you don't say

I'm gobsmacked by this tidbit of wisdom. I wonder exactly what type of company masthead takes this long to realize what has been so blatantly obvious for years. Starbucks? Lost its soul? Whaaaat? These are all the same reaons I swore off the 'Buck years ago, this guy just riddle it out? On his own? Their coffee had become mediocre on most days and just plain undrinkable on others. The omnipresence and in my face mentality irritated me, I found the crowds useless, and the prices were outrageous. Let me expand on outrageous part; the prices are comparable to other coffee places but the product isn't...and the artistry (that screams of my arrogance, doesn't it?) is long gone with those automatic machines doing the work. I don't even know why they have barristas anymore; isn't technology available that would let me walk in, push a button that says "grande latte", and it magically appears at the end of the counter? The whole yelling of my order to the knob working the buttons is just silly. In my search for greater coffee I can only offer two options these days: Bebo Coffee in Reno, Nevada (a bit out yonder) and Murky Coffee here in Arlington. At Murky they actually make the coffee, watch the water temperature and end it all with a lovely swirl of steamed milk on top. It may take a little longer but you get to enjoy the process, and man, it's fantastic coffee. They make the joe like they would if they stopped over by my house on a Sunday morning and conjured up a brew for my smoking hot girlfriend (oops). That little bit of care and personality makes a much better cup of dohack.

Speaking of Murky, and Arlington, and Clarendon, I was driving out to Olsson's Books and Whole Foods yesterday afternoon and it came upon my brain on the way home that the drive out on Clarendon Blvd. and back on Wilson is a video game of sorts. The best parallel I can think of is Frogger - that game where you jumped your little frog across highway lanes full of fast moving cars. The drive from here to there requires dedication to the cause; primarily, you've got to stay in the right lane come hell or high water. If you think for even a second that getting over in the left lane further out than 200 feet before your turn is a good idea - you've lost. You need to know the tricks, like this little nugget: When approaching Whole Foods you might find yourself swerving to the left lane, momentarily!, to avoid the fauxorganic hippies loading Crate and Barrel kitsch into the Land Rover; but you must get back to right lane before you come upon the Whole Foods parking lot entrance mosh-pit. (Is there a Whole Foods anywhere in the world that has decent parking?) Of course, just as you're moving back to the right lane you encounter the caravan of VW Bugs that suddenly stop, dashboard daisies flying into their windscreesns, while they ponder the great Buddhist debate of whether or not the Bug wants to enter the parking garage that's on the right side of the street. Keep your wits! Then it's all the way down towards Olsson's you go (staying right) until that moment of ectasy when Wilson and Clarendon meet and you whip a u-turn across traffic and slide into one of the three street-side parking spaces. You don't even want to know about the trip home. You can't handle it.

Starbucks lost its soul? Gobsmacked.

Love.

T

sending word

As I sat on a bus bench in the 1900 block of Gallows Road in Vienna, Virginia, I was text messaging My Love who was, at that moment, sitting in Patisserie Valerie in Sloane Square, London SW3. My text messages contained nothing but profane curses upon her vacationing in London without me. Apparently she felt the need to tell me she was sitting in Valerie while texting me...Valerie! My place. I introduced her to the joint and first chance she gets she's off two-timing me with the could-care-less wait staff and a polenta-gorgonzola salad. Tramp.

As I sat on the bench, overcoming my despair, I thought of the magic of texting on a wee phone in Virginia, pushing the send button, thinking nothing of it, and suddenly getting a message back from the beyond. Really - that's amazing. I have a little understanding on how these things work just like I have a little understanding of gravity or chemisty - it's no less amazing. Ones and zeroes flying off into the air (yes, I looked up as I thought of this), hitting some metal, going through lines and satellites, right to her waiting hand. Capital.

This little scene then made me laugh out loud when I remembered Phil's take on great explorers and world travelers that were always out on the very edge of the world as we know it: risking life and limb, hauling all their crap around for months, hundreds of miles from any known civilization....yet, they always 'sent word' back home or to the Queen. I've started to think that they were no more than two miles from the last developed bit of suburbia and simply stopped in at the local Mailboxes, Etc. and sent off a post.

I'm off to Blockbuster to get the boys some movies.

I'll send word.

T

love and peace....guaranteed

What I wanted to say earlier, or at least link to, was a bit in the movie Tommy Boy where Chris Farley's character goes on about guarantees. He's trying to sell his company's brake pads to a wholesaler and the scene goes like this (I couldn't find it on YouTube):

Farley: Our brake pads are the best, you know that...never failed.
Customer: But they don't come with a guarantee - a guarantee written on the box.
Farley: You know, I could put a piece of shit in a box and write "Guaranteed" on it if that that'll make you feel better.
Customer: (confused look)
Farley: You know whatcha got? A guaranteed piece of shit.

This scene carried over from my earlier entry on alternative music; I can call it whatever I want, hell, I can even WRITE it on the box, or say it over the airwaves. You know what you got?

What brought it up again this afternoon was a sign at a garage down in Clarendon. It says "guaranteed used tires" in big, bold letters. Of course, I rolled that little nugget around in my head for three or four blocks.

Me: Will you guarantee me that these are, in fact, used tires?
They: Yes sir. Worn and all.
Me: Good. I don't want no damn new tires.

I think the edited motto should be, "Used tires. Guaranteed."

Maybe I'm just simple.

Love to all.

T

emperors I

Clear the gun decks! I’ve decided to use a 100-point scale to track the candidates careening along the Presidential trail. The current grades will be in two columns: the first being who I would vote for, the second being who I think the public is leaning towards in each party. It’s like those Oscar previews that have the “will win” and “should win” predictions. I catch the polling data (not habitually, but enough to know the current's movement) but I’m going to try to use my own magic divining noodle to pulse the nation. Here are the opening numbers:

Democrats	My Vote	The Nation
Clinton	21	50
Obama	22	30
Richardson	40	8
Edwards	10	10
Dodd	1	0
Biden	5	2
Kucinich	1	0

'Publicans	My Vote	The Nation
McCain	90	60
Giuliani	5	20
Romney	4	10
Brownback	0	5
Hunter	1	5

As for the Democrats, Richardson is by far the most favorable in my book. He’s served seven-terms as congressman, is a former U.S. ambassador to the U.N, a former Secretary of Energy, chairman of the 2004 Democratic National Convention, and a two-term governor of New Mexico. The Cato Institute rated him the sixth most fiscally responsible (or leader in fiscal policy) governor in America in their 2004 biennial report (the highest rated Democratic governor)… and he has degree in law and diplomacy from Tufts University. As he reveals more and more of his positions over the coming months I’ll have a better idea if I still consider him the best candidate. Neither Clinton nor Obama has the depth of experience and Hillary, based solely on her six years as a Senator, has shown very little. Obama’s lead over her is negligible because I see more integrity (or maybe it’s less scripting) in him. I think that Democratic voters right now are set on either Clinton or Obama so Richardson has a ton of work to do. Hopefully he fares better than Vilsack.

The Republicans? Giuliani is a non-starter for me and obviously Romney is even less a player in my book. Neither candidate has ANY chance of beating McCain regardless of the posing and preening. NO CHANCE. I think the country counts it a closer race than I do but if I were a Republican, McCain is the only viable candidate. The fact that I consider Brownback further down the list than Duncan Hunter says something. Brownback now has two name drops in consecutive entries…he’ll get no more.

Weekly predictions: Biden, Dodd, and Hunter will drop out of the race by April 15th. Brownback will shut it down by May 1st.

T

alternate universe

There was a rather lively debate on Minnesota Public Radio’s February 27th Musicheads show (I just listened to the podcast a few days ago) concerning not only new music, but the “band hitting it big” debate that’s raged for decades. In the days since the early 1980s when alternative (or alt rock and its derivatives like alt.country) came to the fore as an umbrella term for indie, goth, punk, ska, Brit-pop, etc., there have been war-like attacks and counter-attacks on what the term means – and what bands fall under the club’s moniker. I think long diatribes on the genealogy of the term are for for times (preferably when I’m not around) since I’ve jumped onboard with Musichead Mark Wheat’s resolution to stop labeling music (with my amendment of still being able to use good music and/or crappy music as descriptive terms). What made the show so interesting was Wheat’s statement that he didn’t want to see the Irish band The Frames become popular because he didn’t think their music was worth the popularity, or in fact, that they were alternative, since he felt they were catering to the masses and simply toting the alternative name along with them. This is the opposite of the ideal held by alt music fans from the 80s who didn’t want his or her band to become popular because he didn’t want to lose that bit of hip/cool/love that had been mated to that band. By my reckoning this is a wholly new idea…and one that I embrace. The equations, comparatively, look something like this:

Alternative band > becomes famous > I lose something I love
“Alternative band” > becomes famous > I get something I hate

The importance? The quotes I’ve put around the second equation is indicative of a band taking advantage of the alternative label in order to highjack the grass roots movement that follows alternative music. Believe it or not, even in this day and age, there are tons of bands hammering the pavement, trying to survive, making very little money, and selling small numbers of CDs – bands and artists that are exponentially better than 99% of what is mainstream – and this was never a problem. It was easy to hate the Britneys, N*Syncs, Mariahs, and Shanias of the world because they were bad, we knew they were bad, and we just ignored them. This new idea lays bare a claim that there is an ark of bands from the last 10 years that have played the alternative name (see Coldplay) while producing something that isn’t cutting edge, isn’t alternative, and quite honestly, isn’t very good. Unfortunately, it lumps a lot of bad music in with scads of really good artists and brings down the entire level of quality. What we end up with is a battle for a limited number of music listeners, buyers, concert goers, and promoters through a spectrum full of mostly crappy artists. The greater the promotion (paid for and crammed down our throats by bigger record companies), the greater the chance of success. The labeling of music as alternative intrigues lots of spenders into thinking they can go to a nice, big venue and live on the edge while listening to some artist labeled 'alternative' instead of heading over to Iota or Jammin’ Java where they could save a ton of money, enjoy themselves, and contribute to the cause.

Maybe I fold this into some pertinent to the issues of today...

Sam Brownback can call himself a liberal all day if he wants – that doesn’t make it so.

Peace,

T.D. "Leader of the Conservative Movement" (did it work?)

juliette

I did take my camera to the chocolatier class this evening; I forgot the memory stick. I wonder about me.

We made loads of chocolates: ganache filled, chocolate bark, chocolate-covered toffee...and all were very tasty. One of the most obvious questions that pops into the head, when hanging out with a chocolatier, is some variation of "How much chocolate do you eat?" Perfectly valid, yet the answer is always something like "Not so much." It's obvious to me now just how easy it would be to fall right into that answer - only two hours of playing with, and barely tasting the goods, is more than enough. When the smell is all around, when you're surrounded by the sweets, when you're working towards finishing a product - the ingredients and endgame don't hold much sway. I'd very quickly get tired of chocolate, but I'd love creating things that people love - a bit of a trade off.

Even though we were in a small strip mall in Arlington I kept thinking of Vianne Rocher plying her wiles in a small French village. I always like Juliette.

Evening.

T

open up and say...

There are so many things wrong with this idea. I’m going to step way out on a limb and say that I don’t think McDonald’s needs a bigger burger; people don’t need bigger burgers. This slab of meat ranges from 720 – 860 calories and that’s just the ticket for adding a few more pounds to the American gut. What’s even more ludicrous is that McDonald’s has someone who’s title is Executive Chef? Not only that, this guy ‘developed’ a bigger burger? I can already see the recipe popping up on RecipeZaar:

Prep time: same as any other burger
Level of difficulty: low

1. Take your mixture of fresh 84% lean , 91% lean, or angus beef.
2. Add more meat to make it BIGGER.
3. Shape like a burger.
4. Cook.

Recipe submitted by Dan Coudreaut

I was once on a tour of the Olympia / Hamm’s brewery in Olympia, Washington when the tour guide mentioned the company’s Brewmaster. I chuckled at that just as I chuckled at the McDonald’s Executive Chef.

I’ve just found out that Dan Coudreaut’s title is actually Director of Culinary Innovation at McDonald’s USA. I don’t even have the heart to attempt an excerpt of the jackassery in this bio. Sorry Dan.

I’m off to a chocolatier class tonight here in Arlington. Report to follow.

T

peace, out.

I couldn't help taking this picture. I fought the urge...punch, dance, jab, left hook, dodge, dance. I think you'll find I'm in a horribly jaded and sarcastic mood this week; don't worry, it'll soon be over. This was on the rear window of a GMC Yukon in a parking lot in Florida. I've got no idea how this fits into the realm of a 'memory'; I'm used to the vans parked here in W. Arlington that have inspirational toasts to the various churches and Christ, but I'm absolutely at a loss about the Yukon props.

It's not wrong, it's just confusing: a Yukon and 'loving memory of..."?

T

ann and andy, raggedy

I've been tempted to say something but it's pointless. Andrew Sullivan has a very incisive commentary on Ms. Coulter's genius. (Here's a link to the source of the commentary.)

Peace. Really.

T

jean-X

A few weeks ago there was an important discovery made down at the Pentagon City FashionPlex: The Denim Bar (DB). (click here for a great WaPo review)

The long, tall, lovely one decided on Saturday morning that she needed some new jeans…nice, new jeans. How does one find somewhere that sells such pants? How? g-o-o-g-l-e. Before another fray occurred we were off down Hhighway 50, over to Highway 27, lost by the ugly Air Force Memorial flying sculpture (that was Google Maps’ fault…the directions part, not the ugly sculpture part), and finally parallel parking in front of the DB…and the Sur La Table. Based on the known list of my manly traits you couldn’t mistake the matching-the-destination game: X looking for jeans, me to the cooking shop. The DB turns out to be this devilishly hip storegasm that has everything a girl or boy could want in denim…or a bar. The jeanista that helped that first day understood jeans like Crick understood chemistry and he had X in and out of a dozen pair of high-end dungarees. He had her in stilettos! (I missed that because I foolishly went to Sur La Table and the Discount Shoe Warehouse, unawares of the impending fashion show.) When I returned the three of us chatted for awhile, talked about his band, and laughed (?) about how I had missed the show, before X and I headed out with her newest, cutest duds. That pair has been duly broken in over the last ten days, she couldn’t be happier with the fit, and I suddenly offered to take her back and buy her another pair. I know...it was a moment of weakness, but I do love her. We popped over last night and somehow managed to find another pair that she can sport this weekend while she carouses across London and East Anglia. The same jeanista was working last night (along with a dama that had a very similar jean-build to X) and I decided this time to hang around, listen to good music, and sip the free beer. I'm pretty sure all shopping experiences, if they can't necessarily be avoided, should revolve around being the only customer in the store with everyone relaxed and bringing you more stuff to try on. I’m think you can ask her…she’ll agree.

Love to all.

T

that guy jack

I was in the elevator heading down to our building’s lobby café for a little nosh when I overheard this conversation:

Guy #1: “…then Jack broke into the embassy in Los Angeles.”
Guy #2: “Really?”
Guy #1: “Yeah, he did. Got the hostage out.”

I’m thinking that it’s a story about the high jinks that always took place when a few American Beer Drinking Team (ABDT) buddies were back in college. The hostage portion made me realize that this was something much more interesting. At this point we’re stepping off the elevator: I’m heading around the corner, they are heading to the set of elevators ten feet away that actually go the additional one floor down to the parking garage. (I don’t even want to get started on that little building trick…since the one flight of stairs is right there.) I finally suss out that “Jack” is Kiefer Sutherland’s character “Jack Bauer” on 24. As I take a few steps and round the corner I hear the follow-on:

Guy #1: “You can’t actually break into an embassy. That’s illegal.”
Guy #2: “Really?”
Guy #1: “Yeah. Embassies are territories of the countries they represent…”
(fades out)

Suspend disbelief? Whaa? This guy is happy enough to watch a show that involves Mr. Bauer saving the world from destruction over the course of 24 hours; in fact, Big Jack has apparently done it almost six times, and this guy is concerned about him breaking into an embassy in LA? The rule of law? This wedge is just the kind of party guest I want to have around some weekend for dinner.

T.

in a flash

It’s only right that I relate a few vignettes about my oration (diatribe?) on running for the bus that I made after my move to D.C. last summer. That entry put forth my belief that running towards any public transportation conveyance should be an indication that IF you don’t run, and run FAST, you’ll miss your ride. It shouldn’t appear as if you’re ‘running’ (or giving it the old ‘jog’) because you are so indecisive as to be unable to determine the time-space continuum involved in your movement and its chance of intersecting with the riding thing you desire. What brought this to mind were two steppers I’ve encounter over the last two days. The first I saw at the Ballston bus hub as I was heading to my Metro train yesterday morning. The WMATA 25B bus had departed the bus stall and was slowing at the intersection waiting for an opening to turn left onto Fairfax Blvd. Our contestant, a youngish gentleman, started a good sprint to catch it but just as it appeared he might get a fist on the door the bus slipped left between cars and headed down Fairfax. There was a short letup in the man’s pursuit – a pause just long enough for his inner voice (and commuting experience) to remind him of the fact that the bus would no doubt get held up at one of the next two intersections. Like a bullet he was off, across Stuart St., and blasting down the sidewalk hell bent for leather. I almost starting running just to see the outcome but, alas, I simply stood and gawked in commuter amazement; brilliant. My second harrier I encountered at the other end of my Metro ride (Dunn Loring-Merrifield) this morning. There wasn’t nearly as much target intercept missile plotting as was required yesterday but it was a no less impressive event. A business-casual guy bolted off a WMATA bus and ran something close to an 11-second 100 meters in order to catch an almost departing Fairfax Connector bus heading south; no pause, no thoughts of looking silly, just an opening gun (or door) and fast-and-furious headlong throttle. Both have been enshrined in my commuter hall of fame.

I don't always bitch.

T.

name brand

Before I get to my reflections of days to, from, and in Florida, it’s important to note that I’ve added the Bill Richardson 2008 link to my “where am I” box of junk. I should have added him before but my linking 'to do' list fell a little behind my actual doing. I’ll be adding a few more links later this week – along with my opening salvo on the candidates that I favor. (I was doing the gang / peace-sign / pointing up to Heaven motion for Vilsack 08 as you read that.)

Speaking of Heaven. We were passing through a layer of soft, fluffy, sun-ladened clouds on our approach into Orlando International last Thursday afternoon – at about 5000 feet – when a 6-year old behind me asked his mother “Are we in Heaven?” I could take this one of two ways: first, maybe I missed something and we WERE in Heaven! So I felt my head, checkeds my arms, and decided that this probably wasn’t the case. Or, there way too many kids in this world who see fluffy clouds and think of Heaven. I’m not sure exactly what that statement means but it was surreal. Of course, I find Orlando and the Disney-fication very much like purgatory (or someplace further south) – some families’ vacation spot is another man’s vision of the undead. That is one soulless city.

As I was walking through the airport I noticed a guy (father of two with his wife and two children, no doubt off to Disney) wearing a ‘jersey’ with his name printed on the back. I was behind him all the way to the baggage claim and here’s what I came up with as my rules for having your own name across the back of your shirt:

1. You’re Derek Jeter or ‘Melo and are taking the field for a professional athletic endeavor.
2. You’re under 12-years old and I’ll allow it because you’re proud of your Pony League baseball team in Poughkeepsie, New York.

Those are the rules. If you are on vacation and you’re sporting your softball team t-shirt or jersey from the class D Rec-league in Tulsa, Oklahoma, you need some help and a new wardrobe. I’m sure if I’d been able to get around the front of “Stevens #69” the team name across his chest would have been something along the lines of “Nads” or the “Beerhunters”. Nothing says undead...

So I’m waiting for my bag at the US Airways carousal in Purgatory International and listening to the airport's TSA announcements playing on loop:

“The Transportation Security Agency’s threat condition is currently Orange. Passengers are reminded that liquids and gels are only permitted through security checkpoints if they are in containers of 3 ounces or less and fit comfortably in a 1-quart bag” (italics added)

Just what does the comfortably mean? Has anyone been stopped and denied access because their 3-oz travel bottle of hair gel didn’t appear comfortable to the Einstein masquerading as a TSA agent? I’d love to see the secret video of that encounter.

Good things? The men’s restrooms down south are always placarded (see? I listen to the safety announcements) as “Men / Caballeros”. I love the word caballeros. That may be the only good to come from the Orlando experience.

My mother got through her surgery and is doing her best to recover while trying to not to kill the healthcare workers at the hospital. They try their best but they can’t handle any significant number of patients…not enough folks to get the job done. She’s transferring to a recovery facility this morning and should get much better care.

The flight back was uneventful aside from the normal delays and baggage-claim jackassery.

I have nicer things to write about. I’ll get after them soon enough.

T.

don't leave the pizza bones* behind!

There’s been talk about how some candidates (Hillary?) are running for the general election already and not necessarily for the party’s nomination (hence her refusal to blame herself for her war vote so she can better compete with McCain in November). It appears as if both Romney and McCain are swapping line-ups at the free agency deadline hoping to not only get the nomination but put a lock-down freeze on the right-wing vote. I happen to believe that Republicans at-large think they’ll win the general election in 2008. For those on the left who so hate this administration, you need to get over the idea that the 2008 election will be any indictment of the Republican Party. That ‘indictment’ vote already happened last November and the case was against the Bush/Cheney administration and their incompetent leadership. Being as the whole gang will be gone and forgotten by then, any inkling that the country will continue to vote down those candidates with a “R” after their name is wishful thinking.

It’s easy to see how McCain, Romney, and Guiliani are fighting for the heart of the right-wing vote; yet, Hillary, Obama, and Edwards are fighting over the center of the American population. I think the nation, by and large, is to the right of center on the political spectrum, and those voters that are teetering near the fulcrum will more than likely fall to the right come the general election. By that logic it seems to make sense that the Dems are working over that group – but it’s a fool’s bet. Politicians have to be damn sure they have the “base” of their voters; that area that's covering 30% on either end of the political spectrum. Those who reside in the middle 40% will wait until the pre-game show is over and won’t start paying attention until well into next Spring.

(Alert. Alert. Weird math coming.)

If party nominees haven’t secured the 30% that represents their portion of the political rainbow then any hope of winning a general election disappears. For every percent you don’t lockdown you’ll have to make-up at a rate of at least a 2-to-1 in that middle 40%. Let’s say McCain and his pandering to the right means he’s got that 30% in the books. Let’s also say that Hillary only managed to secure 25% of the left. My math tells me that of those middle 40%, Hillary will have to carry 6 to 7 of every 10 of those middle voters. If you believe, like I do, that the country leans right – then she’d need more like 8 of 10. That won’t happen…ever. Not for any of the Dems.

(Alert. Alert. End of weird math.)

What do the Dems do now? The left won’t stand for any candidate the refuses to get in line with the realities of the day. If one of the runners wants to secure the folks on the left of the dial then they’ll have to be firm on this war on terror. Edwards has made some bold statements but he ran on a ticket in 2004 that refused to say or recognize what was then a clear mistake. Hillary is just set on foisting the blame on someone else – there’s no way she could have made a mistake. Obama gets a free ride because he wasn’t actually there and making any decision. None of them have anything to lose by coming out and calling it all a disaster and putting forth an aggressive plan to put an end to the circus. It won’t hurt come the general election because most of the country wants it to end so the politicos will be able to live with ‘fessing up to their own shortfalls. The campaign needs to be a strong effort to unite the left behind one candidate: it’ll be a tough road, I expect it to get ugly, but someone’s got to win and lose. If you win the nomination you better make sure that you fully carry that 30% into November.

I have spoken.

*pizza bones

a zapruder moment

G. poked his head in the door this morning and directed something along the lines of “blah blah mumble mumble pschew” towards two not fully awake adults. Christine’s answer sounded very much like “no”, which sent G. running about the house saying “no school today!”

The boys felt cheated yesterday because they didn’t get the day off from school due to the snowstorm - even if it was a Sunday and they were already free and clear of the chains of education. I get the impression that snowstorms and the associated activities (sledding, snowball fights, wet clothes) are only graded as a success if they’re accompanied by a canceled school day. I imagine I was asked at least a half dozen times yesterday whether I thought there would be school today and I think I gave a well considered answer; yes and no. I thought it was going to be too warm for the evening/night rains to do much more than leave everything a wet and slushy mess (which it was); yet, I know how the ‘schools’ work around here so I rolled the dice on a two-hour delay. It’s difficult for adults to remember being a ten-year old and betting on whether or not homework needs to be done because you’re simply hoping that the weather guy is at least 100% right about the 50% chance of snow. I often went all-in on that little nugget of a bet, watched a bunch of TV, and lost my shirt when morning came without a trace of fluff. Bastards.

Back to this morning’s story - here’s the actual transcript of what was said:

G.: “Mommy, is there school today?”
X.: “Huh?”
G.: “Henry, no school today!”
X.: “Gabe! There is school today.”
G.: “But you said there wasn’t.”
X.: “No I didn’t”
G.: “You just did.”
X.: “I didn’t. I said ‘Huh’ to your question. I didn’t understand you.”
G.: “But you said there was no school.”
X.: “There’s school.”
G.: [hrumph] [exit stage left]

As if Mommy has the power to cancel school due to inclement weather. I believe there was a fleeting moment when G. almost decided to stand his ground, fight it out on grounds of "misunderstanding", and NOT go to school.

rock n' roll lives forever

A mind-numbing menology of music lined up for the early Spring. The sounds have been slow over the Winter, artists hibernating (or staying away), venues holding little interest for me. Not counting my Lucinda tickets for Nashville (which I sold on eBay), I believe the following will grace my ears between now and May 1st: Ute Lemper, Patty Griffin, Emmylou Harris, the Silos, Tarbox Ramblers, Lucero, The Long Winters, and Marshall Crenshaw; my own South by Southwest. I'm still holding out for a visit from Lucinda and the eventual arrival of Steve Earle come Summer 2008.

Can someone explain to me the whole photography-negative-switching physical traits-thing? One of the few things I cannot wrap my head around. What tripped the worry was a concert video last night, a documentary, that had screen-in-screen cameras of Steve Earle performing. He plays right handed, yet if the negative or film is run the opposite...he's playing left handed. It's not just a matter of the 'picture' facing the other way; it's pixels and physical traits being swapped so that a person playing with a right hand (as we know it) is playing with their left hand. It freaks me out.

I'm waiting.

Christine is off with the Owls to watch the Oscars. I gave her the sure-lock winners' list that I stole from Price-Waterhouse. The key pick? Alan Arkin for supporting actor...the rest are gimmes. You read it here first.

Peace.

T

term paper is due; hoping for a snow day

I feel like Annie Proulx and her The Shipping News has been a high school reading assignment. Maybe that sounds harsh but it wasn't so bad – Billy Budd and any Nathaniel Hawthorne would far exceed the punishment of The News. I quite liked it but I’ll be buggered if I can figure out what I’m to take away. (A moment of truth is required here. I saw the movie years ago and can only remember and associate two things: Kevin Spacey doesn’t fit my idea of Quoyle, and Cate Blanchett was hot as Petal – in a hot Cate way, not a hot Petal way.) The problem I have with any tome of fancy words is that I’ve got to be able to somehow relate it to a part of my life or personality; I can feel some parts of The News but it’s more like a bit of fog and mist (neat comparison, huh?). Here are my thoughts put to words: family, shame, loss, redemption, change (not the same as redemption), destruction, settling, home, life, love. That’s it – my entire review. I need to think about this much more.

I’m onto Harafish by Naguib Mahfouz. Christine saw it on the table a few days ago and told me it appears as if I AM serious about this lit-ter-a-ture thing. I actually bought this volume in Qatar a number of years ago and followed that up by buying the first volume of his legendary Cairo Trilogy at Dharma Books in Reno. They are the kind of books you have sitting on the seat of your car (or splayed across the coffee table) to impress girls. The first pitch into both books leads me to believe I’m in for a bit of GGMarquez with an Egyptian twist. We’ll see.

(Another aside: I just turned around my GGM autobiography entitled “Living to Tell the Tale” on the bookshelf. X keeps turning some of my books around because the titles are horrendous. The other two she turns around? “We Wish to Inform You That Tomorrow We Will Be Killed With Our Families”, a story of Rwanda, and; “Bury Me Standing”, a story of Gypsies. I’m on board with the Rwanda title, it’s not anything lovely, the other two confuse me.)

Vilsack is out of the 2008 run. If only I had the millions to help him run. I think we missed a great chance and I am really disturbed by how much money affects our political decisions. Maybe another entry on why money shouldn’t be the deciding factor. I'll remove him from my links section; how final is that? The Slate Gabfest refered to Hilary's campaign as the British Army with every other candidate on the Democratic ledger playing the roll of a colony or insurgency - they will need tactics that don't take her on in a straight fight if they are to suceed. I'm lost on my support for now: Edwards has earned some points for the "I was wrong on the war" approach, the Clinton machine scares me, and Obama has spun his wheels over the last few weeks. Stay tuned.

Lots of snow in Arlington today. The above picture is from about 10am this morning. I took the boys out sledding and they managed to get wet to the bone. It's nothing a long, hot bath didn't fix.

T

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