will work for food

I’ve decided I need a pressure cooker. I’m going to assume that there’s one in either Florida or Vermont that can I steal. There are tons on offer over at eBay but the really good, old ones are getting snapped up at a pretty penny. For those in Florida or Vermont, don’t start getting all Antiques Roadshow on me; you can’t trot the cooker out to some Holiday Inn or Episcopalian conference center, get it appraised, and think I’ll give you more than a cooked meal for it. Nothing more.

It appears we’ll have guests down on Saturday. I’ve been forwarded an e-mail that may or may not serve as formal documentation – answers and ideas from the WonderTwins are left wanting – so I’m gathering up some harvest goods and plans. The place’ll be empty as G. heads to Omaha for the weekend so I’ll get cracking on Friday night. (As a plea in advance: between the WonderTwins and their cousin Ellen, the said visitor, Corey and I have to deal with three mean ol’ lawyers. If you don’t hear from either of us by Monday AM, call for help!)

Most of you in the blog battlefield know that we’ve got a little commune going here on North Park. What’s most surprising is that when either Corey or I leave for a week suddenly it’s not a matter of “there’s some food over here if you want some”, but a more exigent problem of starving trees of monkeys. It’s always more frightening when there’s hunger around…you can’t just pawn it off on “your own damn apartment” Corey’s being gone is the only way to get me to finish dinner by 6pm (or so)…normally we trot out the dishes at about 7 or 7:30 which can sometimes be too late for the other kibutzzers.

so, this guy is washing his hands...stop me if you've heard this one.

For those of you that travel a lot, particularly through airports, this will make more sense. In fact, you’ll probably remember the mindless waving and water sounds. I’ve become so accustomed to those sinks with motion sensors that I regularly find myself looking a complete ass in both foreign and domestic bathrooms. The first act is always the waving of hands as if you’re vogue-ing in a Madonna video before realizing the sink has actual hot and cold handles. (Don’t get carried away and lump this hand dance move in with the jackassery involved when you have the sensors that simply work for crap and refuse to dispense with the elixir of washing – we all hate those and are forgiven for cussing them.) Hopefully there aren’t many senators around the john as you wave furiously and mumble under your breath at the damned spigot. All you're thinking is that you must have tripped the gatekeeper of the water. What you do next, in frustration and as a clear indictment of a bad sensor is this: you move over one sink and start the waving of fins anew. Nothing. Now you’re in dangerously embarrassing territory, especially if there is someone who started at the other end of the sinks and is slowly moving and waving toward the middle sinks where the two of you will end up in some sort of fission of irritated handwashers; be careful. Stop what you’re doing, use your eyes, and look around the sink. Are the things that appear as levers or knobs? If you spy them then simply turn them on and enjoy the fun. Pretty easy, right? The problem is that I’m too stupid to remember over a period of ten seconds and I’ll undoubtedly wake away from the sink, water running, and begin to dry my hands. I’ll be halfway home to the door when I realize I’ve left the water running. What I’ll process are questions like these. “Why is the water still running? My hands aren’t near the sensor, are they?”

The house is sans children this weekend since G. headed to Omaha last night. What crosses my mind first when this happens, at least that which I can publish, is this: when our Saturday afternoon cleaning is done the place will stay neatish until at least Sunday night. Dreams.

Last week Christopher Hitchens pointed out what I think is the main difference between the Democratic candidates. He said that he while watching Obama grow and get stronger over the last year or so he (Hitchens) has seen the potential for a further potential that is magnificent. The potential for Clinton ’s growth is nil. Under the wrong light that might seem harsh but it really is the essence of the question. Both are strong candidates, both have basically the same amount of experience*, and there’s little to separate them on many issues. I think youth and potential is a much better cocktail.

* I’m stealing from Chris Rock but I’ll give you something he relayed about experience and Hillary’s claim of her years in the White House as such. His parallel was that if his wife came to him and said she’d decided to do stand-up comedy in clubs across America then he’d know she was crazy. They’ve been together for years and she no doubt knows all his jokes, set-ups, opinions, and expressions to set the hook…but, as he says, she ain’t fucking funny. Think about that. Just saying.

p.s. Here's Madge.

hippies out the other side

I call it serendipity, X calls it something else. We spent the morning funning research on a list of the best schools in the area as chosen by the WaPo. She was looking for somewhere for H. and so it was that we stumbled upon the New School of Northern Virginia who happened to be running an open house this afternoon. We shot over to get a look at the joint and she knew in the first ten minutes that she’d found the place. The school is still run by the gentleman, let’s call him Dumbledore, that began the quest in 1989. There are about 120 students in grades 4-12 with classes set at 12 and fewer – usually fewer. I want to go to the New School and I want to teach at the New School. It’s a wonderful environment and I think it’ll be the perfect place. And to think that I simply wanted to sit around and read the NYTimes on a lazy March Sunday.

The dinner guests last night made the history books by being the first folks to have one remove a shirt at the dinner table. It’s not something you expect to come across after spanakopita and mint tea.

We ended up in a Sears department store today – what are the odds? I didn’t think there were still Sears stores in place. They’ve completely changed their mentality and now seem to be outlets for name brands merch and all the employees work on commission; they’re very helpful. Sears? We were after two 8-gallon humidifiers for the apartments - I need moisture for my naturally curly hair.

t.

a damn eva

I think that after two weekends of use I’m clear to pass judgment on the newest coffee babe in the house. It’s been a natural progression from drip coffee maker with glass flask, the drip with the thermal flask, to a French press, and finally to the Café Solo. There may be another step taken when I science out and move to a vacuum flash maker but we’ll cross that bridge when we get there. I stumbled upon the Solo while standing in line and perusing the usual coffeehouse fare for sale proudly displayed on an Ikea shelf: pounds of coffee, thermal cups, hats, a few bits of tea, and myriad devices to make you the better home barrista. I did some research on ‘the internets’ and found rave reviews and a high cost – up around $100 for the 1L unit. Come to find out the unit at Murky Coffee was only $75; maybe they got a bulk coffeehouse discount and saved me the shipping. X bought me the unit as a birthday gift and it’s been run through it paces over three or four weekend morning. I have to agree with the coffee bloggers (nee: geeks) that the process of allowing full contact between the grounds and the water for an extended period and by not pressing them to the bottom makes for a better cup. The long use of my French presses is filled with happy memories but the Eva is better. She also looks pretty hot with her little neoprene slinksuit half unzipped and her bosom exposed during the week…just waiting for a Saturday morning. Being as Eva is a Danish company it’s no real surprise that the stuff is good. I have the greatest cheese slicer that I bought on a trip to the Danish countryside – plus, Danish people are the tallest, happiest, blondest, best looking folk on earth.

H. is back in town for the weekend and I took the two chuk-a-lumps bowling on base this morning. Ft. Myers has an $8 deal on Saturday mornings that gets you two games, shoes, and a hot dog (I skip the dog). I made them a wager this morning that they’d get a dime for every pin they beat my score with their combined effort. What I learned real quick is that even if they’re chucking 6s and 7s each frame I’ve got to roll marks. G. came on late with a strike and spare in game 1 and it did me in 185-153. I fought back in the second, pride and all, but still lost 175-173 (both my opens were 1-pin second ball misses). Overall I lost $3.40 on the deal but well represented myself with a 163 average while throwing a hacked-up ball-of-the-wall. They enjoyed beating me – who doesn’t. We’ve got a pile of Greek food for dinner tonight; the boys piano teacher/opera singer is coming over with her husband.

Opa!

the straight talk express

This story has been brewing over two or three weeks in my head and now it’s complete. I’ve hit upon what clarifies for me what I’ll call the yin/yang of what bothers straight guys when around or discovering gay guys in the midst. The narrative began when I was watching Prime Suspect 3 with Helen Mirren – she was starring in show not watching it with me. I think this episode was sometime from the late 80s and dealt with murders within the gay community of London. As they were tracking the hunting grounds of the killer in the gay community – the quiet clubs, the party clubs, etc. – one of the veteran officers gives them a rundown on all the joints and their specifics. As he finishes he gets razz'd for his knowledge of gay clubs by the other coppers in his office; right then and there he tells them that he’s gay. A bit later in the show he encounters one of his mates in the restroom and his friend is gobsmacked by the admission and completely put off by him. So, the light that came on above my little head illuminated this idea: straight guys are, in effect, bothered by the fact that the gay guy in the office, at the club, in his golf foursome or anywhere else hasn’t hit on him. The straight guy can’t possibly believe two things a) he should have already known his mate was gay because gay guy mate would surely have hit on him, b) there’s no way a gay guy, like any girl anywhere, wouldn’t find him dashing and attractive. The rub is that he wants nothing to due with his gay acquaintance but he wants nothing to do with it on his own terms: generally something that could be understood to combine a mean-spirited comment and a punch in the face. It makes a great story for him when he tells it while drinking beer in the golf cart with his pals. You may not agree, and that’s fine, but I’ll give you this – you will get the exact same reaction out of a straight guy if there are girls in a room who don’t flirt or coo around him. This aspect is genetic to all men; guys (straight or gay) and girls should certainly find his humor, personality, and feats of strength most interesting. Don’t believe the idea has anything to do with straight guy thinking about gay guy in any gay way, or his wanting to be gay, it’s merely the self-ideal that’s at play. Trust me. I’m right on this one.

That’s all - a little something to ponder after my last entry for the month.

t

dangling participants

On my bus ride to the Metro I noticed a woman sitting peacefully, if unstable, on the front bench with her legs dingle-dangling above the floor. The first time I remember realizing there were these people like this among us was during a training flight way back in the early naughts. I was standing behind the maid of honor from my first wedding (what are the chances?) and realized that while talking with her via headset, every time I asked a question, she stopped typing and used the microphone switch on her headphone cord in order to answer. As some background to the event you need to know that our plane is outfitted with foot switches so you can generally (if not a midget) keep working the keyboard and mouse while talking. Granted, Kat is shorter than most and there was never any hope of her reaching the foot switch even with the Recaro seat all the way down and in. Funny, I thought, as I let her know that I was on to her and then lether know that she was clearly too short to ride this ride. Ha ha ha. Then she turned around and punched me as she was wont to do. I happened to know that when I’m occupying the slippy-slidey seat on the bus I use my feet all the time to prevent sliding into the strange passenger next to me when the #401 driver decides to make a statement while turning…or stopping…or starting. How do folks get through life if they can’t reach the floor? Baffling.

X brought back some potent bleu/Roquefort/gorgonzola dolce/goat/chevre cheese from Barcelona that I melded it into some gnocchi for dinner this evening. This cheese was of such import (get it? import…) that she decided it would be best to hand-carry it for the return flight. Think about that for a moment. When you come through customs they always ask you things like “do you have any food with you? Maybe an aged wheel of cheese or some such?” The correct answer, cheese terrorist or not, is “Why, no. I don’t have any cheese and I will thank you to not insinuate that I’m a Democrat.” She decided to play honest and truthed up about the wheel. For those that know X you’ll be perfectly aware of what happened next: her scowl as she stood in a second line reserved for the honest and the dishonest. When she gets to the front of the line, after a group of others that had millions of suitcases to inspect, the customs agent says to her, “Do you have food in your bag?” To which little miss sunshine replies, in a cooperative tone, “That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?” It did not go well.

my buddy and yours

I know it was only days ago that you were forced to watch some music – listen to some music – but you’re getting another dose, like it or not. It’s another favorite of mine doing a song that apparently doesn’t yet have a title but that’ll probably be on his new CD sometime this year. The three guys in the studio Buddy Miller on guitar, Phil Madeira on the B3, and Don Was on the big bass are a massive historic compilation of talent. With that said, I’m putting it up just you can listen to Buddy sing. Enjoy.

peering behind the curtain

The Sitemeter program that sits on my blog lets me peer into my visitor details that include things like location, referring page, etc. In fact, I can track the endless work locations of the Wondertwins’ cousin as she gets around the state of Vermont. The most interesting aspect of Sitemeter is that I can view the Google search inputs and results that refer the unknown and unwashed to my page; the rest of you that come of your own free will are uninteresting. Here’s a gathering of search queries from the last week or so:

paddle room
I get a lot of these. People have great interest in Paddle Rooms, probably British.

how to drive when pulling a car out of the ditch
I think Christian is simply trying to make himself look better.

slobberbone slippage blogspot
My favorite bar band of all time.

redlands palomino
My favorite UK-based americana band.

polenta paddle, 1985
This is confusing. I can see polenta but the paddle and year entry are very strange.

"drickey" Omaha
Mr. Drickey was my Literary Masterpieces teacher when I was a high school sophomore.

what happens when you give dusclops the reaper cloth
This is Pokemon stuff – this is what happens when you steal vocab from wikipedia.

school paddle haircut
What?

he went to shit and the hogs ate him
Of course he did….

padilla chronology
A little politics

disenfranchised voters who can vote because no id
More politics

cake or death reno blog
Cake or Death!

t

construction

You may have noticed the massive layout changes at The Paddle. It's been driven by X regenerating her blogging activities last week and employing the folks over at Vox.com. I tinkered with the site imagining a new home, even managing to import most of my archive, but decided to say at Blogger because I'm more comfortable with the set-up and techniques. What I did realize while tinkering at Vox was that a white background and black text is much easier on the eyes so I've set upon a remedy and new look. All the stuff will be here, and in my desired format, in a few days.

X also let me know, in no uncertain terms, that I can't continue to steal the affairs of her life and incorporate them into my entries...I'm not scared. I take what I take and I do what I do. So there.

my gal bob

X is off at her Oscars party down in Alexandria. It's hosted by a classmate from G'town and there are costume requirements and contests. I gave her my picks for the awards after which she eyed me and said two things.

"You were nowhere close last year." and,

"I can't vote for Daniel Day-Lewis."

Apparently she cares little for Mr. Day-Lewis. I very simply relayed to her that after seeing There Will Be Blood I knew the outcome of this category. If she wants to be crazy she should vote for Juno for Best Picture - I think it will win. [Writer's note: I just missed on animated feature. I picked Persepolis but Ratatouille won. Not much of a surprise - Rat was good but Persepolis is clearly the better movie.] I finally traipsed off to see No Country for Old Men this afternoon and as much as I thought is was cinematic genius I'm sticking with Juno in the upset. The Coen Brothers will always be too much for the Academy and the success of Fargo was as good as it will get for them. No Country was full of the best acting I've seen in years but it'll get snubbed by the Academy - only Javier and the Coens (as directors) will win.

Earlier in the day I told X that she should dress as Cate Blanchett doing Bob Dylan for the big party. When I came home later in the day - after watching No Country - I saw the wardrobe on the bed that screamed Dylan. We went to Target for some Rayban knockoffs and she set her hair in tight curlers for the full effect. When she walked out earlier this evening she was a crazy dead-ringer for Cate as Dylan. Of course, she claimed it as independent thought...

Here's a library story whilst waiting for better award categories on the blogs. X went to pick up a book that she'd reserved online. (For those that are unawares, the Arlington County Libraries are greatly advanced - you reserve on-line and pick-up the book at the counter after notification via e-mail.) Anyway, X tries to pick up her book (without her actual library card but through the use of her Virginia driver's license) which is reserved under a name similar to Haute-Coutere yet not listed under Haute-Coutere. So she offers the Sunday library lady this "I think my name might be under HauteCoutere in your computer...without the hyphen." This draws a TSA glance and terrorist checklist withdrawal. She's told they are only suppose to use actual names from identification cards - how could Haute-Coutere be the same as HauteCoutere. Maybe Mr. HauteCoutere (Christine HauteCoutere!) is tapping into the Arlington County Library awaiting (and stealing!!!!) a book hold on some crappy English mystery novel. The insanity of it all.

I seem to have missed best Supporting Actress - but since I totally dig Tilda Swinton I'm okay with it. I'm signing off for the evening.

Love to all.

t.

coffee, crows, and comics

The weather was a blanket of fog and the setting in of a sleety, snowy mix on Friday so I decided to take the Ballston-place skyways from the Metro to the Mall. As one might expect, there are many a Starbucks about the commuter center of Ballston. What I realized as I entered building number one is that a man had just left that Starbucks and was heading back up to his office in building number two, the National Science Foundation (NSF) - which is across the first skyway. I immediately wondered what the difference in travel might be from the NSF to this, the first Starbucks and the second Starbucks across the second skyway in the mall. I backtracked to the door and began a pace count: 127 paces from coffee to the NSF door. At that point I started over and stopped, mid-crosswalk when I hit my second 127 paces. It ends up that unless you jaywalk and sneak through some bushes it's an extra 94 paces to the further Starbucks. I plan further research because I suspect there's a backdoor out of the NSF that might lead to some sciencers actually using the further (but closer...) Starbucks. I don't even like Starbucks, if you're getting that impression, it's all merely a crazy man with his iPod thinking too much.

Here's you're biannual (or semi-annual) Old Crow Medicine Show video link. This is from last summer when they performed on Austin City Limits - you get a wonderful version of Wagon Wheel with good camera work and no crazy crowd screaming over the lyrics.

I stumbled into a part of D.C. this morning that I hadn't been through with any extensive walking before - it's a revitalization in progress area around 14th St. NW and S St. A few of the anchors in the area are the Black Cat music club, Arena Stage, and Cafe Saint-Ex. A number of boutique shops and other locally-owned businesses are beginning to populate that three or four block stretch of 14th St. I had headed down to find a comic book shop, Big Monkey Comics, so I could buy some more graphic novels or comics for G. He seems to be pretty happy reading fantasy and adventure stories and graphic novels are a great way to keep everyone's interest. The guy manning the till knew just what I was looking for - most of the novels are marketed to a much older audience - and we spoke at length about the popularity of genre. It was exactly the kind of customer service you hope for but rarely encounter.

I came home after a stop at Eastern Market only to find that Corey had taken the WonderTwins to a jewelry shop. I've no idea exactly what he might have been thinking; maybe there was a frying pan to the head or a trail of bacon. How would one get roped into that mission? I also brought home two bunches of mint because X has purchased an old crazy silver tea set and wants to make Moroccan mint tea. When I told her I'd nabbed some mint she clapped her hands like a baby seal but suddenly stopped,"We'll need gunpowder green tea to do it right," she said. My thoughts exactly...


t

...or are you just happy to see me?

I hear that the Virginia legislature passed a law that allows citizens with concealed weapon permits to carry their concealed guns into restaurants with the proviso that they don’t consume alcohol. Here are a few excerpts from the Richmond paper:

Delegates who favored the bill said current law allows a person to carry a handgun into a restaurant or bar if the weapon is not concealed and to drink until the restaurant cuts the person off.

I’m confused on the alcohol aspect of the new bill – or the old bill. Is the legislature concerned about the relationship between guns and alcohol in public places or not? What’s the difference between a concealed gun under my arm and my .44 sitting on the bar in front of me while I slug back Wild Turkey? If my .44 is sitting there, full of bullets and glistening with machismo, and I get irritated about politics or an ACC basketball game, who is going to come over and cut me off? On the other hand, if the gun is concealed then how do they know whether or not they can serve me alcohol?

What I often encounter when packing heat is the endless problem about what to do for lunch. I mean, what if I want some chow but I’ve got my .44 strapped on…what to do? Wait! Harvey has the answer…

Delegate Harvey B. Morgan, R-Gloucester, said the legislation is years overdue. If someone is walking down the street with a legally concealed weapon “and someone says let’s get some lunch, what are you going to do, put it under an ash can?” he asked.

An ash can? I take it Harvey is a smoker and can be found standing outside the Capitol loading dock dragging on a Marlboro. How about this? If you’re “walking down the street” you leave your gun at home. I don’t think you need your magnum when you’re off to Wal-Mart unless, of course, you think there’ll be a need for you to join the militia in a exigent situation in the DVD section.

What I’ve learned while living in Virginia is that this state has an abysmal record on gun law and/or control. It seems that most guns in the District come from Virginia dealers and gun shows that either don’t follow the laws or don’t care. I’m not too hip on what lawmakers down in Richmond might be pondering. Word is that Gov. Kaine will veto the law.


On a lighter note; did everyone see clips of the NBA Slam Dunk contest? I haven’t watched an NBA game for years and I’d long forgotten about the Dunk contest. I don’t think it will ever become what it once was in the days of Wilkens and Jordan but Dwight Howard did everything he could to stun everyone. By the way, Mr. Howard is 6’11” and goes about 285 lbs.

t

i pity the fool

It’s been a week (and some…) since an entry?

Some sleet and snow fell last night and is supposed to return later this evening and into tomorrow AM. Isn’t that a great update on life?

X and her mother spent six days gallivanting around Catalonia Spain and returned safely on Tuesday afternoon. I fetched the weary travelers from Dulles Airport and shepherded them home for a day or two or recovery rest.

There was an interview that occurred somewhere, at some time, last week that involved a very close version of this question-and-answer session:

Panel: So, what kind of hobbies do you enjoy?
Interviewee: I like golf.
Panel: Anything else that interests you?
[pause]
Interviewee: I’m really into UFC, the Ultimate Fighting Championship.

Now, let’s just say that I was a part of the panel for the purposes of reviewing this little nugget of joy. If I was there, and I may or may not have been, the first thing I’m wondering – and asking shortly after my brain stops – is this, “Oh, so you participate in mixed martial arts?” When I define hobby I think about something that is participatory, at a minimum an idea that involves some thought of bodily movement. After the first interview question and answer I would have believed that the interviewee, someone I’ve now dubbed Rampage Jackson, as a member of the great golf-playing segment of our population. Maybe he’s a 15-handicap that enjoys spending his weekend perfecting his short game. After the second question I’d really be impressed because the answer addressed another active and newly interesting hobby – mixed martial arts. Dang! Ol’ Rampage Jackson plays golf on Saturday and then steps into the octagon on Sunday in preparation for his upcoming tussle with Chuck Liddell at UFC 96. That is someone I want in my workplace: golfer and ass kicker. Let’s continue…

Panel: We don’t know much about Ultimate Fighting…sounds interesting.
“Rampage”: Man. I’ll tell you something, I love cable TV.

What? He loves cable TV? That’s a hobby? I can’t believe two things: first, we would fall for the golf and UFC inputs and not think it was actually based on watching those events on TV. Second, who the hell tells an interview panel that they love cable TV (and, apparently, digital video recorders)? I’m keeping that technique in my pocket for any future interviews.

I’m heading into the District this evening for a Steven Breyer get together at the Sixth and I Synagogue. He’s being interviewed by a legal correspondent for The National Review. And let me tell you something, that’s a hobby to pass along during an interview, “I enjoy attending events that peg me as a dork….”

I can live with that.

T.

queen of sandwich

My darling had a little adventure while walking to the Metro yesterday with her sister. She then spent Tuesday night in the hospital haranguing any variety of medical professionals and being tested for everything under the sun, and eventually strong-arming them into releasing her posthaste in the morning. She is fine - she went to school mere hours after discharge. I was very worried when I finally got word from WonderTwin #2 while working the polls yesterday. (The “finally” applies to me not answering my calls while at the polling place not as a reflection of Kt’s considerate behavior in calling…she was wonderful.) Anyway, no need to get into too much detail about the fainting spell, but it is enlightening, funny, and it makes everything seem a little less worrisome when we take at good, long look at testimony put forth concerning the breakfast sandwich, known as the “sandwich” for the remainder of the entry, that was witness to the event.

Kt had made sandwiches for the WTwins to nosh while walking to the Metro – a job often, but not always, fulfilled by yours truly. As X felt the light-headedness coming on whilst walking, talking, and eating, she decided the best thing to do, not the first thing but the best thing (the first being to start kneeling down), was to hand her sandwich to #2 for safekeeping. Based on what I’ve been able to jigsaw together she said something like “I think I might faint…hold my sandwich.” Two areas require consideration: Twin #1’s mindset and Twin #2’s mindset. What X really wanted was to ensure her sandwich’s safety because she was damn well going to want that sandwich when the situation, fainting, and lying about the pavement was resolved. She didn’t hand Kt the sandwich so she could simply throw it away – for shame. What Kt was thinking was that the sandwich could be thrown to the side of the road as her sister fainted to the pavement – I know what you're thinking and how amazed you are.... a sandwich/faint comparison and importance equation – but in that is how you come to understand the Twins. As things sorted and the EMTs loaded her into the wagon, and after Kt had given loving and superior assistance to her sister, she was immediately accosted by the most obvious statement from the newly revived: Where the hell is my sandwich? I’m hungry.

And there it is.

P.S. All laughter about only the sandwich situation is allowed and approved by sandwich fainter.

a little help

I didn’t quite spend enough time on the High 5 in my last entry so I’ll back up and fill in the story. The High 5 project was “the greatest construction feat” (or something like that) in the history of Dallas. It’s a major interchange where US 75 and I-635 meet and it’s a five-level jobber that streamlinesd traffic through what used to be a pretty jammed-up area.

Here’s a before picture:


Here are a few after shots – believe me, the upper road is impressive when you’re heading over at 120+ feet:





They love their traffic and roads down in DFW.

T.

ma! get outta my room!

My brother down Dallas way reminded me of my desire to cover condom shoppes (old-timey vocabulary) and the proliferation, if you will, throughout the strip (ha ha) malls of the City of Dallas and/or Dallas County. My most recent visit was filled with neon signs calling out for big, medium, and small…condoms. I have never seen a condom store – though I imagine missing areas or cities in Europe that offer this strip mall service. My first thought is that Dallas wants nothing more than to control the usage and application of condoms. As background, and those who’ve been to Dallas can vouch for me, they have the most ludicrous law(s) concerning drinking; and nothing goes with drinking better than condoms. The first is the somewhat rudimentary ‘state liquor’ store jackassery. Iowa does it, Minnesota does it – and I find them to be progressive...if that means anything. You can buy beer and wine in groceries but you don’t dare touch the hard stuff. It’s a completely perverse and tax-laden economy – not only will I take your money because you want a shot of Maker’s Mark (and who doesn’t?) but I’ll hit you up for overtaxation and governmental control. I’d almost think the Democrats and big government were involved. Funny enough, it’s the conservative, save you from yourself, taxing governments that run this sham. And now I’ve got to deal with condoms? Even though I can't find the city code I know in my heart, deep down in my soul, that Tom "*(^%#@" DeLay is behind this teenage mentality. Anyone named DeLay should...nevermind. The second bit of junk is the ‘private club’ mentality – you can’t drink in the City of Dallas (and any number of smaller cities within an hour of the Big D) unless you are a “member” of the club. This entails you paying $1 to fill out a form that signifies you are a 'member' of the ‘club’ that actually covers ALL of Dallas. Think about this. If I pay my $1 once, and carry the crappy little card around with me everywhere I go, then I can drink for a whole year via spymaster use of golden $1 card. NOBODY carries that thing around all year – you throw it in the garbage. The next time out…you pay another dollar. You can laugh at me for not being diligent enough to carry around my dry cleaning receipt but the fact is I’ll just pay the money to shut them up. It’s like "free returns”….nobody uses them. It’s the process that's gunked up – not me.

So…I’ve paid my dollar at TGI Friday’s, I’ve stopped at the State Liquor Store for some Wild Turkey, and now I’m thinking I’ve got my date right where I want her. All I need are a few…condoms. I can’t actually finish the story because it’s too stupid to imagine myself buying some Strawberry-flavored from Tom DeLay.

The other thing you get in the DFW metroplex is road talk. I’ve tested the waters with the MedTech in the Hosptial thusly: Is the High-5 done?

“Dang if it ain’t done!”

I headed to the DFW tourism office and snatched me up a few postcards showing the High-5. Here’s a link to the Flickr photoset of the High-5…it's over 1,100 pictures and I KNOW it isn't some contractor...it's the damn High-5!!!

I got through the damn High-5 in 26 minutes today. I used to be stuck in the pile of pig slop for 67 minutes….”

Here’s a shot at the Superdelegate issue from an insider. Any Super-Ds who jump now – for both sides – should be barred. They're there for a reason. Sorry, that was a politics jump.

Here’s my chant: Nebraska, Louisiana, Washington, Maine, Maryland, D.C., and Virginia…

T.

P.S. I apologize to all the mothers for my condom talk. It's the High-5!

run kick step run

In my desire to give dap to those commuters who go above-and-beyond the call of commuting duty, I submit the following event. It occurred at the Dunn Loring Metro station yesterday morning as I was heading towards the up-and-away elevators. The D.C.-bound train was already fully in the station as a woman was running down the escalator, full of eternal hope. She must have been about half-way down, just out of my view, when I suddenly spy a black, low-heeled, slip-on shoe flying through the atmosphere of Metro platform. It tumbled to a stop about 15 feet beyond the end of the elevator. Fortunately, that area of the platform was nearly empty since the running crowd was already a ways ahead of her. The period of time between the appearance of the flying jutti and the appearance of the shoe-kicker was barely long enough for one to sort out what was happening. She bounded down the trailing third of steps, appearing to hop off three or four sets from the end, skipped towards the shoe, twisted her right foot just so, and slipped the mischievous item back on while still at a full trot. I didn’t turn to see if she made the train, I heard the telltale ding-ding of doors closing, but if all’s right in the World she made it.

Former Governor (former Senator, former Representative) George Allen is on the WAMU Politics Hour this afternoon. Exactly how anyone believed that he could actually be President is frightening. In fact, his spewing of the party line concerning the War on Terror, activist judges, and all the other junk that flows from his portion of his party is comical. I’m sure there are tons like him in the Senate but I’m thankful he’s moronic enough to have dug his own grave last Summer.

If only my neighborhood had nicknames as great the newly indicted Gambino Family…

T.

operatic jungle

Over the weekend the WonderTwins nattered through a color conversation while nibbling on fruit and nuts and swinging about the jungle canopy. Being a jungle bear, I simply rolled my eyes, nudged the other sane animals, and laughed at the unrecognizable language. The folk over in #1 decided to fancy up their dining and living rooms with shelves, fancy paints, and sunshine. The dining room has already been painted and the chatter on Sunday was about color palettes for the living room…oh, baby! WonderTwin #2 opened the auction with a color visual: a scarf. This scarf appeared to us on the jungle floor as something we’d call green. There was much worry between the Twins as to the greenness of said scarf, particularly when that green might be applied to walls. Twin #1 blurted out that the color might be too “sage-y” or “minty” and might appear washed out – maybe a jade would be more appropriate. “Oh, interesting…” intones Twin #2 as she takes another bite of mango and swings off to another vine. Who knew the depths of green, especially in the jungle? I began to ponder my own rods and cones and pictured that maybe a sea green, Islamic green, celadon, or a nice harlequin might explode the design plan to grandness. Instead, I just threw a busted coconut shell up into the branches to scare off the primates and then ran off to the lagoon for a swim.

Super Tuesday seemed to decide little. All the campaigns will rain down on Virginia, Maryland, and D.C. beginning today. I think Obama is stronger in the Potomac/Chesapeake area than Clinton and with an essential deadhead I’m expecting a goodly turnout at the new voting precinct that I’m charged with for the first time next Tuesday. The Virginia primary is open, every voter can choose which ballot they would like (Republican or Democrat) regardless of registered party (Virginia doesn’t register by party) or inclination. That may make a big difference as ‘republicans’ and ‘democrats’ may swap ballots in order to avoid candidates they can’t stomach.

X has booked opera tickets and a hotel in Manhattan for La Boheme in April. I tipped her to the performance of “Angela Gheorghiu, who sings Mimì at the Met…” She loves Ms. Gheorghiu so we’re heading up in mid-April. I’ve never been to NYC so a two-night, one-night tip will be exciting.

Hey to all.

T.

am not.

Yesterday afternoon G.'s grandmother came by with an old high school friend and child who are traveling across the entire North American continent by car (Alaska to Florida). As they were introduced to G. the scenario turned to him running the other child, R., through the kid paces.

G: So, how old are you?
R: 8
G: What grade are you in?
R: Second.
G: Do you know what GameCube is?
R: Yes.
G: What size are your feet?
R: I dunno.
G: Do you have a computer at home?
R: Yes.
G: How many?
R: Two.
G: Do you own one, like, in your room?
R: [a look of huh?]
G: I have one right there in my room...

This very natural, childlike exchange is almost too painful to follow, especially when one kid is on another kid's home court. It's not like they met on the playground and G. didn't have the whole house to flaunt at the visiting team. At a neutral site each kid could at least have the benefit of making up anything and spitting it out while jumping on a slide or swing. It would be very cool if we could have adult interactions along the same line; I know, we kind of do, but it would be much funnier if it turned out like this. Imagine a co-worker brings his 'date' over for dinner. We'll call my date X and his date Y.

X: How old are you?
Y: 29
X: I'm 37 (ish)
Y: Oh.
X: What's your inseam?
Y: 30
X: I'm a 36. Where did you go to school?
Y: University of Virginia.
X: Oh. [damn!] I went to Cambridge and I’m finishing up at Georgetown Law.
Y: Oh yeah? Where did you do your undergrad work?
X: [leaning into kitchen] Hey baby, is dinner almost ready?

[pause]

X: Do you have a big closet at home?
Y: Not too big.
X: I have a big one. It's right in my room. Want to see it?

T.

hey. psst. the answer is c.

In some way the debate story at the end of this article warms my heart. I like Richardson and I think he's got a place in the next administration. There was absolutely no requirement for him to relay this story to the Post and I think it says a lot about how he feels about Obama and the fact that it isn't always about putting a choke hold on your opponent.

Read for yourself.

T.

one....million....dollars! it's all i need

I was perusing CNN.com this morning and decided to sort out my retirement needs by using their handy-dandy retirement calculator. I know that at my age I should be doing more than playing with a retirement calculator on a populist/news Website… maybe saving more money. I typed in a few figures (birth, death, dates, income, percentages, etc.) and hit calculate. I knew something was amiss in my life when the damned thing told me I’d need $18 million dollars by age 60 in order to meet my retirement fantasy. That seemed a little extravagant based on my current lifestyle. But hey, if that’s the number, so be it. Who can argue with math sums? I immediately began to think of ways to cut back on spending: cancel my $14.99 monthly Netflix account, stop giving $10 a month to Minnesota Public Radio, shop more at Wal-mart (see below) and less at Whole Foods, and maybe get another two or three high-paying careers. Why would anyone need $18 million for retirement? I began to think that all this ‘financial planning’ was nothing more than a scam perpetrated on generations of people who merely want movies delivered to our mailboxes, no late fees, and good music. Are we to live like paupers? This is why we’re in the state we’re in…too much worrying about the economy, politics, Democrats v. Republicans, red states/blue states, Iraq, Jessica Simpson and Britney Spears; it’s all going to hell. I decided right then and there to make a change and set out on a new beginning, a new day if you will, and take the righteous path to my $18 million pot of gold. I began jotting down the numbers from the ‘calculator’ onto a clean sheet of a yellow legal pad so I could begin to really crunch my life’s numbers. Oops. It appears that I mistakenly input that I wanted to live at 80% of a $880,000 annual income instead of 80% of a $88,000 income – funny thing about zeroes. Shoot, if I could live (or even earn) at 80% of $880,000 I’d be sitting at home on the couch watching all ten seasons of the Sopranos. The moral of the story? Check you’re math.

There’s a report that Wal-Mart is going to lower prices 10-30% in order to ‘stim-U-late’ the economy. I think the most important tidbits from the press release are these:

Wal-Mart announced Tuesday that it will chop prices between 10 to 30 percent this week on groceries, electronics and other home-related products in an effort to keep its cash-strapped consumers excited about shopping.

And,

Wal-Mart said for $10 or less, its shoppers can bag 4 Pepsi 12-pack cases and 2 DiGiorno 12-inch pizzas.

Let’s parse that first bit. Wal-Mart is making an effort to “keep its cash-strapped consumers excited about shopping.”? Isn’t that the germ of the problem? That’s like a corner drug dealer saying he’s going to throw in an extra 8-ball with every purchase just to keep his addicted consumers ‘excited about addiction’. Okay, maybe I’m being a little harsh, maybe I should read the entire article – oh, look here, you can get (for a sawbuck or less…) 48 cans of Pepsi and two frozen pizzas! This is what they’ve come up with as the selling point – the coup d’grace – for their grand plan: two crappy 12” frozen pizzas and a keg of Pepsi? How about for a tenner or less we can get a dozen eggs, a gallon of milk, two loaves of bread, a bunch of bananas, and a half-dozen tomatoes? How about that?

T.

blinded by the light

G. returned from a long weekend in the Midwest and decided to work his way through the first three Star Wars movies. The first three episodes being IV – VI and not episodes I – III; you know, the 1977 – 1983 movies. Nevermind.

X purchased a new clock a few weeks ago: I dubbed it the Death Star; I think its actual name is the “progression wake up clock”. It’s a strange conflation of happenings because I hadn’t thought of the Death Star for many years, all of a sudden it’s everywhere. The clock illuminates and birds start chirping about twenty minutes before the time of awakening – a gentle, lea-like morning choral event to enhance my hatred of early roustings. Over the last few weeks I’ve spent my mornings trying to discern whether in my dreams I can pinpoint the songs of various British songbirds before awaking and donning my frock: is that a yellow-rumped Warbler? A chestnut-collared Longspur? or, Belinda Evans? Sometimes it’s best to simply look away when the mailman delivers the stock to our door each and every day. Yesterday we got some oil burning wall lanterns delivered. I’m keeping an eye out for a headless horseman jumping the hedges or Pa Ingalls returning from town with the seed.

Back to the Death Star – the real fictional one, not the clock. The nom de guerre seems to lack a certain something. I would think that if commanding officer Grand Moff Tarkin and Palpatine were sitting around working on the Galactic Empire budget and defense spending plan they could have come up with something better than Death Star (I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t even be classified as a star…). Most weapon systems carry titles that either imply power or meekly hide the real idea: Fat Boy, Cobra, Apache, or Fighting Falcon. Maybe Tarkin and Palpatine had their kids visiting the committee room that day ("take your future villain to work day") while all were reviewing the blueprints and one of their third-graders came up with Death Star. I bet if we did a little more research we’d find that one of them might have a cat named Spotty at home. This is all apropos of nothing but an alarm clock. In case your wondering, these are apparently the specs for the Death Star(s) – I have no idea who entered this on Wikipedia but I am amazed at the inane detail, 52,276 gunners?:

The first Death Star has a crew of 265,675, as well as 52,276 gunners, 607,360 troops, 30,984 stormtroopers, 42,782 ship support staff, and 180,216 pilots and support crew.Its hangars contain assault shuttles, blastboats, Strike cruisers, land vehicles, support ships, and 7,293 TIE fighters. It is also protected by 10,000 turbolaser batteries, 2,600 ion cannons, and at least 768 tractor beam projectors. Various sources state the first Death Star has a diameter between 120 and 160 kilometers. There is a broader range of figures for the second Death Star's diameter, ranging from 160 to 900 kilometers.

T.

not yoo again

Here he comes again. I think most of us know by now that being book smart and being regular smart are two different traits. I’m not certain I have a whole lot of either, but…John Yoo is an ass. Yoo, one of the authors to the Bush Administration torture posse, has been sued by Jose Padilla – for $1. Yoo wrote in defense of his actions last week in the Philadelphia Inquirer and proudly makes his case via this stirring type of narrative:

"At the time, I was an official in the Bush administration Justice Department working on the response to the 9/11 attacks. Our lives had taken very different paths. Padilla had turned to drugs and crime in Chicago and was convicted of murder as a juvenile. He became a radical follower of fundamentalist Islam, left for Egypt in 1998 and journeyed in 2000 to Afghanistan, where he trained to become a terrorist at al-Qaeda and Taliban camps.

I had the good fortune to grow up in the Philadelphia area, attend the Episcopal Academy for high school, and go off to Harvard for college and Yale for law school. I studied and eventually taught war powers, a subject that always interested me because of Philadelphia's rich history with the Revolutionary and Civil Wars and my family's origins in South Korea, the scene of one of America's more recent conflicts."

And he trots out the troops (as they are wont to do) as further defense of his actions for both the memos for the Administration and support of his cause:

"Think about what it would mean if Padilla were to win. Government officials and military personnel have to devise better ways to protect the country from more deadly surprise attacks. Padilla and his lawyers want them, from the president down to lowest private, to worry about being sued when they make their decisions. Officials will worry about all of the attorneys' fees they will rack up to defend themselves from groundless lawsuits."

Are we so confused in a time of war that it’s impossible for people to determine right and wrong? Legal and illegal? I would think that the President, whoever he or she might be, and the lowest private in the military should be damned concerned about whether or not what they are doing is legal or not. The idea that Yoo would blatantly drape a flag across his shoulders and put forth a lukewarm defense, of himself, by using wartime and potential legal action as justification for government misdeed is heinous. He seems to believe that when standing at the abyss of decision and consult that the only safe way across is to ensure that we, or they, are provided absolute immunity and free rein – how could they be wrong? And even they are, so what? We’re in charge. How dare!

I don’t think any legal mind would say that the Padilla chronology was a victory for America. Yoo is pretty flippant when he opens a paragraph with “After being sued by convicted terrorist Jose Padilla…” He was certainly convicted of conspiracy to aid terrorists (a conviction that was overturned and then reinstated), but the suit brought against Yoo and others pertains to his being held – in isolation, without charges for years – because he was an ‘enemy combatant’. His enemy combatant status was deserted as the case worked its way to the Supreme Court and he was eventually transferred (by the Bush) to civilian confinement and eventually tried in civilian courts – where the ‘dirty bomb’ charges were not even mentioned. It was the process, and Yoo’s direct influence and ‘lawyering’, that begat the life he’s now got to defend.

T.

return of the king

18 January 2008
Riverwalk, Reno, Nevada

Another trip back in time this week; another chance to see how Northern Nevada is doing in my absence. I'll give the quick rundown on my old river rabbit trail:

La Bussola - they've reopened back downtown after almost a year in a very small space elsewhere. The old landlords quadrupled the rent and they bailed out in 2006. They are now about 50 feet across from the old shop (which is still vacant) and in the same building where they live. Great news for them. They are hosting a 300+ soiree this evening to celebrate the launch of a new gay Website that will be hosted, and specific to, the Reno crowd. I may swing by...
Dharma Books - They're still going strong on the river and have closed the second location. Cheron is suppose to be in Tucson finishing her novel but she's still sitting behind the desk doing books as I type. I love the place.
Bibo Coffee - Still the best brew in town and opening a second location closer to the river.
Pneumatic Diner - Two evening meals this week and still great; still on my 'best of' list.

For those worried about the housing market I've got a little input on the leading indicator market in NNevada: there were 400 homes listed for sale in Fernley during December and 11 sold. It's ugly. The Sacramento median price for homes dropped 20% from December 2006 to December 2007. I thought my earlier predication of 2010 for the nation was frightening but I'll stick with it based on what I'm seeing out here.

Speaking of economics, what's the bruhaha with "immediate relief" to the American people? Remember the days when 'they' said Americans aren't saving money and are failing to plan for the future? 'member? Our spending culture, of which I am a proud member, was setting us up for some Monday when the money would be gone. Now we've got Bernanke and Bush contemplating a $800 to $1600 per family/person package that "gets money in the hands of Americans"....for what? They say it's so they can spend it and get the economy back on track. I'm no economist but I think this might be the stupidest thing I've ever heard - give us money so we can spend it. That's the plan for temporary relief? Yikes.

The Nevada caucus is tomorrow in the AM so candidates and politicos are swarming the city. They all look a little crazed.

I saw an Oregon license plate this morning in the hotel parking lot that was something that states now provide for owners to use as an indicator of person's love or support. This one was "Salmon". Nothing more. Just the word "Salmon" and a subdued picture of a salmon - I don't know if it was a coho or king but it was definitely a salmon. Since there was no other indication of intent - save the salmon, eat the salmon, catch-and-release the salmon - I've no idea of the context. I know that here in Nevada they have "support Nevada Arts", "Keep Tahoe Blue", the standard "University of Nevada", and myriad others, but I've not seen something so ethereal as "Salmon".

I'm thinking of a movie this afternoon - Juno is playing right nearby but There Will Be Blood is also opening here this evening. Any input is appreciated.

I'll be back home tomorrow evening.

Love to all.

t.

"...so I can vote" - Brian, The Breakfast Club

Let’s not confuse voter fraud with election fraud. There have been times in our past, distant and not so distant, where there’s been what I’d call voter fraud – people voting at polling stations while intentionally misrepresenting their identity. Think long-deceased voters in Chicago during the machine days and you’ll have a good picture. Election fraud, a claim often made by both Republicans and Democrats when they lose, is akin to an election on the macro scale being affected by voting procedures, ballot counting, malfunctioning machines, lost votes, no paper trail, and any other grand conspiracy we imagine these days – that’s election fraud. That’s Florida, circa 2000.

The case argued before the Supreme Court today involves an Indiana law requiring registered voters to present a government-issued photo ID (with an expiration date) when they seek to vote on Election Day – this worry and requirement falls under what I’d call the voter fraud category; we’ve got someone showing up at the polling station and either lying about his identity, or voting when they aren’t legally allowed to vote. The partisan arguments are deeply embedded. The Republican, or conservative, argument is that the integrity of the system is at risk. How easy would it be to drive a vanload of ‘voters’ from station to station in order to vote multiple times in any given election? The Democratic, or liberal, stance is that the law will keep voters away from the polls – voting is apparently so hard already that only 60% turned out for the 2004 Presidential general election. The Dems argue that this ID-requirement law, as written, specifically targets minorities, urban dwellers who may not own cars nor have a driver’s license, and lower income families – all of whom are more likely to vote Democrat.

After the attacks of 2001 there was as a drive for a national ID card which was turned away after Congressional hearings that saw uber-Republican Newt Gingrich testify that he "would not institute a national ID card because you do get into civil liberties issues." This was followed in September 2004 when then-DHS Secretary Tom Ridge reiterated, "[t]he legislation that created the Department of Homeland Security was very specific on the question of a national ID card. They said there will be no national ID card." (both quotes come from here. Nobody screams civil liberties from rooftops like Gingrich and Ridge; yet, suddenly we have state legislatures and governors, almost exclusively controlled by Republicans, deciding that if you don’t have a government-issued photo ID than you are disenfranchised. Nice.

While listening to the Diane Rehm show panel discuss this today, it was almost comedic listening to John Fund (of the Wall St. Journal) trot out nothing but confusion cloaked by poor back stories. He put forth at least three or four sets of election results that ended up in court because the losing party, a Democrat in each of his examples (surprise surprise!), claimed election fraud. One prime example he used was a mayoral race that ended up in court due to election fraud claims – no voter ID fraud claims. In fact, according to his cited numbers, 165,000 people voted and there were 32 examples of voters who were turned away due to identification issues in that election. What does that have to do with actual voter ID fraud? I’m pretty sure that the election was not decided by 1/100th of 1 percent of the ballots (that’s the 32 number) nor was the result appeal based on those 32 voters but appealed on pure election fraud: machines, no paper trail, torn paper trail, or any of the conspiracy theories from earlier. He also lamely said that there are reports of machines ‘changing votes’ as voters touched the screen, machines shutting down, power glitches and myriad other issues in closely contested and court-appealed elections. Again, what does this have to do with IDs? He added a brilliant story that involved his crack Wall St. Journal team following a vanload of ‘voters’ driven from polling station to polling station and voting illegally. Great story John. Any thought on pointing this out to election officials? He presented not one instance, beyond his ‘vanload of paid felons and fraudulent voters’, where identification was an issue. If voter identification is such a problem then the Department of Justice must certainly be all over the problem: since 2002 the DoJ has 87 convictions for ballot (voter ID) fraud. As a reference, there were 122 million votes cast in just the 2004 Presidential election. Even if I think the 2004 election results in Ohio were an issue in the final tally, and if I say that all 87 cases were in Ohio, that wouldn’t have changed the outcome. Nor would it have had any effect in Florida in 2000.

If voters are turned away from the polls because of inane voting requirements (must have registered on 80-lb forms, you must have photo ID, be careful – “ICE will be monitoring the station for immigrants”, you don’t speak English, you don’t own and drive a car, etc.) then the election process is being hijacked – and that’s fraud. And that’s where most of the argument lies on my side of the issue. There may be upwards of 20 million citizens and legal voters who don’t have government-issued photo ID in America. This isn’t an issue driven by the integrity of the system: it’s a blatant effort to keep as many voters away from the polls as possible and the ‘keeping away’ targets are almost exclusively votes that lean towards Democrats.

By the way, if I didn’t have a driver’s license I couldn’t vote in Indiana because my DoD-issued military retiree photo ID has ‘indefinite’ listed as an expiration date. That’s simply one more hole in the argument.

up and away.

t

cake or death? toast or die...

About four months ago we bought a four-slice vertical toaster (toaster and nothing but a toaster) to replace our classic toaster oven (toaster and oven toaster). The old unit was only used for your general toasting needs and it was so ssssllllllooooooooowwwww that clearly a major move needed to be undertaken. In steps the Krups four-piece faux chrome and white plastic workerbee. What you need to understand about the newbie toaster is that it’s got rotating levers that allow you to not only lower and activate toasting, but also to eject the toasted item up out of the slots for easier removal. Unfortunately, after a few weeks the right hand lever snapped or broke in some manner that eliminated the toasted goodie ejecting. Since that breakage X would occasionally peer deeply inside the unit, wriggle the lever, hem and haw, and sigh her disgust at the quality of the world’s wares. I, for one, simply used a metal object to commute the sentences of the jailed toast or bagel – no big whoop. This was our life until about 7:30 pm last night. The toaster was taken to the dining room table, call it an operating theatre, and tools were acquired: screwdrivers of various quality, a crappy little hammer, needle-nose pliers, and brute force. Things got done and snapped off, pieces flew, G. shield his eyes, and I stayed out of the way; this isn’t my area of strength. What the scene reminded me of was a NASCAR crew that’s brought in a car that just got loose into the wall and they are madly tearing and ripping at the bodywork attempting (usually in vain) to get the rig back on the road. We had G. and X. over the wall working in the pit stall while I simply sat up on the pit riser and watched the carnage. For about an hour, as other toasters turned more laps and built bigger leads, there was cussing and more ripping of cheap foreign-built parts. Once it became apparent there was no fix in sight the crew gave up the ghost and X. decided that G. could simply destroy the blasted thing. As she headed across the hall, for what only God knows, G. and I proceeded to rend the metal parts, hammer at the levels, pry even harder at the plastic face, and generally have a grand old time - as boys do. The thought crossed my mind that we should take a picture of the destroyed appliance, mangled parts and all, and post it on craigslist as a “fixer upper”. G. wanted to take it to school to show what a hardass his mother can be. Laughs around.

When X comes back from across the hall she chortles are our destruction, pushes and pulls on the now ‘busted’ lever, and…voila! it works. Oh no! Something like this escapes her lips “Oh, I see what the problem was…” To which I reply from on high, “You can see because I’ve further destroyed the metal grating and allowed you see. I am great.” Another few minutes and we’ve ‘reassembled’ the mass of parts and pushed the car back out on the track to turn some more laps and earn us some championship points. It looks a like worse for the wear but it’s running and running clean.

G. still took the mangled part to class; his mom is still a hardass.

T.

The Wire: North Park

I’ve long awaited the CSI spin-off that takes the idea a step too far, CSI: Omaha. With that said, I’ve been watching HBO’s The Wire on DVD over the last month or so – I’m in season three right now – and I’ve got a great idea for a follow-up when the series ends after the current (fifth) season. If you haven’t watched the show then the whole entry is for naught…

One of the boys has been playing a few more video games than allowed by the North Park Dr. Police Department (NPDPD or NPD2). It’s not purely illegal activity but there are limits put forth by the Lieutenant, we’ll call her “X”: number of hours per week, location of play (only at our place), timers, etc. On Saturday night I was inadvertently drawn into criminal activity as G. relayed all kinds of Mario Bros. stunts that occurred during his afternoon out in the 4th St. neighborhood. I paused, like Det. Jimmy McNulty, and then let him know that he’d just incriminated himself to a peace agent. Suddenly there was a hitch in his voice, a sideways glance, a quick admission of guilt coming over his face. I tell him he’ll get another chance; that I’ll let him walk away from the street corner this one time – free and clear, don’t come back here and let me see you loitering. Call it positive policing. I turn my unmarked car around and head off to the west side. Of course, the next morning I feel a little sleazy letting it go and I know that the Lt. may not be happy with my inexperienced move so I knock on her office door, give her the straight dope, and let her do as she sees fit. Not long after this talk she ends up on the line with H. who’s out on undercover assignment in the Midwest. H. is basically given immunity by the state’s attorney so he cooperates and give us our big break. He spills the inner workings on all targets in the game playing scam: most of the adults don’t actually know what’s going on or who’s playing what, sometimes his partner in crime disappears and ‘may be’ working another corner – though it’s only circumstantial, and that if she needs the double truth she’ll need to hook up with someone we’ll call Oscar. Oscar is the Stringer Bell of this operation. He stays clean, he knows everything that happens on the corner, and he’ll answer your questions as a matter of course – you won’t get him on any cover up. When we get home we put every kid’s picture up on a bulletin board, we use yarn to link the organization together, and we add 3 x 5 cards with descriptions. Now we’re just waiting for Lester and Roland to sort the intel.

Unfortunately for the ‘target’ there was a raid yesterday afternoon shortly after the opening of the investigation. During a ‘walk’ by the Lt. and her state’s attorney they happened into the target area (with shouts of "Five Oh!, Five Oh!" echoing off the buildings), and decided to take a look around. No warrant was required as they got consent at the door (Justice would have kicked it down and flashed a badge, if necessary), walked in, and there sits our perp with game controller in hand. It was a quick cuffing after his protest of “it was only one game” was countered by “mucho tiempo” from the residents. He’s currently in holding with a plea deal in the works – it appears it’ll be a one-week sentence with parole pending. The beauty of the operation is that the wire wasn’t even used and still sits in place not even realizing that he’s a part of the sting. That’s good policing.

Bunk just lit a cigar.

gimme a kit kat

I got an e-mail this morning from a member of my online music group that passed along a story of a music copyright case that’s kicking up dust in Arizona. The music industry, led by the RIAA, opened the gates on this Arizona case during a case earlier this year against a Minnesota woman: that bit of argument was that one copy of a song is a violation of copyright and therefore theft. No need to follow-up on the Minnesota woman’s case because she was actually breaking laws yet decided, for some reason, to stand her shaky ground. I’ve long been against massive (free) sharing of music by buyers, users, and downloaders; you can’t just take music wholesale from a peer-to-peer network or someone else’s collection without paying for it. Even though it’s essentially a copyright violation I simply see it as the equivalent of walking into a record shop and stealing CDs; I’ll call this my stealing argument and I have no sympathy for Ms. Thomas. The Arizona case takes a turn that’s a huge concern for any music lover: claims of a copyright violation if I transfer a purchased CD to my computer and then onto my iPod. We’ve finally stumbled upon the case with will finally put the nail in the coffin of the RIAA. If this goes to trial there’s no way they’ll convince a jury that any crime has been committed and, much like the Thomas case the jury, will no doubt be irritated by the inconvenience of the theater and life. (The Thomas jury apparently indicated that the punishment was more punitive because they saw her as akin to a posing martyr trying to hide her misdeeds.) One of the RIAA’s biggest problems is that they represent a group of miserable companies: Virgin, Capitol, Arista, Interscope, Warner, etc. Every one of these dinosaurs is genetically unable to change their methodology of pillaging profit at the expense of musicians and fans – after all, they have held the keys to the castle for forty years. This isn’t really a fight ‘to support their artists’, it’s a fight to support the bottom line of failing companies. They can hide behind the moral high ground of copyright infringement but it’s merely a charade used to hold onto what little clout they still believe they hold. It’s instructive to see that the RIAA isn’t interested in companies or labels like Anti-, Bloodshot, New West, Subpop, Lost Highways, or any of the other blossoming and successful mid-tier labels. It’s laughable to see the bevy of RIAA types grasping as the straws of power in support of the old and wrinkled dictators of music.

On another note, it was a great night in Iowa last night. Obama’s speech to close the evening was wonderful. I already feel better and hope the train keeps rolling…

T.

P.S. The brief filed in the Arizona case includes language that says the defendant copied his CDs and placed them in his Kazaa music sharing folder. I guess they think both must occur in order to break the law but I tend to agree with someone who made the argument that you can't have one without the other: the download to the PC being the necessary first step. I think they put forth the idea that you can't have an accessory to murder without a murder; you can't have sharing without the 'unauthorized' copy. Slippery slope.

Seriously?

While riding the bus this morning I noticed three workers leaf-blowing a rather large pile of leaves down a sidewalk. The treed area was a stretch of sidewalk and grass populated with five or six mid-sized trees; not a ton of leaves but enough to build to a pile that was about three-feet high and ten-feet across. They were walking in a loose line abreast formation blowing the pile, top flying off and followed by the bottom, to a destination any number of feet down the sidewalk. I’ve never owned a leaf blower but there’s little chance that they are more efficient, over a fairly limited area, than a good rake. In fact, I suspect we’ve been hoodwinked into believing motorized operation is supreme to hand operation. What would a blower really be good for? Removing grass stray grass clippings from the driveway or sidewalk after manicuring the lawn seems like an idea; blowing a few leaves from the porch before crazy co-workers come over for the “big game” barbecue might make some sense – although I’d argue that a good broom might work. The more I think about it the more the blower seems completely counterproductive to what we’re actually trying to accomplish. Do we hope for wind while we are normally raking? Probably not. Shouldn’t the motorized thingymajig be a sucking and composting contraption that simply carries all those lightweight leaves in some bag on your back? Blowing leaves? Sometimes I wonder. (update: while looking for a graphic I found this.)

The Eleven swapped cell phone from Cingular to Credo (run by Working Assets subcontracted from Sprint lines.) No changes to phones numbers for either of us or Laurel but I have a much cooler looking phone. I bought a Bluetooth headset a few days ago (comments may remain rhetorical) but can’t manage to get it to link to my phone – maybe its fate…or reverse fate.

I’ve found (belatedly….amazing, really) that there’s an upcoming tour dubbed Three Girls and Their Buddy that’s hitting about a dozen cities. Thankfully, even if it sounds strange, they aren’t hitting the D.C. area but maybe they’ll add more dates later in the spring. The tour is Emmylou Harris, Patti Griffin, Shawn Colvin, and Buddy Miller. For some reason these little get togethers have now caught me of guard twice. About three years ago Emmy, Patti, Buddy, and Gillian Welch did the same sort of show across the west and I was way late on that announcement. I’ll keep my ear to the rail and let those interested know if additional dates bubble up.

It’s caucus day in Iowa; and so we hear the bang from the starting line disappear into the wind and cold of middle America.

T.

to the bank

Wildcard Weekend

Jacksonville at Pittsburgh – Jacksonville is way better than a wildcard team and if they’d managed to win one game against the Colts than this post-season would look much different. Jax beat Pittsburgh in Pittsburgh last month and will do it again – easily.
Jacksonville 31 Pittsburgh 17

Tennessee at San Diego – I’m tempted to say “who cares?” Aside from LaDainian Tomlinson this game is a dog. Tennessee snuck in under the wire, I don’t think they’re any good, and I guess S.D. will finally win a playoff game. Zzzzzzzz….
San Diego 24 Tennessee 10

NY Giants at Tampa Bay – Boring. Eli Manning in a big game on the road? Lovely. I don’t think either team has a snowball’s chance in the grand scheme but someone has to win the game.
Tampa Bay 21 NYGiants 13

Washington at Seattle – This will be a surprise to many but I think the Redskins will destroy Seattle. Line up the blitz package and pummel Matt Hassselbeck; no worry about the running game.
Washington 28 Seattle 14

Divisional Round

Jacksonville at New England – This is the one team that can stop the Patriots. Smash mouth football captained by the very cool Jack Del Rio. The Jaguars, if they get a lead or stay close, will run the ball all game long and keep the Patriots offense off the field. I’m teetering on this one because I don’t think the weather or personnel are a huge factor but the Jags' inexperience is…
New England 28 Jacksonville 27

San Diego at Indianapolis – Go home Chargers and run your mouths like you seem to do after every loss these days.
Indianapolis 24 San Diego 20

Tampa Bay at Green Bay – Favre wins at home and packs his bags for…oh wait.
Green Bay 27 Tampa Bay 21

Washington at Dallas – Dallas should have played the last game against Washington. Momentum is with the Redskins and I don’t think the Cowboys are that great.
Washington 24 Dallas 17

Conference Championships

Indianapolis at New England – Here we go again. The Pats got the scare from Jacksonville, they get the Colts at home, and they won’t let it slip away like last year.
New England 31 Indianapolis 20

Washington at Green Bay – The Redskins run comes to an end, probably due to conservative coaching and some crazy mistake by the staff, and Green Bay returns to the Super Bowl. It’ll be freezing in Green Bay.
Green Bay 24 Washington 21

Super Bowl XXXII
New England v. Green Bay – I think it’s a bridge to far for the Packers but maybe Favre pulls an Elway and wins the game before riding off into the sunset. Unfortunately I think one of the two QBs implodes and has a miserable game. The more likely is Favre as he struggles to keep up with the Patriots’ scoring machine…
New England 41 Green Bay 21

The Greek

give and take (back)

Since I’ve been in the company of many of my blog peeps over the last few weeks the paddle was left alone and allowed to ponder the New Year.

One of the gift ideas I had this season was two books by Derek Robinson – books published in the early 90s that are out-of-print and completely underground in the used market. I was reading the second – A Good Clean Fight – checked out from the library as I wandered the Internet trying to find both books of the brace. I found one and it arrived in time for Christmas but was then damaged during the great tree flood of 2007 (I'll get to that some other day). In order to signify the gift of A Good Clean Fight I wrapped my checked-out library edition and gave it along with the other book. You can only imagine the hilarity of explaining that the gift was due back at the library in three weeks – you can look at it but don’t let that thing be overdue. What a great way to give gifts – from the library. Chuckle chuckle all about the living room; one can only try.

The Eleven had a wonderful trip to Florida over Christmas. There was great weather, good food, and plenty of relaxing to be found around Mt. Dora. We all contributed to the upgrading of Mom’s computer so she can now continue to harangue multi-national online bridge players.

I can’t resist adding in this hilarity from the Catherine Tate show on BBC2 (plus I’ll always have it stored here…) I’m stealing it from an andrewsullivan.com entry which he introduced with “When you're prejudiced against everyone, are you prejudiced against anyone?” Please, let’s keep it politically correct!




We’re off to a dinner out this evening. I’ll let you know how that goes. Back in the saddle.

T.