from darkness

It's a bit of a music and show assemblage these days. We covered the Wilmington / Dennan gig already. I'm slated for Angus and Julia Stone on Saturday night with a friend. We have theatre on Friday night at Signature Theater, and I still need to talk a bit about Brandi Carlile's show
 at the Barns at Wolf Trap a few weeks ago.

Carlile's now complete Pindrop tour gave us her and the 'band' (Twins plus strings) playing small theatres with no amplification. Nothing was plugged in aside from some Edison lights strung about the stage. As she relayed during the show, they'd been thinking about a tour like this for any number of years and finally managed to pull if off - perfectly. There are only a handful of artists with the chops to do this, and by artist I include the Twins (Tim and Phil Hanseroth), and the wonderful string trio they brought along. You have to have serious oomph to play and sing in a room that holds 285 people - it's not for the meek projection. Carlile easily carried the room with her voice.

Last winter we had a power outage that started in the late afternoon, and as the sun was dipping down I was heading out the door to work. I'd gathered some 'hurricane lamp' candles and two flashlights as I was compiling what I needed for my workaday in the wilds of southern Maryland. All these beacons were gathered on the table and I pointed at them as I let the only teenager in the house know that , "There are candles and flashlights here on the table. You may need them as it gets darker. Your mother won't be home for a few hours."

"I don't need them. I want to maintain the integrity of my night vision." Okay pal, good luck with that plan.

This show was a bit like that teenager's dream: integrity of the music. I was in the front row of the balcony and as I checked out the room pre-show, I wondered just how the instruments and voices would carry. Clearly, they had a plan and had done the legwork (or studywork, or booking work...) to know that the 6 or 8 venues on order would provide the sound and clarity needed for the show. It all harkened back to seeing a bluegrass show - in particular, Steve Earle and the Del McCroury Band in London - that first showed me, with amplification in that case, that movement and projection is / was how musicians actually control who or what is out front: moving to and fro the microphone. I felt like I felt like Carlile was telling me that "we don't need amps, we want to maintain the integrity of the music." And that they did. It took half a song to realize that your ears adjust almost immediately to what level of sound is provided. Granted, it won't work in a 1,500 seat venue, but it will work in anything up to 300-400 in a designed venue. The notes and voices were so crystalline and pure that the next thing you realize is that all the electric-y stuff - wires, amps, volume knobs - each take away a little bit of the integrity of music. Don't get me wrong, I'll line up just as quickly for a rampaging Slobberbone show in a bar as I will for Brandi Carlile. But, this was pretty special. Damn, I wish I could sing.

Oh, if you're wondering how the night vision thing ended, it ended in the dark. X got home two or three hours later - illumination lost to the blinded - with a lone teenager declaring, "Where is everyone, I can't see anything! I've been here in the by myself for hours!"

Integrity indeed.

smoke up, johnny

This is a short ramble, but I'm curious. It's been touted many a time that video games have been shown to have no effect on kids' headmeat. I'm going to play along for a bit, because I'm pretty sure that this:

actually had very little mental effect on my brain as I wasted my early-1980s youth playing quarters, Frogger, and chasing high school drawers.

What about now? Based on some minimal research on the Web, the first real first-person shooting (FPS) game that was fully functional was Wolfenstein (1992). From that point until about 2004, FPS games were almost exclusively PC or Apple OS based; in about 2004 (or so) the re-birth of the home gaming console came to pass and Halo (2004) and Call of Duty (2005) began the onslaught of FPS games. Also, remember that  in the 1990s and early 2000s the limitationson on computers in a house that Little Johnny could play shoot 'em up: Either by capability, or the fact that you weren't letting that little bastard on your $4,000 Pentium. Any studies from the past that cite the nil effect of video games on kids can be disguarded - for the simple reason that they don't take into account the FPS genre and ubiquity.

Let's do some math - if I assume that the kids we might be concerned with are those that are now 7 (like the kid so proudly describing his FPS shooter love and skills at the barbershop the other week, while his mother looked on proudly); and generally, those more likely to have been born between 1995 and 2005. All of them range in age from 7 - 18 and it's impossible to even comprehend how FPS games affect them. We can't possibly know, can we? It's all well and good to say that Missile Command, Tetris, and Galaga had no ill mental effects on me (even if they did make me delay my homework or chores), but to move that data forward and say that this current 7 - 18 crowd isn't being mangled at least a bit is crazy. The idea that kids can be the shooter, can see all the blood and gore, can have missions that never end, and the the fact that they never 'die' probably puts an illusionary tilt on their psychology. So, your kid claims they understand the difference? Are you sure? Probably. I suspect that around 2023 we'll see studies that show a massive, violent influence on the kids that grew up playing these games.

I knew the difference between reality and games when I was young. I knew I wasn't a frog. I never came upon a giant monkey rolling barrels at me. Those game weren't actual things that happen in life.

pay you tuesday for a hamburger today

Ah, the endless debate for children.

I'm sure this fits neatly into some game theory or delayed gratification subcategory: the weather:school matrix. The boys are off school for the next few days for the end of their semester; today there was 'weather' in the D.C. area so the government is operating a vaguely 10am or noon workday configuration. Knowing that the government determined a delay was in order it's a well known in these parts that the county would have delayed schools at least two hours, if not all day. (The math of delaying kids only two hours while their parents are delayed four hours doesn't make much sense.) Anyway, back to the game lab. Assuming there would have been a two-hour delay today there is moaning about the place that, "Man, we totally lost out on a delay." The theory in their world (and mine when I was young) is that they would trade a two-hour delay followed by five hours of school if only they didn't already have today off. The missing pieces in this grand theory are these: you have an entire day off (most important), and you off and you can't bank weather. There is no actual choice to be made, nor is there anything lost or gained. It's akin to getting a hamburger for free on free hamburger day, and then finding out that in the paper there was a 20% off coupon for hamburgers at some other place. In a single-day situation free always beats a discount; a day off always tops two hours.

Of course, it doesn't help that L. had Wednesday - Friday off last week at her school (for the semester break) and now gets another free day off today due to weather. That, by the way, is the Royal Flush of days off at the Great School Days Off Hold 'Em Championships. She can just drop her cards on the table and walk away....

a deed, indeed

I’m going to be more positive. I think my blog can often whine.

We’ve done the deed and purchased a house. Contact is accepted, a bunch of paperwork is being done, money is changing hands. The American economy is strong.

It’s a two-level place with seven (yes, seven) bedrooms as currently configured. Corey is going to rip out the walls downstairs that create three bedrooms, and we’ll turn that level into a large, open living room and big dining room. The upstairs will keep four bedrooms with a full bath and master bath to follow. We got a very good price on a place this size while staying in the same school district for the kids – a primary goal. The commutes for us won’t change, time or distance, but the boys will have a longer bus ride to school. X did a load of the work on this, and I played the role of agreeable co-dependent. We’re very happy to have our own place with no limits on what we can do to it over the next few years – the longer view being 7-8 more years in this area. I can’t imagine what the gardens will look like in three or four years. The picture above is the backyard. The front of the house picture at the Web site isn’t the best so I’ll hold off on more photos until we get in and sorted.

I’m allegedly heading back to school in January to finish up the degree. I have three more classes – they weren’t offered at night this quarter so I was out of luck – and should be done in late March. From there, I still have one year of GI Bill benefits so I may move to community college and take some courses of interest to me. Or, as X asks, “why don’t you get certified as a massage therapist?” I think I see where she might be going on this one. Food. Massages. Maybe I can go to housekeeping college.

All the kids are home and healthy. The cats are fine. We’re doing great.

The move will be a very sudden evacuation between Christmas Day and New Year’s. We should close on the 23rd of December with nine days to sort out the place. Based on the just-completed military operations call from CINC-house, I’m responsible for victuals three-times-per-day from the 23rd to the 29th while they rip out walls and carpet (new, ugly white…anyone need 1000 sq. ft of carpet?), patch the wood floor, sand and re-varnish. 30th and 31st will be actual moving from The Hilltop. This has all been dubbed Christine’s Happy Holiday Moving Blast. We’ll keep a solid audio, video, and photographic blog of the festivities. I may have to set-up a field kitchen in that back shed.

Love to all.

t

a tin cup for all these nickels

When did a cup of Starbucks coffee become that standard measure against magazine subscriptions, NPR membership drives, and any other contributable financial matters? Why doesn’t the NPR semi-annual membership campaign say things like, “For a $120 donation, and that’s only $10 per month, Beverly, the same as what you might spend on a dime bag,” instead of continually harping on the cost of a Starbucks? Listen, I don’t drink Starbucks often and, quite frankly, their coffee isn’t great, but I don’t think that they should be singled out in the $5 spending realm. How about you don’t buy the NYTimes on Sunday ($6), or that Happy Meal for the kid ($4-$6), or drive 20 fewer miles in your Hummer H3?

H has an assignment for his science class – and something that will also be a project of sorts for the school’s science fair. There are something like 46 pages of rules (nothing illegal, no fires, no using animals, etc.), but there is also some bullshit requirement that the student can’t repeat any other experiment or project…..THAT’S EVER BEEN DONE. Ever. Anywhere. If the moronic science teacher can Google up your suggested thesis, and find any indication that Newton, Einstein, or Darwin have attempted what you’ve put forth, think again. Anything. Ever. Really? They are expecting 15 year-olds to come up with something completely new to the scientific world; something never pondered or subject to experiment? On the basis of the Fairfax County School procedures I think the Wright Brothers would have failed class because someone else had already ‘tried to fly’. Remember that guy with his wings, wax, and the approach to the Sun? Yeah, him. “Sorry, Orville and Wilbur, you fail the class because you tried something that had already been done. Granted, you did actually fly so I’ll give you an F+.”

pulling us along

We had what can only be dubbed a clan over for pizza night. With H. back home for the week there were 10 in all and the oven racks were on task for maximum production. Everyone seemed happy enough by the time the food disappeared – or, at least reduced in size so that leftovers were available for the WonderTwins’ lunches.

After the N. Park Dr. folks headed home we played about an hour of Charades (how Americana, are we?) with the highlight being my giving H. the test of “Grandpa”. He began some crazy dance that was apparently intended to sync us all together via Pitch Penny but was wholly unable to herd the cats in any direction. After a few more minutes of gesticulating, his mother finally piped-up loud-and-proud with “someone who’s sort of in charge of something?” Truer words….

I only have one night in class this week so preparations can continue apace for hosting Thanksgiving at the house this week. X found four more high-quality chairs (see my previous) so we should be able to just about get everyone around the table for festivities. Of course, why the kids aren’t being sent to a card table masquerading as an eating table is beyond me.

In case you’re wondering, H. is about two inches taller and now sounds like Leon Redbone.

sebastian, what is it? i'm counting matches

Updates from the weekend; not necessarily timely.

It was absolutely perfect weather for a few outings. I stocked Galactica with well-fed minions (homemade biscuits and gravy) on Saturday morning for a swing by Litteri in D.C. for Italian stock – olive oil, tomatoes, espresso, pepperoni – and subs from the deli for the kids’ picnic. After that is was to the National Arboretum for a stroll around the Asian Collection set in a valley that runs down to the Anacostia River. The kids devoured lunch while we walked (somehow G. ate an entire 12” sandwich on his own) and The Eleven has brie and cranberry baguettes at the river to finish the walk. It was our first visit to that portion of the Arboretum and it certainly fulfilled the 'day out' plan that’d been rattling around in my head. We also swung back through downtown for frozen yogurt on the way home…a bit of overkill, don’t you think? By the time we got home it was simply of matter of getting the fire going and doing nothing for the rest of the evening.

Three of us headed to Eastern Market on Sunday morning to kick-off Holiday shopping, or at least the browsing preamble. We were early enough for crepes before the line got too long and managed to haul home what appears to be a 10-lb cabbage. I can see the question rolling around in your head, “Who needs a 10-lb cabbage?” That’s exactly the response I was looking for; it’s living on the front porch with the rest of the squash.

Consider yourselves summarized.

We did Quiz Night last night and it was pure horror. Easily the worst performance of all time. Ghastly. And other adjectives and adverbs.

The weather had turned to rain. I have school for three days. It’s not quite as nice.

I want to pass along a photo from the summer’s wedding in England that the WonderTwins attended. One of their dear friends got married in what appears to be a ceremony stripped from a period-piece English drama. I’m not sure I’ve seen a more storybook wedding, even as I giggle while trying to sport Helena Bonham Carter or Daniel Day-Lewis. Anyway, if you wonder how they look when cleaned up and as attendants, now you know.

Lovely.

(professional wedding photos: here)

summer-y

We ran our two-day drive back from Vermont and rolled into the area about 2 pm yesterday afternoon. The day’s start from Middletown, NY was early enough that we beat the evening Holiday traffic and got home with little interference. Of course, we were greeted by the lovely 100°, swamp-like atmosphere of the greater DC Metro area. Hey, at least it’s only supposed to be this unbearable for four days, or so.

Stowe was fantastic for the week: we had a little rain early, cool days mid-week (highs in the mid-60s to mid-70s), and a bit of heat to finish. We covered plenty of swimming (including the boys in the nearby, crystal clear river), plenty of great food, some family visits, the day trip to Burlington, a bit of shopping, lots of visits (L.) to the new handmade chocolate shop, the annual golf in miniature championship, the first annual river Duck-gatta race, an evening of Pitch Penny, and numerous crossword puzzles. The only portion of the week that wasn’t perfect was X having to do quite a bit of telecommuting work. Of course, the highlight was clearly on Friday when my duck entry, Nut1, successfully navigated the river to win the inaugural race and I then doubled up by winning my first golf in miniature title. It’s not often that one sees success at that level.

The boys were left in western Mass with their grandmother and will return tonight via the airplane invention, X leaves for England tomorrow to attend a wedding, and I’ll hold down the fort until her return. She gets back on Sunday and the boys then depart for England on Tuesday for the summer with their father. It’s going to get real quiet, real fast around The Hilltop (L. leaves on the 23rd).

Both cats have returned home since our arrival – as if Pumpkin would go far. He bounded in about 8pm last night and had quite a bit to say once he saw our shiny faces. Lemon pounced on our bed at about 2am last night to announce her presence with authority and pass along her distaste for our vacation.

All of X’s gardens have survived our absence with the help of watering family members. We even have a full-sized squash that’s ready to be plucked.

That’s the down-and-dirty for now.

t

strawberry gardens at the hilltop

I've been meaning to pass along an update on what I feel has been an exact reenactment of the banking and financial dowfall; and, it's happened right at my dining room table over the last few weeks. The kids, along with one of the kids from the old neighborhood, have taken to playing Monopoly. Before I get to the details I'd like to point out a few of my feelings on this 'game'. First, nothing good ever comes from a game of Monopoly. Nothing. In the history of mankind, never has a game ended cordially with a good round of handshakes and utterances of "good game, good game, good game." By it's nature, the point of playing is to crush the life from every other being at the table - preferably with extreme prejudice. Second, you always have players who are up for a bit, down for a bit, middlin' for a bit, and then eventually out. But, you also have the one hack who always has about $200 on hand, who manages to always miss Marvin Gardens (with a hotel) and your killer row of the cheap shit just passed 'Go', and who ends up either in jail repeatedly are hitting Free Parking just as he's about to be eliminated...I hate that guy. He'll be around all night acting as some kind of property lawyer while begging and borrowing his way to the inevitable 3am finish.

Right, back to the story. The kids vaguely play according to the rules - those rules being a roll of the dice, moving your men, buying things, getting $200 when passing go...and that's about it. They play a truly free enterprise version of the game beyond those basic steps. I'll be cooking in the kitchen and G. is exchanging a piece of property with L. because he wants her orange juice and doesn't want to get up and walk to the kitchen. I've got kids mortgaging property that can't be mortgaged because they have houses or hotels on them (you have to pull those before you mortgage), you have one kid offering up a utility of $500 to another, money supposedly being exchange for property, railroads being gathered via the use of picking or not picking Chance/Community Chest cards, and overall unregulated credit default swaps. Even though it might seem a joke, it isn't. They have no sense of what's actually happening nor any inkling of the results - they are in it purely for profit and hell be damned. In the end, one will win, a bunch will get pissed off and throw the board on the floor, and they'll play again tomorrow. Sounds familiar, doesn't it?

As it's the end of the berry season I gathered a flat of strawberries from the farmers market and spent a chunk of my afternoon making two dozen half-pints of strawberry jam. I'm not sure why I felt the need but berries will do that to you. We go through a lot of jam in the house and if I can make it by hand with a little effort, why not? If I'd got myself in order a few weeks ago I could have made a triple berry jam with strawberries, blackberries, and raspberries but my potential energy was just that. I was able to get a 12 lb. flat of for $40 from one of the farmers so each jar - minus jars, etc. - comes to about $2.

coinops

I was never particularly well-versed in video games; we’re talking about ‘put a quarter in and play your life’ video games. Even at the peak of my powers, circa 1981 or so, I was only actually good at tabletop football and half-decent at Missile Command and Asteroids. In the early days of home gaming I vaguely remember Frogger and some other where you jumped log-to-log across a river. Back in those days, by the time home consoles arrived, we were more interested in Foosball, playing quarters, and air guitar. I bring this up because I swung by the mall a few days ago – that being a separate challenge in things that I hate – to pick up a another controller for the Wii that the boys have at home, and maybe a game of some type to occupy people’s time. I ended up with Wii Resort and two motion (?) sensors for the controllers. I’m so slow on this stuff that I didn’t even realize the sensors are just controller add-ons so I had to return the next day for an actual third controller, third sensor, and additional nunchuk. It gets a bit expensive at some point. At least the Resort game comes with stuff that interests me: archery, Frisbee, flying, etc. I played a bit with L. last night and set some high scores on dog-catching Frisbee and some sort of jet-ski slalom thingy. While I was speaking with the sales guy at the shop – we were the only two in the place while I checked out – I sounded vaguely like my ironic/moronic/iconic character that talks to someone about cars and all I can spit out are words that I’ve made-up and/or gleaned from listening to my friend, Buzz. I don’t know anything about either subject.

I found out today that one of my favorite shows, Foyle’s War, has three more episodes out on DVD. We thought it had ended a few years back when WWII ended (on the show, not in real life) but suddenly I’m alerted to some new installments, post-war. Along with The Wire, I consider Foyle’s my favorite drama TV, ever. As if that matters.

We’re only a week away from a long-needed vacation. The biggest issue we face is getting a cargo carrier so the luggage can be hidden away and five people can ride in the bejeweled car. We’re splitting the trip in half both ways but only need room on the way up: both boys are staying up yonder for a few days before flying back. L. can have the entire car to herself on the jaunt home.

I’m sure there’s more but it all escapes me. I will give you a song by newest favorite band, Mumford and Sons.

things to ponder...and then eat

Every few months I end up stopping at the Italian Store in Arlington either on my way to pick up X at work, or on the way home. The gravitational pull that gets me into the parking lot is usually my complete lack of interest in cooking that evening; believe me, it's rare. The Italian Store is known far-and-wide for its made-to-order deli and pizza - swing in at lunch or at 6pm on a weeknight and there'll be a line of people; and, about a half-dozen folks knocking out sandwiches. (They are also a very good Italian market if you're searching for pastas, sauces, wines, etc.) Last night was one of those nights so I swung in and got a veggie sandwich for us, a turkey/salami for L., and a hot meatball sub with provolone for G (oh, and two hand-rolled cannoli). The first two sandwiches were excellent (they have great breads and top-of-the-line meats) as expected but it's the meatball sub I want to focus on. G. wasn't hungry so the sub sat for a while before I decided that I was still peckish and decided to give it a quick microwave hit and try what the boys call the best meatball sub out there...as if they know. I've no idea how or what they do but that thing was amazing. Simply. Amazing. I've never in my live eaten any deli sandwich, meatball, grinder, or whatever you call it, that was so utterly fantastic. The meatballs, the sauce, the cheese, the soft bread. I have nothing more to say about that.

We've got spanakopita and big beans for dinner. The kids have tacos. Two loaves of potato bread are doing their thing.

That is all.

t

eh, pay

As I was driving home yesterday I ended up at a light behind a car with this personalized plate:

ISITART

For some reason I felt the need to break it up and interpret it multiple ways:

IS IT ART
I SIT ART
IS I TART

That last one being an homage to Ali G.’s “Is you the fox?” (You either know your Ali G. or you don’t.)

Later on, in the same series of events, while driving home after picking up the kids at the Metro I asked them how school went, to which H. replied, “I did good today.” I, of course, said that it should really be “did well,” and he parried with, “no, did good.” It was pretty funny up to that point but got better when L. piped up, in the flow, with, “Did good? Like Superman?” Funny stuff, that.

I read Kitchen Confidential about ten years ago (?) when it first came out we were living in England. That was also about the same time I started to get more serious about cooking. I haven’t watched more than 20 or 30 minutes of Bourdain on TV in all these years but I’ve followed along a bit with his celebrity and career. Confidential was a really cool book that I feel should have been (and still should be, based on the lack of ‘go’ I see in some of my classmates) required reading for anyone considering the career. I bring this up because there’s a great interview with him at Slate.com today; an interview that covers a lot of ground and should also be required reading for everyone – maybe for some life guidance and cooking doctrine. Along with that, it’s an interview that reads very well in text format and that’s pretty rare. (The intro to the interview is also timely since I just baked a strawberry-rhubarb pie last weekend. For the record, I like it.)

I have little idea what’s on tap for the weekend.

new script from ed wood

Another quick bit from X’s travels to the organic farm last weekend with her troop. As relayed to me, there happened a conversion that passed something like this between Farmer A and my doll:

X: “I’d love to take home some of your nettles.”

Farmer: “Why would you want nettles?”

X: “Well, you know, I love nettle soup.”

Farmer: (strange look)

X: (zips it)

Now, what happens as she telling me this story is a continuing narrative and stage directions about why she suddenly realized the farmer thought she was whack-a-doodle and that it was best, at that moment, to keep the depths of that maze under wraps. As she continues telling me what she really wanted to say, to further the exchange, this is what happened:

X: “What I really meant was watercress soup and I just got confused, sort of…”

Me: (staring blithely at her)

X: “The problem is that watercress soup really is quite common.”

Me: “Really?”

X: “Yes. They served it everyday in the Buttery whilst I was at Cambridge.”

Me: “Ah. Good thing you didn’t continue along your lines of defense for nettle soup while you were gabbing with Farmer Jason. I’m pretty sure your time spent studying Chinese poetry at Cambridge wouldn’t have added anything to his understanding of you.”

I swear.

All the kids will be out-and-about this weekend: L. to Omaha (Th-Su) and the boys to Wisconsin (Sa-Mo). We didn’t really plan it, merely the way of the world.

t

(My cat on my new chair)

Of course, he’s using the worst-case scenario to prove a point on that end of the spectrum but there’s certainly the converse on the other end: I’ll call them the home flippers and bankers. Don’t worry, the money will never stop flowing…

We had a logic discussion on another puzzle that was presented by G.’s teacher and that the kids may have understood better than she. I reminds me of something pointed out in the article – we aren’t great with probabilities. Here are the basics from G’s class problem:

1. Two players will participate. One player will have all the odd numbers and the other will have the even numbers.

2. The winner will be the player that matches (odd or even) the final total/sum of two rounds of a random number generator.

3. The first round/iteration of the random number generator will be completely random. This result will be seen but does not mean a player has won anything.

4. The second iteration of the generator is programmed to select an even number two of every three ‘spins’.

5. All of these parameters are known by both players prior to the game beginning.

6. The prize is $20.

7. To play you pay $10 for the privilege.

8. There is no option after the first roll – you can’t vacate the game and have your money back.

9. The only question being asked here is this: Is the game a fair, or equally likely to be won, by either player when they pay their $10 to participate prior to the first number?

On the lighter side, I love Steve Nash. Always have. Having played my share of basketball in my youth I understand a few things. First, when you get to a certain level of repetitive play you sort out angles, distances, and power – or thrust, or whatever ratio we need to use – when shooting. We’ve seen it a million times at the NBA level when players show the innate ability to know where they are, spatially, and where the basket is. Second, for players who are pure shooters there are constants on the court and nothing moves: the three-point line, the free throw line, the basket. What I would anecdotally believe is that if you blindfolded a scorer after putting him at his chosen point along the three-point arc, that he would probably hit the rim 3 or 4 times out of 5 simply because the muscle memory when shooting from point x is pretty much hardwired into his system. But, if you give that guy only one eye – or, take one away – the lack of translation from the optics to your muscles will override what your muscles already know to be true. I don’t know how many shots these guys took during the shoot but, rest assured, NBA players probably only throw up an air ball, when unguarded on a gym floor, once in every 5,000 shots.


Lastly, for the week: they’ve decided to implement a Barnes Dance crosswalk at 7th and H St. NW in D.C. beginning this week. If you hop over and read the story and watch the videos, I’ll give you a bit of visual reconnaissance. In the first video, the Verizon Center – home of the Caps, the Wizards, the Mystics, and endless concerts, is located along the two-block span to the left of the screen. Crossing diagonally from where the camera is, are two blocks of restaurants and bars: hence, the endless pedestrian traffic in the area – all day and all night (there is also a Metro stop underneath the Verizon Center). I have only ever seen the diagonal crossing once in my life and it was in Denver way back in the late 70s; some of the comments to the story imply that it’s happening everywhere but it’s been a rare sight for me. I’m cool with it because I hate that intersection for all the reasons they used to justify the dance; bets on what happens once the traffic cops walk away after on week of keeping it safe?

T

shut it. quiet. what what

I’m a bit off-balance this week so I’ve been pretty quiet – or not, depending on where you live. A few things are gnawing at me and I haven’t fully sorted them out in my head.

First, I’m off meat in a much more permanent basis than the last five or six years. I’d say that I’ve been about 95% off since then – I’ll nibble on leftover scraps from the kids’ dinners – but we don’t do any mains for adults that include meat, and for varying reasons. You can ask X about her reasons since they’ve been well in place for most of her life and who am I to address her choices. Mine were primarily a cholesterol-avoidance plan that turned into the norm after years of not cooking anything with meat for meals. I haven’t missed it, really, so it didn’t even seem like much of a sacrifice back in about 2004 when it started. Right, there’s that. I’ll expand more on it at some point over the next week or so.

Second, (note: I just deleted and entire sentence of profanities and have begun, anew…) the healthcare insurance reform bill. I think it’ll get done over the next few weeks and we can move on to other issues that are presenting loads of other problems in our country. But, I need to take a few lines here to chastise people for ignorance. By ignorance I mean specifically the method of putting head to sand and refusing to have any type of debate on an issue that is causing so much wasted time and effort. I don’t even know that it bothers me when people yell and scream “facts” that aren’t actually facts – not much I can do about that. The rub here are the people that are too lazy, too unwilling (is that the same?), or too blinded by their people, to actually study an issue before screaming from the rooftops. Unless you can give me one actual fact that supports a position you hold (without using something like the CBO as a prop but then throwing it out when you don’t agree with you) then you don’t get to play. I’m fine with giving up a year of our governing life to get this done – I’d like it to do even more – but we are at the end. Maybe it might seem wrong to say but I’ll give it to you straight: it will get rammed down your throat and I’m cool with that. I’m not concerned about the elections – they’ll take care of themselves – and the time has come for this to be done. I’d say that it’s been a good debate but it hasn’t been: it’s been nothing more that an embarrassment. If you don’t have a plan you can go sit in the corner and color with Mitch McConnell and John Boehner. Good fucking riddance.

I feel better.

(Enter less hostile Todd from stage left)

Everything here is going well – kids and school seem to be working in a temporary emulsion – and the weather has come to spring, finally. The damn cats (damn cats!) have posed a problem that initially seemed like a batch of bad cat food (we only feed them dry) but may be more centered upon warm weather, mole-snacks, and less eating required. I returned the first bag only to see the second bag receive the same treatment. I changed stores and brands, thinking I would avoid a bad delivery truck or company, only to get similar results. At this point, they can eat it or not – they’re smart enough, right?

The orthodontist issue is almost sorted out (see previous work), but not quite. We have a “consultation” appointment next week (“Hmm, you have braces, I see…”) and then hopefully everything will get off the start line.

The Eleven is planning a long (one-two week) crazy vacation for about a year from now. We’re tempted to just find the cheapest, late-booked, vacation packages and hit the road – nearly blind. But, if anyone has any suggestions on warmer and less-touristy worldwide destinations, please submit your inputs to our anonymous comment box near the door as you exit.

One more thing: the Formula 1 season kicks off this weekend in Bahrain and here’s a photo from yesterday’s festivities and practice session. If you don’t know me too well, or don’t follow F1, then you won’t find this picture nearly as ironic or sacrilegious as I do:

tidying up the paperwork

After code was written and truth determined (it was bout 10,000 lines of repetitive numbering), the correct answers to the EHB game, if everyone is maximizing efforts would be this:

1st bidder: 75
2nd bidder: 25
3rd bidder: either 26 or 74

It's been noted by representation that I need to make a public apology to G. for his opening number of 77 that cracked open this can of worms. And so, I apologize with no additional input. The 77 was very close to the best possible option.

If you're wondering about the Price is Right version of the game (closest without going over), the max numbers for each player are:

1st: 67
2nd: 34
3rd: 1

There's no wiggle room in this one for the second bidder, and by default, the last guy in. The first set of rules allows the 3rd bidder to decide which end to attack and therefore give one of the two players (the one not attacked) as the most likely winner.

The 51 is off to see the Caps at Verizon tonight. Seems like it's been forever with the long Olympic break.

t

you cannot be serious! - john mcenroe (1970s/80s)

A few weeks ago we sent off a couple of letters to the great north but they were returned about a week later by the USPS. Both included the standard, yellow sticker that said something about undeliverable as addressed – clearly a mistake since both addressees were correct. Not really understanding what the problem might be, I grabbed a new envelope (both items were cards), addressed it (again), stamped it (again), and fire it out yesterday morning. As expected when one tries to sort out an issue, another card was returned yesterday afternoon but this time it included some very official mathematical directions and chastisement (is that a word?) sticker covering the entire face of the envelope. It appears that unless you are mailing a perfectly standard-sized card you’ll be paying an additional $.20. Just so you don’t think that we were mailing those 2’ by 3’ cards full of pandas and balloons, here’s a picture of the returned card with a reference so you can size it yourself (that's a CD, by the way):

Here’s a zoom on the rules and directions. When you’re done with the math problem, please turn in your papers. I’m guessing that they’ve decided that if they must hand sort anything then you’re paying more. Have they purchased new sorting machines? This is complete bullshit:

I also wanted to update the progress of our snow-clearing equipment around the neighborhood. If you remember how they were stuck by feet of snow last month (see here), then rest assured they’ve finished their work. J.O.B.

We are in the midst of what I’d dubbed the “Extra Hash Brown (EHB)” game theory. It started accidentally when I asked which of the three blockheaded kids were interested in the extra hash brown at breakfast the other morning. (Background: the big pan only fits four hash browns for cooking. Yes, I could have only made three. Yes, I could have cut the last one in thirds, but where’s the fun in that?) I wrote down a number between 1 and 100 and starting with G., followed by H. and L., respectively, (they were all interested in the hash) and told them that whoever was closest to the number would win the gold. G. started with 77 – I now don’t remember the other guesses because I immediately lost interest – and after all the bids were in, H. had won. Why I lost my focus was because I immediately thought that 77, when you know two others are guessing behind you, is a poor opening salvo. What this became over the last two days – and now involves my workmate/probability geek as well as X – is this: what are the best numbers to choose if you are picking first, second, and/or third? I’ve added variants to the game that include closest without going over (the Price is Right version), and writing down a number on a secret ballot where if two pick the same number they are eliminated (the You Can’t Just Write 50 version). I’ll save you our endless discussions and thoughts and just let you play the game on your own. If you have three kids around – or two kids and a crazy wife – have them give a try and see what happens…but don’t give them any background before the first round. One additional input: since humans aren’t actually good at randomly selecting a number, go online and Google-up a random number generator and use that as your source for the final, winning, answer.

you have something to say?

The Atlantic online site, or at least the commentary sites, have undergone an overhaul of sorts and the one comment-allowing site that I read, Coates, reposted his comment rules; it seemed a natural point to do so. I have to say that the commenters on his his site are very involved, and the discussions, more times than not, add some depth to his his posts. The only reason that I'm hitting on this is because he brings up a great new rule, #6, that hits upon one of the funniest threads that ever evolved.

I've created a new vocabulary word that may seem harsh but somehow fits many situations: fuckstration and/or fuckstrated. Feel free to roll it around in you head and use when you feel it may be appropriate

I've dove into Eating Animals by Jonathan Safran Foer last night; one the few books that got me in pretty deep after just a few pages. Of course, what he points out - what you think the book will be when you first read the title - is indicative of the road he'll take me down. You have no idea how much discussion can be covered when consider dogs v. other animals.

Last week I printed out a copy of the short essay entitled Message to Garcia after a discussion at work. I'd never heard the story but I know gold when I see it; and this is gold. The Eleven spoke about it on the phone for a bit and she ended up sitting the kids down and reading them the story on Saturday afternoon. From the other room, in mid-story, I suddenly heard H. say, "wait a minute, I think I know where this is going..." Smart boy, that one. Feel free to google away

I only have a few weeks left of this first quarter of school - going very well.

I think there's a bit of snow possible for Wednesday and I'm calling it the final snow of the year

More later

t

fire

Let's start with this afternoon and evening's events. L. was invited to the movies with a friend from school so we drove over and dropped her off before stopping at Trader Joe's to grab some basics and the Sunday night pizza fixings - this is where the World stopped. For some reason this afternoon resembled what we saw as folks got ready for the blizzard: the parking lot was a mess, the place was jammed, the customers were lost, and the lines were 8-10 deep for checkout. Now, I've often pointed out my distain for customers that refuse to bag their own groceries - they stand there watching the clerk as if some miracle was about to occur and the food might jump into bags. What we had today was a perfect storm or massive customer lines and staring fools. As I plopped myself in a line to wait patiently, I thought I'd made a grand decision because I'd been able to peer around an endcap and noted that I wasn't in slow guy's line (I thought I knew all the all clerks at my local...) We end up in line with a clerk who COULD not move slower when scanning one time at a time. There was no rebellious two-hand work, no vision that said "speed it up", no recognition that I was about to explode...nothing. I must say, in my defense, I didn't walked back to the dairy section and screaming "hurry the fuck up and back your own groceries!" at the top of my lungs. This situation was untenable, at best. As we finally got to the desk and I settled in for some quality bagging, I noted that our servicemember's name was, and I kid you not, Pyra, which I consider, per Webster's, as a feminine version of:

a pile or heap of wood or other combustible material

Trust me when I say that you will never come across a person bearing a name as unsuited as this. No flame, no fuel, no oxygen, the flue was closed, and any imaginable spark was non-existent. It was a truly stunning event.

I'd like to give you one last photo showing just how much snow we got here this winter. I took this shot after the thaw began; it looks like the driver simply abandoned his post when it got too deep:


I turned on some Olympics tonight and noted that they cut away from the two-man bobsleigh (round 3 or 4 runs) to show the last 30 seconds of the US v. Canada hockey game, which the US won 5-3. Granted, it's not a medal game but still - two-man sledding? Coverage is embarrassing.

Ah, there is good. Tonight was pizza night, and even though L has to decided on eating off the bat or coming home and rewarming, it went well. The kids and adults from North Park came over and we managed one huge meatlovers and one succulent veggie for the rest. It's amazing what sweet onions, mozerella, garlic, spinach, tomatoes, and nice cheese can be in the end. When we finished X looked at Corey and asked where the lovely, dark brownie were. Needless to say, they didn't arrive this night.

I'll let you go for the night...

t

claiming spaces

The kids are finally in school once again after missing seven days of class and eleven days of nothing-doing, overall. I’m not sure who was more punch-drunk from the blizzards: kids or cats. Lemon isn’t overly happy about piles of cold snow and ice underfoot; no worries, she’ll still kill when able. That's her outside on the snow this morning, pondering her kingdom...or queendom.

We got through last weekend and a Sunday dinner party with great fanfare. At some point between waking up that morning, and getting back from the The Lightning Thief with the kids, I contracted some bone-aching type of flu that was doused with a load of Tylenol and an early bedtime. It has somehow managed to hang around this week and I’ll sneak off to sleep early this evening.

There was an interesting bit on NPR this morning about how we’ve moved from the 'everybody help everybody' mentality that we enjoyed during last week’s strorms – when we all helped out neighbors in one way or another – to a 'batten down the hatches and take no bullshit' lifestyle. The most obvious battleground is parking space. Even out on The Hilltop there are only x number of street parking places that we've cleared for our houses. Unfortunately, those who don’t live on the street and are visiting need to park but they'd either have to find an opening at the dead end down the street or ask if there’s an available space from those that live here. It doesn’t take rocket science to sort out which house has cleared and ‘owns’ which spaces but apparently some visitors last week weren’t well versed in rocket science. While we were at the movie some blankedy-blank Audi driver 86'd our dug out plot of land. I thought, for a moment, they may have walked up the stairs and asked if they could park there for a few hours but I was imagining something that wasn’t possible. I eventually (four hours later) left them a note on their windscreen that let them know that courtesy sometimes helps and they should have asked. As expected, they eventually left but with no response or sorry pass along to us. From what I hear, the District streets are even worse with people blocking their spaces with chairs, ironing boards, and the occasional adolescent laid out on the ground holding the space until Mom gets back from the work.

My classes are going well as I wrap up mid-terms this week – nothing stunning to report aside from the massive chicken feast we had on Saturday night after we practiced fabricating chickens. We shared with the baking class and they provided dessert; all in the spirit of cooperation.

Here's a weird little icicle I came upon just off our front porch the other afternoon. Same shot in both; the flash changed the colors.