boys chase the girls

I'll finish the month with an update on the rotating banner/header situation: I've added Merle Haggard, Steve Earle, Lyle Lovett, Kasey Chambers, Lucinda Williams, and Emmylou Harris. I think the addition of three kings clears me of leering at the chicks.

In the department of irony; I got a call while I was cooking our Transylvanian Eggplant Casserole (actual name) to alert me that I'd won two tickets to the Gary Louris show in Falls Church on Thursday night. Louris was a founding member of the grand Jayhawks hailing from Minneapolis, circa late 80s to early 00s. He's now on tour supporting his first solo album and I entered the drawing two weeks ago at Melody Records. The irony here is that the WonderTwins are under the misguided impression that I buy lots of tickets yet they couldn't be further from the truth - maybe one ticket here, one ticket there. I only have tickets for the next two Capitals games, Cloud Cult on the 19th, the New Pornographers on the 14th, a date with Justin Earle on the 12th, we're off to the Metropolitan Opera up NYC on the 18th (that's her's, not mine), I did two theatre shows this month, and now Louris on the 3rd. See? That's nothing; it's like napping on the couch.

L. will be here from the 12th to the 15th. We'll move the first weekend in May. Santa comes in December.

Out like a lamb.

xxx

t.

from my "cake or death" series, volume #1

I’ve been messing around with the layout of the blog header and have managed, through sheer will or stupidity, to create something new. You might notice my hard work; you might not – some people are only in it for themselves. There are six musician header backgrounds that I’ve created and they’ll be randomly chosen each time you visit. If you’re curious you can hit your F5 key (which is refresh) or simply refresh with the mouse to see what’s what – or you can let it be a surprise. The list includes the previous Old Crow Medicine Show collage along with some featuring Gillian Welch, Carrie Rodriguez, Tift Merritt, Patty Griffin, and Erin McKeown. I’m working on more guy artists…hold your horses. I actually found some stunning black-and-white Nashville portraits that I want to use but I’m waiting to hear back from the photographer. I’m not certain why I don’t spend time tracking down permission for the ones I’ve already used – they are from myriad publicity sites and photo archive sites – not really professional stuff. I guess when I stumble onto a professional photographer’s studio site I feel the need to ask and then cite the source. Regardless, I haven’t heard back from him yet so those are on hold. Let me tell you a thing or two about a thing or two: when you start messing with HTML code on the internets it’ll confuse a small mind like. You’ve got buffers, alignments, buffers, and alignments and my chosen technique of making wholesale changes without either saving my format or writing down the stupidity I’m executing isn’t a good thing. I’d have gone and asked some computer or IT professional but there didn’t seem to be any available; and to think that’s possible within the crowd of which I run? I could have shortened this entire paragraph down to “Hey, look! It’s prettier.” I’m all about the narrative.

We took in the first set of the Bastards the other night and were having a grand ol’ time until X had her space invaded by some weird dude with a death wish (I think beer was involved – on his end). For those unawares, there are standard practices that are in play at music clubs and venues where standing is the norm. Here’s a sampling to bear in mind the next time your at a Drams show wherever you may live:

If someone needs to leave the area near your standing position – let them out.

If that someone returns with beers for friends – they get their place back.

Be aware of those around you – don't be backing into the person behind you.

Be aware of those around you – don’t be leaning and falling all over.

If you arrive late(r) and decide to move toward a good viewing area that is far beyond your stature as a late arrival, remember these nuggets:

By default you are hated, but
No forcing your way in,
Don’t put your big head right in front of someone else,
Be cool,
Say excuse me…often.

Simple, right?

We had been sitting on a couple of the very few barstools on offer at the club, being as we arrived well early, but then decided to stand up as the Bastards came on stage. (Iota is a pretty small venue so it’s not like we’re dealing with even a hundred people.) After a few songs above-mentioned dude shows up and plants himself just in front and off X’s right shoulder - this signals the assholeness alarm. Way too close for anyone in the club that night. Since the bar on our left, I’m just behind and to her left against the bar, he believes that reaching his claw the three feet across her front and resting his Miller Lite on the bar is perfectly acceptable. This little maneuver also get the girl in front of us a bit agitated – he’s digging a big trouble hole tonight. Then he started violating all the bumping, leaning, and falling rules listed above which eventually leads to X giving him a quick-and-dirty warning. One might thing that would be the end but it wasn’t. A few more bobs and weaves from dear ‘Jimbo’ and I think can see he’s about to get popped. As he teetered toward the final showdown I think he got some religion, realizes danger was upon him, and tumbled off to another corner of the venue. Now, I don’t want anyone to think I wasn’t ready to Jet Li this guy but the ball-and-chain is more than capable of ruining his life all by herself. I imagined a quick elbow to the head followed by some Army-learned death move and we’d have a corpse to stand on for a better view. At one point I slid our stools further under the bar so we could slide over a step but that was not an option – chivalrous as it may seem. What I got was a quick (yet loving) glare over the shoulder and words that echoed something like this: “I’m damn well not moving and if this idiot doesn’t see the light in about a New York second then I will kill him dead. D-E-A-D.”

The music was lovely; a prime-time review.

T.

twang twang sing song

This right here is a collection of a much more impressive group than the junk we worship these days. In fact, if you go back and read my thesis on Charlize Theron and then compare her to this group you’ll know the dif. I was wondering if the slide show would move into the current crop – and they did – but only Gong Li and the fabulous Cate made the cut. To that I say, well played.

The Eleven is off to the countrified sounds of the Bastard Sons of Johnny Cash this evening. I took G. to the video store to pick-up some entertainment for the late evening while we're gone and he chose Enchanted – which really was a good movie even if the Academy Awards show completely botched the songs. I noticed in the rating box (PG) that the deciding factor, or ingredients, for this particular movie rating are: some scary images and mild innuendo. I’ll look up the definition of innuendo when I’m done, but I don’t think there are actual levels of innuendo, are there? Isn’t innuendo meant to be subtle? Feel free to correct me if need be.

Oh, the flowers and cherry blossoms have exploded

T

here's $1 jimmy - now be quiet

X is harassing me about entries – she’s demanding.

I happen to have tickets for the Capitals game on Tuesday night but I return to craigslist every few days to see what’s on offer for the final two home games. It’s mostly a slagheap of ticket agents, people looking for tickets, or the occasional sellers that are either overchargers or sane people selling at face value. And then, you have this buyer who presents a few issues:

“I need two Tickets to the Washington capitals Game on 4/5 Lower level only please. Near Capitals bench would be really cool! Will pay up to 250.00 for BOTH Tickets.

My son really, really wants them!!!!

Email me or call 540-xxx-xxxx. Will pick up at a very populated area only. A bank or Major retail store or restuarant. (don't feel like getting robbed, safety for both of us).
Thanks and have a Great DAY!”

First, he’s flaunting his 250 clams instead a spending a little time searching. You can find this type of ticket for about $65 a seat. Second, his positive attitude toward sellers – robbers, heathens, killers, etc. – is just uncool. I’m sure he’s seen all the real-life crime that inhabits craigslist and is duly warned by FoxNews; he'll no doubt be packing heat for safety. What if I offer to meet up with him at Georgetown Law? What about outside a minor department store, something like a Target? What about at Whole Foods? Or the Apple Store? Could we meet at the Amsterdam Falafel shop in Adams Morgan? How about Kramer’s Books at DuPont Circle? I guess if someone offers to sell you tickets and they want to meet in the worst corner of the city, you should either not buy those tickets and/or leave your little MikeTV at home – your assumptions can be left in your McMansion out in Herndon. I wouldn’t sell to this guy if I had free tickets, great seats, couldn’t make rent, and his little Veruca Salt was an honor roll student at some GREAT school. I have to say, the “…have a great DAY!” almost saved my opinion of him until I realized just how much I hate caps – have I mentioned that?

I noticed in the clearance carts at our local grocery store that we’ve got a collection of Easter leftovers that includes multiple sets of “Bible Highlighters”. What I need to know is this: if I try to highlight a Garcia-Marquez book will the highlighters work? Must it be scripture?

The house move seems to have been approved and we’ll probably move the first of May.

I won’t yet get to the Disney serial that ran at slate.com this week. I’ll hold that until I get over my endless whining.

Have a nice weekend.

Love to all.

T.

turn off the blast furnace

I’ve noticed a real problem when it comes to comment posting at either left- or right-wing blogs/news sites/papers, etc.: exclamation points and capital letters. The last thing I need to see while reading high-minded commentary from “Debbie” in “Florida” are the caps on lock and lost punctuation. Sit back for just a moment and contemplate this – if “Debbie” from “Florida” is using caps then she’s clearly pleading her case via the Kathleen Harris method of intelligence. If you are unable to make your point without screaming at me via the comment section then your point isn’t actually anything that anyone needs to ponder. It’s a direct relation to the "speaking loud Americans" who feel that if you slowly and loudly ask a question it’ll be understood. Funny enough, that doesn’t work. Most of the irritation on my end has to do with them folk that are wholly wrapped up in Obama and his preacher. There appears to be, on both sides of the ledger, voters that are held hostage by the last thing they read or heard on Fox, at the New York Times, from Katie Couric, or screamed from Keith Olberman. Let it go. It’s much more important to decide for yourself what’s what and to tune out the static. I beg everyone to believe nothing they receive via e-mail, in the mailbox, that’s reported on CNN or Fox, or from any other group that has a vested interest in a candidate (and that includes me): choose for your life. Choose for other’s lives. I don’t give one shit for what Obama may say about Clinton; Clinton about McCain; Rush about anyone – it’s all spinning of the wheels. Simply look out your window, ponder what you believe is right, and decide from there – you and you alone. If you believe in A over B, B over C, or C or A…I’m with you; as long as it’s a choice you’ve made and not Joe Scarbourgh, Michelle Malkin, Andrew Sullivan, or Santa Claus. Take a stand.

IF YOU DON’T DO THIS THEN I THINK YOU SHOULD TAKE YOUR SORRY ASS AND LEAVE THIS COUNTRY IF YOU DON’T LOVE CUDDLE KISS AND…WHATEVER. BASTARDS. FRENCH. LIBERALS. HEATHENS.

a-boom boom boom boom boom

In support of my long-running series on homework and misguided education I present this interesting tidbit (it caught my eye at andrewsullivan.com). Watching what it is that drives kids nuts about the learning process is that they aren’t learning a whole lot of anything while being marched in a neat little squad. Admittedly, I’m not in the classrooms during the day but if the grading standard and homework are any indication of what goes on than the schools are desperately confused. A direct parallel can be drawn between the rigorous enforcement of handwriting in this school and the comical ‘skills’ that are taught in a highly-rated district like Arlington. From what I can discern, there’s little or no creativity of thought or free thinking allowed in most public schools – it’s all about the SOLs and myriad of standardized tests that hold sway over the education process. What exactly the teachers are being directed to teach and evaluate in the classroom is a mystery. The homework involves coloring squares to represent fractions and percentages, misguided history study, memorization of inane facts, creation of pretty but mindless posters, and simple busy work. Grading is based on turning in completed assignments with little rhyme or reason in relation to whether or not it’s correct or interesting. “Is this the moronic homework sheet I sent home last night? Great, I’ll put a check in my slavish grade book and get back to teaching you a brand new methodology for multiplication and division.”

I know it’s not necessary the teachers’ fault yet I can’t excuse their support, even implicit, of the system.

t.

our lives will go on...

I jokingly asked X over the weekend when we were due for our next long weekend gambling and show time foray to Vegas. I told her that the new Bette Midler show would probably be entertaining; no doubt better than the over-my-dead-body Celine Dion show – all that chest thumping, miracle toddler, and love of my life stuff that she no doubt blathers endlessly about. X quickly concurred that Midler is probably the better entertainer, but suddenly her brow furrowed and she looked at me with fear in her eyes. “Where’s Celine Dion? If she’s not securely locked down in Vegas, like I thought she was, then she’s on the loose, somewhere out there...loose!” she screamed. “Sure enough” I tell her, “she’s even scheduled to bring her schlep to D.C.’s Verizon Center later this year.” There’s something to be said for knowing exactly where the overbearing and talent-challenged are encamped.

This idea was reinforced while we again watched Eddie Izzard’s Dress to Kill last night and his little ramble on Pol Pot and house arrest:

“So I suppose we're glad that Pol Pot's under house arrest… you know, 1.7 million people. At least he - we know where he is - under house arrest! Just don't go in that fucking house, you know? I know a lot of people who'd love to be under house arrest! They bring you your food… ‘Just stay here? Oh, all right. (singing laconically ) Have you got any videos?’ You know, you just sit there all day... And Pol Pot was a history teacher. And Hitler was a vegetarian painter. So... mass-murderers come from the areas you least expect it. I don't know how the flip comes over, but it happens.”

Editorial comment: I am in no way comparing Celine Dion to Pol Pot. I’m merely laughing at the lockdown in Vegas and house arrest ideas to keep those we like kept away from the innocents.

i and tina review

We’ve been house hunting (house renting hunting) over the last few weeks. The problem with us and the hunting is that there are a few things that could break the deal: wall-to-wall carpet, electric stove/oven, more storage space, three bedrooms, and an overabundance of bathrooms. There are a few things we’re interested in finding that wouldn’t be breakers: close to the Metro (at least avoiding the horrible roads), staying in Arlington County, and keeping the rent penalty below $2,500. Yesterday we walked into the perfect home – what I’d build if I could angle for a house that is worn by age. A place that’s full of light, space, wood floors, decks, patios, a garden that flows down a back hill, and a house set high enough that there’s nothing to see but big trees and the sky. We’ve got the paperwork in and should know the answer by mid-week. We’re very happy. I’ll have room for a roll-top desk…cheers around.

What’s grinding on me this week is Tina Fey. You’re wondering who Tina Fey is – she’s the chick from 30 Rock who used to be the head writer and Weekend Update anchor on SNL; she’s damn funny. It appears she’s busting on Jonathan Stewart for his “comedy-come-politics” – she finds it patronizing. What it really comes across as is sour grapes; Tina Fey seems to be a Hillary supporter and Stewart may not be. In fact, Fey’s commentary on SNL last month (?) that coined the phrase “bitch is the new black” was genius. I think her take on Hillary Clinton was top-notch – and I think Clinton would be a great President – but Fey has fallen into the same behavior as Clinton: pissed at not getting the chance to step-up and take her place when the groundwork has been laid; call it the ‘my turn’ theory. But to impugn Stewart because his audience supports his comedic turn is a horribly shallow stance. Fey would be better to take Stewart’s niche that brings in the folk who are either too stupid or too lazy to realize that what we see on the news is both comical and horribly tragic. She’ll respond nicely – certainly better than this first shot – and give me the stuff that’s been her strength: funny, cutting, and true to her sense of comedy and the news. Shoot, comedy and the news are essentially the same thing.

I was off into D.C. this afternoon for a performance of The Hostage by the Keegan Theatre. Before that story, there’s this – D.C. actually has a fantastic number of theatres and companies but the prices are a bit heavy. I’ve discovered the little secret of the truly half-price ticket venue down on 7^Th St. NW. With that discovery came today’s ticket and three third-row seats for the Reduced Shakespeare Company’s History of America on Tuesday night. You ask of today’s show? Well, it was difficult to know ahead of time if the show was tragic, horrible or, in the words of the WaPo “a raucous musical”…or something like that. It’s a comedy, an Irish musical, and a blast. There’s nothing quite like sitting in a theatre swilling Irish beer and taking in a very enjoyable show. I would have taken X but some it was too difficult to figure out whether or not something called The Hostage would be a bit too political. She studied…the life of a soon-to-be-barred law student.

Laurel will be here in April for a long weekend of Smithsonian tourage. That girl has more S'sonian time that anyone who doesn't like in the greater D.C. area.

Forgot to mention this newsflash: tourists, everywhere!

t.

clipped

I think I’m going to start a campaign in this season of campaigns: we must be agents of change and eliminate clip art. Not just the stupid “art” but even the phrase. Maybe an IT’er out there can enlighten me on why we still use clip art when we’ve had access to the web – and graphical content – for over a decade. It seems like the original point behind providing us stooges with clip art was because the olden machines didn’t have any other way for the user to access some kind of chuckly graphic for the big Bake Sale / volleyball game / comment box meeting on Tuesday night. But now we do have access to the internets and it’s way beyond time for me to ever see a piece-of-crap clip art rendering in a company meeting. Who uses clip art? I actually browsed the clip art that comes with PowerPoint and pulled out a few random, yet precious, pieces of slag. (As an aside, I’m also about done with PowerPoint; it’s an enabler.

I think the guy with the light bulb would so cute for our “Great Ideas!!!!” campaign at the office; “Remember to only use your computer to create useless charts!”; “Oh! The toast is done!”; “Keep us Geared Up! For Progress!”; “This is a telephone”. Maybe to ingratiate yourself even more with me you can combine these great! symbols with some crappy animation that has each word spin onto the screen during your horrific annual training on refrigerator usage in and around the employee coffee bar. Or, you could create some funny yet misaligned announcement for the jewelry appraising party at your house on Friday and forward it to me via e-mail. That would be awesome! Where did you find the clip art of the man looking through the magnifying glass…ha ha ha ha ha.

Sorry

t

our time

I think Barack Obama has done yeoman’s work in keeping race out of the election; that’s not any indication that race hasn’t been an issue but simply a point that he’s tried to avoid. What you don’t want to do is grease one into his wheelhouse and force him to tee-off on the issue. I know how politics work and I know he knew he’d have to make this speech at some point – the opening is probably cribbed from his years of teaching Constitutional law at the University of Chicago. What this gave him was an opportunity to give all of us exactly what we deserve – a good smack about the head. This wasn’t an issue that his opponents wanted to really get into and, in fact, it’s come sooner than I thought. The idea that we needed to hear this says almost as much about us as it does of messenger. Take a little time and listen.

t.

unhitched from the maypole

Christopher Hitchens slaps his two bits on the counter and illuminates us further on his stance on the Iraq war at five. What this ties into at N. Park Dr. is a rousing panel discussion held last week amongst the Eleven; her Corporations professor professed to the enraptured collection of students-in-rows that history does not, in fact, repeat itself. The most important revelation was that somebody in the big old World finally agreed with her on this ideal. By the end of our polemical session at home that night I’d come to appreciate a much more refined set of views within the ‘history repeats itself’ canon. (Just remember that this is my interpretation of our divide. The One’s opinion does not reflect or represent the Ten’s point-of-view.) History is full of far too many variables for us to simply state that what came to pass will again come to pass. The group of two (X and Corp-guy) hold that the people, places, and events surrounding a historical disaster, let’s say the British in Mesopotamia eighty years ago, aren’t the same people and events as America in Iraq now. I happen to think that’s a particularly reasonable approach to the matter. If Sir Percy Cox and Faisal ibn Husayn were still there today and repeating the same mistakes than we might utter “well, if they’d only learned that lesson the last time.” New people, details, and events essentially void the idea that everything is a repetition of previous cock-ups. What I realized then was this grand parallel to understanding the position: the partnership of parents and their kids. I know from my teenage life what’s what and I certainly have a file cabinet full of the most basic do’s and don’ts – things that are passed along to the kids as lessons for failure or success. If a child, or even a young one growing into adulthood, decides that your history is for nothing and has no use for learned mistakes then they’ll head down that familiar path; eventually, usually, circling back to the “you were right, how did you know?” intersection. At that juncture we’re just happy they made it back and we certainly wouldn’t say to them that history repeated itself – it didn’t. We might be tempted to tell them that are omniscient or some such crow but we generally withhold that kind of behavior. Our living of mistakes – and those same mistakes made over generations – does not envelop all of history and its repetition even if it’s an oral history disregarded. Of course, I think history as a grand timeline in many circumstances does repeat itself.

Back to Hitchens. His narrative concerning the stretch of the Great War running until the fall of the Berlin Wall, and the Iraq war actually originating more than forty years ago, is a strong and swaying voice. In effect he’s saying the history of these two ‘battles’ is more a rolling panoply of happenings than a series of independent occurrences that start, stop, and begin again. This idea makes historical context much more serial than cyclical and probably holds true for far more than we imagine. I think our schooling at both the primary and secondary levels – which tend to cycle us back upon our facts each year – contributes to our inability to move deeper into our thinking of the social sciences and history. I don’t necessarily buy into his shtick that extrapolates what the present or future might look like if this or that had been done prior to, or during events, that have already unfolded. I think it’s dangerous to use assumptions of completed games, and future performance, when deciding whether or not a pitcher should have been pulled in the seventh inning of a scoreless game 1 in the 2007 NLDS. Oops, I digress.

T

it's omar! omar's coming!

It might go without saying but I’m interested in today’s Heller case before the Supreme Court. I thought of taking the day off and heading down early to see if one could get in for oral arguments but I’m glad I didn’t – the lines were way down the street even yesterday. The court is releasing the argument immediately after it finishes and it should be up (CSPAN.org) at about 11:15am (EDT).

Heller addresses D.C.’s 30-year-old ban on handguns. Don’t read any more into that than need be. The reason that cert was granted is for this and this alone:

“Whether the Second Amendment forbids the District of Columbia from banning private possession of handguns while allowing possession of rifles and shotguns.”

So, Get your panties unbunched and feel free to slap around anyone who intimates that this case will decide whether or not the good folk of D.C. (and other jurisdictions) will still be able to protect themselves in their homes with shotguns and rifles – they can fire away, as one might say.

I’ve long been a proponent of outlawing all handguns, period. You have a handgun and you’re under arrest. I’d give time, maybe months, for people to turn in handguns and receive compensation but they’d be well aware that after day x, no more handguns. I know I’m crazy. As far as defending my home from invaders I’m of the mind that a couple of good shotgun blasts across the bow of the living room has a much better chance of downing the baddie than me waving a pistol around in the dark – that’s my first stance against handguns. Second, I don’t actually buy into the idea that more guns, with people arming up because everyone else is arming up, is a solution. And finally, unless you’re a badass like Omar from The Wire you’ll have a tougher time killing people and hiding weapons if you can’t have a hand gun in the back of your pants. Trust me...Omar doesn't care one bit about blasting away with the big gun.

T

eat the money

Fancy eating takes fancy money. The Eleven seems to rip through the old food budget on a very routine basis. In fact, it’s the rule not the exception. I decided on Saturday to actually attempt to plan meals for the week (or half-week) like they do across the abyss in #1 and, mysteriously, elsewhere in America. An ingredient or shopping list, and I know this will be obvious to those of you reading, saves you a bunch of moolah. I hit the commissary and came home a little surprised at how cheap the basics can be when the gub’ment doesn’t charge you tax and subsidizes the joint (again, obvious…) But, that’s not the only failing. I confess that I find it pretty easy to shoot down to Whole Foods and pick up a few bags of goods on short notice; note to all, a bag of goods at Whole Foods runs a minimum of $50 – don’t be fooled. Now I’m on a mission to clampdown on the WF visits and use them only for the things they’re really good for – fresher produce and a bakery. What’s that? Oh, X say they're also good for the bad things aisle that has all the necessary salts, potions, rubs, scrubs, little pygmies who warm your bath water by peddling little peddle boats, strange globes that apparently break up ions in said bath water, mystic faeries that cast away demons, dream spices that temper the night, and the good smelling stuff. I think another failing might have to do with this commentary passed along by WonderTwin2 upon her return from Florida last week…

“I keeping telling everyone that I’m not a picky eater, and I’m not. Then I realized that I’m only not a picky eater when I’m eating at home with my two personal chefs working the kitchens.”

True that. Them tasty ingredients don’t grow on trees!

Shortly after that little realization I think she turned and bellowed thusly at the waitress “THESE AREN’T MIXED BABY GREENS! I ORDERED MIXED BABY GREENS!” You see with what we have to deal (I tried not to dangle a participle.)

and now for sports…

Here’s a list of the golfers who’ve won 18 or fewer times in their careers on the PGA tour: Nick Price, Curtis Strange, Ernie Els, Tom Weiskopf, Fred Couples, Hal Sutton, Jim Furyk, Craig Stadler, Fuzzy Zoeller, Seve Ballesteros, Nick Faldo. If you bump it up to 20 career wins you are into the likes of Davis Love III, Tom Kite, Ben Crenshaw, Greg Norman, and Hale Irwin. Impressive names all. I watched the end of the PGA event at the USO yesterday and enjoyed seeing Tiger roll in the 25-footer on 18 to win. It reminded me of the endless commentary about his number of wins – and how he wins. He has, at the age of 32, won 64 career PGA titles (plus 22 elsewhere in the World). A lot of deranged golf fans have pointed out that he’s often leading the events when teeing off on Sunday so one would expect him to win. True enough. And he does. I’ve always found that a “‘playing from the lead and winning, so what” a crazy argument as a measurement in golf (particularly for him) since I’m sure his number of wins (43) when leading or tied going into the final round (46 times on Sunday) is far superior to any other golfer, possibly ever. In fact, through 11 tournaments in 2008, and excluding Tiger’s two wins, the remaining third-rounds leaders have won only 4 times and lost 5…that’s two more lead loses than his entire career. He can play from the front better than others – the fairways are littered with those players that collapsed under the pressure on Sunday. The second half of the disingenuous argument is that it’s really the coming from behind that is the surer sign of a true great - hence, it’s easy to throw out his 43-3 Sunday record. Okay, I’ll play along. Woods has won his other 18 PGA events coming from behind on Sunday. Those 18 come-from-behind wins represent the entire career victory total of the golfers listed above – and I think that’s enough to put the argument to rest. I thought I’d get that out in the open.

tune in next time.

t

in the crease, in the tree

I took in a Washington Capitals NHL game with a friend on Wednesday night and found it a much more enjoyable sports experience than baseball, football, or basketball. For one, we had center ice seats in the front row of the upper deck which is perfect for watching plays develop. Second, the prices are much cheaper and the games a more manageable time – two hours and twenty minutes from face off to the end of regulation. I’m thinking of getting a partial season ticket (two seats) for next year – the Verizon Center is right above the Metro stop so transport is simple.

Being as it’s a week before Spring it’s not much of a surprise that the weather has turned for the better and I’ve pulled out at least one of the lawn chairs and planted myself in the courtyard in the evenings. Corey and X mounted a rope swing and seat on the piňata tree but G’s a little suspicious – I think he believes his plan was high-jacked by high end developers. We think he may have just wanted a Tarzan rope yet we’ve gone whole hog and messed up his dream. Within a week he’ll either be happier about the seat or he’ll quietly ask someone for something better.

Between the swing and G wanting his bicycle paroled from basement lock-up, X decided she wanted a ride down to Pentagon City to shop for stuff (I’ll leave ‘stuff’ definitions to her). I was all for a nice ride on a beautiful afternoon since my hot like hands had a Sur le Table gift card burning a strange rectangle in my palm. We ended up with a salad spinner, a new salt box, a wee colander, and some new oven mitts. I know, I know, try to hide your awe and excitement.

The bike ride turned into a bit of a seek-and-find. The problems are multi-fold: Arlington is a complete map/street mess and there’s also the issue of Ft. Myer and Arlington Cemetery betwixt here and there. Having our IDs handy we rode onto Ft. Myer with a plan to sneak out the back gate right into Pentagon City. As if you could do that on a Saturday, very funny. We were liked jailed rats looking through the back gate at the road and our destination so near. We ended up riding back across the fort and all the way around the cemetery and Pentagon in order to end up at the same place. Needless to say, we found a shorter route home via some residential streets.

I’m working at the USO today and a woman just asked me if there was anywhere in the airport that sold the Atlanta Constitution. I told her she’d be limited to the WaPo and the NYTimes. “Yankee papers,” she decried.

t.

flaws and all

Here’s what I don’t understand, never have and never will; why is it that public figures, when caught in malfeasance or criminal activity, feel the need to have the spouse trotted out, looking dire and beat down, during press conferences after being nabbed? It’s not only the sex busts that bring out the spouse and kids but any titillating issue. What purpose does it serve? I mean, shouldn’t there be an equivalent prop if you’re deeply religious? Shouldn’t you trot out your Pastor, Minister, Rabbi, or Father during your press conference to “speak of atoning” for your sins? Is the family there so we can gawk at them and wonder just what they must be feeling? It’s one of the great mysteries of political drama. It makes me feel like there is something they are responsible for even though clearly they’ve little to do with the action and everything to do with the pain. What I’d like to see at one of the press-arazzi events is the spouse staying on after the statement to answer questions – that would be gold.

Spitzer’s statement today sounded more like a Spiderman retirement than a gubernatorial resignation. I think he said this almost verbatim, “I have to accept that with power comes great personal responsibility…”

With that said, he turned and planted one on Mary Jane, shot some web out of his wrist, and slung off over Manhattan.

Another Wednesday.

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the actors' gill

Over the weekend we had a visit from more lawyers. I find myself sitting at the table on Saturday night surrounded by four lawyers – you can’t swing a dead cat, you know. I felt like Nixon. Here are a few things we learned over food and drink.

First, if you think for even one minute that underage drinking is a problem – you know, underage drinking in a bikini when you’re 17 – then you’d be seriously mistaken. If you think bare-bait fishing in some backwater hole out New England-way isn’t a problem – you’d be seriously mistaken. I’m not much on the great out-of-doors but I’m guessing that if ‘law enforcement’ cornered me at 17 with a bikini on, a beer in my hand, and a fishin’ hook in the water, my concerns would come in this order: me wearing a bikini, me drinking a beer, me fishin’. Apparently those State Fish and Game deputies have more than enough sway to ruin your life well into your run toward a professional career. Don’t dismiss the citation you get while shooting at badger from your Prius! I vaguely remember some question during my initial military background investigation that went something like this, “Have you ever killed anyone or caught a grouper out of season?” The sweat was pouring of my face as the lights blinded me and I tried to decide whether or not to ‘fess up to some killin’ I didn’t commit; or, if I’d better off telling the truth about that grouper I gutted and fried up with some collard greens. Don’t mess with bare-bait fishin’.

Second, it appears that Kt “Scorsese”, and her muscle Ms. X, were quite the stars of their very own power studio out in Western Mass back in the late 70s. WonderTwin One decided she was a director’s director in those halcyon days and used her powers of “persuasion” to decide that WonderTwin Two would always be the Prince, Ellen would be the Princess, and Super Christian would be the dog and/or pony. (Maybe it was his humble beginnings in the theatre that led him to excel in later life?) When Scorsese was approached by the forever-cast Princess, complaining that she didn’t want to be typecast…that she wanted to grow, she was given an easy out. “Fine. You can be either the Princess…or be the dog. Whatdya say?” I think an occasional turn as a dog (Tim Allen, Fred McMurray, etc.) only adds to one’s resume but it might not have been like that when you’re 7 or 8. I think at that very moment, while awaiting the answer, Christian was probably just praying that he’d not be the Princess – I think his typecast was probably fine with him. I suspect X was standing at the dressing table working on her Prince lines and thinking it’s good to have studio money behind you.

Kids, eh?

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thistle and that

There’s a timeless to-and-fro in the nether reaches of my mind that occasionally comes to the fore, or fro if you like, when I’m at a concert. The music is normally the trigger but it’s not necessarily the performer on stage that’s the subject – just my mind wandering between acts or songs. Last night it came up again and specifically about the performer on stage. I was at the 9:30 Club for The Pogues sold-out stop on their short American tour. The burning question in my brain as I watched lead singer (and songwriter) Shane MacGowan work (?) his way through the show was this: when does a band, or musician, decide that they are beholden to a member beyond any grand usefulness? The Pogues, if you’re unaware, are an iconic Irish folk, Celtic fusion, with dashes of punk band that came on the scene in the early 80s and thrived for about a dozen years before imploding with the firing of leader/founder MacGowan for unprofessional conduct, or some such. MacGowan drank a ton, did loads of drugs (apparently), and had issues with performing; things like showing up, not being drunk (or being drunk), etc. The band finally reformed in the early naughts and has toured intermittently over the last three or four years. They have a devoted following that travels the world to see them and I think at least half of the crowd last night was from beyond the greater D.C. area. My problem is primarily with MacGowan – not as an assessment of his person or life, but musically. First, The Pogues songs are anthemic (is that a word?) – the first chords of the MacGowan-penned songs are so recognizable as to cause screaming, jumping, singing, and stomping from fans – that the vocals and lyrics have become secondary to the music created when performed by MacGowan. Most everyone knows the lyrics, they sing them aloud, and the singer on stage almost becomes an afterthought. You wonder while watching if it’s really necessary for MacGowan to be ‘up there’ singing at all. Why not find a more reliable and functional performer? This is the question that rolls around in the head – in a right there in front of me way....watching. One of the parallels to what I was watching last night is the question of whether the Doors would have been what they were without the short, crazed life of Jim Morrison? You’ve got to believe that a sober Morrison wouldn’t have been half the presence either on record or live. The Pogues wouldn’t be what they are without the legend of Shane MacGowan and they certainly wouldn’t sell $150K in tickets over two in nights in D.C. without him propped up on the stage. The band is so good, the music so tight, that the loss of the lyrics – the singing that’s gone on the night – is counterproductive to the entire show. The answers to the question of instability in a musical front man is that in order to continue performing and working as a band that injects the kind of spirit for which The Pogues stand, they need a different singer. But, a different front man basically means the end of the band – it’s happened to them before and it would happen again.

Now that I’ve got that out in the open I’ll say that the show was memorable because the songs are so great. The best performances (particularly by MacGowan) came during two songs in the encores*; the vocals were better and it almost seemed like the old days. I’m glad I finally got a chance to them live, it was immensely enjoyable, but I’ve no need to see them again. What was horribly clear during the three or four songs that MacGowan was not on stage was that you were watching a band uncomfortable because the crowd no longer had visual contact with the heart of the group. There is, of course, nowhere for them to go. They’ll continue to play shows a few times a year until MacGowan is no longer able to perform and that will be the end. It’s not an unhappy ending for the band and the music…you can always throw on Rum or God and hear the fire they once carried.

*Since I know how much folk like my ideas on encores I’ll fire away again: seven songs over two encores is idiotic. In a show that runs maybe 20-22 songs total you’re holding a third for encores. I know – they were strong in the encore but they could have simply been strong and called it a night.

Seeing Shane last night also reminded of his appearance in this BBC video what was done back in 1997 - a lovely version of a great Lou Reed song, Perfect Day.



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will work for food

I’ve decided I need a pressure cooker. I’m going to assume that there’s one in either Florida or Vermont that can I steal. There are tons on offer over at eBay but the really good, old ones are getting snapped up at a pretty penny. For those in Florida or Vermont, don’t start getting all Antiques Roadshow on me; you can’t trot the cooker out to some Holiday Inn or Episcopalian conference center, get it appraised, and think I’ll give you more than a cooked meal for it. Nothing more.

It appears we’ll have guests down on Saturday. I’ve been forwarded an e-mail that may or may not serve as formal documentation – answers and ideas from the WonderTwins are left wanting – so I’m gathering up some harvest goods and plans. The place’ll be empty as G. heads to Omaha for the weekend so I’ll get cracking on Friday night. (As a plea in advance: between the WonderTwins and their cousin Ellen, the said visitor, Corey and I have to deal with three mean ol’ lawyers. If you don’t hear from either of us by Monday AM, call for help!)

Most of you in the blog battlefield know that we’ve got a little commune going here on North Park. What’s most surprising is that when either Corey or I leave for a week suddenly it’s not a matter of “there’s some food over here if you want some”, but a more exigent problem of starving trees of monkeys. It’s always more frightening when there’s hunger around…you can’t just pawn it off on “your own damn apartment” Corey’s being gone is the only way to get me to finish dinner by 6pm (or so)…normally we trot out the dishes at about 7 or 7:30 which can sometimes be too late for the other kibutzzers.

so, this guy is washing his hands...stop me if you've heard this one.

For those of you that travel a lot, particularly through airports, this will make more sense. In fact, you’ll probably remember the mindless waving and water sounds. I’ve become so accustomed to those sinks with motion sensors that I regularly find myself looking a complete ass in both foreign and domestic bathrooms. The first act is always the waving of hands as if you’re vogue-ing in a Madonna video before realizing the sink has actual hot and cold handles. (Don’t get carried away and lump this hand dance move in with the jackassery involved when you have the sensors that simply work for crap and refuse to dispense with the elixir of washing – we all hate those and are forgiven for cussing them.) Hopefully there aren’t many senators around the john as you wave furiously and mumble under your breath at the damned spigot. All you're thinking is that you must have tripped the gatekeeper of the water. What you do next, in frustration and as a clear indictment of a bad sensor is this: you move over one sink and start the waving of fins anew. Nothing. Now you’re in dangerously embarrassing territory, especially if there is someone who started at the other end of the sinks and is slowly moving and waving toward the middle sinks where the two of you will end up in some sort of fission of irritated handwashers; be careful. Stop what you’re doing, use your eyes, and look around the sink. Are the things that appear as levers or knobs? If you spy them then simply turn them on and enjoy the fun. Pretty easy, right? The problem is that I’m too stupid to remember over a period of ten seconds and I’ll undoubtedly wake away from the sink, water running, and begin to dry my hands. I’ll be halfway home to the door when I realize I’ve left the water running. What I’ll process are questions like these. “Why is the water still running? My hands aren’t near the sensor, are they?”

The house is sans children this weekend since G. headed to Omaha last night. What crosses my mind first when this happens, at least that which I can publish, is this: when our Saturday afternoon cleaning is done the place will stay neatish until at least Sunday night. Dreams.

Last week Christopher Hitchens pointed out what I think is the main difference between the Democratic candidates. He said that he while watching Obama grow and get stronger over the last year or so he (Hitchens) has seen the potential for a further potential that is magnificent. The potential for Clinton ’s growth is nil. Under the wrong light that might seem harsh but it really is the essence of the question. Both are strong candidates, both have basically the same amount of experience*, and there’s little to separate them on many issues. I think youth and potential is a much better cocktail.

* I’m stealing from Chris Rock but I’ll give you something he relayed about experience and Hillary’s claim of her years in the White House as such. His parallel was that if his wife came to him and said she’d decided to do stand-up comedy in clubs across America then he’d know she was crazy. They’ve been together for years and she no doubt knows all his jokes, set-ups, opinions, and expressions to set the hook…but, as he says, she ain’t fucking funny. Think about that. Just saying.

p.s. Here's Madge.

hippies out the other side

I call it serendipity, X calls it something else. We spent the morning funning research on a list of the best schools in the area as chosen by the WaPo. She was looking for somewhere for H. and so it was that we stumbled upon the New School of Northern Virginia who happened to be running an open house this afternoon. We shot over to get a look at the joint and she knew in the first ten minutes that she’d found the place. The school is still run by the gentleman, let’s call him Dumbledore, that began the quest in 1989. There are about 120 students in grades 4-12 with classes set at 12 and fewer – usually fewer. I want to go to the New School and I want to teach at the New School. It’s a wonderful environment and I think it’ll be the perfect place. And to think that I simply wanted to sit around and read the NYTimes on a lazy March Sunday.

The dinner guests last night made the history books by being the first folks to have one remove a shirt at the dinner table. It’s not something you expect to come across after spanakopita and mint tea.

We ended up in a Sears department store today – what are the odds? I didn’t think there were still Sears stores in place. They’ve completely changed their mentality and now seem to be outlets for name brands merch and all the employees work on commission; they’re very helpful. Sears? We were after two 8-gallon humidifiers for the apartments - I need moisture for my naturally curly hair.

t.

a damn eva

I think that after two weekends of use I’m clear to pass judgment on the newest coffee babe in the house. It’s been a natural progression from drip coffee maker with glass flask, the drip with the thermal flask, to a French press, and finally to the Café Solo. There may be another step taken when I science out and move to a vacuum flash maker but we’ll cross that bridge when we get there. I stumbled upon the Solo while standing in line and perusing the usual coffeehouse fare for sale proudly displayed on an Ikea shelf: pounds of coffee, thermal cups, hats, a few bits of tea, and myriad devices to make you the better home barrista. I did some research on ‘the internets’ and found rave reviews and a high cost – up around $100 for the 1L unit. Come to find out the unit at Murky Coffee was only $75; maybe they got a bulk coffeehouse discount and saved me the shipping. X bought me the unit as a birthday gift and it’s been run through it paces over three or four weekend morning. I have to agree with the coffee bloggers (nee: geeks) that the process of allowing full contact between the grounds and the water for an extended period and by not pressing them to the bottom makes for a better cup. The long use of my French presses is filled with happy memories but the Eva is better. She also looks pretty hot with her little neoprene slinksuit half unzipped and her bosom exposed during the week…just waiting for a Saturday morning. Being as Eva is a Danish company it’s no real surprise that the stuff is good. I have the greatest cheese slicer that I bought on a trip to the Danish countryside – plus, Danish people are the tallest, happiest, blondest, best looking folk on earth.

H. is back in town for the weekend and I took the two chuk-a-lumps bowling on base this morning. Ft. Myers has an $8 deal on Saturday mornings that gets you two games, shoes, and a hot dog (I skip the dog). I made them a wager this morning that they’d get a dime for every pin they beat my score with their combined effort. What I learned real quick is that even if they’re chucking 6s and 7s each frame I’ve got to roll marks. G. came on late with a strike and spare in game 1 and it did me in 185-153. I fought back in the second, pride and all, but still lost 175-173 (both my opens were 1-pin second ball misses). Overall I lost $3.40 on the deal but well represented myself with a 163 average while throwing a hacked-up ball-of-the-wall. They enjoyed beating me – who doesn’t. We’ve got a pile of Greek food for dinner tonight; the boys piano teacher/opera singer is coming over with her husband.

Opa!