working and long weekends

Work has been revived. No much to report since the Berlin Wall came down a few months ago: I moved cubicles (not because of the Wall), work is still…how do I say this?…boring, and I’m stuck on Metro because the bike path is nothing but ice and packed snow. But – the long Presidents Day weekend has somehow recharged the generator (refilled the generator?) and I’m back to being a little more aggressive. Just what everyone needs – me and aggressive.

Here’s what whacked me in the head on Saturday – immigrants, workers, and that Statue of Liberty. Commuting via rail, but particularly by bus, makes me realize just how long the hours and rides are for those doing the hourly work and manual labor in this country. I see them everyday, but Saturday evening at 7pm stood out (as I was driving home from the store) as the throng of workers moved through our neighborhood on their way home – on a Saturday (not very suburban, is it?). It only took two blocks for my tiny brain to go from “why are they working so late on a Saturday?,” to “not much money in those jobs, and the commute is a bitch,” to “now I see it!” And here it is: the chance to work and earn a living (even if it’s seven days a week), to have good schools for your children, safe neighborhoods to live in, no worries of persecution through religion or politics, and a chance to be warm and safe each and every day must be a pretty f*&king amazing feeling. If it takes those kinds of hours then people do it. Call it happiness, call it freedom – it’s all anyone wants…and we’ve got it. And we wonder why people come here.

Stay tuned.

T

money for nothing

Last week the boys came up with some type of non-WTO/non-World Bank sanctioned goods and services, free enterprise, give-and-take economy. I suspect it won’t be long before Paul Wolfowitz gives us a call and inquires about exactly what monetary regulation we are, or are not, following in our little Park Drive commonwealth. It began one evening when H. began describing to G. how he would distribute points called “gabepoints” (referred to as a gPt – and very good marketing by calling the H-printed “notes” by Gabe’s name) that could be used to purchase goods and services also provided by H. I think the driving premise behind the idea was that H. has fried egg cooking skills that are much admired by his younger, oft snack desirous, brother. So, like any good service provider, money printing entity, and price-setting entrepreneur, H. decided that by controlling the currency he could parlay this idea into something spectacular. From what we can tell the menu of services available for gPts are:

Egg 1 gPt. / egg
Crepes 1 gPt. / batch
Playing Bionicles 2 gPts.
CL (no idea) 3 gPts.
Doing Laundry (we think) 5 gPts.

We were talking this morning about how I think there will be some serious adjustments and WTO arbitration in the near future. Any nascent economic power and across the border trading partner are going to need some outside faction to adjudicate problems – but that will only be after they have given self-determination a good go. I think H. is going to decide that his distribution of gPts. to G. for things such as carrying in a sled or getting him a glass of H2O is far too generous. Once the removal of G.’s ability to earn money, or to control fair income raises its head…we’ve got problems. Even though the powerful nation-state (H.) and the small migrant nation-state (G.) are happy with the current plan, I don’t see it holding. G. is basically the worker standing on the corner looking to earn money and is perfectly happy as long as there’s work and a paycheck. Once the owner/operator (H.) sees how the levers of power can be manipulated then there will be some discourse that Alan Greenspan will have to resolve. It’s a classic case of the lower tier eventually rising up to fight the man. If it weren’t just G., there’d be unions. I might end up supporting the union if necessary.

All very interesting to watch.

Peace.

T

onions

I’m waaaay behind on the politics. I started some work on Joe Biden, got distracted on the Clarence Thomas hearings, and haven’t got back to my assignment (I’m sure I’ll be docked when grading comes around). Here’s a link to Justice Thomas’ statement to the Senate Judiciary Committee at the end of the confirmation hearings way back in 1991. What intrigues me is the fact that there is no way we’ll ever hear a nominee for a judgeship or political office speak out publicly as Thomas did that day. Not in America, not in these days while everyone is simply trying to not say anything. Those hearings were something and remember watching snippets of them over lunch while stationed in England and thinking just how shameful the behavior was. I don’t know the truth or untruth behind the accusations, nor would I try to parse out the "he said, she said" testimony in 2007, but I admire the delivery.

in a teapot

I’m generally on board with anyone turning the phrase “failure of leadership.” It’s not said enough, as if pointing a finger at those that should be leading is gauche. Fits into the same vein as Steve Earle saying that “questioning your government is never, ever, [explicative] unpatriotic.” Barack is officially in (I appear to have jumped the gun a few entries back, or had some scoobies…NYTimes calling) and he’s thrown a few nuggets to the crowd. He needs to keep hammering away at the problems, be decisive, be aggressive, and DO NOT politic-me-off; I don’t want him to walk the line…step over, draw a line, step over that, and take some stands. Two things that concern me; first, if he becomes president and serves two terms then he’s gone by the time he’s 55-years old…the prime of one’s life. (Maybe he’d consider some UN work?) Second, I can’t bear the thought of anyone spouting off the fact that he’s 45 and hasn’t the experience to run the country. (Stifling the need to dropkick our current “experienced” leader.) Get over it…he’s 45, he’s not part of the establishment problem we have, and I think we’re ready for youth. We’re ready for serious change, but I’m not convinced…yet. He’s got until the end of 2006 to convince me.

Back into the motorcar today to see The Tempest at a quaint little theatre off Dupont Circle*. Kt camped out for four days to get tickets for the Twins, the gatekeepers, and me. Oops…nevermind, that camping out was at Best Buy for the PlayStation 360. An excellent show, some middling acting (are the King and Prospero listening?), a good run time: 125 minutes of action – just like my live music requirements. The ‘Hot Toddies’ for this show, the envelope please, go to Ariel (played by Courtney Weber) and Stephano (played by Tim O’Kane). Both threw a ton of light on the show and overrode some stiff delivery (are the King and Prospero listening?) It was a very nice way to spend a Sunday afternoon…

I’m off to check the weather forecast for the AM…I want to ride but 15 degrees is asking more than the normal payment to the cycling Gods.

Here's a shot of "Wonder Twins, shape of the Sopranos..." and H studying his Shakespeare between acts. The boys really enjoyed the show, they were great...

Love to all.

T

*TforTodd is a city driving Ghandi.

dare to excel & two pennies

We got in a motor vehicle last night and drove over to M St. to meet for dinner with some friends of WonderTwin #2. Courtney and Sarah had been over to the commune towards the end of last year and we'd had a nice dinner, sans Corey (alledgedly sick and I only point this out because yours truly had to suddenly be two, not one, tall, short-haired, glasses wearing cooks). On that fateful night they brought along their two daughters who were promptly secured to furniture with a big purple snake by the gate-keepers. Whatever picture you have in your mind is all the description that's needed. Last night we selected a well recommended Malaysian joint located amidst the lobbyists offices and the gentlemen's clubs. With the new lobbying rules for Congress I wonder if gentlemen's clubs are on or off limits. The final determinant must fall to whether or not the food is served with flatware; I'll do some research. We found street parking right across the street, I paralleled like an expert, and we trotted down the stairs into Malaysia Kopitiam - "Restauranteur of Year 2002" (the Washingtonion), and still on the magazine's 100 best list. It was a wait for a table - A WAIT. It's a small place and the service/management isn't even spotty; think no spots. There was at least one group (or a girl representing a group she didn't know) waiting for their table for seven to ten people. We were next in line, in fact we were the only others for the next 10-15 minutes. Then things starting piling up, a small scrum of folks waiting for tables - and after our 30 minute wait we got the call from the leader and were seated at the table that had been open the entire time we were waiting. We had menus with words, menus with pictures, a small drinks placard, and many decisions to be made. Our orders involved lots of letters and numbers, I had the A26 and S5 which roughly translates to the spicy anchovy paste with cucumber and the spicy shrimp soup thing with flat noodles. I've not done Malaysian before but it's quite similar to Vietnamese and anything that looks or sounds like Pho is going in my face opening. Excellent food all around. But back to the service for a minute. The one ordered beer was late (asked for twice); the bottle of wine was opened with the cork half-smashed back in and placed on the table; the appetizers and mains all came together and were dumped all over the table; we never saw the wait staff again. (The water crew was good, as an aside.) We somehow managed to sort 9 of the 10 plates with the final dish unknown to anyone present. We tackled them for the bill after our conversations finished and headed out into the cold night. I wonder just how good the food must be in order for the service to be so horrible yet the restaurant still pulling in the raves - it was good, 4 (of 5) stars; the service about 1 star, and I'm feeling generous with that one. You can do the math.

The various topics de jeur were very high-minded (mind you, I'm the only non-lawyer at the table): Supreme Court decisions, legal citation procedure, travels around Europe, northern vs. southern California, Clarence Thomas' confirmation hearing, clerkships, literature, and socks with holes. We ended on the socks portion - girls cackling.

On a trip to Olsson's this morning I noticed the above cleaners across the street - Seven Star! That's the spirit of excellence! Five stars is so passe, nobody should be satisfied with five stars...ever. I can see the owners pondering the name "Maybe Five Star Cleaners...it sounds so capital!". "Five? I think we can come up with something better, six, Six Star Cleaners. NO! SEVEN STAR! Let's kick it up and see if anyone dares top seven - plus, that leaves six open to another operation that might be just better than five, but not much better." This brought to mind two other moments of hilarity: the scene in There's Something About Mary when the guy who picks up Ben Stiller on the road starts a rant about the '6 minute workout', which is much better (and quicker) than the '7 minute workout'. Stiller's character offers up the idea of a '5 minute workout', to which the driver says, "You can't get a good workout in five minutes!". The other is this article in the Onion - genius.

I haven't got the hang of the camera in hand yet so I missed out on a picture from the restaurant last night. What do you get instead? Me driving and Seven Star Cleaners...consider me caught up.

Peace.

P.S. Lest you think I think Something About Mary was good...it wasn't. Utter garbage, but the scene in the car was priceless.

$.01

I swung over to Olsson's Books and Records to see if they had East of Eden to rent on DVD (they should add Movies to their sign). Got home watched about 20 minutes of it and realized that it is complete and utter crap. It's not actually the book - it's garbage imitating art. I'm trying to get over it. You can see the glow of the Court House Olsson's in Arlington. Hey, what do you want as the opening penny.

T

what $3.25 will get you

Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery – Charles Caleb Colton

I was checking out (or attempting thievery) another blog and noticed a 2007 idea of posting a picture a day – something from the my groove. My dig camera is certainly small enough to carry wherever I go so I've decided I'm completely on board with the idea. I’ve missed the starting gun on the 2007 picture-a-day so I can’t very well call it ‘365 days’; and how creative is that?, so I’m going with something more nuanced, nay, more cheeky: $3.25. Niiiice. The pictures need to be taken and posted each day and I've taken a vow of no cheating - it has been sworn in spit.

p&p reredux

I’m well into my third deployment to Jane Austen and the Pride and Prejudice cinema. Maybe I’ll finish up by watching the 1940 version with Sir Laurence Olivier as Mr. Darcy. I don’t know much about Colin Firth but I’m pretty sure Larry will show better acting chops than either Colin or Matthew Macfadyen (2005 version). Though I haven’t read the book, I get the idea that Darcy is to be brooding and a totally standoffish, but Firth simply perfected a stare and used nothing but that bit of 'method acting' throughout the first three hours. Firth and Macfadyen seem nothing more than the Eddie Izzard skit about Brits arranging matches. (Is it weird the Colin Firth played Mr. Darcy in this movie and Mark Darcy in Bridget Jones’s Diary? Which I haven’t watched…what? Are you kidding?)

Here’s the real deal when comparing the BBC mini-series, the 2005 Keira Knightley version, and Bride and Prejudice: the Bollywood version is simply much better and much more entertaining. It gives me the plot, the romance, and the blah blah blah; what it it really comes down to is the dancing and actresses playing the daughters - much better dancing and way [better looking actresses] in Bride.

I know what you're thinking, "He seemed such a senstive guy. He watches Jane Austen movies with his [girlfriend]." Well, sometimes when you must make a critical decision the pretty stuff wins.

tishmel

memo to john

Date: 6 Feb 2007

To: J. Steinbeck

Subject: East of Eden

I’ve finished my first reading of your novel and must say I’m quite impressed. There are a number of contributing factors to my enjoyment so I’ll try to cover them as quickly as possible.

1. The setting of your book reminds me of the dusty and hardened times reflected in country music – a scrabble to achieve anything in this world against endless odds and decisions not made. Often times it never seems like it’s a bad decision that does one in, it’s no decision at all. Kind of like knowing when to “hold ‘em, when to fold ‘em; know when to walk away, know when to run”; I don’t think Mr. Rogers every clarifies a firm decision in that song but I’ll have to go back and listen to it again. Reading about generations of families cursed by things not said, and beliefs unchallenged, makes one ponder just how often it happens to so many folks.

2. That Catherine/Kate was a cold beeyatch and I wonder just how one gets their head into someone like her. There has be to some experience or character that brings something that cold and calculating to the surface. I’m not great in the psychology area (see my college transcripts), but I never got to the point of feeling anything but hate for her – isn’t there suppose to be a point where my emotions waver from hatred and I feel some sympathy? Just asking.

3. Lee is a great counterbalance to that evil you pushed at me. I wondered through the last half of the book if Lee was the hub of the tale - the bit holding all the broken and bent spokes together until we make it home. I’d be hard pressed to come up with a character I’d respect more than he. Well done.

4. How come it’s always brothers that are at odds? I get the whole Adam/Eve/Cain/Able thing but maybe a change from boys to girls as we cruise through generations would be good. I’ll work on some minor changes to the latter chapters.

5. That’s some powerful misbehavior you’ve got going on for a novel set in the early 20th century. I don’t mind it, I think it gets to the root of a lot of bad in the world today, I was just surprised.

6. What a way to pull me in at the end – You May. It’s all about those choices, the fact that I May, and if I do, cycles can be broken.

I think I’ll give the book a rating of 4 (of 5) stars. Maybe you lose a bit of that last star for going on for 600+ pages and for killing off Sam Hamilton before I was ready to see him go. Trust me, four stars is mighty for a reader of non-fiction. I considered reading another one of your books but time is of the essence. Anyway, I have Springsteen’s The Ghost of Tom Joad and I think it will have to suffice.

I’m onto some Annie Proulx this month. In case you didn't know, she writes very choppy sentences and paragraphs.

Thanks,

T

P.S. Kenny never did give me a decision in that blasted song...just repeating the same old stuff with different words.

call me 'tender'

There are nine Democrats declared and heading to the gate for the 2008 presidential nomination. From what I can tell there are six Republicans officially in the paddock getting settled. What to do? I’ve decided to spend two entries a month, one per party, updating each race – beginning in March. Prior to that I’m going to so some gathering, the unofficial-Google©-Wikipedia©-news media, blogosphere gathering, about each candidate’s political background and history in public life. I’ll include the gaffes along with the serious concerns and issues. No one is immune. In March I’ll have the starting positions aligned and we’ll get rolling. I’m shooting for four quick-hit profiles a week so we’ll be set to go by March – this’ll be fun. Here’s the opening day roster of candidates:

The 9 Dems

Senator Joe Biden (Del.)
Senator Hillary Clinton (N.Y.)
Senator Christopher Dodd (Conn.)
Former Senator John Edwards (N.C.)
Former Senator Mike Gravel (Alaska)
Representative Dennis Kucinich (Ohio)
Senator Barrack Obama (Ill.)
Governor Bill Richardson (N.M.)
Former Governor Tom Vilsack (Iowa)

The 6 Pubs

Senator Sam Brownback (Kan.)
John Cox of Illinois
Former Mayor Rudy Giuliani (N.Y.C.)
Representative Duncan Hunter (Ca.)
Senator John McCain (Ariz.)
Former Governor Mitt Romney (Mass.)

The first primary/caucus is scheduled for Iowa on January 14th, 2008 although the N'Hamps are up in arms about some state law on primary dates. My first bold predication is that of the 15 on this list only 8 will make it to Labor Day. Of course, some additional candidates will heave themselves into race, but only 8 of these will need to get out their dark shoes in September. Stand by for the quick profiles on Biden, Edwards, and Brownback.

Here are the selling points that these folks need to address if I’m going to walk out of the dealership with the fully-loaded Escalade©. Of course, by addressing these issues I mean actually stating a position – and I also want you to stop pointing with your goddamned thumbs!

1. International Affairs – restore America’s place as a leader, not THE leader, in world affairs. This means:

Establishing stability in Iraq and managing an acceptable solution to end our military involvement. I don’t believe there is a military solution at this juncture but I do believe that things like getting the power on, the water running, and the establishing of order are the most effective steps we can make.

Get off the bench, step forward, and show that any genocide, in any country, on any continent, will be stopped. No government should be shamed into action. If anyone needs background see Srebrenica and Rwanda, it is right there, and it’s awful. To read a statement that “until X number of people are killed in a ratio to the potential loss of one American life before we step in…” is grotesque.

Stop questioning global warming and the effects. We cannot continue to question the science…stop.

Instead of fighting the UN, make it better.

Pay our bills.

2. Domestic Affairs – restore any semblance of a government concerned with issues that really are issues.

Eliminate the tax cuts implemented for the wealthiest. Either cut them all or start at bottom and work your way up.

Someone owes us $1 trillion for the Iraq war. I’m not suggesting that somehow a check will arrive, but we have spent $1 trillion AND cut taxes. What kind of sacrifice (read: jackassery) is this?

Keep religion and public programs separate (I know that seems obvious). This includes: abortion, gay rights, and any other hot-button issue that can be driven by religious beliefs. Make a sound argument that doesn’t involve any quotes from any religious tome and I’ll be very happy to listen. We are NOT debating religion (you can keep yours), we are debating people’s lives in the here and now. Period.

Pay for education. That $1 trillion could have built and funded something like 40,000 schools and staff. Imagine that?

Be honest and fix health care. It can be done. It will be painful. If you’re honest and let us know that it’ll be difficult yet the end result will make our children’s lives better, we’ll do it.

Don’t think we’re so stupid.

Fire people. It’s life.

Other stuff? I was listening to George Karl (coach of the NBA’s Denver Nuggets) on ESPN’s PTI podcast the other morning and he kept referring to his two star players (Carmelo Anthony and Allen Iverson) as ‘Melo and AI. I know that those are noms de guerre for both stars but it sounds SO cheesy coming from a head coach in a position of authority. It reminded me of a Cedric the Entertainer bit when he said some kid told him, as he was walking away, to just call him ‘Delicious’. Cedric’s reply was; “I'm a grown-ass man, dawg. I ain't gonna call no other dude ‘Delicious’”. What if that [dude] way down the street or summin? 'DELICIOUS'!!! Ay, D, hol' up!". I think Coach Karl can just call them Allen and Carmelo. ‘Melo? That really is a stupid nickname. I don’t think I would even refer to Shaq as Shaq if I were his coach. Shaquille is much better coming from what dude-in-charge. I don’t have a nickname, if you must know, because any nickname for me would be stupid. I don’t even like the NBA.

I finished East of Eden and have moved onto The Shipping News by Annie Proulx. I’m looking to move up on the hierarchy of Proulx scholars. Eden review forthcoming.

Peace.

brass balls

Have I moved to the Iron Range? Christ, it’s cold here in D.C.

We had a whirl of a soiree over the weekend that may have appeared at first blush to an outsider as a birthday party. In fact, it was cover for survival fears concerning Amy’s trip to Picachu, Peru this spring (Amy being the genetrix that apparently raised the girls). In passing by the window you may have noted lobster newburg on toast points, souffli (is that right?), a jumbo salad, mushroom broth/soup/stuff, and a key lime pie. I think some wine was lurking around the dining room looking for a date by the time the evening wrapped. Don’t be thrown off by cards with twamps fluttering out, the wrapping paper, or the conviviality: think survival needs. I deemed it necessary to participate in order to secretly pass off a Camelback, a mini-leatherman tool, and ‘save me’ light beam prior to her departure. Hydrate or die. Often when I hear that someone is off on walkabout I think about just how much H2O they will need to lug on their back – maybe it’s my love of safety. Suddenly I’m converting weight to kilograms, mapping out water usage, weight distribution, altitude, and running it through the algorithm of my mind. My results are pretty accurate. Maybe this is another of my manly traits. The Wonder Twins thought about alpaca sweaters and scarves – what can be done?

Speaking of the dinner – I didn’t do squat but the toasting of the points. It’s a skill like anything else. Actually, I also did the hunting (manly, eh?) and managed to use my understanding of the intricacies of the Sound to catch the lobster and bring it back for the celebratory evening. It was a cold blustery day, the sea was angry…

You say birthday.

That’s what I’ve got.

spawling into music city

Today I scored two front row tickets for a Lucinda Williams show at the historic Ryman Auditorium in Nashville. Advance ticket sales were available through her website so I gave it whirl…bingo! I know you’re recollecting that I swore off Lu’s shows after what became known as the “Reno Debacle”. That cold evening at the Hawkins Amphitheater is remembered for Lu deciding to sit in her tour bus for at least two long hours before eventually appearing after at least half the house had walked out in disgust. I’d seen her before in Reno, as well as at the Fillmore in San Francisco, so I knew she could be temperamental but that evening was just obscene. Maybe we grow and mature in our years (me, not necessarily her, but who knows?) so I’m giving her another shot. I suspect that she wouldn’t dare stand-up a crowd at the most historic country music venue in the World; and, based on interviews I’ve read for the new album, she seems in great spirits. If I count the mass of great artists that call Nashville home (at least part-time), and I see who isn’t out touring right now (Steve Earle, are you reading this?), there is every potential for someone to pop in for a few jams on March 30th. The Heartless Bastards are opening on this first portion of her tour so I can rest easy knowing that the parade of miserable opening acts will end that night. Stay tuned.

P.S. Yes, I know. I don’t even live in Nashville.

return of the hair

It’s a rare day when a man is standing about saying something like “I appear to have more hair than last year”, rare indeedy. I’ve decided to let the rug grow for a few months so I can see whether or not I can pull a 42-year old Matt Dillon. If one includes the flattop of the early 90s then it appears to be near 20 years since my Flock of Seagulls/The Cure days. I think the actual moment of change came near May 10th, 1986 when my mother sheared off my streaked blonde hair while I sat on a lawn chair behind my childhood home at 10755 Spring St., Omaha, Nebraska 68124. I’ll include a picture of the coif back then because it’s vital to the story – vidal sassoon. Back on task. The problem is that I’ve got at least two months of not mucking with the top aside from a quick trim. Habib and Faraj at the barbershop show their distain for my plan every time I wander in for a cleaning…as if I’m a dog. They must have bets on when I’ll wander in and say “off with my head”. Very autobiographically Marie Antoinette.

The hair is essentially a bad girlfriend. You want to make it work, in the long run it will be okay, why stop now?, make it work, be patient, she’s got a great personality, maybe even great body. It seems shallow, it is shallow, but it’s how many decisions are made – think of those blind dates. I’ll tough it out, “take one for the team”, contribute to the cause. But I’ll tell you this…the first time she pisses me off, she’s gone, friend or no friend.

Peace, out.

T

tools of the trade

Way back in the days of my linguist training in Monterey, California, there was a student who bordered on being a wee bit off (actually, there were tons of students that were totally off): a simple guy who liked to sweep the parking lots while wearing a dust mask, picking up rocks while he walked and putting them in his pocket, and generally enhancing his viewed strangeness whenever possible. Another student, Keith, dubbed him “the wedge” because Keith claimed that he was the simplest instrument known to man. I’ve learned that a wedge isn’t really an instrument but a variant on a simple machine – a small detail that neither makes the moniker any less creative, nor makes me laugh any less even now.

Driven along by third-grade homework (or some worksheet that actually taught nothing but could have but was merely sent home as means of proving there was busy work to intrude on a kid’s kicking back time….but I digress.) that I was helping out with last night, I’ve learned that a wedge is actually a variation on the simple machines. Now, depending on who is putting forth the research, there are either four or six simple machines - I’m going with the four: inclined plane, pulley, wheel and axle, and a lever. I’m pretty strict in my simple machine upbringing; call me a machine conservative, so I agree that the screw and wedge are merely variations on the inclined plane. In fact, a knife is a variation on an inclined plane and since the inclined plane is a simple machine, and a knife is a variation (two or more simple machines put together), then a knife is by induction (deduction?) a machine, right? Or a tool? Or what? Christ. That’s just the beginning, there’s so much more. If a machine (or simple machine) is any device that transmits or modifies energy, and the mechanical advantage of a simple machine is the ratio between the force it exerts on the load and the input force applied, is a hammer or screwdriver a machine or a tool, or both? What you’re probably saying to yourself at this point is this; “If a tool or device is a piece of equipment which typically provides a mechanical advantage in accomplishing a physical task; and if the most basic tools are simples machines (for example, a crowbar being a lever), then obviously they must be machines.” I couldn’t agree more. Actually, I could agree more if my combination of logic and toolery were better and I weren’t such a cooky, door-locking, sports score reading, crossword puzzling doing, kind of man. You can’t have it all.

THAT is what the homework could have involved…some good old fashion learning and thinking. Instead it was a stupid Highlights® cartoon page of crap that had kids drawing pictures of things without any thought whatsoever about what it means or how it all works. If you must know, I think elementary school homework, at nearly every level, is shite. Sorry.

beat down by suburban folkies

The most interesting bit from the weekend was the slap down administered by the doorman at Iota in Clarendon. Christine and I headed out on Saturday night to meet up with Sue (a friend of mine from days of yore in England) and see Erin McKeown’s show. This was to become our third failed attempt to see Erin over the years; I consider her our Moby Dick. Iota is first-come, pay at the door kinda joint and I knew that one day this might hamper my entertainment battle plans. Normally I’m maybe a bit too convinced that artists I like must certainly be loved by hundreds of thousands of fans throughout the greater D.C. area…and I know, JUST KNOW, that there will be hundreds of patrons rushing the doors of the small Northern Virginia and D.C. venues. I know I’ve got to get there early in order to establish my land stake. But what really happens is that I find myself sitting at the bar with the one other guy in the venue (who looks a lot like me!?!) when the opening act blows into the mic stand and “welcomes the crowd”. Eventually the crowd might climb into the dozens of fans but that normally only happens after the opening act has finished and they're enjoying the free pasta meal at the bar. So anyway, Sue is outside on the sidewalk (not on the sidewalk in a hurt or just mugged way, just standing…) when we arrive and gives us the news that the show’s sold out and even the girls can’t talk their way across the musical threshold. Damn. Burned. Shit. I feel bad for Sue because she’s driven in from another state (is Maryland really another state?) at my recommendation, and because Christine and I have been foiled again. I peer through the window and see the opening act on stage, guitar in hand, singing some crappy song. I realize that my small consolation is twofold; first, Erin is doing well if folks are showing up that early for her shows – early enough to stand through any opening act. Secondly, I’ve seen the opening act when he toured with Jolie Holland…and he’s painful to listen to for 8-10 songs; even one song. At least those standing in ‘our’ spots will suffer for their misdeeds.

We wandered up the street, found a ‘spanish’ place, had a round of drinks, and caught up on the past. After hanging out with these two go-getters I feel like I need a better profession. What with the soon-to-be lawyer and the chemist with the soon-to-have Ph.D., it can be daunting. Maybe I’ll start writing crappy songs, playing guitar, and getting free ‘band’ meals while I open for more talented touring performers. At least I’d get in the show. But I'm not bitter.

the fall of the invisible Berlin Wall

I’ve now been at my new job for about eight months. The office space is a combination of actual offices (with windows, doors, private space, etc.) along the entire outer wall perimeter with cubicles filling the large, central, arena-like floor space. When I first got here in the summer I was assigned to share one of the larger offices with another employee but decided there was too much ‘space pressure’ for two desks, two phones, too many conversations, and associated happenings ‘rassling about the joint. I simply grabbed a nice cubicle lcoated just between that original assignment and the office right next door to it. This next door office, if you must know, is occupied by a loud talker. She’s a loud phone talker, a loud-open-door office talker, a loud office conversation talker. The math as it seems to me comes out to about 160 days of work in a this smallish space (I’d say it’s about fifteen feet between her chair and my chair) before she finally stops me in the ‘hall’ and asks me if I can hear her in her office. Let me see? Of course I can! Do I care? Not really. But…it can sometimes be one long day of endless discussions about lord knows what. I don’t even know what her job actually entails, but I know quite a lot of less job-like information – some just trivial, some maybe not so trivial. What I want to know is this: why suddenly decide that you want to know if I (and no doubt any number of other people) can overhear your life’s conversations? I don’t believe there's any way that she's just now realized what’s going on. Throughout my working life I’ve always been very cognizant of what I’m saying out loud when I’m at work. Lots of stuff I don’t discuss at work, with anyone, so how does this situation arise with others? Especially when you think about just what kind of things are heard; from relationships and dating, to home life, grocery shopping, and myriad other stuff. My idea is that loud talker doesn’t really care, and probably quite likes the idea that bits-and-bobs of her life are out there. She must sometimes feign concern in a veiled attempt to protect sanctity. Then again, what do I know?

global warming, eh?

Where have I been?

We’re on the shore of another Wednesday and we're just watching the tide slowly begin to recede from another week.

The Metro-plex weather took a tumble into the (relative) freezer of winter this week. It’d been unseasonably warm the last two weeks and that made sleeping uncomfortably uncomfortable (I CAN be grumpy when it’s hot). Our circa 1940s water radiators (they’re on / they’re off and we have no control / it’s winter and they’re ON) kept blasting out the hot air that amalgamated via climatic chemistry with the sloughy stuff coming in the open windows. I don’t like hot. Fortunately, the laboratory is now closed since our highs only meander into the 40s and sleepy-time is in the 20s. By the way, with that change in temperature I’ve realized I’m not smart enough to learn that walking to Ballston Metro in 28 degree morning frost requires more then a light wool sweater…age does not increase the ability to learn and comprehend.

I’ve determined that I’m a literary half-wit. That insight means I’m now reading East of Eden as the opening salvo in my annus anorakish mirabilis. I don’t know how many literay-schmiteray books I’ll get through in 2007 - I’ve not list of requirements - but I’ve let Christine know she should offer a title a month for me to tackle. This has, of course, led to flashbacks of Literary Masterpieces and some other class I stumbled through in high school. At least now I’m doing most of the choosing and there will be no Hawthorne, Sinclair Lewis, or Melville (well, maybe Moby Dick). East of Eden is quite horrific through the first hundred pages. We’ve got parents dying of consumption; lying fathers with peg legs, two brothers that absolutely hate at each other; one daughter who through murder, thieving, and whoring fills her evil urges (she gets gruesomely beat to near death by her keeper); at least two sessions of the actual whipping of children to keep them in line; and one California immigrant family that can't seem to make any money no matter how smart or diligent they are. It’s a nice opening to an American tale. It’s all starting to roll into one big story so I’ll keep interested…I think.

I managed to get out to Iota for a live show on Sunday night. There must have been at least ten other people in the club for a fine evening’s set with roots rocker Jason Ringenberg.

Christine is back in ‘school’. I don’t know that getting up early TWO days a week really qualifies as anything other than a part-time rock n’ roller lifestyle but I’ll take her at her word. She did come home yesterday with two very impressive looking law books that have GOLD EMBOSSED lettering on the faux-leather covers. She also added an externship at the (Dame) Jane Goodall Institute here in Arlington to her spring learnin’ schedule.

Laurel came to D.C. for four days after the New Year and we managed to squeeze in a few items: a tour of the Capitol, the Supreme Court, Archives, Library of Congress, Natural History Museum, American Indian Museum, Air and Space Museum, Bureau of Engraving, Washington Monument, Lincoln Memorial, Vietnam Memorial, an evening of Texas Hold ‘em Poker, The National Zoo, salmon and potatoes (dinner, not the Salmon and Potatoes Smithsonian Museum), our Christmas gift exchange, and a thousand miles on the Metro. Her feet were good and tired by the time she got on her plane back to Omaha. She’ll be back out over the long Presidents Day weekend in February.

We’re having some guests over for dinner on Saturday night and I’m trying to put together a menu that doesn’t include red meat, mushrooms, or seafood (not sure if that includes fish). Of course, the red meat isn’t much of any issue anyway…but mushrooms and seafood? What are the odds? I’m thinking maybe six bowls of Weetabix and a hallelujah.

Love to all.

guilty by association

It's not often that you something or someone and pipe up with "hey, I know him!". Unless you're from a huge metropolis it's not often you can point to X and say they're from your hometown. Omaha leads one to Malcolm X and Gerald Ford's birthplace. A sort of association with Johnny Carson comes to mind. More importanly to me is that the Saddle Creek Record label has taken Omaha to the front of the music world. (And by important I don't belittle Mr. X...just how my life is affected.) Now (again) we get to claim Mr. Buffett and his forward thinking. I read the article in Time about the Gates Foundation, Bono, Buffett, and the meeting in Omaha earlier this year...and so wanted to be a part of what's happening. Funny how you can curse Bill Gates' business practices and suddenly throw out some forgiveness because the man and his wife are contributing $40 billion to the world. ($40 BILLION) That money is not going to symphonies, museums, Harvard University... but to the World. With his mindless need to succeed it can only do good. Now Buffett is on board and pushing $1.5 billion a year in contributions to solve AIDS, malaria, other diseases, American inner city shortages, and the mankind that needs help. It's not a half-hearted effort...the rules are strict, and money will be dispensed. There is no bad side to this. As I type on my Apple I've got to say that I truly hope the competition amongst the money becomes something like "taking the great wealth of the world and doing good". I can see what I want to do...maybe no monetary but with time. Apparently Buffett said during his news conference that his kids would have enough money, but not too much. He said something like, "They'll have enough to to anything they want, but not enough to do nothing." I think we rarely find someone of his mind. Well done.

really running

My first input from the South...not the Deep South, but the South nonetheless.

If you know what 'business casual' means than this will be VERY funny. If not, maybe it'll seem off-the-path. Washington D.C. (and it's warm cloak of suburbs) is strictly business casual dress tossed gently with piles of unidentifable laminate badges. The badge things is funny because it reminds me of a salad full of unnamed types of greens. Is that chicory? What's that, spinach? Hey, you're arrugula! Why do people wear badges after they've left work...or on their way to work? If I can see something around your neck it better be one of two things: a Metro SmartTrip card or a monthy bus pass. Nothing screams dolt quite like the "Department of Homeland Security" all-access Van Halen pass.

Oh. The point. Coming. I ride the bus on days that I'm too tired to ride the bike (take the 23A from Ballston Common to Tyson's Center/Westpark Transit Center...preferably the 6:06am). I admit that maybe I'm in the minority here, but if I think I'm late for my bus....if I can see my bus, then I need to effing RUN! Not some half-hearted business casual trot...but a RUN! Follow me here. I"m talking about tie flapping over your shoulder. You're running late and you see your bus sitting at the transit corner; here are your options: run like a madman to catch it, or, just be cool and walk your merry way along. Anything in between is just a pallid effort to make everyone think you're so important that you need to....trot. I want to see some dude in business casual hauling the groceries (fast!) to the bus. Really running. Christine claims she saw some guy in the Metro just hell bent for leather one day; trucking to the train; his wallet popping out of his pants as he ran. Solid! Someone called out that his wallet was on the floor and he stopped like a cartoon character...ran back, skidded to a stop, grabbed his wallet, said thanks....and proceeded to haul ass to the train. That's my guy. RUN!

It's been wet. It's deathly humid.

My two pimps for this post: Neil Young's new CD and Unity08.com

Peace

Todd

rendition

Before I get off into the weedy central reservation of political timebombs I need to make something very clear: Eddie Izzard is a genius. There, it's said, I've said it. The wonder of comedy (Izzard, Stewart, Mahar, D. Miller, Mencia, et al) is that it provides the only remaining outlet for serious discussion in our politically stigmatized, FCC-controlled daily lives. Neither the media nor the politicians have any forum to let loose and call a duck a duck. I'm not even sure they want to, but if they did...they won't. More than other options comedy is a wide boulevard of open debate. It may not be always be pretty but it is effective. I see that my list is a bit to the Left but at least I threw Dennis Miller into the huddle for the Cons. (Can conservatives be funny?...probably not...too busy persecuting.) Izzard's take on empire is enough to make anyone see just how bad things get when immature ideas cross with alledgedly decisive action.

So, immigrants. If you've already heard from me then you're free to take this period off and hang around the quad playing hackey-sack. I don't know that I can put into words the perfect thought but I can certainly say some things that aren't normally allowed. First, you cannot claim the immigrant experience of your great-grandparents as a basis for your expertise on the issue. I don't know what it was like to come to America and process through Ellis Island. I've no idea what your responsibilities were to the Republic. I've no way to know whether or not your ancestors followed the letter of the law. What I do know is that I don't know. Anyone who puts forth the "my great-grandparents did it the right way" argument gets the you-misspelled-that-word bell rang, is ejected from the game, and consideration of opinion denied. To draw a parallel; think about all the nutty adults living vicariously through their kids. You know, the revolting ones we see at little league games, those guys living the days of high school football heroics gone by, screaming at umpires...those people. They claim other's lives as their own and we turn away in shame trying to contemplate what's gone wrong. We don't let them get away with that behavior....ever. The idea that any other person's life validates your opinion is an ugly ideal. It cheapens the entire process. Second, if you claim to have Hispanic friends ("some of my best friends") and that "they've been to the house", you're only substituting 'Hispanic' for every other minority that's been cornered in this country; "really, some of my best friends are gay..." It's been done before and it has always ended up on the wrong side of humanity. Them's the rules.

So, you either have a solution to the problem or you can't participate in the discussion. This all runs to what I think is at the root of the immigration issue: the diminishing majority that the European American has in this country. That was a lame way out... the White American. We've gone from a European melting pot back into a fire that includes Asians, South Americans, Africans, and (dare I say) other North Americans. To even imagine that the issue is employment, the minimum wage, or a stagnant economy is ludicrous. Even our beloved right-handed scissor administration doesn't believe these are the issues. So, what is the problem? I'll put forth that the endless recording announcing the prevailing 'days of fear' routine has come home to roost. The endless clattering and banging of pots sayint that we are 'under attack' leads to an essay saying we can't survive if we don't do something... onto the desire to get anything done. How about this novel idea, we got we voted for, we bought into the fear (again in 2004), and here we sit. We've done nothing yet to combat the fear and suddenly, poof!, here it is... any foreigner crosssing our borders is certainly horribly wrong and dangerous. Like Europeans over the last two hundred years they are chasing the promise of a better life. Does it make their actions better if they've come illegally? No. Does it make them wrong? No. The process needs to be fixed, not the people. The easy-way-out ideals of the fringe will never serve a final answer. The dialogue that calls for opportunity to those in this country is the only real hope. If we now decide to change and lockdown the border, build a fence, and isolate ourselves from the world, then so be it. But the left-handed smoking idea that 11 million immigrants can be sent home is as crazy as ideas come; we need to recognize the situation and come up with a plan to make our business and economy strong while taking care of those doing the work that made us strong. Give them the same opportunity that your great-grandparents and gay friends had when they came to this country. Or to your house...

As an aside, sometimes a lot of people come together for something and it's perfect. Why we question those who use their public platform for good is beyond me. Here's a link to a great story and a better cause. I have no idea if I'd sit down and have dinner with Rick Reilly but I read his stuff (he's a great writer) and I think I'll trust him on this one.

peace.

tx

express lane

To open the tab I put forth that after a few middlin' albums, Bruce Springsteen has jumped the abyss and put out something worthy of his talent (note: some of that opinion was swiped from other music critics). I don't know that I can really hit him too hard since 35 years in music and a Rock n' Roll Hall of Fame induction is a hard life to exceed. In fact, if one considers Born to Run (1975) then he had nothing left to offer. It's a long road after seeing your fourth album reach that peak and somehow keep going. "The Seeger Sessions" is what he's forever been about, and to hear him do Pete's songs...so lively, so powerful, and so attacking the music is a wonderful thing.

(new episode)

Follow me. I'm in a store (TJ's, Wild Oats, Whole Foods, Super Wal-Mart, Raley's...) and I walk up to a register with the following in my hand-held basket:

olives
feta cheese
gyoza
a package of frozen salmon
a loaf of bread
bottle of wine
fresh sage

That's it. That IS an express line purchase. Actually, that's a European shopping at the markets of Venice, Florence, Barcelona, Paris, Stockhom.... I'm off along some tangent. There is NO way that "up to 20 items" is an express line...no WAY. Eight or less is the only thing that qualifies for express. 20? What? It runs parallel to the airlines deciding that the average human weight is 180 lbs. instead of the 150 lbs. of years ago, or that driving a gas-sucking EscalaHummer is okay simply because it's big and more (don't even get me started on gas prices), or living at the nearest Mall. More or bigger isn't acceptable. Here's the list of goods toted by the 'dude' in front of you at the express lane:

5 lb. mayonaise tub
package of frozen salmon
flatpack of 24 cans of dietary dog food
24 pack of toilet paper
DVD collection of the O.C. (first season)
case of fully-leaded Coke

(stay the course)

bonus collection of Extra Strength Sudafed cold medicine (card required to avoid production of crystal meth)
a sixer of PBR
the big plastic (3 lb.) container of HydroxyCut
one pair of cargo shorts
one package of wife beater t-shirts
one shirt sporting the logo "Slot Machine"

(still going)

a 2lb. circular tube of Red Laces
a 24-eyelet pair of shoelaces
one package of extra large condoms
the "Pauly Shore is Dead" DVD
one frozen package of Blueberry Eggos
lastest issue of "O" magazine (for the wife...is that Oprah on the cover?)

(almost done)

one jar of hamburger pickles
a case of 40W oil for the rig

Wow. That's done. That's express. That's America.

I can love. I'm not difficult

kisses to all

t

objectively speaking

This is it. I must put this out to the world. Must. There is only one side to the baggage claim discussion ---- There is no reason to stand with your shins against the baggage carousel...no reason. Honestly, I always stand back and watch the incoming portal of luggage from a nice distance. I long for my bags to pass through the dragging black carwash-looking things just like everyone else, I too live in suitcase hope. When I see my kit I step forward, take my bag, and walk away. See how easy that was? What is it with people and the claim? Of all the actions I see humans engage in, this is the most lemming-like. If only there was a cliff nearby that all the luggage t*&^s could trundle off...

Hey, back from Omaha. The travel scoobies (beyond the claim) involve my return flight from Omaha to Reno. Don't laugh, but my connection was via Chicago. It happens. Thunderstorms in Chi-town so we end up on the Omaha runway for four hours. Add an additional hour to the one hour flight and I miss all connections to Reno. A long story made shorter...I get comp'd a hotel and meals in Rosemont, Ill. and make it home Monday afternoon. That's that.

Laurel and I had the blast that one would expect. The temp was in the 90s until Easter morning when it dropped 35 degrees to the mid-50s. We dressed up and had dinner at Trovato's in Dundee, saw movies, played games, miniature golf (I won by 30 strokes, snap!), batting cages (she CAN hit), discussed insurance and premiums, had the salmon/magic tater dinner, crepes one morning, video arcaded, did endless logic problems, watched her DVD collection of The Muppet Show (season 1), and generally thought life was swell. She's at 4'10'' and way too heavy to lift or throw across her bed. She and Melissa are off to Kearney this weekend for the Future Problem Solvers competition. In case you raised the eyebrows at the insurance and premiums above...we were studying for the comp, I'm not that lame. There's a pic at Trovato's (note her original Liz Taylor necklace designed at Anne's house) and a shot of her driving one to the gap, as if Barry Bonds has anything. A lovely girl.

I'm reading Devil in the White City about the 1893 Chicago World's (Columbian) Fair. I'm still liberal. Still tall. I like a nice wrap with falafel, hummus, spinach, and romesco. That's all.

t

dodger

Since everyone 'seems' to be keeping up with my morning ride, and the dog posse therein, it'll be easy to play this story. Before I go further I need to trundle back to Omaha, circa mid-70s. I used to hang around Rockbrook Pool up 'round 108th and West Center Road...the real edge of the city back then. (Go to Omaha now and we'll drive out 300th St.-way and see how it's exploded.) We WERE the suburbs and our community pool was the cool place to be for a ten-year old. I used to ride my classic Schwinn Stingray (no gears/bendix brakes) to the pool everyday in the summer so I could check out the hot fifth-grade girls (does Kim Oberkrom ring a bell? thought so...). One afternoon I was riding my bike home with our neighbor, Brock, on the back of the banana seat when the Burns' dog, Duke, decided to chase a car (or me). There was nowhere to go so the 'Ray runned right over that damn beagle's back (picture a cartoon with a dog being almost busted in half...) and we ended up over the handlebars and across the pavement. Didn't seem like much (kids are resilient) but when I looked down I had a lovely gash on my inner left elbow that ran to the bone....then we panic. Wrapped the towel around my arm and made it the remaining few blocks home. In my defense, there was no choice but the chlorine soaked towel since the only other possible cloth was my beloved stars-and-stripes Speedo...address all smartass comments elsewhere. Damn if I didn't hate that dog, but it WASN'T intentional. From that to this...

On the ride to work a few weeks back (dark morning) I was challenged by a huge white dog that I hadn't seen in a good, long time. I vaguely remember this massive tuft of fur during the dark of some long ago Winter morning but it's been months since he's shown up on the road. He was back, or awake...take your pick. You now know I have dog-bike experience (see above), hospital experience (stitches...see above), but it does no good in the end. I immediately thought about trying the NASCAR tactic of steering straight at that clump of fur, assuming he wouldn't be there by the time our paths intersect, dogs don't do geometry. You've got to figure that a dog this big can't stop and hold ground once it's got a head of steam. As bad as the driving at a wreck idea seems to be, I think it's good advice...and normally it works out just fine. So here comes 'Saurus (now named) at an aggressive lope across my bow and I immediately....decide to wait and see just how agile this lug can be. Holding the straight line like Luke Skywalker in the first Star Wars...stay on target, stay on target. But no, I've found the one dog over seventy pounds that has ANY agility; he pauses, makes another move, and bounces back to center road. What? I make a very quick adjustment (based on my Formula Ford training) and narrowly escape death. Experience counts...not sure how, but it does.

Hey, there's a beagle in that picture...and the dreamy Speedo
love to all

big, hungry (now!), can't act

A few bits that are wedged in my brain from the last week. Let's start with the Nissan Armada; are we serious? When the world has decided that a SUV needs to named after a FLEET then we've just pitched it all over the cragged abyss. Does anyone need anything that big? I know, throw your spears to the left, I think I'm right on this one. The Armada? Some future suggestions might be: the SixthFleet, the Nimitz, PrincessCruiseLine, the QEII (I'm sure Infiniti will grab that one). I just want my due when they show up on our streets. In fact, maybe one vehicle isn't enough. We should seriously consider a formation of vehicles (a flotilla?) to get us from A to B. "Hey kids! Get in your dinghy ship-come-vehicle and follow Ma and Pa to the Mickey D's!" I'll leave that one. I did my shopping this afternoon and stumbled upon the GREATEST thing EVER invented. Ever. Fully cooked bacon; as advertised, "ready in five seconds!" FIVE SECONDS! FIVE!, "Hey baby, off to work and I only have ten seconds...make me two batches of that kicking bacon..." First, who is in such a hurry that they need bacon in five seconds? [a nod to Lewis Black who points distainfully at the eight-second PopTart instructions...] Second, can we eat in shifts; kids first (five seconds) with scalding bacon grease dripping down their chins; teens next (another five); adults (up to 15 seconds now)...let's go to South Beach and open our arteries. I know it's patently unfair to move from serious world affairs to Hilary Duff, but I must. Returning my movie at the local after the groceries (it was "Everything is Illuminated") and had a chance to watch ten minutes of Hilary's acting in "Raise Your Voice". (Don't even start on the ten minute thing, I won't have it.) As if I didn't have enough ammo to throw out at the masses; this is the motherlode. What talent. What skill. Amazing. If that is what's on offer at the multiplex then I insist you come with me...kicking and screaming.

I must be making risotto again....too much time to think. Tonight is a nice shrimp leek dealio.

I'll be nicer next time, really

hugs to all

t

synchronized swimming

After riding to work yesterday morning, soaking in the hot shower and then getting dressed, I decided my watch needed synchronization to the atomic clock in Greenwich, England. That was the first tick mark complete on my mental 'to do' list. It feels great to get off to a successful beginning on a beautiful Monday. Of course it IS Monday so there's a long road laid out before us...paddle paddle.

We're in the mirror of Autumn here in N. Nevada. Less the changing colors off the Fall and the everything else (temperature, smells of burning detritus, daylight hours, etc.) seems a perfectly reflected image. Along with the other myriad of happenings the water has started to flow through the canals along the roads and fields. This brings out two things: swimming ducks and fields being prepped for planting. Not all the ducks leave over the winter; maybe they do and other more northern ducks show up from the likes of Idaho and Manitoba, who knows. I'll miss the ducks. Sometimes the flock just sits there in the middle of the side road that I ride home everyday - not much traffic, no real worries. I foresee my much more urban, traffic-laden ride in my future and I'll miss the absolute crazy selection of animals I see everyday:

sheep
tons of horses
goats with stairs and ramps
peacocks
llamas and alpacas
osterich
ducks
one flock of geese
lots of cattle,
plus, all the dogs: the Stooges, Trey (the three-legged dog), Midge, Mop, Anthony and Jester, Shadow, Jackpot, Stan and Oliver, the Sandlot (too many in that lot to name!), Casper and his pal Casper II, the ever relaxed Ghost, and Bullet the Wonder Dog

(all names have been created to protect the innocent)

I made shitake mushroom and black olive risotto for dinner Sunday night. Risotto gives one a lot time to think while standing and massaging the doings in the pan. Dinner and (inner) conversation! I'm a perfect date.

My weekly recommendations include the new Kris Kristofferson CD; Good Night, and Good Luck; the New Yorker article on just how off topic those clunky frames in art galleries appear to be. At the National Gallery last month Christine commented on that problem...everyone steals all her grand ideas.

T

court of wits

Delinquency has abounded over the last few weeks, at least blog-wise. Maybe not delinquency perse, but laziness? a lack of typing abilities? the sunny days of Spring? a reasonable person? Not sure which story'll fly so I try them all. While working evenings a few nights last week (manning so much as 'working') I ended up reading (and rereading) the Supreme Court's decision in Georgia v Randolph. How this has come to pass is perfectly understandable when one considers the lethal combination of open debate, logical pursuit, and a squatter of my mind posing herself under the rubric of girlfriend. This opinion appears the first difficult decision of the Roberts Court; not merely the softballs of 8-0 or 7-1 decisions. I sense the justices were just standing around smacking tire irons into palms, begging for a chance to lay into the other end of the bench: philistines. When I read an opinion, dissenting or otherwise, that uses 'red herring' to describe the other's position I know it's on...'til the break of dawn. My seperately issued concurrence is this; I don't suspect anyone standing next to me, physically NEXT to me, can invalidate my individual rights. Seems simple enough, right? I did later see Shepherd Smith attempting to ask indepth questions concerning the ruling from an equally inept expert on CNN the next day...geniuses.

I'm booked into Omaha the week before Easter to hang around with a very cute almost ten-year old. Planning on a fancy dress dinner out on either Friday or Saturday evening. I'd say it's because she wants to get dressed up but it's more my inkling to get kitted out for a nice evening at V. Mertz in the Old Market. Does V. Mertz have hotdogs? I might need to call ahead.

I was off school this past week for Spring Break. I packed up the car and spent a week in South Padre Island picking up chicks. When you tell them you go to Western Nevada Community College (Go 'Cats!) it's like magic.

On my way out of the store this afternoon I overheard a woman scream the following at her young child as she got into the family car, "Why are you barfing all over yourself?" I'm not sure if it's a dumb question or merely a question that has no answer. Let the voters decide...

The retirement paperwork appears in order. I start the new job on June 5th.

Love to all,

t

play date

I've finalized my work come 1 June 2006. Unless I win the lottery I'll be at work on Monday, 5 June at a company in Vienna, VA. All that work stuff is rather boring discussion beyond the fact that I really enjoy the folks that work there, the office is nice, the work is what I've done for years, and I'm happy to finally move on to something else.

I sat the redeye into Dulles last Friday night and arrived well before the rest of the country was awake: 5:00AM (!) arrival in the Nation's Capital amidst the night cleaners who hadn't yet finished their work. Picked up my bags and headed east to Arlington and a short week of vacation.

What happened? Well, there was plenty of cooking: a zucchini pasta I'd been dying to try, a Sunday roast with a fantastic bread pudding for dessert, some drooling gnocchi, lovely crepes (that I quickly learned from Christine), stuffed french toast, lots of fruit, lots of veg, many variations of coffee (instant, press, cappi'), a mistaken lunch at Starbucks (not the lunch...the Starbucks), and some serious devouring of leftovers. Endless trundles through the kitchen make life worth living, it's the gravity of life. Sunday's roast was particularly enthralling as it reached apogee during Corey's impression of Johnny Depp channeling James Brown while character-acting during Pirates of the Carribbean. You had to be there; type can't do it justice. I think Kt was horribly embarrassed, and rightly so, but who are we to judge? Between Corey and I (manly competition?) there will be endless piles of food to eat throughout the week, particularly on weekends. Wander by if you need a nibble. (p.s. he's a much better cook...)

On Monday we metro'd to D.C. and caught the Cezanne and Frans van Mieris the Elder exhibits at the National Gallery. X and I (as Roman numerals we'll be know as Eleven...) agreed that Cezanne is on and off with his arty stuff. I particularly enjoyed his watercolors but the endless scribbles of the house in the south of France were a little boring. Anyone who knows me would bet that van Mieris would make me giddy (hmm, a 17th century Dutch painter? what?...) and about half his stuff was quite impressive; all so detailed and such lovely play on light. You'll be hard-pressed to undo my Dutch thing.

Christine was assigned the task of observing Federal Court over Spring break (along with the writing of a brief and applying for Moot Court) so we decided it would be easy enough to stroll down Alexandria-way for a day with the Federal District Court for Eastern Virginia. As we soon discovered, the place was locked down since Moussaoui is being tried on the 7th floor (can't get in there! see a definition of festival seating). We headed up to the 9th floor for five hours of the first case dealing with all the False Claims against the U.S. Government that ballooned in late 2003 after the war in Iraq ended. The company in the brig was Custer Battles LLC who had 'allegedly' (read: raped) overbilled the U.S. Government and the Coalition Provisional Authority for something like $20 million. These guys (Custer and Battles) are the worst kind of people...absolute whores. What I learned was how the system functions (I've always been suspicious), and had the realization of just how horribly you have to eff up before the bell finally tolls for your soul. I can't swear, but now I suspect, that you've got to be pure evil to find yourself before Judge Ellis III in Federal District Court. By default, if you don't find yourself there then it's a good bet you aren't what they claim. These two guys (Custer and Battles) were former Army Rangers who popped up in Iraq, winked the Army conversation line, flashed Academy rings...and promptly took CPA money that could have been used to buy bulletproof vests, armored vehicles, helmets, and anything else that could protect soldiers; soldiers that may have been their company mates, brigade friends, or battalion leaders. They were asses...to say the least, and I was quite happy to watch them burn. There's a whole other entry on their 'defense' attorney's closing argument; that'll come soon. This 'attorney' was the worst (within a my experienced group of one) representative for a client that I could imagine. As off the road as it seems, the Eleven will forever laugh about just how inept the defense attorney was...horrible; it's a verb now, "you've been Douglass'd!" As the wonderful New Yorker so concisely put forth; That dog won't run. This just in: Custer Battles was found guilty of fraud against the U.S. Government and sentenced to pay $10 million against the initial $3 million dollar contract. Justice served...

Podcasting as usual. Jay Farrar is on Paste's Culture Club and I'm loving the music.

I've got a house for sale...anyone looking?

love to all

T

the tenderloin

Sometimes you wander the cities of the globe and you're put off by the idea of so many people living in such a small space. They can be claustrophobic in the best situation, scary in the worst. I think the scary affects people more when visiting cities than the sheer number of inhabitants on the streets. If one comes from a less urban environment the shock can be stunning. Oh, I'm not done...

I was trundling through virtualtourist.com earlier tonight, reading inputs for cities that I know and love, and wondering just what has gone wrong with people who do nothing but visit Orlando. As an aside, since no one is really listening, I'm perfectly happy strolling through the inner 'despair' of big cities; that's where all the good clubs, restuarants, CD shops and characters live. Maybe I shouldn't feel so safe, maybe my mother would disapprove, but I've been doing it for as long as I can remember; from the days of the riding the train to Chicago, and my ever-growing love of that city during every visit, I've always been happy enough with the grit and grime of big cities. In the long haul maybe I'm a more comfortable person within the bounds of a city than those who haven't been through Chinatown on a Friday night. The jump-off to this tirade was inputs about San Francisco and the hazards of the inner workings of that fine city. The first thing I thought about when reading the horror of crime in the Bay Area was a discussion I had with Sarah when we were there last year that covered keeping your wits, enjoying the city, seeing how much life changes from block-to-block, and about what can go wrong in people's lives. We wish it weren't so...but shit goes bad for some people; they lose jobs, their homeless, and they look frightening most of the time. This conversation had hardly ended when we came upon a horrific argument amongst a homeless couple enroute to a coffeehouse (we were enroute, not they). Point made...loud and clear to her. That night we went down SoMA-way (the south of Market St. area) for a one-man show about the horrors of teaching school in the inner city.; if I'd only read the reviews on virtual tourist about that area, "STAY AWAY from SoMA! it's the third most dangerous part of the city!". Hmm, didn't know that then; we walked down and back with caution and well survived the evening. The next night, of all things (!), I dragged her down to the Tenderloin District (virtual tourist input: "Almost the MOST DANGEROUS part of the city! DO NOT GO THERE AT NIGHT!") for the Old Crows at the Great American Music Hall. From what I can discern, the Tenderloin ranks behind only Hunter's Point for death, murder, rape, pillage, plunder, and the overall horrors of society. And I was thinking of Hunter's the next night! (kidding.) I'll readily admit that the T'loin can be off-putting but it's certainly not Dante's Inferno. Maybe I should consider the name virtual "tourist" and understand that it's mostly written by the Hilton-resorts-Disneyland-Red Lobster crowd. Fortunately, I've got a bit more grit on me than the nice hotels, tourist traps, and worries about evil all around us. London had very similar inputs...as did Barcelona. Barcelona? Barcelona is like Des Moines for crying out loud; that put me over the top. Don't think I don't know...I see you thinking it...yes, I'm tallish, I'm male, and for some reason (proof never provided) nobody seems to want to eff with me. I'm well aware of that; I'm also well aware that it's a usually your comfort level in any city that makes you safe. To think that size matters, in the end, is a bit inexperienced. It'll be hard to convince me that SanFran isn't the best American city. I know it is because I doctored my test results to fit my needs.

A lovely weekend to all.

(p.s. up there ^^^ is a view of the Tenderloin and a shot of the inside of the Great American Music Hall)

tx

doing good; doing nothing

There was a bit on NPR last year during their "This I Believe" series on Monday mornings (I've downloaded the best of NPR 2005 on Podcasts). The premise of the five minute spots is to allow famous, and unknowns alike, a chance to pass on life's nuggets of wisdom. Some of the pieces can be a little overwrought for my taste but others are more pertinent to everyday life. I've been rolling a phrase around in my head for many a moon, trying to get it perfect, as a phantom response to an unknown person asking why I might be doing something: bringing bags to the grocery store, not driving a SUV, recycling...that sort of stuff. It's not perfect yet but it goes something like, "I may not be the solution, but I'm certainly not part of the problem." The way I riddle the issues of the world is that we may not know the answers to the ills of every neighborhood or country, but we can certainly avoid adding our own flames to the fire. Diedre Sullivan was the contributor and her take concerned funerals and the lessons she had learned from her father. She was a teen at the time and remembered her father telling her that she needed to attend a viewing of her fifth-grade teacher. She didn't want to, though she'd been to funerals before, because it just seemed a bother. She was the only child at the viewing, passed some lame words to the widow, and later came to know her better. The widow never forgot that she'd been there, and how thankful she was to see one of his former students. It mattered. Ms. Sullivan later realized that sometimes there are things in life that we don't want to do: attend funerals, help people, visit someone in the hospital when we don't seem to have enough time, and any other 'time-consuming' functions that show even a little side of us. Lessons learned...and an idea that her life isn't a battle between good and evil, she says that's too dramatic; but a tug-o-war between doing good and doing nothing. The things we don't do don't make us evil, or lazy, or lost...they just aren't done. The stuff we do has an effect on everyone around us. Such a simple idea.

If you have the mind, and the ability, to listen to online music, I'll throw out the Flogging Molly instudio performance at the Current in Minneapolis. They're a lovely 'irish' band with fantastic tunes.

Flogging Molly in studio

(scroll down to Flogging Molly)

xxx

T

latin maxims

Sometimes the law provides something beyond good guidance; dig far enough and there's some laughter for the rest of us. I know it's not fair to segregate the population into lawyers and us, we'll probably be sued for being discriminatory; but facts is facts. The hard part is sorting why the practice of law seems so different than any other; a career that's based on arbitary assumptions and opinions. Actually, I think I'll pitch the psychology and sociology fields into the breach as well. That'll be quite a disturbed little room of opinions. Doctors seem different, a little more scientific and anchored in facts, symptoms, things we can actually see by "looking with our eyes". The law posse is really just a group that have ideas about what could be right, could be wrong, could be agreed, disagreed, argued, published, decided, not decided, adjudicated and all the other stuff we did in kindergarten. Sometimes the playground monitor came over to help solve the unsolveable mystery of whether or not I had called Scooby-Doo before getting caught in a rousing game of cartoon freeze tag. There are utterances beyond those put forth from the high bench that just as effectively decide an issue with the finality any of us might need. It seems as if any judge (or playground monitor) could easily add these to his repetoire of courtroom utterings and get by just fine. Examples? How about Buzz Harrison's response to the "Have you seen (fill in the name)?" / "What happened to (fill name)?" query; "...he went to shit and the hogs ate him." For just a second you pause and wonder...what the hell does that mean? A quick second later and it makes perfect sense, no more questioning required. A scintillating combintion of "I don't know" and "I don't care". I say it compares favorably with overruled. What about Dave Porter's brilliant utterances, "build bridges not walls" and, "don't hate...appreciate". That's solid playground, or courtroom, legal advice if I've ever heard it. I can hear AGAG uttering either of those while being grilled by any number, and there have been a number, of Senate Committees. In the movie Fargo, William H. Macy's character blurts out, in the middle of a very confusing scenario, "What the Christ!". Indeed.

prosecutor (P): "Your Honor, I object!"
judge (J): "What the Christ!"
(P) "Well, your Honor, I think the defense attorney's question has no effect on this case"
(J) "And how is that you think it's beyond the pale of this case?"
(P) "Well...what about Supreme Court Justice Thomas' opinion in Doolittle v. State of Georgia? What about Justice Thomas?"
(J) "Thomas? Went to shit and the hogs ate him. Overruled."

Just as I said.

There is actually a legal phrase that cuts to the chase and I've got to throw out a bone: "res ipsa loquitur". Roughly translated it means "the thing speaks for itself". If I have this right in my pea-brain it means that there's only one possible solution to a case and the evidence presented. There is no other way the event could have happened and it doesn't matter how it happened; it just is.

(P) "Your honor, what do you mean by that statement about Justice Thomas.
(J) "Res ipsa loquitur"

I have some more cleaning to finish. I've no idea what that all means.

love to all,

t

early 40s

A birthday weekend out West. I pulled into Reno Saturday afternoon and settled in for a Todd Snider show at the Nugget in beautiful downtown Sparks (suburb of Reno). Stayed at the highly entertaining, yet trashy, Silver Inn. That's not fair...it's clean, cheap and very well run. Close to what I want and generally a great rock hotel. A quick dinner at a microbrewery between the Inn and the show at Uncle John's Celebrity Showrom. Here's the kicker...a fantastic 90-minute set by Todd and the Nervous Wrecks that exceeded even my expections. An unbelievable band, an entertainer of the highest order, beers, and great seats. Made me wonder about the best shows I've seen...the ones that made me SO very happy. I kept waking up and trying to plot it all into a list that boys so love. Really. Live shows are what make me tick and I'd be happy to drag anyone to any live show and then stare deep into eyes to get a feel. Nothing turns the human like a live performance...nothing. What I decided wasn't so much the 'best' shows, but the most influential: every Slobberbone show was in the top five (that's them to the left) but only one counts. Here are the specs:

1. Old Crow Medicine Show / The Borderline, London UK - So many factors fall into this ideal: I flew back to England for a five-day weekend with Christine. If you must know, the smell of Heathrow, the knowledge that I could buy the Independent, the thought that I was finally back home, and the inkling that she'd show up only adds to the brilliance. The Borderline is my all-time favorite venue, the beer is great, the Crows are the best...most importantly, we sat there laughing, kissing, and being extremely cool. The dinner that night was 'stumbling fabulous'. If you must know, the first night in town we saw the Royal Shakespeare Company perform 'Hamlet'. Getting from 'Hamlet' to 'Wagon Wheel' says it all...the most memorable night of my life.

2. Slobberbone / The 400 Club, Minneapolis, MN - The end of the greatest band of all time. Brent took the boys on the road for a final six dates...we knew it was coming but it didn't make it any easier. I flew to the Cities for the show after Skip procured tickets for himself, his sister Dana (I still see her as a 14-year old), and ME. The opening band, Two Cow Garage (great in their own right), had a van breakdown somewhere in the upper Midwest so the boys came out early and did almost three hours of the best music you'll ever hear. Brent was tuning his axe while I screamed out, "Where's the banjo?", to which he replied, "in pieces on my kitchen floor." I got an answer from Brent Best. Brilliant. I have blog entries to come that deal solely with his lyrics.

3. Tift Merritt and Tres Chicas / Slim's, San Francisco, CA - I have a undying love for this city and this was a fantastic show. The Chicas opened with some ungodly harmonies...stuff to make your hair stand on end; beautiful songs. I didn't want them to go, but they did...and were quickly replaced by Tift and her band. I'll never in my life see a guitar playing, tambourine banging, ass shaking artist that has more sex appeal. The band was from rock n' roll central casting (aside from the bass player) but they were something.

4. "Rock for Karl" / Quest Club, Minneapolis, MN - October of 2004. Karl Mueller was the bass player for the seminal Minneapolis band Soul Aslyum. Throat cancer and pile of medical bills brought on the idea. You see, for those of you from beyond the Plains of America, Soul Asylum was one of the pillars of Cities music. It's impossible to pass on the idea they represented if you weren't there...but according to CitiesSkip, in their prime they were the best band you'd ever seen. The lineage of The Replacements/Husker Du, Soul Asylum, the Jayhawks, Gear Daddies, Run Westy Run, and Golden Smog is a run that may never be duplicated. For Paul Westerberg (the 'Mats), Bob Mould (Husker Du), the Daddies, Smog and Asylum to get together for one evening in salute to Karl is an amazing thing. I flew in for the single night of rock n' roll. Nothing will ever match the vibe of the Cities from the late 70s to the early 90s - a time and place that is only there by dumb luck. Karl passed in early 2005...a salute to the brilliance.

5. Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band / Earl's Court, London, UK - (What a crap venue!) Hard to really get the nuts and bolts of this show into words. No doubt two decades later than I would have like to see him but I finally got the chance...and it was with a British crowd. I've never seen so many people lose their minds at one song....the opening chords of "Born to Run". The lights came up, and at that moment, I knew what rock n' roll was all about. Sometimes his music seems like too much to assimilate; I wonder if I can take in everything it represents, but in the end I succumb to the sound. Any thoughts that make you wonder are lost; just trust the music.

Honorable Mention:

Dave Alvin and the Guilty Men / The Tarbox Rambers - The Hacienda, Reno, NV
Lucinda Williams / The Fillmore - SanFran, CA
Steve Earle and the Dukes / The Corn Exchange, Cambridge UK
Chuck Prophet and the Mission Express / The Hacienda, Reno, NV
The Be Good Tanyas / Union Chapel, London UK
Bellwether / Robert McCreedy - The Borderline, London UK
Bastard Sons of Johnny Cash - The Zoo Bar, Lincoln, NE
Los Lobos - Caesar's Tahoe, South Lake Tahoe, NV
Lyle Lovett and his Large Band - The Nugget, Sparks, NV
The Uptown Rulers - Iowa Memorial Union (circa 1984)
Todd Snider and the Nervous Wrecks - The Nugget, Sparks, NV
Joan Baez / Steve Earle - Hawkins Amphitheater, Reno, NV (Joan had the best band I've ever seen...)
Emmylou Harris / Buddy Miller - Hawkins Amphitheater, Reno, NV

That's that...come hear the music.

When the attorney general of the United States suggested, before a Senate Committee, that anyone who questioned anything the government did in the name of Homeland Security was, "aiding and abetting terrorism"; Sen. Patrick Leahy said, "Well, Attorney General Ashcroft has the same First Amendment rights as the rest of us."

Tx

a matter of degrees

There's a pic of James McMurtry's axe from the Friday night show in Reno.

These seeds were planted last week after hearing some of this, and a little of that, during my routine little life. What exactly is a demonstration or protest? Really. Before anyone gets too riled up, let me clarify that I think Cindy Sheehan has lost the plot. I don't know if she ever had it, but that's another story. I'm going to lump her, in this instance, with the Senator's wife that also chose to wear a t-shirt to the State of the Union speech last week. Apparently there's a law that forbids protest/demonstration on Capitol grounds. Apparently the Capitol Police have no idea what the law actually entails. Granting them the benefit of the doubt for now, does a t-shirt signify a demonstration? A protest? Neither women wore shirts with profanity or egregious examples of libel. (Bad taste in semi-formal attire is only a Joan Rivers law.) Both were asked to cover up the t-shirts (Sheehan's asking when the war would end and the Senator's best gal's supporting the troops), both declined. Both were escorted from the upper gallery prior to the speech. We're not talking unfurled banners, disruptive behavior, yelling, screaming, or rotten tomato-tossing. I'll ask this; what if I had an anti-war organization that sported little purple ribbons? What about the swank lapel flags worn by everyone in D.C.? Are those protests one way or the other? What if I don't clap at the appropriate 'applause' sign during the President's speech? Is that a demonstration? A protest? The hackneyed decision to make either woman leave is a VERY sad commentary on the way we see our country. Don't even think about the 'what if they went bonkers during the speech' argument...our country wasn't settled on the presumption of something happening. Seems a matter of degrees.

Marlon Brando to Kevin Bacon...go.

Marlon Brando to Robert Duvall in The Godfather; Robert Duvall to Nicole Kidman in Days of Thunder; Nicole Kidman to Val Kilmer in Batman Forever; Val Kilmer to Tim Robbins in Topgun; Tim Robbins to Kevin Bacon in Mystic River. Voila! Six degrees of Kevin Bacon.

....matters of degree.

T