow morning. Pictures to come from that trip, the hike a few weeks ago, a scamble near Mt. Rainier and a few shots of the Bear. Patience....