shoot 'em up

As if I wouldn’t have something to say about Heller v. District of Columbia.

Even though I parse the verbiage of the 2nd Amendment differently than Scalia and Co., I can live with the decision that clears the decks for dealing with the gun issue in America . What Scalia has given us, as X so rightly stated, is a stick in the mud.

Their interpretation of the amendment is based on how to equate the prefatory phrase (“a well-regulated militia) and the other grammar bit about “the people”. The majority opinion declares that “the people” are individuals, not a “common” people, and very clearly says that individuals have the right to have handguns in their home for self-defense purposes. What is also does, and a byproduct that surprises me, is state that laws prohibiting guns in schools and government buildings, as well as waiting periods, licensing requirements and the like, are all perfectly legal. Apparently in their parsing of the phrase they decided to either ignore the “shall not be infringed” bit or determined that it’s something they’d rather deal with down the road. Either way it will turn that Justice Breyer’s dissent will eventually tell the tale: the balancing of public good against the inconvenience or burden placeed upon the individual when any new cases make their way to the court. If we conflate the finding in the Indiana voting case decided earlier this year (Crawford v. Marion County) with any future gun licensing set of requirements we might be onto something. The Court decided in Crawford that the burden placed on an individual to procure a state-issued photo ID (“just pop down to the DMW on your off time”) was not a burden too great in order to maintain your right to vote. If future gun control laws require a thirty-day waiting period, a background check, a licensing fee, an annual or biannual renewal, then it seems reasonable – it’s some time and money out of your pocket but you can have your gun if you follow the rules; rules put in place for the public good. Of course, what I think is, “Why would anyone need the immediate purchase of a handgun anyway?” Why would waiting x number of days be an issue? Let’s say you come running into my legal, gun-issuing storefront (call it “People Kill People Guns”) and need a handgun right now, or by close of business tomorrow; the law may have decided that you don’t actually need it this minute but you can have it after meeting whatever requirement are in place. If you feel you need a handgun for defense in your home, you can have it – in your home. There’s no requirement for allowing either open carry or carry-and-conceal permits. If you have a gun and you need to come on down and renew its license then you’ll have to prove you still have the gun in your possession. It’s really no different than if you come down to renew a driver’s license: you need to prove your residence, prove your insurance status, and they’re going to make sure you’ve paid all your tickets. Thanks to the very clear language of the court’s decision it appears there are plenty of steps laid out before those that desire better gun control.

cool swiss

We'll keep it as light at possible on a summer Wednesday. With Wimbledon in full swing we're bound to have fashion to discuss; I'm nothing if I'm not a fashion maven. For some reason the grass at the All England Lawn and Tennis Club brings out the runway model in every player. I'd have suspected it would've happened on a more routine basis at Roland Garros in Paris but apparently there are two issues at play: first, the clay in Paris would make a mess of your togs and, second, the requirement to wear all white while participating in SW19 means that everyone needs to sort out something shocking...and white. Last year Roger Federer came to the court sporting a white blazer over tennis shirt and shorts; devastatingly handsome. The jacket idea has been pounced upon this season by a number of the ladies entries: Serena and some other female player I can't identify. Roger, being the leading man that he is (and at least one step ahead of the masses), decided to explode out this year with the smart cardigan and massive "gucci" looking manbag. It's nothing but top scores to him. 

In response to Fed's style sense last year, it appears that Shazza decided to bump up the ante and open this year's play by sporting not only the tuxedo jacket look on entry, but she played in the tux shirt and tux playing shorts. Touche.


Don't look at me that way. You know I already picked Federer to win (of course I picked him to win the French also) but my ladies champion is to be none other than Jelena Jankovic - two Serbs in a row for the women's Grand Slams

Hey to everyone.

t

p.s. I can go back to railing on people and politics whenever you'd like.

irish eyes

I almost decided to open with some ramblings about the military academies and their seemingly endless problems with religiosity; or, a couple of Supreme Court decisions handed down this morning. Instead, what I’m asking for is an extra $7m that anyone might have hidden in couch cushions or Swiss Bank accounts. I’m fully convinced that this is where we need to be living. Why? So everyone can come visit and hang around Ireland relaxing – it’s all for you, really. Consider your multi-million dollar contribution as some kind of timeshare investment. I’ll cook.

Loosely based on The Eleven’s NYC excursion to see La Boheme, we’ve decided to take in three operas performed by the Washington National Opera at the Kennedy Center this season. Even with fancy-pancy opera doings and big money donors about, I’ve managed to procure some front row seats in the first tier which should serve our needs just fine. (We’re on to see Carman, Turnadot, and The Pearl Fishers.) The last of the shows is in May so I’m going to swear off tickets, with the exception of any future Steve Earle or Tom Waits dates, until after that last show. I’ll live with hockey and opera.

If anyone has any question concerning the rule against perpetuities just let me know. I’m apparently still studying for the Massachusetts Bar on a nightly basis.

t.

s-a-t-u-r-d-a-y night

X had an appointment to get her back unmangled out at Dr. Sam’s this morning. From what I heard last night there was also the possibility of combining our jaunt out west with a few other errands: picking up a floor lamp and getting some good quality composted horse manure. I know what you’re thinking and I only ask for your empathy. Departure time was set for 9:30am, which might not seem early to the olden folk but it’s early for me on a Saturday. Needless to say, the boys were on their own for breakfast as we rolled out for coffee, Armenian sweets, and a stop to purchase some industrial waste bags for hauling manure.

I’ll skip the chiropractor visit, in narrative form, because I sat in the parking lot reading a magazine while she got done. It’s nothing to really speak of. The good part was our weigh station stop to pick up 350lbs of horse manure. Even with my minimal knowledge of manure and compost I could recognize the quality in this massive pile of compost. What really tipped me off as I mounted and secured the compost was this: X kept saying how lovely and beautiful it was. I think she calls me lovely and beautiful. Think about that. Breathtaking. I all seemed clear enough to me as she gasped in ecstasy. The greater issue was my lack of manure attire. She tells me afterwards that she was a little suspicious of my outfit that included some new sandals and clothes not really fit for mounting the mountain. She claims to have thought that “he must know what he’s doing since I’ve told him we’re going to get some composted manure.” That phrase means little more to me than visiting a local nursery and hauling a bag of ‘compost’ out on my shoulder. I was mistaken. I blame myself. I would think that if I’m heading out to get compost in a Mercedes-Benz then I’m excused from thinking a real horse ranch is the destination. Funny enough, we stopped at a nursery on the way home to get some kit for her plant seeds that are on order. This was my kind of nicely bagged compost nursery. She eventually got some good advice on seedling survivability from an associate who come up with this response to whether or not normal enriched soil we be okay for seedlings: “If it were me, I’d use the soil labeled for seedlings.” This ran counter to the first guy who seemed less interested in types of soil and directions. We got the soil (labeled and in a bag) for seedlings and headed home.

Our block mates had a block party this afternoon on our 20-house, very quiet street. There were plenty of kids, salads, casseroles, drinks, and big BBQ equipment. We’ve got a very nice group that hang around our block.

After the three-game sweep debacle down in Tampa, I can now report that the Cubs win…again. The first two against the cross-town Sox are in the books as wins.

t

things i hate

(Dan is exempt from reading this due to length and lack of focus - tcd)

“Drinking the Kool-Aid”

Do you remember the term “wilding”? I think it was newsworthy in the mid- to late- 1980s and used by various gangs running roughshod over New York City’s Central Park. I think it included mugging, robbing, assaulting, raping, and any other shitbag activity you can imagine being done in the name of losers. Maybe after twenty years we can step back a little and take the better attributes of wilding and somehow mangle it into our vernacular. Maybe we can use it when describing groups of folk getting together, supporting each other, and spending a crazy night out on the town. Maybe not.

Somehow we’ve become enamored of “Drinking the Kool-Aid” as both good and bad. I guess you have to be of a certain age to be able to pseudo-decrypt the meaning behind the phrase because I don’t think it came into use until years (decades?) after the event that’s the locus of its strength. The idea that anyone would say this about any other group or organization is eerie. Oftentimes, it’s thrown off quite casually when talking about a football team’s success, a company’s profits, or any other strong-willed group that has bought into a system. Sometimes it has a distinctly insulting connotation (“The Democrats have all drunk the Kool-Aid” quipped the Republican operative), but most of the time isn’t not nearly that overt. It’s become so horribly pervasive in American society. Maybe wilding wasn’t the best parallel. Maybe in ten years we can start saying that “the Republicans have gone all Koresh on us” as a perfectly acceptable way of saying that they’ve circled the wagons, locked the doors, and convinced everyone in their base that there’s a God-like figure gonna save ‘em – and they’ll use the guns just to make sure.

“It is what it is…”

If you’ve been in the military then this can be directly related to the “with all due respect” opening that might keep you from being court-martialed when you decide to tell a superior officer to kiss your ass. This has become the suffix appended, when challenged, to an insult or denial of any discontent. It sounds so sophomoric when you hear it coming from anyone over 15; hence my choice of definition. Imagine some confrontation with a co-worker who’s told everyone else at work that you’re a complete waste of time, money, air, cubical space, and sticky notes. You ask them about it in the hall and they say, “it is what it is.” I can almost picture that same person, ten years ago, making the “W” sign with their fingers and mumbling “Whatever, geez.” Of course, that same person, back then, probably had either a pierced tongue, a pierced nipple, or both. If you look closely you’ll be able to make out a tribal band tattoo on their upper arm. It’s all inane chatter substituting for actual thought. Hey, it is what it is…

“Throwing someone under the bus”

Wikipedia reports that a variant of this junk might have first been uttered by Cyndi Lauper in the 1980s. I hate this little riposte. I can’t even frame it in my mind – how many people ride buses and how many of those would actually throw someone under (maybe in front of?) the bus? I would think that throwing someone on the tracks or in front of the train would be a better option. Either way, this has become so pervasive that it’s more of an irritation factor than anything else; kind of like Richard Marx songs. The interesting bit about its usage is that it can be used by the person guilty of such behavior or by anyone attempting to pitch scorn on the person guilty of throwing someone under the bus. From what I see around these parts, the buses are always moving slowly in traffic or stopping all the time. Unless you’re going to drag someone kicking-and-screaming out to one of the expressways that provide access for express buses than I’m pretty sure the driver will have plenty of time to stop and yell at your target for laying in the damn road.

“Presumptive nominee”

When the hell did this become a life in being? I think Barack Obama, the presumptive Democratic nominee, and John McCain, the presumptive Republican nominee, are asking the same question. According to my trusty compact Oxford English Dictionary, presumptive means “presumed in the absence of further information.” Are we to assume (presume?) that there’s some information we don’t know about the nominees? Are we really so pessimistic that we feel the need to assume that one or the other has something so heinous in his closet that he might have to drop out of the race? I’m going to guess that the idea behind this turn of phrase came from the politicos of both parties who decided it would be best to use it as an indication of just how much they hate their own nominee; and as a way to de-legitimize them. I think the Republican base first attached it to McCain and the Dems simply followed suit. Everyone can chant it over and over in hopes that something happens and either the right-wing or left-wing crazies can eventually say they told us so. I have begun using it to indicate mystery and pessimism around our dinner plans. The other night X asked about my dinner plans and I told her that the presumptive menu included fresh Maine lobster, beluga caviar, a light frisee salad rinsed by “Holly Hunter’s tears” [© Patton Oswalt], and a bottle of 1969 Grand Vin De Chataeu LaTour. Of course, when I got home that night I realized I could neither afford Holly Hunter’s tears nor the ’69 LaTour. We had cold soup and slices of processed American cheese. I told her it was presumptive.

t

dinner and the date

I’ve given up on the self-imposed current events and politics blackout. I think I deserve some credit 15 days time served. I fired off an e-mail to a friend this morning concerning Obama and the presidential election and that seems to have busted the dam wide open. I bought the Sunday Times when I got to Reagan for my USO shift this afternoon and walked to my desk with a renewed sense of getting back into the game. Even though I didn’t make the goal, it was a welcome break from the ranting and raving about the blogs and news sites.

On the Metro this morning I spied a passenger wearing a “Club Sandwiches Not Seals” t-shirt. Though a creative logo, it’s not quite subtle enough to get me to chuckle. It made me realize just how fine the line is between subversive and merely catchy.

The Eleven hosted a dinner party for ten last night – our first in the larger ballroom space. Actually, we were hosting for Amy and her friends. The day finally evolved from cleaning and cooking to relaxing at exactly 5pm. Our timing couldn’t have been better as that was the planned arrival time and a few showed up smartly at 5. Dinner kicked off at about 6:30 and everyone appeared happy and well-fed by the time they headed home at 8:30. The old apartment’s dining room (for those that never saw it) housed the 6-person table with one short end against the window; the room was too small to squeeze even six in comfortably. The Hilltop has so much open space that we are able to set the table together with and the dark wood sewing table and very comfortably seat all ten; and there’s still loads of room for people to wander about or dance the tango. We like it.

The last two days of the U.S. Open have been amazing. Tiger turned a 30 on the back nine on Friday and then wrapped yesterday’s back nine with two eagles and a birdie. The doubling over in pain after any number of shots – and the scrambles to recover – may be too much for his final round today. I would love to see him win but I just can’t see 30- and 60-foot putts rolling in and chip shots dropping the cup. Of course, if he can get to the greens without too much damage he may be okay but that’s a tall order. There’s absolutely no good reason to believe he won’t tough it out and win but if I had to bet a paycheck, I’d take the field. The week has already been his most amazing golf performance regardless of today’s outcome.

t

p.s. that isn't our table up above. Ours was a bit more random.

sweet! law!

If the term cowpunk scares you off then you’d be best to either giddy-up along or skip the clicking on the little youtube arrow thing. There’ll be more afterwards.

This is a 1983 (year of my HS graduation) video of Jason and the Scorchers doing Absolutely Sweet Marie. This has everything you’d hope for in 1983 MTV offering: grainy camera work, huge hair, at least two guys singing into one microphone, girls in school girl outfits, guy walking down the street with his band joining him, cowboy hats, a bar, drinking, and a horrible overall storyline. Awesome. A few things to consider: first, Jason and the Scorchers were one of the greatest bar bands to ever live. Second, Jason and the Scorchers were one of the greatest bar bands to ever live. If I could possibly imagine any act whose music wouldn’t translate to video, it’d be these guys. In time you realize that CDs or videos will never properly reflect great live music that includes beer and smoke. If you get the through the entire horrendous three minutes than I admire your stick-to-ituvness. That is awful hair. Regardless, I’ll always love them.



X asked me a few weeks ago if I’d help her review for the bar; maybe 60 hours of time. She pointed out on night 2 that the initial askance/contract meant that asking was no longer required. I’m such a sucker. By the end of this summer I think I’ll be able to do well enough on the bar to at least be a public defender. Does that sound like a slap in the face of public defenders? Honestly, no intent.

We’re off to watch an episode of The Closer.

t

...that and $.50

While heading to work this morning I noticed a Shell station that was offering a “free cup of coffee with every fill-up.” Words escape me. I filled up the Merc Galactica today for a mere $69.

A guy I work with was rolling his wedding band around in his hand yesterday and talking with another co-worker (they being the only two I speak with at work) about how much he could get for it (in a whisper: divorce). Having pawned a plain gold wedding band in my day, I had a general idea of what it might go for. The problem they have, being naval officers, is that they’re running numbers based on karat gold, the weight (measured on a postal scale), and the price of gold. What he’s come to is something like $120; this is what I hear as I walk in the office. I don’t even really need the back story but I ask anyway. I decide to play bookie/pawn broker and tell him that I’ll put the over/under betting line at $75.50. I know that’s way too high but I like to bait the hook. I tell him that if he’s seriously going to a pawn shop then I’ll set the number down around $25. He takes the over and I make some money - $5. In the hall this morning he tells me he went to a jeweler that buys gold for processing and they offered ----- $35. I smile in recognition of how little your old marriage means in the world of capitalism. Maybe he should have given them a story. As we laugh, as divorced men do, he tells me he still has his ex-wife’s wedding gown. Now we’re talking eBay…

The hair has been cut by my usual suspects. What I realized today while sitting in the chair is that even in Arabic the talk in any barber shop is the same. I bet if you do some research into shops in Saudi Arabia, Korea, Russia, or Greece, you’ll find the latest copies of Maxim, Swank, Esquire, Boater’s World, and Field & Stream. Haircutting is the language of the World – that whole music thing is a sham.

Today you get the amazing Todd Snider doing Nashville at the Americana Music Awards. If you look closely, and you should, you’ll see Buddy Miller over on the left of the screen leading the house band. Todd Snider is the most endearing live performer you’ll ever see.



love to all.

t.

P.S. Cubs win! Cubs win!

P.P.S. I'll get X to relay via her blog the joke told by her Bar Review lecturer. She told the boys in the car yesterday and I've never heard kids laugh so hard.

the kids are alright

I almost gave you a youtube clip of Rick Springfield doing Jesse’s Girl. Consider this a reprieve of sorts. Instead, I’m going with the Erin McKeown of the Eleven’s live music safari. We finally saw her at the Birchmere earlier in the year. This is her doing You Were Right About Everything. Talented, funny, and a little crazy will get a long way in this world.



The Virginia U.S. Congressional primaries where yesterday so I was at the polls for the long haul. Arlington County managed a shocking 4.3% voter turnout with my precinct bringing a staggering 61 votes (of 2000+ registered voters). With six poll workers the ratio was well within what we could handle. We’re expecting the swing in November to upwards of 1500 in the precinct. Don’t ever tell me I don’t give you some interesting news.

We’re hosting some kind of soiree on Saturday for the WonderTwins’ mother’s friends. We’ve got the room and I’ll do the doing for some milling-around nosh. Amy asked me today if I’ll been apprised of the situation, to which I replied, “I’m some sort of ‘prised.”

The heat has subsided a bit and we’re back to the high 80s and humidity.

The Cubs are still winning.

the house has the advantage

Now we’re talking serious action – and it’s for charity. Since I’ve read quite a bit of Buffet’s own writing, innumerable articles and books about his life, and being an Omaha boy, there’s no way I’m not taking Buffet on this one. First and foremost, he’s not in unless he thinks it’s a (near) done deal. Second, hedge funds guys have no rules, no real heroes, and no chance. Good stuff.

I’m a bit mystified by Big Brown’s run on Saturday. They claim the hoof wasn’t an issue but it’s a little hard to believe a horse of that stature simply had nothing to give. The jockey pulled him up at the head of the stretch and coasted home in last place. I’ve seen Triple Crown bids ended by a horse getting beat on the long stretch run but I don’t remember an attempt that ended with such a nonchalant performance. The jockey, in an interview this morning, said the horse simply had nothing to give and there was no point in legging it out for fifth or sixth place. I don’t know. I suspect there’s more to it than we know.

t

sunday grind

Right, back to the music, my substitute for news. It’s a blazing hot Sunday AM in NoVa; the kind of weather that leads to overheating if you even think about moving. What originally came to mind was to include Lyle Lovett singing Church but I can’t embed that video so I went completely the other way and decided you’ll get Lucinda Williams growling Joy at you. The band screaming it out with her are all the usual suspects, led by the great Doug Pettibone on steel guitar. The first time I saw her play at the Fillmore in S.F. Chuck Prophet hopped up on stage and rolled the guitar solo out into some sort of battle with Pettibone. It was mesmerizing.

Man, I was right on with that French Open predication, wasn’t I?

Cubs on a two-game skid out in L.A.

Did I mention that is damn hot?

t

gimme religion

This will be my one and only horribly partisan announcement between now and November. If I wander, if I sway, I’ll expect a sharp slap on the head. Everyone is free to slap.

I vividly remember sitting in my massive living/dining room in Fernley, Nevada, watching the 2004 Democratic National Convention. In fact, I was running the DVR, for some unknown reason, and I remember getting to the end of the keynote address and clicking back to the beginning to give it another listen. I remember knowing right then and there that I’d seen something amazing. I can remember talking to X on the phone and throwing forth unbridled commentary on some crazy guy who made sense; some unknown 43 year-old Illinois State Senator that lit our lives. Even then it was seminal. I think WonderTwin #2 pointed out that he was hot…she’s actually useless in the end.

What is most interesting in the videos is that it isn’t until about a minute-and-a-half into the second video that the convention gets fired up. When you watch the first video you’ll see the folk walking out for popcorn, wondering who this guy is, pondering dinner for the night, and generally being lost. But…once he gets going you’ll feel the energy, you’ll see the hope, you’ll wonder just how it is that we’re so fucking cynical. This was his greatest moment.

From here out I’ll give equal time to both candidates. I’ll try to poke-and-prod at the strengths and weaknesses of each. I won’t change; but I’ll be the devil.





Donate. Be a part. Vote.

t.

wii wii

I’d like to watch the French Open men’s final. (Do they call it the men’s final in Paris? Is it like Wimbledon where they call it the gentlemen’s final? Is it the Finale des Hommes?) I’m of two opinions concerning Roger Federer and his slump through the first quarter of the year. First, I think that at 26 (?) he’s at the end of a career playing as the best in the World. Just about every great mens player has started to fade, some more rapidly, at this age; notable exceptions being Agassi and Sampras of late. Second, I don’t care about that age issue – I’m much more certain that the mono he had early in the year has effectively drained him for the entire 2008 season. His arrival on the porch for the final may be one of his greatest achievements. Even when healthy he’d have a difficult road against Nadal but this may be the last chance he’ll have to close the career Grand Slam. I think he’ll do it this year, take loads of time off for the remainder, and then make a massive push for the sixth consecutive Wimbledon and fifth straight U.S. Open. If he gets two-of-three he’ll tie Sampras and I could honestly see him retiring; I don’t think that record is what he desires. It’s been a much greater pleasure watching Federer’s career than any other of my lifetime.

The boys were gifted a Wii from their father and G. asked me today if I wanted to play some games with him. Fortunately for me, all they have are the basic sports that I can deal with: baseball, bowling, tennis, golf, and boxing. It was during the second inning of our baseball showdown that G. gave me a wheelhouse fastball that I crushed to deep right field – just as X decided to trundle through the batter’s box in order to water plants. My Manny-like follow through, beautiful as it was, carry right into her left eye. The managers called time as the team trainer – and frozen vegetables – addressed her wounds. I think she’ll be fine. She didn’t need to be carried off – she’s no Paul Pierce.

T.

cool with hot coming

I thought I’d add some visual effect to X’s review of our accommodations in Buffalo, The Elmwood Village Inn / Honu House. I was doing some digging to find reviews (and include my own) when I found this great slide show from the Buffalo Rising Web site.

I noticed in passing that the forecast for this weekend calls for partly sunny, 98°, and big number humidity. The bear can’t wait.

Short but sweet.

t

what's who

I watched Man from Plains over a few nights; time interrupted by Buffalo. It’s a documentary about Jimmy Carter that primarily focuses on the book tour in support of his latest project. I vaguely remember reading about the simmering response – apparently to his use of the word apartheid in the title – but it had all slipped my fine focus. Of course, anything to do with the Middle East and Jimmy Carter will undoubtedly look back at his presidency and diplomacy of the late 70s. From that time of my life I remember not much about his single term aside from inflation, the gas crisis, SALT, and endless comedy skits poking fun at his physical characteristics and demeanor. When the documentary was finishing I looked at Miss X (who’d watched just a bit of it) and told her that he appeared to be a perfect example of a flawed hero – at least by my reckoning and definition. I don’t know that being president was the best screenplay for his life but there’s certainly something about a great deal of his thought processes and knowledge as related to peace, the Middle East, and human endeavors. Oftentimes throughout the film you could sense a naiveté that no doubt pervaded his time in the White House. I think it’s a film well worth watching.

As X has reported to Gandalf, I’m reading Samantha Power's book A Problem From Hell that addresses “America in the Age of Genocide”. I know – light reading. Samantha Powers, if you don’t remember, is known more for her ‘Hillary Clinton is a monster” quote than any of her writings. I don’t know that chucking America in the title is an indictment of the country anymore than simply an indication of a narrative written in the American voice. Most the events can surely claim nearly every country in the World as both defendant and witness. What is most enlightening is just how common it became in the twentieth century to watch world leaders stumble and, more often than not, decide that sitting on hands and waiting was a better option than doing.

Herein lies the best of my event input.

t

stay on target. stay on target

One area of neglect from my last post was the freaky nature of our timing during the Buffalo-to-D.C. return leg. We left the sleeping castle at 7am for an 8:30 Southwest flight – call us crazy (and horribly sleepy). After stopping to fill up the car and grab coffee we headed down the 198, over to the 33, and into the Buffalo-Niagara International Aerodrome. We pulled into the Hertz return area at 7:30, got the car checked in, walked to the Southwest desk to print our passes and drop-off luggage, moved through security, and were standing happily at our gate at precisely 7:41. New record.

When we arrived at BWI we had a planned 40-minute buffer to get from the plane, through baggage, onto a shuttle bus, and over to the MARC station in order to catch the train back into D.C. Since I’d made this run before I knew that neither the shuttles (every 10 minutes) nor the train would present a problem – baggage could have been the weak link. As we came through the glass doors and into the claim area we noted that our flight was unloading junk at the first merry-go-round claim about ten feet to our left. There were only a few folks milling about, and the metal-magic claim wheel is rotating clockwise as we approached from the 4 o’clock position. Without breaking stride, I attack the claim as our single bag rotates through 12 o’clock, 1 o’clock, about 2:30, and directly into my moving target of a hand. It was a thing of beauty. Our inertia took us out the door and deposited us at the MARC shuttle stop a few feet down the sidewalk. After a short wait we hopped aboard the big red bus and minutes later disembark at the train station. I peer at my watch as we walk to our track and notice it’s 10:05am. You might wonder when our train was due in, wouldn’t you? How does 10:13am sound? Shazam!

Everyone gets a two-fer today. First up are Gillian Welch and David Rawlings doing Revelator from the 2001 album Time. After that, if you’re still interested, is a solo acoustic version of The Picture by Jay Farrar.

gods and queens

So much under the bridge over the last thirty-six hours that it’s hard to know where to start and what to leave unearthed for X. I’ll address some issues that might be bypassed by her eventual entry covering our single day jaunt to the Great White North. My overall, yet wholly undetailed review, would be that it was an amazing series of events; not a step askew. Since I’ve been dubbed “Julie the Cruise Director” during any number of our travels I’d like a moment to respond to just one ‘fact’ of this adventure. As you may or may not know, I have a tendency to do a little research about future journeys that may, or may not, involve any of the following: advanced tickets, train and Metro timetables, maps, custom Google maps, reservations, additional miscellaneous research, other maps, duplicate directions, satellite views of Hamilton, walking distances, musical selections, pre-printed boarding passes, passports, show ticket storage, menus (if available), and any myriad detail you can imagine. I then sometimes put all the information, in timeline order, into a laminated document protector. Or, I might not. On Monday night, prior to launch, X hands me a quarter-folded sheet of paper that included doodles representing some new type of electric razor, a guy’s face, two flowers, and three unidentifiable drawings of dogs. Down in one corner was a number that appeared to be some sort of ‘confirmation number’. She says, “Can you put the rental car confirmation number into your pile of documents?” In initial shock and/or agreement I said sure, no problem, while reaching for the tattered ‘document’. What I was actually thinking was, “This! This is a document to be used for planning? Dear God.” Needless to say it wasn’t actually the car rental reservation but a series of useless numbers.

What we have in the greater D.C. area today seems to be monsoon season. We’re in the midst of our third massive front of this June Wednesday. We’ve lost power, the traffic lights are in-op, roads are flooded, cell phones are down, and the little critters are drowning. I heard a tornado hit around Falls Church while I was out fetching G. this afternoon but I haven’t seen confirmation – it wouldn't be a real surprise since the rain seems to have been moving upward, as in up to the sky, throughout the day. X was stymied on her commute home today and my horror stories simply revolve around trying to get anywhere near a Fairfax County Metro stop during the afternoon swale to fetch her and bring her home. It was rough out there.

I broke my no news promise today. I’d grabbed the paper from in front of our heavenly B n’ (almost) B when the proprietor asked me what I thought of the race being over. I read the front page quickly and confessed to my lent of news. I also grabbed the NYTimes at the Buffalo airport to follow-up on what’s happened. How do you expect a man to travel airports and not buy papers? I consider myself forgiven. I’ve stayed away from it since getting back this morning.

I know you’ll think I’m mad but I’ve got a long Buffalo/Hamilton weekend travel getaway for anyone interested. Give me three days and two nights in upstate NY and I’ll show you the best time. You’ll get great digs, great folks, a show, awesome food, and lovely museums. Seriously.

My photo / music video entry today is of England’s own (and the stunning) Webb Sisters who backed Leonard Cohen last night. They’ve also played for the Queen – I’m not sure which is more impressive.

Give me a call at the agency when you’re ready to see Buffalo.

t.

taj

This is one of my all-time favorite songs and I like this simple performance. I pulled up Taj Mahal when I found out he'll be here for the Jazz Festival in September.



While we’re on music, apparently X thinks my opinion of my pop / hooky jewels is overrated in my wee head. She was cooking on Saturday night and I offered to fire up some music on the kitchen system. This didn’t go well because what she really wanted was some jazz; that nugget was not passed on during her request call to the DJ booth. I think I went 0-for-5 before she mumbled something about my crappy music and stomped off to find her wee case of mystery music. The last thing I’ll say about this slap down was that at least I have dinner ready before 10pm when I’m cooking. Take that.

We’ve got a B & B booked for Buffalo tomorrow night. From what the owner tells me, it’s on the longest one-way street in the city. I’ll bring along a camera and get some photos of the legendary throughway.


t