i can't make anything of this...

I confess

I’m reading a story about the Central Park Five and their overturned convictions from the 1989 rape in Central Park. I remember vividly the entire story about kids out “wilding” in the parks and streets in NYC. I didn’t know that all five were exonerated and released in 2002; my immediate excuse might be that I was living in England but that’s probably lame.

What this has got my mind working on is the intersection of “the times” and “techniques” modes. For criminal proceedings the easiest events to look at are the exonerations driven by the passage of time, exonerations combined with advanced scientific techniques like DNA testing. What we want to believe is that wrongful convictions are simply a poor application of a mathematical formula: The reason that a conviction was wrong was because the techniques we had at the time weren’t advanced enough to convict or not. But that never seems to be the case – when people are exonerated through DNA testing what is exposed in the underbelly is always horrible or biased police work. I never read about someone being released who was convicted through efficient, unbiased, or unprejudiced police work. Maybe a murderer is released and we hear a backstory about how at the time of conviction the preponderance of evidence, or whatever legal term fits here, showed that the suspect was the murderer. No false confessions and no violations of rights and no crappy witnesses. No guesswork or assumptions that led to a failure to disclose evidence or the like. Is this because it’s nearly impossible to mistakenly convict without some of law enforcement insider trading?  Are we as humans preconditioned to convict based on bias? Or, does our system’s “beyond a reasonable doubt” ideal force our hand? There must be convictions are would stand up to any test of technique or time, right?

In a lot of human endeavors we can agree that “the times” we the basic underpinning of human behavior – times when no technique would ever trump or sway the truth. Nearly all civil rights issues wear this anchor: It was the times we lived in; we didn’t know or believe that X was equal to us. We eventually outgrow that and move forward, but we recognize somehow that there was a contribution from time and place within our granting of civil rights. We can understand it. With police/court work the techniques reveal the truth, not the passage the time.

Right. I’m stopping. My head is spinning. I haven’t even fully addressed the ins-and-out of The Life of Pi.

Lemon was taken to the doctor/parole board this morning at 7a and even though he was wishy washy on releasing her, she will roam free this evening. All hail...

struck

Whilst enjoying corn chowder this evening the entire clan (well, some of the clan) enjoyed Moonstruck. It's hard to believe it's 25 years old; then again, it was in the days when Nick Cage was good, and when Cher was temporarily ruling the actress landscape. Part of my interest in X's favorite movie is that my favorite, Big Night, both vaguely revolve around food, love, and crazy people. Another part of my interest is in completely out of nowhere lines in movies that somehow convey a mystery that only each watcher can decipher. In Moonstruck, as Johnny is picking up Loretta and taking her to his bed his declaration is "Son of a Bitch!". Not in a bad way, in a love way. Even with that love understanding, the line seems to come from nowhere yet somehow perfectly narrates the scene. My perfectly shouted line, seemingly from nowhere, is Han Solo in the beginning of The Empire Strikes Back screaming at some poor NCO who questions his going back out in the storm, "Then I'll see you in Hell!" How is that an appropriate response to some safety officer who is simply trying to make sure you don't think your aircraft is falling backwards off the carrier? Trust me, if in a meeting you drop the "Then I'll see you in Hell" line when asked by Human Capital Resources whether or not you've finished your proposal, hilarity will ensue.

I'm giving you some music today. The first is ZZ Ward doing Put the Gun Down - I'm debating seeing her in Baltimore on a weekend in March 2013 because I can see her exploding and going venue grandstanding by next summer. The second is Maia Sharp doing Me After You. I'm new to Maia and apparently I've missed a load of talent. Great song. What's arbitrarily weird, they both talk about guns.

princes and the challenged

 Prince’s career kicked off in earnest about the same time I entered high school. It was in full flight by my senior year and throughout my freshman year in college. He’s sold somewhere between 60 and 100 million records, changed his name, done a gazillion tours, made legendary videos, and generally been the coolest cat on the planet. I’ve followed him through the years even if I haven’t bought any of his records – though I did totally ace his discussion about the internet being dead a few years ago and built it into my own ideas of the online world and death of social activity. That’s a discussion for another day. This is about a return in 2012 of the man: a new song (online even!), wonders about a new record, and the still way too cool bass lines and voice that define him. I’m amazed that after 30 years there has never been another artist that can produce this kind of music. Pretenders to the throne – I could listen to this all day.

My dearest Lindsey, Saxby, John, and Peter,

     I’d like to take a little time to address the grand and heroic gesture you believe you are making in possibly deciding to act against the wishes of Grover Norquist. To make something very clear up front: I don’t give a shit whether you do or not; your wisdom, and self-important sacrifice, is not needed. The country move forward and you’ll forever find yourselves on the wrong side of history, as usual.

     Here’s how compromise works: I give something, you give me something. Simple, right? I was going to type out the OED definition of compromise, but I don’t have the patience. You can look it up, let me help, c-o-m-p…. If I start at position A on the alphabetical compromise scale, and you start at Z (both acceptable starting points), then compromise means meeting at ANY point in the middle. I may come all the way to Y in order to remedy a problem, but if you insist on sitting on Z at all costs then you are a fuckstick. You can claim that it’s some sort of integrity when, in fact, it exposes you for what you are: a petulant child. Do you really believe that if someone is willing to move further towards your desired outcome it means nothing? In the scenario that considers the US Government budgets, deficits, and debt think about this idea: the solution to our current problems lie somewhere between less spending and more revenue. Somewhere. Anywhere. Let’s say I’m a tax-and-spend Liberal and you’re a Crayola-using-contract-promising-going-to-love-you-forever,-Grover-is-the-best dipshit Conservative: how’s about I start at A, you start at Z, and we work from there? Oh, did calling you a dipshit hurt your feelings? Sorry. What if I came over U, V, W, X, or Y? Any interest? Didn’t think so. Feel free to read the first few sentences of this paragraph again. It might be best, in the end, to take your box of crayons, your third-grade math polling numbers, and go color in the corner. Let me know when you’ve learned to draw hands with all five digits.

      Graham, Chambliss, King, and McCain believe in their hearts that if they try to unfuck something that they fucked up to start with then they must be heroes. They aren’t. I will give them this: they are at least the first of their kind to recognize the writing on the wall and they are hoping to save their own skins.

      And, in case you wonder where I stand, I’ll tell you. My first offer would be to make up 50% of the shortall with spending reductions; and, 50% with revenue increases. I, unlike these four that I can only consider as wedges, might even further discuss the numbers and compromise.

     Good riddance, jackasses, your days are numbered.

Best,

Todd

pumpkin pi

A very nice Thanksgiving weekend wrapped up. We managed a full (classic) meal on Thursday with the guests from the north before they back up yonder on the day. The Vermonters were here most of the week and managed to touch base with kids and grandkids.

Friday was cat day: one in for oral surgery, the other in for a set shots. All went well with the surgery and Lemon has now been sentenced to 14 days of house arrest in order to heal. I'd like to explain a few things: she is as close to a wild cat as you can have and, she's already been given nine days off by the house court of appeals for good behavior and time served. She'll be released Tuesday afternoon. I know what you're thinking, "you must follow the doctor's orders", and to that I say bullshit. I fully understand the need to let her heal, but her mouth is looking good, she is aware of the surgery, she won't do anything to harm herself. Also, if you'd spent the last three days in a house with a caged panther, you'd agree. Truth be told, I understand the doctor and liability. What I also believe is that the 14-day sentence is based on non-supercats; you know, babies. We'll finish her painkiller meds on Tuesday and then cut her loose.

L. and I finished the weekend with some entertainment  - Life of Pi on Saturday, and You For Me For You at Woolly this afternoon.  As for Pi, what I find most interesting are the reviews. The reviews seem to break the movie into three parts (I assume the book might fit that division) and somehow discuss the parts as if independent. The flagship portion seems to be the boat part, and it surely is the longest part of the movie (and wonderfully shot), but without the before and after, it's nothing. In fact, the idea that the movie is somehow a kids' movie - oh, animals! - is a mistake. Sure, some well read youth will enjoy it, but the ins-and-outs of the storyline are so much greater than a tiger on a boat. I haven't fully absorbed the layers but the film is extraordinary.

The boys are back from California. None the worse for the wear.

they died of TB

Talk about an amble. The 61 enjoyed a night in town on Saturday with dinner at Clyde's in Chinatown followed by our third Dizzy Miss Lizzie show, The Brontes. I now know so much about the Bronte family - learned through rock n' roll visionaries - that I can answer just about any type of Bronte trivia.  The minstrels had rented the Redrum theater space in NW to ply their trade over the last three weekends. You'd missed the Redrum's door on the 6th St. block of L if you weren't literally staring at the walls of the shuttered warehouses and old distro centers. The space is quite good for theater of this size and the 35-40 fans in attendance enjoyed the evening's entertainment. As usual, the music, lyrics, and performance was a blast - I'll go see anything that DMLRR decides to stage.

I managed to see Lincoln on Saturday morning (at 10a) with the senior crowd. Afterwards, we went and had some creamed corn and took a nap. The film is well worth your attendance if only to see D. Day-Lewis appear to have reincarnated exactly what we all probably expect Lincoln be like in real life.

Cooking has been slim of late. With visitors in town we've been out much more than usual; last night was a return visit to the Peking Gourmet Inn for ducks and whatnot.

I'm seem boring, don't I?

cat's game

In a world...

One of our cats, Pumpkin, has been a bit out of sorts for a few weeks; with cats that means puking. It doesn't seem too serious, but both cats are certainly due for a vet visit so this seemed an opportune time to gather the furballs and take advantage of Obamacare. (All pets are covered under the 2012 initiative within the Affordable Care Act.) Destiny was for 1p today - X was alone, cats were loaded.

Over the weekend we grabbed a newish pet kennel/carrier specifically for this first of many future trips. X's plan, alone and unafraid, was thought out: gather Pumpkin around 12:30 (since he's never far away) and then hope that Lemon wasn't out on a death run. X found and locked Pumpkin in the kennel before heading out to scour the landscape for Killer - a whistle, a cluck, and along came the most beautiful cat in the World. How simple. She brought Lemon to the kennel, opened the door a dash, and was immediately in the midst of a Royal Rumble: Pumpkin blasting out, Lemon fighting (nicely), X hoping. In the frayed aftermath Lemon slipped out the cat door while X managed to squeeze ol' thickneck back into the kennel. Once more into the breech...outside to see if there was any hope that Lemon might have at least remained in the zip code. A quick gander about the place and sure enough she's just sitting on the table outside the cat door. How easy is this?

Back into the house with Lemon in hand and wondering exactly what to make of the 'man' situation. X being smarter than the average bear has headed into stage two with the cat door locked to prevent escape; with the house secured, where could the little demons possibly go? Here's what you do: open the kennel, put the second cat in, gently close the door, and if they escape - no worries, they can't get away. Let's cover what happened: open the kennel (check), put in the second cat/Lemon (sort of), easily close the door (trying), and if they escape - what? In the midst of this second round of battle it's Super Pumpkin who escapes while Lemon decides to take a nap in the perfectly acceptable pet carrier. Not only does Pumpky (Super) escape, he simply uses his Maori Warrior-like head to just bust through the locked cat door - THROUGH THE DOOR, leaving nothing but shards of humanity in his wake. There's no need to head outside to see of he's nearby, dude is gone daddy gone. So, X and Lemon head to the vet, sans SuperP.

Lemon is now fully inoculated. Unfortunately, she has a broken back tooth which is a serious concern. It's going to cause her lower jaw some long-term problems; it has to be removed, but there is serious risk to her lower jaw. We have a contact for a pet dentist in Vienna who can hopefully give us some good news - I'm pretty worried. I'm not willing to have her life limited if the jaw becomes a problem; she can't be locked in a house. I'm hoping. We'll see.

rum, clean.

On Friday afternoon I offered an early Saturday morning (6a) departure to the gals of The Round Table. I wanted to drive down to Warrenton, VA for a visit to the Red Truck Bakery - a well-regarded joint that does cakes, pies, desserts, croissants, etc. They open at 7a on Saturdays and I, as a father of Americana, wanted to brew some coffee, drive an hour in the early morning sun, and visit before the weekend crowds. I loved the early morning view of the two bakers on duty; it's hard to believe there wasn't at least one other who had hours a bit earlier - bakers are a rare breed. We got coffee, a few croissants, a rum cake, and pumpkin pie to bring back to the confines of Fairfax county. The croissants got good grades, I love the rum cake, and word is that the pumpkin pie is excellent.

We were back at the house by a little after 8a and I headed out to the farmers' market - the calendar is moving. Today was easily the most amazing day at the market: mushrooms, red beets, black beets, parsnips, eggs, cheese, Swiss chard, watercress, the last of the garlic, bread, ghost peppers, carrots (I left my greens behind for someone's rabbit), and loads of apples. I was unprepared with just a single bag that was immediately overrun; hands providing the only backstop to the food onslaught. A stunning display.

Because I wasn't busy enough the 51 went to see the new Bond movie at Angelika this afternoon. I quickly remembered why I don't have for the blockbuster (action) movies - there's nothing to them. I give it a C-.

More later.

express line

A new conglomo-market area opened down the road from our house: a somewhat urban version of the outdoor malls you've seen pop up about America in the last decade. This one, The Mosaic, is anchored by an elevated Target, but surrounded by more high-end stores, restaurants, boutiques, a killer independent movie palace, and a MOM market. I'm here to talk about MOM.

There's a MOM down in Alexandria that we used to hit every few weeks for the really good stash of quality foods and whatnot. Unfortunately, after moving to The Hilltop the drive became too long and MOM became nothing but a distant memory, until now. The new store is bigger, with wider aisles, and (for now) far fewer customers. Word of mouth will eventually bring the hordes to the better store with its great parking. And, since you're wondering about my list of greatest grocery stores/markets of all time, I feel I'd be delinquent in not at least giving you a passing glance at my list. You can thank me later.

MOM - the new store is fantastic. I shop there, I'm happy....while shopping.

Central Market - I've only been once to a single location somewhere in Dallas (University Dr.?), and it's stunning. I remember walking in and thinking I'd found paradise.

Waitrose - All about England. For some reason this fairly benign English endeavor always felt comfortable and holds great memories, for a few reasons. This is where I shopped when I first started to actually cook - real life cooking. I also used to always stop by X's house for a coffee on the way home.

Trader Joe's - Yeah, pretty obvious, but I hold them in high esteem for this specific list of quality items: nuts, cheese, wine, and some frozen stuff. It can be a tough shop, but they are worth inclusion.

Wegman's - Right, I used to laugh at the Wegman's prosetlytizers, even after I'd done half the store on my first visit. (They are really only located outside the Beltway here so it's a special trip - and a special $400+.)  This place is spectacular - from their own brands to high-end product. Loads of ready-to-eat stuff, great deli, great bakery...great around.

Byerly's - The upper Mid-west doppelganger to Wegmen's. Well, not quite, but close. Once again, a great selection and a place where you won't have to leave and stop at some other store for that last ingredient.

Wild Oats - I was pretty sweet on them before they were sucked up by the Whole Foods empire. In particular, the store in Reno served as my base while I continued to learn how to cook during my three-year cooking internship out West. I really love hitting the Wild Oats, TJs, and the International Market on South Virginia St.

I'll skip my specialty shops for now. For now.

The 51 drove up to Baltimore (Towson) today to visit Goucher College. I was hugely impressed; Laurel was stoic. Go figure. We decided at 9p last night to not do NYC this weekend - too much stress for the residents, and a Nor'easter to boot. We'll give it another shot in December.

the uncomfortable situation room

During my final tour in Nevada I was present for a number of Air Wing debriefs led by a senior Commander who, about halfway through my tour, headed back to sea to lead an Air Wing. What was most impressive about his ‘precise’ and hilarious debriefs was his ability to distill to the younger pilots exactly how it was the world of aviation and strike execution actually worked. His most important lesson, and something I’d long ago learned but never quite got into words, was the idea of situational awareness (SA). SA is a military term that applies to the world around your little bubble or weapon system. As he so simply stated, often, “There are three types of SA: good SA, bad SA, and no SA.” He’d then go on to quiz most of the new pilots, and the new(er) strike leads, throughout the debrief – Where are you? What are you thinking? What do you know? Where, exactly, is your SA needle at this point? The kid would look up at the dry-erase board, peer down at his kneeboard, look up, and mumble something like, “Well, I thought…”, and then proceed to ramble just long enough to fully realize that his cockpit was stuffed with bad SA. Here’s a quick rendition of the gas gauge the Commander would draw on the board (he refused to use the required debrief PowerPoint):

His training point was this: If you are going to base your decisions on what someone has told you, or data that someone has provided, you better know where you are on the SA meter. Measured against the ground-truth you are gold if your SA is good. Bad SA will kill you – you think you know what’s going on, you trust what’s been said, and you then make the appropriately bad decision. You are far better off to have No SA then to have bad SA – if there’s no SA then at least you are aware of having nothing, and everything you do is then driven by keeping focus on the develop the situation; at least you aren’t sitting around fat, dumb, and happy with a big pile of bad data.

I bring this up as the background to my only post about the election. The disservice done by the GOP/Conservative bloggers and political commentators would, if I were one of the followers, make me homicidal. The final three weeks of the campaign was full of endless diatribes from the right against pollsters in general, and Nate Silver in particular.  Even if you hate the NYTimes, don’t like Silver’s methodology (or his political leanings), attacking the messenger was such a reach that I think it fully dysfunctional. Silver has explained his methods and they make sense to anyone who listens. As an example, if there are 12 polls out of Ohio that show the President leading by between .5 and 1.5 points, while one outlier (see how I use words?) show Romney leading by 6 points, then he assesses the polls and comes out with something that balances out the differences. But, even his methods aren’t important and you don’t need a higher math degree to see that 12 v. 1 means the 1 is most likely out of whack. Numbers don’t lie, but if you willfully choose to ignore basic math to the extent that you are misleading your own ‘party’ then you shouldn’t be allowed to ‘commentate’.

Back to SA. As the talking heads spent weeks trying to get the voters out they decided to attack math, disregard some stable poll reporting, and simply chose to tell the posse that the (wildly vague and incorrect) Rasmussen poll was right - Mitt Romney was 5% up in Ohio! They told people that he was leading the national polls (which he never was), and that Romney would most likely take 300+ of the Electoral College votes. To the followers, that’s bad SA – believing you know what’s going on when, in fact, you have shitty data. You know what’s better? Nothing, no SA. At least the minions can then decide for themselves. You know what’s even better? Good SA. Here’s how I would use the 538.com math:

“All right folks. Here are the numbers: we are losing by about 2 point in Ohio and Colorado. We are down less than a point in Florida, a point in Virginia, and 3 points in New Hampshire. These are the facts. In order to win we need turnout – thousands of voters to get out and make up the difference. Believe the numbers.”

As opposed to Peggy Noonan saying something like, “No worries folks. I did the point-and-click mappy thing at TPM.com and Mitt should easily win this election. Rasmussen shows our guy winning. Also, I think Nate Silver is effeminate.” You know what this might lead to? People not showing up to vote because it’s in the bag. Well done, Peggy. I thank you and your ilk.

Hey, Fox News, where’s your needle pointing?

eek!

As we sat at the table last night enjoying dinner (risotto with a beet-and-pear salad) my beloved Lemon returned via the cat door from her early evening activities. She came quickly over to the table area, wound her away around G.’s chair, and allowed only him to hear a subtle squeak squeak from nearby. It was in that pre-apocalypse moment that he called out, “Lemon’s got a mouse!”

But, dear readers, before we continue let’s take a quick break from our story to review what we know about Lemon: she’s a killer, she will occasionally bring a kill home for our viewing, she will sometimes bring it home still alive – I think she and Pump like to take a little foray into the catch-and-release mentality before fulfilling the soon-to-be-gone-from-this-World appointment of said small animal. I have exactly zero problem with her killing ways; I’m not too cool with the dead and/or teasing in the house situation, but hey, she’s a cat. Back to the story.

Post-exclamation we all scoot quickly away from the table and glance under to see what was what. What was what was this: Lemon had dropped the mouse in order to begin her party-of-death game and mouse decided he wanted exactly zero to do with the Death Cat. And how did mouse avoid the fate of thousands – by scurrying directly up G.’s pants. Oh yes, you read that right – before we could prepare ourselves fully for the hilarity, the young man is up and doing the MousePants dance in the middle of dining room: “I got a mouse in my pants! The mouse is in my pants!” Now, I didn’t have film of said event, and I certainly didn’t have any clock recording data, but I will be honest and say that the elapsed time it took to pass from “mouse in pants” to concern to raucous laughter was surely less than one second. He was still in the midst of the shaky-leg-varmit-in-my-pants jig when the other four of us bypassed concern and fell into laughter. Is that wrong? As Lemon scurried about trying to find her damn mouse (G.’s lucky she didn’t see the mouse go up the sweatpants, because he would have been dancing with two furry things in his pants) I managed to yell the only thing a mature adult yells in this exact situation: get the fuck out the front door. Honestly, I don’t want the mouse paroled from his pants straight back on to the dining room floor. Yep, I’m a quick thinker. Nearly heroic. G. in his moment of distress did manage to hop, bounce, and dance outside with his brother in tow; where, it must be said, he continued the dance until mousy mouse fell to the grass and apparently made haste into the night.

Ah, life at the Round Table.

standing back up

Sure, it’s been a few months, but you knew a music thing would bring me back.

Last night I saw JD McPherson just down the road from the Round Table at the State Theatre. It was a bit criminal that the house wasn’t packed to overflowing – he’s shortly to play the big room at First Avenue so that’s indicative of where he’s at, popularity-wise, on the Todd music spectrum. He’s difficult to classify because you immediately take the easy route and say he’s a new wave Brian Setzer, but the fact is that he’s more rock n’ roll than rockabilly and I think his draw will be much broader. I have an inkling that he’s the next big Americana-alt-rock artist to hit the big time, most likely within the next year; it doesn’t take long. As an example, Mumford & Sons went from being the most accessible of the string band artists within a small chunk of the musical spectrum to being about the biggest band in the world. JD probably won’t get to that level, but huge exposure is on the immediate horizon. The show was stunning on all levels – crowd, music, atmosphere. Unfortunately, one of the issues with tickets was the State’s mediocre recognition amongst the D.C. area venues – I don’t think they often pull from beyond the greater Falls Church area. JD will be back in a bigger D.C. room at some point early next year. He, and his band, is better live but here’s a quick shot. (P.S. Jimmy Sutton is easily the best and coolest bass player to ever walk the land.)

L. did a number of college visits last week: Mary Washington, U. of Richmond, and UVa. We are also doing Goucher (Baltimore) and the New School (NYC) this weekend. She was also up and at ‘em early on Saturday morning to take her SAT at Yorktown High. I dropped her off at 7:30am and can safely report that I’ve never seen so many slack-eyed teens wandering about on a Saturday morning. Not a single one looked like some hard-charging Tracy Flick. I think half of them still were in their pajamas.

We are set for election blackout tomorrow night: a special pizza and double feature night (Princess Bride and MP and the Holy Grail). We’ll awake Wednesday AM and get on with life.

It’s been a few months, but I’m back in the saddle.