cool swiss

We'll keep it as light at possible on a summer Wednesday. With Wimbledon in full swing we're bound to have fashion to discuss; I'm nothing if I'm not a fashion maven. For some reason the grass at the All England Lawn and Tennis Club brings out the runway model in every player. I'd have suspected it would've happened on a more routine basis at Roland Garros in Paris but apparently there are two issues at play: first, the clay in Paris would make a mess of your togs and, second, the requirement to wear all white while participating in SW19 means that everyone needs to sort out something shocking...and white. Last year Roger Federer came to the court sporting a white blazer over tennis shirt and shorts; devastatingly handsome. The jacket idea has been pounced upon this season by a number of the ladies entries: Serena and some other female player I can't identify. Roger, being the leading man that he is (and at least one step ahead of the masses), decided to explode out this year with the smart cardigan and massive "gucci" looking manbag. It's nothing but top scores to him. 

In response to Fed's style sense last year, it appears that Shazza decided to bump up the ante and open this year's play by sporting not only the tuxedo jacket look on entry, but she played in the tux shirt and tux playing shorts. Touche.


Don't look at me that way. You know I already picked Federer to win (of course I picked him to win the French also) but my ladies champion is to be none other than Jelena Jankovic - two Serbs in a row for the women's Grand Slams

Hey to everyone.

t

p.s. I can go back to railing on people and politics whenever you'd like.

irish eyes

I almost decided to open with some ramblings about the military academies and their seemingly endless problems with religiosity; or, a couple of Supreme Court decisions handed down this morning. Instead, what I’m asking for is an extra $7m that anyone might have hidden in couch cushions or Swiss Bank accounts. I’m fully convinced that this is where we need to be living. Why? So everyone can come visit and hang around Ireland relaxing – it’s all for you, really. Consider your multi-million dollar contribution as some kind of timeshare investment. I’ll cook.

Loosely based on The Eleven’s NYC excursion to see La Boheme, we’ve decided to take in three operas performed by the Washington National Opera at the Kennedy Center this season. Even with fancy-pancy opera doings and big money donors about, I’ve managed to procure some front row seats in the first tier which should serve our needs just fine. (We’re on to see Carman, Turnadot, and The Pearl Fishers.) The last of the shows is in May so I’m going to swear off tickets, with the exception of any future Steve Earle or Tom Waits dates, until after that last show. I’ll live with hockey and opera.

If anyone has any question concerning the rule against perpetuities just let me know. I’m apparently still studying for the Massachusetts Bar on a nightly basis.

t.

s-a-t-u-r-d-a-y night

X had an appointment to get her back unmangled out at Dr. Sam’s this morning. From what I heard last night there was also the possibility of combining our jaunt out west with a few other errands: picking up a floor lamp and getting some good quality composted horse manure. I know what you’re thinking and I only ask for your empathy. Departure time was set for 9:30am, which might not seem early to the olden folk but it’s early for me on a Saturday. Needless to say, the boys were on their own for breakfast as we rolled out for coffee, Armenian sweets, and a stop to purchase some industrial waste bags for hauling manure.

I’ll skip the chiropractor visit, in narrative form, because I sat in the parking lot reading a magazine while she got done. It’s nothing to really speak of. The good part was our weigh station stop to pick up 350lbs of horse manure. Even with my minimal knowledge of manure and compost I could recognize the quality in this massive pile of compost. What really tipped me off as I mounted and secured the compost was this: X kept saying how lovely and beautiful it was. I think she calls me lovely and beautiful. Think about that. Breathtaking. I all seemed clear enough to me as she gasped in ecstasy. The greater issue was my lack of manure attire. She tells me afterwards that she was a little suspicious of my outfit that included some new sandals and clothes not really fit for mounting the mountain. She claims to have thought that “he must know what he’s doing since I’ve told him we’re going to get some composted manure.” That phrase means little more to me than visiting a local nursery and hauling a bag of ‘compost’ out on my shoulder. I was mistaken. I blame myself. I would think that if I’m heading out to get compost in a Mercedes-Benz then I’m excused from thinking a real horse ranch is the destination. Funny enough, we stopped at a nursery on the way home to get some kit for her plant seeds that are on order. This was my kind of nicely bagged compost nursery. She eventually got some good advice on seedling survivability from an associate who come up with this response to whether or not normal enriched soil we be okay for seedlings: “If it were me, I’d use the soil labeled for seedlings.” This ran counter to the first guy who seemed less interested in types of soil and directions. We got the soil (labeled and in a bag) for seedlings and headed home.

Our block mates had a block party this afternoon on our 20-house, very quiet street. There were plenty of kids, salads, casseroles, drinks, and big BBQ equipment. We’ve got a very nice group that hang around our block.

After the three-game sweep debacle down in Tampa, I can now report that the Cubs win…again. The first two against the cross-town Sox are in the books as wins.

t

things i hate

(Dan is exempt from reading this due to length and lack of focus - tcd)

“Drinking the Kool-Aid”

Do you remember the term “wilding”? I think it was newsworthy in the mid- to late- 1980s and used by various gangs running roughshod over New York City’s Central Park. I think it included mugging, robbing, assaulting, raping, and any other shitbag activity you can imagine being done in the name of losers. Maybe after twenty years we can step back a little and take the better attributes of wilding and somehow mangle it into our vernacular. Maybe we can use it when describing groups of folk getting together, supporting each other, and spending a crazy night out on the town. Maybe not.

Somehow we’ve become enamored of “Drinking the Kool-Aid” as both good and bad. I guess you have to be of a certain age to be able to pseudo-decrypt the meaning behind the phrase because I don’t think it came into use until years (decades?) after the event that’s the locus of its strength. The idea that anyone would say this about any other group or organization is eerie. Oftentimes, it’s thrown off quite casually when talking about a football team’s success, a company’s profits, or any other strong-willed group that has bought into a system. Sometimes it has a distinctly insulting connotation (“The Democrats have all drunk the Kool-Aid” quipped the Republican operative), but most of the time isn’t not nearly that overt. It’s become so horribly pervasive in American society. Maybe wilding wasn’t the best parallel. Maybe in ten years we can start saying that “the Republicans have gone all Koresh on us” as a perfectly acceptable way of saying that they’ve circled the wagons, locked the doors, and convinced everyone in their base that there’s a God-like figure gonna save ‘em – and they’ll use the guns just to make sure.

“It is what it is…”

If you’ve been in the military then this can be directly related to the “with all due respect” opening that might keep you from being court-martialed when you decide to tell a superior officer to kiss your ass. This has become the suffix appended, when challenged, to an insult or denial of any discontent. It sounds so sophomoric when you hear it coming from anyone over 15; hence my choice of definition. Imagine some confrontation with a co-worker who’s told everyone else at work that you’re a complete waste of time, money, air, cubical space, and sticky notes. You ask them about it in the hall and they say, “it is what it is.” I can almost picture that same person, ten years ago, making the “W” sign with their fingers and mumbling “Whatever, geez.” Of course, that same person, back then, probably had either a pierced tongue, a pierced nipple, or both. If you look closely you’ll be able to make out a tribal band tattoo on their upper arm. It’s all inane chatter substituting for actual thought. Hey, it is what it is…

“Throwing someone under the bus”

Wikipedia reports that a variant of this junk might have first been uttered by Cyndi Lauper in the 1980s. I hate this little riposte. I can’t even frame it in my mind – how many people ride buses and how many of those would actually throw someone under (maybe in front of?) the bus? I would think that throwing someone on the tracks or in front of the train would be a better option. Either way, this has become so pervasive that it’s more of an irritation factor than anything else; kind of like Richard Marx songs. The interesting bit about its usage is that it can be used by the person guilty of such behavior or by anyone attempting to pitch scorn on the person guilty of throwing someone under the bus. From what I see around these parts, the buses are always moving slowly in traffic or stopping all the time. Unless you’re going to drag someone kicking-and-screaming out to one of the expressways that provide access for express buses than I’m pretty sure the driver will have plenty of time to stop and yell at your target for laying in the damn road.

“Presumptive nominee”

When the hell did this become a life in being? I think Barack Obama, the presumptive Democratic nominee, and John McCain, the presumptive Republican nominee, are asking the same question. According to my trusty compact Oxford English Dictionary, presumptive means “presumed in the absence of further information.” Are we to assume (presume?) that there’s some information we don’t know about the nominees? Are we really so pessimistic that we feel the need to assume that one or the other has something so heinous in his closet that he might have to drop out of the race? I’m going to guess that the idea behind this turn of phrase came from the politicos of both parties who decided it would be best to use it as an indication of just how much they hate their own nominee; and as a way to de-legitimize them. I think the Republican base first attached it to McCain and the Dems simply followed suit. Everyone can chant it over and over in hopes that something happens and either the right-wing or left-wing crazies can eventually say they told us so. I have begun using it to indicate mystery and pessimism around our dinner plans. The other night X asked about my dinner plans and I told her that the presumptive menu included fresh Maine lobster, beluga caviar, a light frisee salad rinsed by “Holly Hunter’s tears” [© Patton Oswalt], and a bottle of 1969 Grand Vin De Chataeu LaTour. Of course, when I got home that night I realized I could neither afford Holly Hunter’s tears nor the ’69 LaTour. We had cold soup and slices of processed American cheese. I told her it was presumptive.

t

dinner and the date

I’ve given up on the self-imposed current events and politics blackout. I think I deserve some credit 15 days time served. I fired off an e-mail to a friend this morning concerning Obama and the presidential election and that seems to have busted the dam wide open. I bought the Sunday Times when I got to Reagan for my USO shift this afternoon and walked to my desk with a renewed sense of getting back into the game. Even though I didn’t make the goal, it was a welcome break from the ranting and raving about the blogs and news sites.

On the Metro this morning I spied a passenger wearing a “Club Sandwiches Not Seals” t-shirt. Though a creative logo, it’s not quite subtle enough to get me to chuckle. It made me realize just how fine the line is between subversive and merely catchy.

The Eleven hosted a dinner party for ten last night – our first in the larger ballroom space. Actually, we were hosting for Amy and her friends. The day finally evolved from cleaning and cooking to relaxing at exactly 5pm. Our timing couldn’t have been better as that was the planned arrival time and a few showed up smartly at 5. Dinner kicked off at about 6:30 and everyone appeared happy and well-fed by the time they headed home at 8:30. The old apartment’s dining room (for those that never saw it) housed the 6-person table with one short end against the window; the room was too small to squeeze even six in comfortably. The Hilltop has so much open space that we are able to set the table together with and the dark wood sewing table and very comfortably seat all ten; and there’s still loads of room for people to wander about or dance the tango. We like it.

The last two days of the U.S. Open have been amazing. Tiger turned a 30 on the back nine on Friday and then wrapped yesterday’s back nine with two eagles and a birdie. The doubling over in pain after any number of shots – and the scrambles to recover – may be too much for his final round today. I would love to see him win but I just can’t see 30- and 60-foot putts rolling in and chip shots dropping the cup. Of course, if he can get to the greens without too much damage he may be okay but that’s a tall order. There’s absolutely no good reason to believe he won’t tough it out and win but if I had to bet a paycheck, I’d take the field. The week has already been his most amazing golf performance regardless of today’s outcome.

t

p.s. that isn't our table up above. Ours was a bit more random.

sweet! law!

If the term cowpunk scares you off then you’d be best to either giddy-up along or skip the clicking on the little youtube arrow thing. There’ll be more afterwards.

This is a 1983 (year of my HS graduation) video of Jason and the Scorchers doing Absolutely Sweet Marie. This has everything you’d hope for in 1983 MTV offering: grainy camera work, huge hair, at least two guys singing into one microphone, girls in school girl outfits, guy walking down the street with his band joining him, cowboy hats, a bar, drinking, and a horrible overall storyline. Awesome. A few things to consider: first, Jason and the Scorchers were one of the greatest bar bands to ever live. Second, Jason and the Scorchers were one of the greatest bar bands to ever live. If I could possibly imagine any act whose music wouldn’t translate to video, it’d be these guys. In time you realize that CDs or videos will never properly reflect great live music that includes beer and smoke. If you get the through the entire horrendous three minutes than I admire your stick-to-ituvness. That is awful hair. Regardless, I’ll always love them.



X asked me a few weeks ago if I’d help her review for the bar; maybe 60 hours of time. She pointed out on night 2 that the initial askance/contract meant that asking was no longer required. I’m such a sucker. By the end of this summer I think I’ll be able to do well enough on the bar to at least be a public defender. Does that sound like a slap in the face of public defenders? Honestly, no intent.

We’re off to watch an episode of The Closer.

t

...that and $.50

While heading to work this morning I noticed a Shell station that was offering a “free cup of coffee with every fill-up.” Words escape me. I filled up the Merc Galactica today for a mere $69.

A guy I work with was rolling his wedding band around in his hand yesterday and talking with another co-worker (they being the only two I speak with at work) about how much he could get for it (in a whisper: divorce). Having pawned a plain gold wedding band in my day, I had a general idea of what it might go for. The problem they have, being naval officers, is that they’re running numbers based on karat gold, the weight (measured on a postal scale), and the price of gold. What he’s come to is something like $120; this is what I hear as I walk in the office. I don’t even really need the back story but I ask anyway. I decide to play bookie/pawn broker and tell him that I’ll put the over/under betting line at $75.50. I know that’s way too high but I like to bait the hook. I tell him that if he’s seriously going to a pawn shop then I’ll set the number down around $25. He takes the over and I make some money - $5. In the hall this morning he tells me he went to a jeweler that buys gold for processing and they offered ----- $35. I smile in recognition of how little your old marriage means in the world of capitalism. Maybe he should have given them a story. As we laugh, as divorced men do, he tells me he still has his ex-wife’s wedding gown. Now we’re talking eBay…

The hair has been cut by my usual suspects. What I realized today while sitting in the chair is that even in Arabic the talk in any barber shop is the same. I bet if you do some research into shops in Saudi Arabia, Korea, Russia, or Greece, you’ll find the latest copies of Maxim, Swank, Esquire, Boater’s World, and Field & Stream. Haircutting is the language of the World – that whole music thing is a sham.

Today you get the amazing Todd Snider doing Nashville at the Americana Music Awards. If you look closely, and you should, you’ll see Buddy Miller over on the left of the screen leading the house band. Todd Snider is the most endearing live performer you’ll ever see.



love to all.

t.

P.S. Cubs win! Cubs win!

P.P.S. I'll get X to relay via her blog the joke told by her Bar Review lecturer. She told the boys in the car yesterday and I've never heard kids laugh so hard.

the kids are alright

I almost gave you a youtube clip of Rick Springfield doing Jesse’s Girl. Consider this a reprieve of sorts. Instead, I’m going with the Erin McKeown of the Eleven’s live music safari. We finally saw her at the Birchmere earlier in the year. This is her doing You Were Right About Everything. Talented, funny, and a little crazy will get a long way in this world.



The Virginia U.S. Congressional primaries where yesterday so I was at the polls for the long haul. Arlington County managed a shocking 4.3% voter turnout with my precinct bringing a staggering 61 votes (of 2000+ registered voters). With six poll workers the ratio was well within what we could handle. We’re expecting the swing in November to upwards of 1500 in the precinct. Don’t ever tell me I don’t give you some interesting news.

We’re hosting some kind of soiree on Saturday for the WonderTwins’ mother’s friends. We’ve got the room and I’ll do the doing for some milling-around nosh. Amy asked me today if I’ll been apprised of the situation, to which I replied, “I’m some sort of ‘prised.”

The heat has subsided a bit and we’re back to the high 80s and humidity.

The Cubs are still winning.

the house has the advantage

Now we’re talking serious action – and it’s for charity. Since I’ve read quite a bit of Buffet’s own writing, innumerable articles and books about his life, and being an Omaha boy, there’s no way I’m not taking Buffet on this one. First and foremost, he’s not in unless he thinks it’s a (near) done deal. Second, hedge funds guys have no rules, no real heroes, and no chance. Good stuff.

I’m a bit mystified by Big Brown’s run on Saturday. They claim the hoof wasn’t an issue but it’s a little hard to believe a horse of that stature simply had nothing to give. The jockey pulled him up at the head of the stretch and coasted home in last place. I’ve seen Triple Crown bids ended by a horse getting beat on the long stretch run but I don’t remember an attempt that ended with such a nonchalant performance. The jockey, in an interview this morning, said the horse simply had nothing to give and there was no point in legging it out for fifth or sixth place. I don’t know. I suspect there’s more to it than we know.

t

sunday grind

Right, back to the music, my substitute for news. It’s a blazing hot Sunday AM in NoVa; the kind of weather that leads to overheating if you even think about moving. What originally came to mind was to include Lyle Lovett singing Church but I can’t embed that video so I went completely the other way and decided you’ll get Lucinda Williams growling Joy at you. The band screaming it out with her are all the usual suspects, led by the great Doug Pettibone on steel guitar. The first time I saw her play at the Fillmore in S.F. Chuck Prophet hopped up on stage and rolled the guitar solo out into some sort of battle with Pettibone. It was mesmerizing.

Man, I was right on with that French Open predication, wasn’t I?

Cubs on a two-game skid out in L.A.

Did I mention that is damn hot?

t

gimme religion

This will be my one and only horribly partisan announcement between now and November. If I wander, if I sway, I’ll expect a sharp slap on the head. Everyone is free to slap.

I vividly remember sitting in my massive living/dining room in Fernley, Nevada, watching the 2004 Democratic National Convention. In fact, I was running the DVR, for some unknown reason, and I remember getting to the end of the keynote address and clicking back to the beginning to give it another listen. I remember knowing right then and there that I’d seen something amazing. I can remember talking to X on the phone and throwing forth unbridled commentary on some crazy guy who made sense; some unknown 43 year-old Illinois State Senator that lit our lives. Even then it was seminal. I think WonderTwin #2 pointed out that he was hot…she’s actually useless in the end.

What is most interesting in the videos is that it isn’t until about a minute-and-a-half into the second video that the convention gets fired up. When you watch the first video you’ll see the folk walking out for popcorn, wondering who this guy is, pondering dinner for the night, and generally being lost. But…once he gets going you’ll feel the energy, you’ll see the hope, you’ll wonder just how it is that we’re so fucking cynical. This was his greatest moment.

From here out I’ll give equal time to both candidates. I’ll try to poke-and-prod at the strengths and weaknesses of each. I won’t change; but I’ll be the devil.





Donate. Be a part. Vote.

t.

wii wii

I’d like to watch the French Open men’s final. (Do they call it the men’s final in Paris? Is it like Wimbledon where they call it the gentlemen’s final? Is it the Finale des Hommes?) I’m of two opinions concerning Roger Federer and his slump through the first quarter of the year. First, I think that at 26 (?) he’s at the end of a career playing as the best in the World. Just about every great mens player has started to fade, some more rapidly, at this age; notable exceptions being Agassi and Sampras of late. Second, I don’t care about that age issue – I’m much more certain that the mono he had early in the year has effectively drained him for the entire 2008 season. His arrival on the porch for the final may be one of his greatest achievements. Even when healthy he’d have a difficult road against Nadal but this may be the last chance he’ll have to close the career Grand Slam. I think he’ll do it this year, take loads of time off for the remainder, and then make a massive push for the sixth consecutive Wimbledon and fifth straight U.S. Open. If he gets two-of-three he’ll tie Sampras and I could honestly see him retiring; I don’t think that record is what he desires. It’s been a much greater pleasure watching Federer’s career than any other of my lifetime.

The boys were gifted a Wii from their father and G. asked me today if I wanted to play some games with him. Fortunately for me, all they have are the basic sports that I can deal with: baseball, bowling, tennis, golf, and boxing. It was during the second inning of our baseball showdown that G. gave me a wheelhouse fastball that I crushed to deep right field – just as X decided to trundle through the batter’s box in order to water plants. My Manny-like follow through, beautiful as it was, carry right into her left eye. The managers called time as the team trainer – and frozen vegetables – addressed her wounds. I think she’ll be fine. She didn’t need to be carried off – she’s no Paul Pierce.

T.

cool with hot coming

I thought I’d add some visual effect to X’s review of our accommodations in Buffalo, The Elmwood Village Inn / Honu House. I was doing some digging to find reviews (and include my own) when I found this great slide show from the Buffalo Rising Web site.

I noticed in passing that the forecast for this weekend calls for partly sunny, 98°, and big number humidity. The bear can’t wait.

Short but sweet.

t

what's who

I watched Man from Plains over a few nights; time interrupted by Buffalo. It’s a documentary about Jimmy Carter that primarily focuses on the book tour in support of his latest project. I vaguely remember reading about the simmering response – apparently to his use of the word apartheid in the title – but it had all slipped my fine focus. Of course, anything to do with the Middle East and Jimmy Carter will undoubtedly look back at his presidency and diplomacy of the late 70s. From that time of my life I remember not much about his single term aside from inflation, the gas crisis, SALT, and endless comedy skits poking fun at his physical characteristics and demeanor. When the documentary was finishing I looked at Miss X (who’d watched just a bit of it) and told her that he appeared to be a perfect example of a flawed hero – at least by my reckoning and definition. I don’t know that being president was the best screenplay for his life but there’s certainly something about a great deal of his thought processes and knowledge as related to peace, the Middle East, and human endeavors. Oftentimes throughout the film you could sense a naiveté that no doubt pervaded his time in the White House. I think it’s a film well worth watching.

As X has reported to Gandalf, I’m reading Samantha Power's book A Problem From Hell that addresses “America in the Age of Genocide”. I know – light reading. Samantha Powers, if you don’t remember, is known more for her ‘Hillary Clinton is a monster” quote than any of her writings. I don’t know that chucking America in the title is an indictment of the country anymore than simply an indication of a narrative written in the American voice. Most the events can surely claim nearly every country in the World as both defendant and witness. What is most enlightening is just how common it became in the twentieth century to watch world leaders stumble and, more often than not, decide that sitting on hands and waiting was a better option than doing.

Herein lies the best of my event input.

t

stay on target. stay on target

One area of neglect from my last post was the freaky nature of our timing during the Buffalo-to-D.C. return leg. We left the sleeping castle at 7am for an 8:30 Southwest flight – call us crazy (and horribly sleepy). After stopping to fill up the car and grab coffee we headed down the 198, over to the 33, and into the Buffalo-Niagara International Aerodrome. We pulled into the Hertz return area at 7:30, got the car checked in, walked to the Southwest desk to print our passes and drop-off luggage, moved through security, and were standing happily at our gate at precisely 7:41. New record.

When we arrived at BWI we had a planned 40-minute buffer to get from the plane, through baggage, onto a shuttle bus, and over to the MARC station in order to catch the train back into D.C. Since I’d made this run before I knew that neither the shuttles (every 10 minutes) nor the train would present a problem – baggage could have been the weak link. As we came through the glass doors and into the claim area we noted that our flight was unloading junk at the first merry-go-round claim about ten feet to our left. There were only a few folks milling about, and the metal-magic claim wheel is rotating clockwise as we approached from the 4 o’clock position. Without breaking stride, I attack the claim as our single bag rotates through 12 o’clock, 1 o’clock, about 2:30, and directly into my moving target of a hand. It was a thing of beauty. Our inertia took us out the door and deposited us at the MARC shuttle stop a few feet down the sidewalk. After a short wait we hopped aboard the big red bus and minutes later disembark at the train station. I peer at my watch as we walk to our track and notice it’s 10:05am. You might wonder when our train was due in, wouldn’t you? How does 10:13am sound? Shazam!

Everyone gets a two-fer today. First up are Gillian Welch and David Rawlings doing Revelator from the 2001 album Time. After that, if you’re still interested, is a solo acoustic version of The Picture by Jay Farrar.

gods and queens

So much under the bridge over the last thirty-six hours that it’s hard to know where to start and what to leave unearthed for X. I’ll address some issues that might be bypassed by her eventual entry covering our single day jaunt to the Great White North. My overall, yet wholly undetailed review, would be that it was an amazing series of events; not a step askew. Since I’ve been dubbed “Julie the Cruise Director” during any number of our travels I’d like a moment to respond to just one ‘fact’ of this adventure. As you may or may not know, I have a tendency to do a little research about future journeys that may, or may not, involve any of the following: advanced tickets, train and Metro timetables, maps, custom Google maps, reservations, additional miscellaneous research, other maps, duplicate directions, satellite views of Hamilton, walking distances, musical selections, pre-printed boarding passes, passports, show ticket storage, menus (if available), and any myriad detail you can imagine. I then sometimes put all the information, in timeline order, into a laminated document protector. Or, I might not. On Monday night, prior to launch, X hands me a quarter-folded sheet of paper that included doodles representing some new type of electric razor, a guy’s face, two flowers, and three unidentifiable drawings of dogs. Down in one corner was a number that appeared to be some sort of ‘confirmation number’. She says, “Can you put the rental car confirmation number into your pile of documents?” In initial shock and/or agreement I said sure, no problem, while reaching for the tattered ‘document’. What I was actually thinking was, “This! This is a document to be used for planning? Dear God.” Needless to say it wasn’t actually the car rental reservation but a series of useless numbers.

What we have in the greater D.C. area today seems to be monsoon season. We’re in the midst of our third massive front of this June Wednesday. We’ve lost power, the traffic lights are in-op, roads are flooded, cell phones are down, and the little critters are drowning. I heard a tornado hit around Falls Church while I was out fetching G. this afternoon but I haven’t seen confirmation – it wouldn't be a real surprise since the rain seems to have been moving upward, as in up to the sky, throughout the day. X was stymied on her commute home today and my horror stories simply revolve around trying to get anywhere near a Fairfax County Metro stop during the afternoon swale to fetch her and bring her home. It was rough out there.

I broke my no news promise today. I’d grabbed the paper from in front of our heavenly B n’ (almost) B when the proprietor asked me what I thought of the race being over. I read the front page quickly and confessed to my lent of news. I also grabbed the NYTimes at the Buffalo airport to follow-up on what’s happened. How do you expect a man to travel airports and not buy papers? I consider myself forgiven. I’ve stayed away from it since getting back this morning.

I know you’ll think I’m mad but I’ve got a long Buffalo/Hamilton weekend travel getaway for anyone interested. Give me three days and two nights in upstate NY and I’ll show you the best time. You’ll get great digs, great folks, a show, awesome food, and lovely museums. Seriously.

My photo / music video entry today is of England’s own (and the stunning) Webb Sisters who backed Leonard Cohen last night. They’ve also played for the Queen – I’m not sure which is more impressive.

Give me a call at the agency when you’re ready to see Buffalo.

t.

taj

This is one of my all-time favorite songs and I like this simple performance. I pulled up Taj Mahal when I found out he'll be here for the Jazz Festival in September.



While we’re on music, apparently X thinks my opinion of my pop / hooky jewels is overrated in my wee head. She was cooking on Saturday night and I offered to fire up some music on the kitchen system. This didn’t go well because what she really wanted was some jazz; that nugget was not passed on during her request call to the DJ booth. I think I went 0-for-5 before she mumbled something about my crappy music and stomped off to find her wee case of mystery music. The last thing I’ll say about this slap down was that at least I have dinner ready before 10pm when I’m cooking. Take that.

We’ve got a B & B booked for Buffalo tomorrow night. From what the owner tells me, it’s on the longest one-way street in the city. I’ll bring along a camera and get some photos of the legendary throughway.


t

josh ritter

I generally don’t care much for music videos anymore but I think I’ll give artists and directors a go over the next month. This is a 1st of June shot of Josh Ritter doing Girl in the War. Ritter is a great songwriter that's true to his work. If you hear him live you’ll know just how much he loves what he does; and just how amazed he is by his success.


The Eleven is in the midst of planning and re-planning travel details for this week. We're off to Hamilton, Ontario via Buffalo on Tuesday morning and will be dropping H. off at another Southwest gate so he can head up to Mass. We'll be seeing Leonard Cohen and heading back to the States, and D.C., on Wednesday morning. We've got to figure how to get G. to school that day: I think maybe we should kick him of the train at the station and send him on down the road.

no higher than the crown

"My momma taught me to play by the rules and respect those rules. My mother taught me, and I'm sure your mother taught you, that when you decide change the rules, middle of the game, end of the game, that is referred to as cheatin'," - Donna Brazile.

That has more meaning than just politics - 'specially around here.

t

one more wave

Harold Ickes and Roger Stone. Discuss.

There's a unbelievably good piece on Stone in this week's New Yorker. Ickes is at the forefront of the Clinton / Florida / Michigan debate and a former Clinton Administration employee. I'll do some more research but I think I'd lean more towards a blowhard, stone-cold political operative like Stone than I would a complete pinhead like Ickes. Ickes must hate that...

I guess it's my kick ass and take names belief that's slipping out. I wouldn't trust either of the motherfuckers with my groceries but at least I'd see it coming with a killer like Stone.

My french.

t.

p.s. photo via the New Yorker.

a farewell to arms

It's the 31st of May and I'm sticking to the promise I made, to myself, about staying away from current events for the whole of June. As the month comes to an end we've got the DNC meeting here in D.C. to decide the fates of Florida and Michigan. It appears they'll seat everyone and give them each half-a-vote. It the only truly compromised solution they could land upon. The facts are, they shouldn't have seated any of them. End of story. In order to appease Clinton they've done the best they can without actually affecting the race.

The lessons learned are pretty clear: Obama was naive to imagine that everyone would play by agreed-to rules. This will be something he'll carry with him through the remainder of his career. As for Clinton, she's now violating her word and there isn't anything worse you can do in politics. (Case in point: I don't actually care that Bill Clinton got involved with Monica; he pissed me off when he lied.) I fear she's forever damaging her place in the Senate and any future political leadership position. It's unfortunate because I really believe she is one of few in the Senate that could influence the chamber over the next twenty years. She may well lose any good will she's established in her eight years. 

Whatever the outcome, and I'm sure I'll catch it as I walk by newspaper machines, I'll vote for whomever the Democrats nominate.

The Cubs came back from 9-1 yesterday to win 10-9. They won their sixth straight today and are on a six-game streak. Those two sentences make me so much more relaxed than politics.

Expect tales from the Hilltop, sports, music, and crazy yarns of mass transit.

changing the method

I'm old enough to have vivid memories of The Carol Burnett Show. It was pure joy to watch Tim Conway, Vicki Lawrence, Harvey Korman, and Carol make each other lose the ability to function. I remember her monologues and the ear tug, I remember Mrs. (ah) Wiggins, I remember innumerable skits where Conway got Korman laughing so hard that he couldn’t remember any lines. I think Korman’s death is the first that affects my childhood viewing of TV. Those shows were so goddamn funny – RIP Harvey.

Along more serious lines; I’ve decided that I’ll read no news throughout June. Ripping my attention from the debates and politics of the day is unfathomable yet I decided while standing at the bus stop today that I simply can’t read the heinous poison pervading everything. From American politics to foreign relations – it’s too much. I need a serious f&^king break. Maybe I’ll tone down my rants; maybe I’ll be able to accept the commentary by everyday people that includes language I find incredibly offensive. My bookmarks and podcasts will be limited to sports, literature, etc. My mind is about to explode. Come July I’ll get back in, touch my toe to the pool, and decide whether or not I need to ruin another summer month of my life.

For the month I’ll use the Cubs to track my progress. I’ll use my music to throw out ideas; I’ll talk to everyone much more – I know, you’ve been traded into my life as the player to be named later.

I find looking at the sky, sitting on my porch, and kissing my baby to be much more important.

t

see june, see bill

The other day while I was cleaning up the kitchen after some creation, X looks over the counter at me and says, “Where does the June Cleaver in you come from?” If she’s wondering about my wipe down, tidy up, and try to keep the kitchen in order, then it’s probably my mother. I found the above picture, The June Cleaver dress from Instant Vintage, as my sexy update on the style. What a look.

The Cubs and be infuriating. They’re hanging around the best record in baseball and then go into Pittsburgh and lose the last two games of the series in the same manner: giving up a run in the bottom of the ninth and then losing in extras. They beat the Dodgers at Wrigley today.

I’ve read a lot of Bill Kristol’s op-eds since he joined the NYTimes and I’ve watched him often as a talking head. The problem I have with him is that he’s of the debate theory that if I open with the “all due respect” pre-debate then all’s well. I read his piece today and it’s a prime example of exactly what some people skate right over.

(Warning: bad language, pissy politics, and heinous opinions are coming from me. Consider the above the funny and joke-like part of today’s entry.)

Feel free to call me on taking it out of context because I’m giving you the three consecutive paragraphs I’ve chosen from his entire op-ed. If you want to read the whole thing, here you go.

“This doesn’t mean Americans are indifferent to the sacrifices of our men and women in uniform. In fact, I suspect that many of us feel so much in debt to our servicemen and women, and so much in awe of the ultimate sacrifice some of them have made and all of them are willing to make, that we worry any effort to honor them wouldn’t be commensurate with their deeds.”

“One retired general I know urges civilians to go out of their way to say thank you to servicemen and women they happen to encounter. At first I thought such a gesture might be intrusive, or awkward, or unwelcome. I was wrong. When civilians walk over to express appreciation to men and women in uniform, in airports or restaurants or the like, the recipients seem a little embarrassed — but grateful. So perhaps we all should be less shy about thanking our troops for their service.”

“The men and women in the military know their fellow citizens are grateful to them. Many of them say, though, that they’re not confident their countrymen are aware of what they’re accomplishing.”

That first paragraph is bullshit. We are totally indifferent to those sacrifices; I’m indifferent, either by choice or by shear misery – I’m not sure which. I was in the military and I have some background. Believe me, if I’m indifferent than anyone who doesn’t have a loved one or very close friend involved is way beyond indifferent. I’m as guilty as the next. The faded, junky, hollow yellow ribbon magnet on the back of your car counts for shit. The idea that “we worry any effort to honor them wouldn’t be commensurate with their deeds” makes me steam. This coming from one of the greatest supporters of this Administration; a President that refuses to either show, attend, or recognize a single returning dead military member. Not one. He hasn’t showed those that make that sacrifice any more respect than he shown any tree on his Crawford ranch. There is not an ounce of honor in either Kristol or Bush’s recognition of the dead.

The second paragraph? Nice, Kristol. I’m glad to see that you’re too goddamn shallow to think that any military member would be embarrassed to get any props from you. I smile every time anyone says thanks when I’m passing through the airport and they look at my retired AF ID card. Kristol’s thought process about the war – that it’s over there, that I’ll finally write something on Memorial Day, that maybe a little thanks and honor through my backhanded effort could be worthwhile is a questionable joke.

The third paragraph is the ultimate example of how the military is twisted into a tool for this political mission. The military doesn’t wonder “…how the public views their accomplishments” – what they aren’t sure of is if the public could even understand what they’re going through while doing the yeoman’s work in Iraq and Afghanistan. As I’ve said before; completing that mission, whether they agree with the political premise, is what they do: Nothing more, nothing less.

I'm done.

staring into the weekend

A few bits-and-bobs to wrap up the week before we kick-off the big Memorial Day holiday weekend.

I remember buying Jeff Buckley’s Grace CD back in the mid-90’s, I don’t remember if it was before or after his death, and hearing him sing Hallelujah. At the time, I didn’t know jack about Leonard Cohen and wasn’t brought into the fold until X and I discussed some question about what singer/artist we couldn’t live without. My answer was Steve Earle; hers was the great Cohen – then I learned. I bring this up because Andrew Sullivan linked to a Later with Jools Holland clip of k.d. lang singing the grand tune on the Beeb. It’s a great song and she can certainly handle it. I’ve often tried to find links to performmances on Later only to be shot down by the BBC Web site – I guess I should try the youtubes. Enjoy.



Here’s a link to a story at The American Conservative that is somehow both admiring of Jim Webb’s work on the Hill and then slaps at service in the military. You should read the whole article but it’s the opening of the fifth paragraph that should scream, F&*^ off. I’m pretty sure I’m onboard with anyone serving under fire, voluntarily for three years, and getting to then attend college on my dime. Can anyone be serious when bitching about, and comparing, the odds of dying in combat and attending college? Based on the length of WWII, which is the basis for the Webb bill, those three years are perfectly acceptable. I won’t need to do any work against McCain in the autumn because he didn’t support this bill and it's just another mark against. I also like that it had a veto-proof majority.

My final bob is this cover article from this week’s Washington City Paper. It's the best story I’ve read from a very good source. I’ll keep my analogy to my little old self.

Have a lovely weekend.

Hugs to all,

t.

my cents

I went to the Web site 270towin and took a look at the electoral results from the last few Presidential elections. What’s important to me isn’t the endless popular vote statistics that either Clinton or Obama are using to support their case – primaries don’t translate to the general: either candidate will carry California or New York so telling me otherwise is a weak argument. You’re just mangling numbers to make you feel better about your candidate. What I remember so well from 2000 was yelling at the talking heads that it was just Florida that was the downfall – it was any single ‘safe’ state that Gore ignored. If he had carried any state that he lost – any state from Alaska to Nevada – he would have won. Every state is worth at least three electoral votes and he lost by five. Using that election as a basis since only three states changed in 2004 (Kerry lost N.M and Iowa, but picked-up N.H.) it’s pretty clear to see what needs to be done. (P.S. Hey Al, if you can’t carry your home state then it’s pretty tough to blame anyone else for that loss.) Of the states that could have swung in 2000, we needed any one of the following:

+ 40,000 of 2.2. million cast in Missouri
+ 11,000 of 600,000 cast in Nevada
+ 3,500 of 550,000 cast in New Hampshire
+ 40,000 of 2 million cast in Tennessee

It wasn’t just Florida. If we get back to picking up the states that Democrats carried in 2000 then it’s one step to a victory – without Florida or Ohio. The states that are hanging, according to the Web site, include seven states the Dems carried in 2000: N.M., Minnesota, Wisconsin, Iowa, Michigan, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey. All seven of those states have been predominantly Democrat over the last four Presidential election cycles, and at least half of the last ten cycles. There are five states in play from the Republican pull in 2000: Nevada, Colorado, Missouri, North Carolina, and Virginia. Nevada and Missouri have split over the last four elections, and New Mexico has gone Dem three of the last four. The other four states have been strongly Republican over the last ten cycles. I happen to think Virginia is going to become very important even if its run Republican forever – more power to the massive population growth in Arlington, Alexandria, and Fairfax counties that has brought in two Democratic governors, Senator Jim Webb, and a second Senate seat on the horizon with Democrat Mark Warner.

I think that pulling Nevada, Missouri, and New Mexico means the end of the campaign. Who knows what the hell the Granite State folks will do in the end – can someone pop over to Keene and help them out. It’s almost impossible to imagine a surge in Republican support across the hardcore Democratic states whether our nominee is Clinton or Obama – the numbers won’t change even if Virginia doesn’t come through – and the Dems cover 276 – 262.

My point in this ramble is this: the Democrats need to bring out the numbers we’ve seen during the primary season for the general election. The candidate needs to hit the fringe states hard and use them to leverage off states like Florida and Ohio. Simple mistakes like not carrying your home state or giving away the smaller states that are in play can’t be allowed.

I’ve made my case.

Feel free to take that nap now.

pump my gas

A few years ago while living out in Nevada I remember checking the Internets to see if there’d been a Web site established that provided current gas prices in my local area. What’s strange to remember was this was the summer of 2005 when gas prices were heaving up towards $2.25 - $2.50 a gallon. I came across gasbuddy.com, updated by locals, and would occasionally check it before heading into Reno just to see if there was some mystery station with crazy Eddie pricing. (More on that in a second.) I’ve now joined gusbuddy for no other purpose than to increase my demented old-man hobby repertoire. Since I don’t drive to and from work in the morning I can now pull out my little pad and jot down gas prices at the four or five stations planted along the main artery towards my work. The immediate fear of addiction is clear: I can see myself trying to write down the price of every gas station The Eleven passes as we motor about NoVa in search of craigslist treasures or groceries. “What was that? I think it was a Shell, no, an ESSO? Crap. 385 397 411 and 452 for diesel. Was it 452 for diesel or 462? Slow down, I can’t read the numbers. Turn around, I need that station. Hey, that place is only 399 for premium; pull-in and top off…I don’t care if we only need a half gallon.” You get the idea. Of course, the search for cheap gas prices is an almost comical mission. Unless you’re deciding between $3.99 and $4.25 per gallon it’s a complete waste of time – that’s where a Web site might help if there’s some indie, rebel-like, socialist station in the neighborhood. If I'm saving two bits per gallon when filling up a 17-gallon Golden Mercedes (as if you’d have one), for a grand total of $4.25 in savings per tank, I think that we can chuckle the next time I use that to buy another grande mocha down at the local. If we’re digging around to save a nickel per gallon – a glistening $.90 per fill up – we’ve lost our minds. There was clearly a point where we crossed over to financial difficulties related to gas and its direct relation on all consumer goods. In fact, I think we can look back at the $2 per gallon mark as the quake point. It was pretty clear even back then that when gas prices doubled we’d have economic issues. The question now is how high do they go? Is there another double left in the system? I think $5 a gallon wouldn’t have a much worse effect than we have right now; I think our personal recovery process to get through this round will hold us through that number. Six bucks a gallon will trigger a new crisis.

Speaking of gas, the Summer Gas Tax Holiday very quickly became the stupidest economic idea of the decade – almost immediately setting a new record after the Administration’s economic stimulus package stood top of the hill. The federal gas tax is $.18 per gallon which leads to similar math as above. Let’s pretend you are driving The Ring and filling up once a week: a net savings of $12.14 per week, $48.42 per month, $145.26 for the summer. If my mortgage is resetting upwards and I'm struggling with food prices, that $140 over three months isn’t helping – it’s pandering. And at the expense of billions and billions of tax dollars used for infrastructure. I'll let you read economic reports and figure out the exact details.

I’ve also learned that the gas station/company Total is really pronounce /toe-tahl/, as in the first two syllable of totalitarian. Something good has come…


I just heard a story on NPR about how The Gap (Gap, Old Navy, Banana Rep) is struggling to survive: the reporter indicated that they're losing the hip market share to Urban Outfitters and J. Crew. That’s kind of like saying that N*Sync is losing market share to the Backstreet Boys. What I want to see a cross-mall, customer showdown between kids kitted-out in Old Navy and the newer, hipper kids wearing Urban Outfitters. They can begin their battle from across the atrium, Ride of the Valkyries playing gently from the mall speakers, stream passed the Barnes & Noble and Williams-Sonoma, skirt the Apple store, jump over the information desk - and as the soundtrack of war suddenly changes to Lily Allen or Natasha Bedingfield - throw half-empty cans of Red Bull across the battle lines.

Must be a Friday before a long holiday weekend.

t

of letters

Speaking of people of letters, while walking home from the Metro this afternoon I was viewing and judging the homes along Haycock Road when I came across one of those genius families that put their address above the garage using black cursive, wrought-iron letters. I'd never thought much about it but I'm now convinced that crappy lettering in lieu of bright brass or lit actual numbers is horribly frustrating. I'm sure I've driven around any number of unfamiliar neighborhoods looking for addresses and coming across some house with Garamond italic phrases proclaiming, in the dusk of evening, that this home is indeed seventy-five thirty-nine Jumbalaya Lane.

The Eleven has been all over craigslist for the last three or four weeks filling some of the needs for the new place. Suddenly we notice a certain type of post-er / photog that feels the need to display furniture just so; like this or this. The first thing that comes to a man's mind runs along these lines. "Honey, take the chaise outside for the picture...not there, over there...not on the grass, on the sidewalk. Don't step on the dahlias!...maybe a little closer to the driveway...watch out for the minivan...that looks good. Wait...what about the backlighting..." In our little minds we're thinking our original plan of tossing the damn thing in a dumpster - or eating it - would be preferable to this jackassery. I love the table in this ad because apparently it would make a great "computer desk" out near the forest in our backyard. "Hey honey, why don't you take your computer out back - I'll run you a power cord."

Maybe I'm jaded.

t.

law and order

X graduated from law school on Sunday; the weather forced the ceremony, diploma giving, and reception indoors, so attendees were limited to two for each graduate. Her mother and I were lucky enough to join her and the other JD and LLM kids in the old Georgetown gym on the main campus. It was a very nice ceremony but it’s the more than three years of academia that impresses me most – pomp and circumstance be damned. What you see from the professors that attend in their myriad of robes is the same look – a look that parents give when their children have moved onto sixth grade. She, along with two of her cohorts in crime, graduated with Honors and all of the Owls (Older Wiser Law Students) so move into the real-world of employment delays and business casual dress. I’m very proud of her. (Once we locate the camera disc loader thingy from the moving boxes I’ll post the photog of the lovely and her pals…)

Corey and Wondertwin2 took her (and me by default…free dinner, no studying) to dinner last night at a fancy joint down in Alexandria to celebrate her mean feat. What none of us could figure out was why we didn’t just have dinner at home since Corey decided he could make everything; a bit of mystery. I’m wholly unable to make anything that looks remotely gourmet or Food Network-y since my limits are set at the “mess of food” level. This is probably an answer to the issue of why he can bake and I can’t.

Two things for you to ponder before I next type: first, what do we think about the Aussie double-amputee sprinter trying to qualify for the Olympics; second, how ‘bout those Cubs.

Love to all.

T.

push and pull

I remember reading about train stuffers in Japan; here they are.



I’m torn because I often think it’d be a great idea (I may even beg) to have pushers at the busiest DC Metro stations – primarily to stop tourists and lunatics from impeding my progress – but if it’s really this crowded then I think I’ll just back off. I guess you won’t be reading your newspaper on this line.

I got an e-mail from a friend who I knew well from my time in England and elsewhere. He was long ago been dubbed “Euro” by our good friend and has stayed to true to an idea he told me about years ago. I think he planned much better than I for his first foray after retirement:

"Hey man...I'm retired as well, as of 1 January. I'm married, living
in Omaha with my wife who is still in [the Air Force] for another 2 years. I'm in Cork, Ireland at week 5 of a 12-week cookery course...Ballymaloe Cookery School. I've decided to become a cook and work my way towards being a Head Chef, concentrating on local/seasonal products, etc...yeah, much different life than the one I left. What are you up to in D.C.? Well, I'm off to do some filing and ordering of work for tomorrow morning's cooking...take good care, Bryce."

Son of a bitch. He’s just the kind of character to pull this stunt on me, “Hey look, cooking school.” I’ve already looked my GI Bill to see if they’ll pay tuition – I’ll save for three years and maybe in the Summer of 2011 give it a go.

T.

lumbergh

I cut our swatch of Everest today. When you come and see the house – stay if you like, we’ve got rooms and futons – you’ll understand the yard thing. Luckily, I’ve got some yard and groundskeeping skills. If I can claim only one manly trait then it’d be my ability to work any two-stroke and 3.5hp (or lower) apparatus. What I normally do is this – cut horizontally one week, vertically the next, and on the diag’ the third. It makes for a lovely lawn…and I don’t much like lawns. This joint only allows for one cut, horizontal – it’s way too steep and crazy to imagine any other geometry. Of course, I’m just crazy enough with the Jac’ to consider my options.

The immediate rundown of folks on the block shows that we’ve got kids galore around these parts. From what we’ve seen, there are four next door and three more two doors down. Lots of others walking dogs, and themselves, every night; a very friendly neighborhood. G. pontificated on his shyness when we first moved here but he wandered about tonight and came home with a half dozen kids in tow. I told him I thought he could establish his own tribe of kids who’d follow his every move since he’s the oldest. He relayed that they are horrible at catching anything, namely him, so he didn’t think they’d be of any use. Ah, I said, that’s exactly what you want – troops to train and worship you. Upon the arrival of Henry the Elder this week, you’ll already have your kingdom of warriors. I got little more than a sideways glance.

Here’s my deal with work. The small company is struggling a bit and there’ve been some layoffs over the last three or four days. I worry about that, but I must say I worry more about why it is that my division and group leaders aren’t talking. What I hate more than anything else are folks in charge who don’t just sit down and tell people what’s what. I have no illusion that times change, companies need to make moves, and that the world isn’t perfect – just don’t hide in your office and f*&king pretend it isn’t happening. In the end, if I (or we) know there are issues then we at least have a chance to make changes and look around for other opportunities before you kick me in teeth and head back to your office. I hate cowards. In fact, we’ve had two or three ‘get togethers’ where the bigs spout the same crap I heard from military commanders – and I hated them for that because I knew the truth. As it is, I’m safe until the end of summer; beyond that (and my completion of their contract), I’ll place no bets. Man up.

The Current is playing through my speakers and I’m happy. I’m happy about that as an aside to everything else; these are the best days of my life.

T.

genius: fish and home

I’m reading a history of whaling in America, Leviathan, which the author makes clear is a purely on topic history and not a trial on whether or not whaling is, or was, a good idea. With that you know what you’re getting. Aside from the great yarns woven by the whaling world and its great influence on colonial commerce for a hundred years, the book has little asides from history that jump up and make me wonder about just where it was that I learned some of my history. I know I should be able to provide a basic window of opportunity for when the Mayflower landed in America but somehow its arrival has been blended in somewhere near (within 20 years?) the Santa Maria, the Pińta, and that other ship. I’ve fallen into the trap of American Elementary History that meshes the pilgrims with, or near, Columbus’ ‘discovery’ or our continent. I picture a bunch of Brits sitting in caravans about the piers of Southampton awaiting word of the discovery before they set sail, en masse, to the Americas. I’m generally embarrassed. I asked X when the Mayflower came to America and she used the establishment of Harvard as her guide and backtracked from there; she’s so strange – I can almost hear another answer, “well yes, I imagine that the death of Oliver Cromwell must have been around the time of the Baroque period because the great Dutch painter and engraver Adriaen van Nieulandt the Younger was born late in the the 16th century in Antwerp but he must have been in Amsterdam by then because he was a student of Pieter Isaacsz and Frans Badens. I’d guess about 1655 or so for Cromwell’s death.” One other item that begat a laughing fit was this, “No one was more surprised at the failure of England’s whaling industry than the English.” I’m never surprised by my failures, fully expected.

There was an unassisted triple play last night, only the 14th in history, and I can’t quite figure out how there have be so many fewer of those than no-hitters. The numbers are staggering: there have been 255 no-hitters. I’m sure the statistics and probability gurus could point out the real issues and data involved but it seems to me that having men on first and second with no outs happens at least as often as pitchers taking the mound every day. Let’s see, there’s a max of twelve or so games per day in baseball so we’ve got 24 pitchers with a shot at a no-hitter – I’d guess that the first/second/no out situation happens at least 24 times through the 216 top and bottom of innings that day so we’re on level pegging there. Of course, dude at bat needs to drill one right at the second baseman who’s probably moving to cover some kind of double steal, etc. etc. Still, I’d think the numbers would be closer than 18-to-1. Pitching a no-hitter requires an unbelievable number of contributing factors: no seeing-eye singles, no bloopers, no bunts, hometown scoring on possible errors, and on and on. The pitcher is probably throwing 100 pitches and not one of those can be put into play and make its way through some slight infield gap manned by a chunky shortstop with a weak glove who can’t move to his right.

The Eleven secured a 20-year old Jacobsen lawnmower from a classic 1970s Americana painting over in Vienna last night. This house was a dead ringer for all the ‘60s-built suburban places across the country that have the single garage under the bedrooms and the split-level flipside with living room window facing the street and an avocado or yellow kitchen hidden around the back side. I’m not sure if it had a basement, but if it did it certainly had some old decrepit ping pong table and/or mini air hockey table that’s sat idle since the kids left for college. The husband gave me the lawn mower basics: two-stroke engine, gas, oil, used to be self-propelled, spark plug history, and storage background. I tuned out at two-stroke engine because I know nothing about engines and I was daydreaming about my mother reminding me to sweep the driveway after mowing and trimming our yard in Omaha. Don’t forget to sweep. We gave it a start, it cranked on the third pull (as he predicted), exchanged the fifteen bucks, and headed back to our less suburban home.

News of the World…

t.

stars baby, stars

I was running to and fro the market this afternoon and tuned The Ring’s radio to an oldies station I’ve taken to of late. By oldies I mean the Journey, Whitney Houston, Billy Joel oldies, not the Frankie Valli and Fats Domino that served as oldies in my youngies. The voice I hear at the first song break is that of the one and only Kasey Kasem – doing the countdown on a rainy Sunday. It used to be a three or four-hour process of Kasey rocking through the Top 40 those long ago Sunday nights on AM radio in Omaha. He gave you flashbacks, nuggets of trivia, and the ever-popular long-distance dedication. What he does now is something called the AT10, which must stand for American Top 10 (genius, I know) that appears to take about two hours based on how quickly he was actually spinning the ‘hits’. What I heard were two songs back-to-back as flashbacks to previous AT10 charts: Whitney Houston doing Greatest Love of All, and Extreme rocking More Than Words from 1991. Wow! Kasey added in the little nugget that Gary Cherone was, for a short time, the lead singer of Van Halen after Sammy Hagar’s departure. That’s not trivia, that’s merely propping up ol’ Kasey with something to say. Eventually I heard Alicia Keys singing her newest hit that must blasting at all the local roller rinks. The Top 40 was an amazing thing back in the 70s when singles were actually sold for $.99 a pop at Westroads Mall. I’d take them home and organize them in a little hard case with handle that held about 60 or 70 discs. I kept them in order (as one would expect), I learned the b-sides, and I stacked them on that .45 tirejack device that spit down a new pop hit ever three minutes. Man, you could stack about a dozen on the portable turntable. Those were the days. I used to tape the Kasey’s Top 40 onto a quality Radio Shack cassette by a microphone laid up against the speaker on the nearest radio; I remember spending eight or nine hours every New Year’s Eve writing down every song that made the year-end Top 100. Kasey still has the pipes and could probably make me tear up if he played David Soul (aka Hutch) singing some dedication to a love lost across all the miles. “Keep your feet on the ground and keep reaching for the stars.” You know it baby.



The President’s daughter had a lovely wedding dress. Don’t say I’m partisan, I can reach across the aisle.

Hey to people.

T

our buddy

I’ll get off politics for a few days until we stumble into either conclusion or the West Virginia primary.

No Depression magazine is involved in two brilliant events this week: first, they are marking the end of their 13-year run as what I think of as the best music magazine. You might think that the end wouldn’t be a cause for celebration, but the mere fact that they lasted so long and stayed dead-on true to a theory of music, musicians, and the business says a great deal for the founders.

Second, and more amazingly, they’ve named Buddy Miller as their artist of the decade. I couldn’t believe it when I saw Buddy gracing the cover of the final issue. (They named Alejandro Escovedo as their first artist of the 90s.) I’ve long ago covered my love of Buddy Miller’s music – dubbing him the last savior of true country – so there’s no need to rehash it all in this entry. Feel free to search the blog, you might find at least one video.

If you didn’t happen to notice yesterday, the Cubs gave up seven home runs and somehow didn’t manage to win.

The house is about 12.8% put together but it still seems huge compared to the old place, even with boxes and crap everywhere.

I can feel the summer heat arriving.

carolina blue

You can say it's easier to be magnanimous when you're leading in states, votes, delegates, and (closing in) on superdelegates. Obama was fantastic in Raleigh tonight - he reached out to both his and Sen. Clinton's supporters. There is no way we can allow the left and the liberals to split and spend the late summer hating each other because of a very harsh campaign. But...what we are seeing now is a party bleeding out slowly and getting weaker each and every week this continues. I don't think I've ever voiced a desire for Clinton to quit - it's her job to fight on and look for every opportunity to win, and she's welcome to it. Have no doubt that I'll support her if she's the nominee. What the party needs to do is shit or get off the pot. Those superdelegates that can make the difference need to make the difference, now. Their decision needs to be made this week and the party needs to support that decision - the rules are in-place for them to influence the drive toward either candidate because those are the rules that were agreed upon. The fact that they are hiding, en masse, in order to save their own asses is appalling. They were established in the early '80s for the expressed purpose of providing guidance from within the system yet they seem to be sitting at home watching American Idol. In fact, a prime example of a superdelegate wasting our time is the President of the College Democrats who seems to be waiting for...for...pint night? A defining letter from Chad at ASU? Anything? I've never heard a more inane interview than I heard with her on NPR last weekend; and she's a law student! I had to look her up...Lauren Wolfe. What Ms. Wolfe doesn't understand is that her decision isn't based on anything other than her own processes - go figure, Prez of College Dems playing politics. I don't care who she supports; I care that she makes a decision.

The Supers need to end it.

And while I'm at it; I stopped the van today, rolled down the window, and kindly asked the woman in her car on Haycock Road to use her lovely turn signal...that thing on the stick. I beg and I plead.

ride a wave

To start, send out good wishes to little Ms. X who is right now, as I type, taking her last-ever Law School exam.

I should be better at putting together evidence when it’s sitting right before me. My story is this; with the move completed I’ve gathered a new mass transit lineup that includes buses, Metro, and some walking on either end. What I realized this morning while standing at the 401 bus stop shelter at Dunn Loring (something I won’t be doing so much of in the future) was that the reason for crowded buses over the last few months probably has something to do with gas prices. In my time at the club I’ve noted the usual number of commuters and those that come-and-go over weeks and months: folks with broken vehicles, new residents to the area, and those that mysteriously show for only a day or two and disappear - they’re a strange lot. Basically, my scheduled bus carries the same crew of malcontents on a daily basis. There are always days where some of the crew is AWOL but they’re usually back after a few days on the run. Over the last month there’ve been a lot of interlopers on both the AM and PM buses and, quite frankly, the space is getting more limited. While listening to the a debate on the gas tax holiday on the iPod this morning I finally realized that this surge in ridership isn’t purely based on cycles or weather – it’s gas prices. My analytical training sometimes takes a little longer to kick in when I’m listening to podcasts or rock n’ roll. I’m a genius. That’s the word from the man on the street.

Christopher Hitchens has another interesting commentary on the Obamas and Rev. Wright. The paragraph that struck me most was the following and I found it a bit too broad in assuming what happened at the time of the immediately before and after the Philadelphia speech.

“Nettled at last by the way in which this has upset his campaign, Sen. Obama last week cut the ties that bound him to his crackpot mentor. Well, high time. But those who profess relief at this should perhaps revisit what they thought (and wrote) about the earlier Philadelphia speech in which Obama was held to have achieved the same result with less trouble. If he was right last week, then the Philly speech was a failure on every level, and if it was a failure on every level, and thus left Obama hideously vulnerable to the very next speech made by his foaming pastor, then that must raise questions of eligibility for the highest office.”

I don’t think it’s a matter of whether the Philly speech completed the circle; I think Obama’s position as it related to both his reverend and race relations was spot on. What it represented was his interpretation of the issues that rage across race lines in our country and how those can be woven from some of the more inflammatory language of Rev. Wright. I didn’t see him supporting Wright’s assertions as made nor fully distancing himself from the narrative that led to Wright’s commentaries. The idea that certain words must be uttered by a candidate in order to make something go away is a horribly shallow desire by the public and press. It’s a no-win scenario for Obama yet what he’s done is to try to move through it in a manner that’s much more human than most expect from politicos. If he’d simply stated two months ago that Wright was “crackpot” and then chucked him on the slag heap he would have be blasted for simply brushing the bad news under the carpet and denying further explanation of his actions. He didn’t do that and now he’s still dealing with the fallout. What this shouldn’t be is an endless process that just resets and begins anew. Wright has decided to continue down his path of rage and Obama has now taken the final step and extinguished any hope of diplomacy between the two. His words and actions last week didn’t refute any of the injustice felt by African Americans but merely closed the door on someone he may have thought could change, or refocus, his anger. It was a decision necessitated by Wright, not Obama. What Hitchens does here is follow his tendency to latch onto a single thread and hold it incessantly without sometimes seeing the nuisance; the war and Obama’s reverend being two examples. He was for the war and against the reverend from the get-go and what generally follows are snippets that run support for either pillar on which he stands. There are some valid points and targets within the Hitchens commentary but I happen to think he’s reaching when attempting to sort some kind of math that aligns the Philly speech and what happened last week.

That’s my political pennies for the week. I’m hoping that today’s primaries bring us a little closer to the end of the Democratic nomination process. I can almost comprehend the frustration on both sides of the Democratic fight. I cannot possibly understand polls that say that up to 54% of Dems would either vote Republican or not vote at all if their candidate doesn’t get the nomination. I’m starting to believe they are the real problem in the party – petty, selfless, and mindless voters.

Hey to all.

T

moving across the plains

The new digs are just fine; full of boxes and miscellany but great nonetheless. The Eleven was pondering the amount of stuff we’ve moved and I’m shocked that it all fit in the old small two bedroom place. As X pointed out, it was packed like a ship at sea with everything strapped to the walls and locked into place in case we encountered heavy chop; we used to strap the boys in at the table. I think, using her term to describe my shock, the apartment was like a tube of toothpaste: we got everything out but there’s no way we could ever get all of it back inside. Ever. Speaking of the olden two-bedroom place: three years and four people mean a whole lot of scrubbing and elbow grease to get in order to finish out the deposit dance. X spent two-and-a-half hours last night just removing all the shelves, bolts, hooks, curtain rods, and trapezes she’d installed over the years. But, we’ve woken up the last two mornings looking lovingly at the jungle that canopies over the new back garden.

I had an entry about two years ago that flippantly threw out the name of a girl I’d attended elementary school with for three or four years in Omaha. Her name back then was pretty distinctive so it wouldn’t be much of surprise if she googled herself while sitting around the house one evening. I didn’t even think of that when I was typing away; seems so obvious now, don’t ever say I’m not on top of things. Anway, she found the entry and sent me a very funny e-mail proclaiming her fifth-grade love for another boy; we all knew about that back in ’75 but it was curious just how quickly it came up – we remember so much about when we were that age and trundling through our little kid lives. I reminds me of just how strong emotions are when you’re young and how much of an imprint childhood events hold even decades later. I try to remember this when I’m fighting laughter as one of the girls tells me about the distress of the days, not real distress, but elementary school distress. In fact, G. has a ‘girlfriend’ in his fourth-grade class who’s completely entranced by everything he does and is certain she’ll someday marry him. He pretends to hold her in disgust but he’s really in love with her: I’m certain that come 2041 he’ll remember everything about her.

I don’t know if I mentioned that the driveway at the new place is set at about a 45-degree climb, seriously. Once you hit the “up” bit you’ll be staring at sky and clouds, trusting the engine and grip, and hoping you’ve lined up The Ring (the new golden car) before you kicked down hard and activate the thrusters. Trust that you’ll eventually come level and feel the G-suit release as you land your craft on the terra firma of the flatlands.

I’ve sort our new mass transit options for Falls Church. I know, I know…

t.