cold and loose

We have a chance of snow flurries overnight; the seasons have finally turned. If that’s on tap for us then I don’t suspect they’ll be able to squeeze in the finish of Game 5 of the World Series today. If I’m a Phillies fan, and sitting nine outs from a possible World Championship, I’d be absolutely crazed today.

I have issues with our pets. At some point this morning our sole remaining rat, Biscuit, was found prancing in and about our kitchen – just on the floor along the floorboard, not in and amongst stuff. There appears to have been some sort of cage transfer issue and he found himself on the loose. Our two cats were napping/relaxing/sleeping on their respective thrones in the living room as Biscuit roamed. Since you don’t know it yet I’ll pass along that this whole portion of the house if basically one big room so one might expect a high probability of cat-on-rat carnage when this situation arose. Luckily, Biscuit was spotted (quickly?) by a non-rodent slaughtering mammal (me) and secured in his cage in the back of H’s room. My questions are these: what was the rat doing wandering around the house? He’s fully aware there are two cats living in the house because they occasionally manage to get near his cage and harass him (read: purring “I’m going to eat you” through the bars) which leads to terror-driven wheel running on his part. If I’m that rat, and I find my cage ajar in the AM, I’m finding the highest, darkest, safest place available; I’m not exploring the open ranges of the house with two killer cats lurking about the place. Second, our ‘killer’ cats are for crap. Don’t get me wrong here – the last thing I want is anything to happen to ratty-rat – but at least they could have shown some ability to sense or recognize there was a meal wandering nearby. What? They can show interest in the piece of string that G wiggles on the floor but an actual rodent does nothing for them? Useless, each and every one of them.

X is being a lawyer suddenly. (I just checked the Mass Bar Web site and they say results should be available by November 7th – not sure how – and mailed by November 15th. We await…) She gets dolled-up every morning and heads in to the Golden Triangle to swish around with the other attorneys. My prime responsibility in the house has once again returned: creating a breakfast sandwich and lunch options for little Ms. Sandra Day. I think she’s finally completed all of her paperwork that will eventually lead to real paychecks, quizzical health insurance, and taxes. She’s all grown up.

I’ll be spending some time over the next few days imagining how I’m going to configure my voting precinct so I can manage to get everyone through in a reasonable amount of time. Believe it or not, my goal is to keep the wait for everyone to no longer than 45 minutes – and that’ll be a drive through for many places. Herding people – it’s what I do.

t

the people

Richard Trumka of the AFL-CIO addressing the United Steel Workers Union. I have never seen such elitists. Cake eaters…



T

steady diet

I'll let you know up front that you'll be reading and listening to a steady diet of Obama for the next 12 days. It's my blog and it's very important to me - feel free to come back after November 4th, I'm not getting paid by the visitor. This is the difference between the idea of hate and division, and a life of hope and dreams. Let it ring, if you will.

Love to all.

t

a plea?

The Eleven hit the (early) absentee-in-person voting place this afternoon. As far as our county is concerned she qualifies because she works in the District and traffic, the two hours of transit throughout the day, means she can vote early. I can vote early because I’ll be working in another county as an Elections Officer on Election Day. We’re done - our man leads 2 to 0. No one will be visiting us now that the database shows us as having voted. I’ll give you this as a representation of how important this election is to many people. Obviously, the reasons you may have for voting for anyone is a wholly personal decision: taxes, the economy, immigration, marriage, foreign policy, etc., but there’s no doubt that the immense emotion involved this year is staggering. I, for one, firmly believe that we aren’t playing on a level playing field in America – in whatever area you might imagine – and what comes as pure emotion can be stunning.

T

hello. how my i be of assistance?

Yesterday morning I discovered that our Verizon internet connection had gone, in the military vernacular, tits up. I didn’t have time to rassle with it in the morning so I waited until the afternoon to take it by the scruff of the neck and shake the life from it.

(As a side story about scruffs and necks: a big, black, tomcat has decided over the last few nights that it likes our house. We’ve discovered him on and under the table the last two mornings and we’re not quite sure how to keep the little freeloader out of the house. The cats have a cat door and he apparently considers it an open invitation to join our little family.)

We’ve had internet issues before but they were initiated by running and stomping children screaming through the wood-floored den where the connection and cables reside. Since the wall jack is behind some bookshelves there was a tendency for the slamming toes and heels to shimmy the connection loose. So, I pulled out the bookshelves after first staring moronically at the lights on the thingamajig and gave everything the old on/off/in/out/powercyle/reset once over; this analytical thinking and action amounted to a total of zero internet. Right, I’ll give Verizon a call. Funny you should ask about that. We have no phone books and I have no bills because my entire Verizon life is online. I realized I’d have to go old school and call information on the phone in order to get a number that’d get me started on the road back to the World Wide Web. On my second call to information I finally get an 800 number that must bode well for my mission. As I stumble through the first automated menu (which is hell bent on me entering the Verizon phone number I’m calling about, even though I don’t have Verizon phone service) I finally arrive at Blockhead #1’s headset. I explain to her that I only have Verizon Internet – no phone, no 200 channels of hypnotic cable, nothing – and it’s stopped working and I just need to figure out what’s happened. She sends me to the Tech Support line where I come across the only person who knows anything. He’s able to find my account via some tech support alchemy and tells me that there was a disconnection notice that morning for my account and that’s why I have no Internet. He lets me know that I need to talk to billing to sort it out. Right-o. He transfers me to billing but instead I end up at sales. To best summarize the next two hours of my life I’ll tell you this: something happened with my auto-payment/billing and my Internet has been disconnected. What I want to do is find out what happened, how I can give them money, check the billing details, and turn my Internet back on. The offices I end up speaking with amongst the two hours of being on hold are these: wireless, landline, wireless, tech support, sales, billing, landline, collections, billing, wireless, and collections. I’m not kidding. I finally snap at the collections lady who tells me I need to make a payment via the computerized payment line – it’s $40! – and then call her back with the confirmation number. FINE!!! I make the payment and call her number back only to be spit into the same automated menu/queue for the 15th time. Shit. When I finally get to Blockhead #16 she’s the worse of the lot. I relay what I’ve done and she decides it would be best to transfer me to the number I just dialed that brought me to her. She tells me I need sales since I need to open a new account. The next sentences out of my mouth aren’t fit for my docile readers and you know I’m not much for holding back the profanity. I slam down my phone – or close the cell as we do these days – and look about for anyone to slay. Fortunately, no one is nearby. As a corollary to what’s happening, I’ve had three calls come in from the WonderTwins and their mother. Now, they’ve nothing to do with any of this, I’m not mad at any of them, but I couldn’t answer because I wasn’t going to lose my place in the phone hold-line of hell. After slamming the phone closed I start to call around to see of the World has collapsed and everyone’s decided to call me as a first option. The World didn’t collapse I find out but my lovely is waiting for me to pick her up at the Metro; her sister and mother were merely calling during this same time in order to leave voice mails and whatnot. I get in the car and drive the mile to West Falls to fetch my lawyer gal. Bear in mind, I am probably more angry at that moment than at any time in my life. We're talking…angry. The word doesn’t do me justice. On our way back I give X a rundown of my Verizon drama – it also included every possible profanity known to man – and she took it quite well…for one sitting next to a very angry and agitated bear. I told her we’d have Internet back when I damn well said we’d have Internet back. I think I apologized for all the ranting in her general area, but if I didn’t then I might need to buy her a new dress.

That’s that. Yet, there’s more.

After getting back to the house and unseething, I called back and decided to just be as calm and patient as possible. I explained to the first person, in dulcet, story-reading tones, the story of my day. She takes my confirmation number and enters the payment to my account. She reiterates that I’ll need to open a new contract since it was deactivated and that she’s sending me to someone who can do that for me. Thanks, I say. For the next 45 minutes I go through the entire process as if I were a new customer even though the lovely lady understands what’s led me to this point. As she’s trying to enter a new “connection” date into my new account it keeps telling her the 27th – no sooner. Of course, she recognizes that the central location merely needs to click on my account with a mouse tap and I’ll be back up but she can’t override the system. (There is actually a technician scheduled to come to the Hilltop…for lord knows what.) As she finishing up my account she gets a tech on another line who says he can probably sort it out sometime this evening. We finish our account configurations, say good evening, and go our separate ways. Less then five minutes later my green Internet light illuminates and we’re back in the connected World. How hard could it have been?

Two lessons to pass along and then I’ll let you go:

First, people who work customer service at any company larger than 20 people are going to be clueless, mindless, confused, and uninterested in service about 98% of the time. It’s the nature of the beast.

Second, and I’m generally applying this lesson as a side-light to Barack Obama’s behavior, it’s so hard to not just cut loose on people when they demonstrate incompetence, hatred, stupidity, or any other behavioral defect which hangs so heavily upon them. I was merely trying to get my Internet working and I ended up stark-raving mad at the process. The ability to not lose your marbles is something that graces the very few. To be out there every day for two years while being called a terrorist, a Muslim (!), a socialist, an elitist, unpatriotic, and any other bigoted comment – and to not just breakdown and smack people – is something I’ll never be able to comprehend. It’s truly amazing to watch.

Of course, I didn’t intend this to be an Obama closing but it really was the behavior that flashed before me before I got back on the phone and sorted out my anger and my Internet.

Feel free to leave.

t

can you spare $5?

This whole economic mess involving mortgages, from the point of view of the homeowners, the banks that bought the chicken parts or the original financing companies, became much clearer while I was sitting on the couch last night catching up on the NY Times. I read the paper, I watch debates, I follow what’s what online, I’m pretty well informed – but very few articles have been able to condense any of the issues into such a well-defined set of paragraphs. As the bailout package sits on the back porch doing jack-all we have yet to hear anyone inside the Beltway explain what happened within the markets; what brought about the problems we have and/or why it spun out of control. I’ll worry about the solution on another day. Here’s the NY Times staff editorial that made me call out “what the hell is up with tranching and CMOs?” I didn’t actually think or say that but I did some layman’s research on how this crap works and it doesn’t take a rocket scientist – or economic wonk – to see how fiendishly the system was manipulated. Let’s simplify. I’ve got some money that I want to lend. Not only am I gagging to dole it out but I’ve found some folk over in the District who will are willing to buy these loans after I’ve done the legwork – and it’s for enough money that I’ll turn a profit and be done with worrying about deadbeat loan takers while they get to lap up even more money. I gather up my some of my pals – a few are good with money, a few are bad – and I hook them up with some loans: money here, money there. Let’s say I end up loaning money to ten friend, five of which are the type that either never pay back my money, never buy a round at the bar, or simply don’t have the means to ever pay me back. In fact, in my normal day-to-day relationship with them I’d never expect the money to come back, I’d think it a gift. I give them each $1,000 at interest that would return me something like $1,216 from each of them over four years (that’s 4% compounded over 48 months). This little package of gold would be worth, if every one pays me back, about $12,150 in the end. Of course, I know that the chances of my five loser friends paying me back are nil so the profit isn’t really going to be that $2,150. Fortunately, I have a plan. Remember those big money investors in the district? I’m going to sell all $10,000 worth of loans to them for $11,000 and they get to keep that extra $1,250 that will (no doubt!) come flooding in when the loans are paid back. I take my $1,000 for doing the work and head to Verizon Center for a Caps game and a few beers. The next day, I find ten more folks to play my game…ten more the next day….ten more the next day. I’m working five days a week handing out $1,000 loans to any one who can sign their name and I’m making $20,000 month with no risk because I don’t care about collecting these loans – I just sell them on to my sugar daddies in the District who are making (at least on the books or in their minds) about 25% more than I. Free fucking money all around! Yes! Of course, my five loser friends from my Monday transactions aren’t going to pay back the money they owe…ever. The first five good friends pay back their money – about $6,000 – and the other chuckleheads each manage about $500 ($2,500 total) before moving to California and starting medical marijuana farms. My pals in D.C. now have $8,500 on the table to cover the $11,000 they paid me for this “bundle” of loans. I’m going to guess that a 23% loss on that 11K investment isn’t going to go over too well in the boardroom. If they were losing that much on my Monday transaction just wait until my Wednesday crew’s payments dry up. How about six months from now when I’m just signing up folks standing on the platform at Ballston station. Shoot, six months into this escapade I’ve made about $120,000 by just selling all this bad paper to the folks in the golden city who think they’ll make $250,000 on my work. The problem is that I’ll be keeping my money because I won’t be standing near the inferno when the match is lit and the loans go up in a blaze of glory. The loans they paid $120K for will be worth something less than $100K and their little operation goes under.

There’s some math in there but there isn’t much economic instruction required. Is it a very simple example of how the mortgage crisis went to crap? Yes. Is that what was happening? Yup. No one ever imagined that the house of cards would collapse – it’s the Black Swan syndrome. When we look at it now it seems comical that the “smartest guys in the room” would continue to operate while jumping up and down for joy on what was clearly a shallow mooring. But you know what? What I really hate, and what the Times editorial made salient, it this: the ones giving out the loans knew those loans would probably never be paid back. They didn’t care because once they sold them along to another “investor” they were clear of the problem. They were deliberately deceiving both sides in an unregulated market; not only screwing the home buyers, who aren’t totally innocent in this debacle, they were screwing the investors (also not innocents). Picture someone walking into a bar and sucker punching two dudes in the face and then walking away while they mistakenly fight each other. What a fucking bastard.

And so ends Todd’s economic firestorm.

Have a nice day.

for the love of...

I did my door-to-door work today and came across a few folks who are still undecided. No problem, I say, here's some literature for you to review. There's a short pause before they say this...every time, "We've had three or four folks come by this week...we just don't know." Right. The reason canvassers come by - from either party - with a clipboard and lists is to write down where you stand on the election. We take notes. If you say you're undecided, we'll come back - that's how it works. The easiest way to avoid someone knocking on your door is to make a decision. Of course, what this reminded me of as I walked down the driveway was The Daily Show skit from Thursday: pitch perfect.



Off to watch the Capitals in D.C.

t

sticks around

I must be getting lazy.

The weekend is upon us and once again the plans seem a bit too busy for my taste. I’ll be canvassing tomorrow morning and then to the Capitals game tomorrow night; X and the boys, and some of H.’s schoolmates, are going to the Maryland Renaissance Festival all day for grog, jousting, and horns o’plenty. I’m working at the USO on Sunday and they’ll all be lying around doing squat. Actually, X will probably be getting her duds ready for her first day’s work as an esquire on Monday. I don’t think there’s anything of great import on the agenda tonight. I think we’ll relax and watch and episode of Foyle’s War.

I have a whiny friend coming to town next month and he’s conveniently timed his visit to align a Capitals game against his favorite team. I’ve been digging around for good seats – I have a single season ticket in the upper level – because he wants to “feel” the action. If he wants to feel the action in D.C. he better be a high-ranking politico to get seats in VIP row A up against the glass. Do we know and high-ranking politicos? Anyway, I’ve located some very nice club-level seats from which we can enjoy the action as the Caps demolish his team. Why spend more money than you have to in order to see your team lose? I’ll be perfectly happy.

In case you’re wondering, I’m getting a little tired of being harassed for being the most favorite human in our new little cat’s world. I didn’t ask for it.

hey

t

almost a doppelganger

The Eleven ran a full Sunday of endless activity. Both boys had group piano lessons, G. had a birthday party to attend followed by playing at a friend’s house, I was out canvassing, X went shopping, and Wondertwin 2 and family came over for dinner about 5pm. Between us, we managed to get everything cooked and ready in about 45 minutes. It was so busy that around 6:45pm X called out to G. who hadn’t been in the house since about 2pm. She’d forgotten to pick him up at his friend’s place an hour earlier and my calling back to her that there was no one of that name in the house tripped the trigger. She let out a combination scream/laugh as we ran out the door to gather up the missing progeny.

I was able to walk home from my canvass turf yesterday and was coming up the street to the Hilltop when I noticed two young folks standing on my porch waiting for anyone to answer the door (the place was empty at that point). As I got to the bottom of the steps I comically (I thought it was comically) yelled at them to get off my damn porch. They turned and down the stairs with little idea what to do about this person yelling at them. I held up my big envelope of Obama turf canvassing material and they immediately relaxed and took a deep breath. The girl looked and me and said that I probably didn’t need the literature they’d left at the door; nope, I think I’ve got my very own pile right here. Considering that I’d ended up at another volunteer’s house earlier in the day it wasn’t really much of surprise. The size and dedication of the volunteer group allows us to cover every street and neighborhood multiple times while following up on previous contacts and undecided voters. The next three weeks will be centered mostly on the Get out the Vote process that’ll make sure everyone knows where to vote and any other requirements for November 4th. The last thing I want to see is people not voting because the numbers look so good right now and maybe they feel as if every vote in Virginia isn’t so important anymore. I’ve got a few weekends left to knock on the doors of northern Virginia.

I'm off to the Caps game in D.C. this evening while the rest of the crowd wanders to some Kung Fu lessons. I'll try to sneak in the house later tonight and avoid any ninja attacks.

t

go, baby, go

Here’s my Sarah Palin entry for this campaign.

Since I made up my mind that I don’t think she’ll be the vice president I’ve been wondering just what her future holds. There are lots of supporters who opine that she’s the future of the Republican Party, in politics, and that in another four years she’ll be around to run for President. I don’t quite see it that way but I think she’ll be hugely popular, regardless. First for the politics part. Before anyone knew her name – or anyone in Alaska knew much about their governor – her approval ratings in Alaska were up around 80%. Since her nomination, those approval ratings in Alaska have fallen to about 65%, depending on the polling source: the big math picture is that approval of her work in Alaska is down nearly 20% (not raw points but as a lost percentage…never mind). I don’t think that she’d win re-election as governor in 2010; in fact, I don’t think she can ever win another state-wide election so the U.S. Senate or House aren’t options – Alaska only has one representative so it’s also a state-wide election. Where does that leave her in two years’ time? I’ll put out a betting line that the perfect landing site for her combination of politics, “betchas”, looks, and blind allegiance will be as host to millions on her own show at Fox News. What’s wrong with lots of money and oodles of loyal followers supporting a Sarah Palin-led nightly gabfest on the fair-and-balanced network? They could very easily tie her show to O’Reilly’s and run a back-to-back programming gauntlet, a la The Daily Show and Colbert: Palin pops in via picture-in-picture towards the end of O’Reilly’s show and gives us a preview of what’s on tap for her thirty minutes of airtime. I’d even offer up the possibility of “The Drill with Sarah Palin” as a working title. Buy stock now.

t

check the box

I think all my loyal readers are already registered to vote. I should have pushed out a voter registration deadline warning (Monday, October 6th in most states) just to make sure we were all good to go. If you aren’t registered to vote then I’ll take some of the blame for not alerting you to deadlines. As a public service announcement for those going to the polls on November 4th I’ll offer up some generic advice since I can’t specifically cover every state’s laws: make sure you know the requirements to vote on Election Day. Do you need a picture ID? Your voter registration card? Both? If you’ve moved, and I’m looking at you college students whose addresses may have changed, is your information current on the voter rolls? Most states require that you show identification (varying by states) and give them your current address – not what’s on your license or photo ID but your actual current address. In most cases, if you’re address has changed from what’s on the rolls, yet you are living in the same precinct, you should be allowed to vote and will then be asked to complete a change of address form. If you’ve moved to another precinct you may be directed to that precinct to vote. Those working the polls may or may not repeat the information aloud for the party monitors present – don’t panic either way, those are just the rules. If you aren’t sure about what you need to vote, or if you’re uncertain about whether your address is correct, here’s a link to every state election office. Hit the Web for a few minutes and make sure everything’s cool. If you have questions or need to validate something then call your State or County election board and ask them – it’s their job to answer your questions no matter how busy they are these days.

It is mind boggling that we are still reading articles like this on October 9th of an election year. If you have issues and don’t know what to do then give me a shout and I’ll do whatever research I can for your state or county and help you out.

Lastly, the polls are going to be swamped on Election Day. I know I’ll be getting my polling station set-up at 5am and won’t leave until my workers and I have the precinct results confirmed and reported to the county – that’ll be sometime between 9pm and 9:30pm. We don’t get paid a lot for a 17-hour day but most are doing it because we like to give every one the voting rights they deserve. Please be patient as you’re standing in line. Most states allow certain things in line to keep your sanity: iPods, newspapers, books, etc. The basic rule seems to be that you can’t be doing anything that is noisy: most will not allow you to talk on a phone though some allow texting. Very few allow political shirts, buttons, stickers, hats, or banners inside 50-feet of a polling entrance.

I know it’s not much, but if you have friends who have moved or aren't sure about voting procedures...pass it along. If you know someone that needs a ride to the polls then offer up some help.

T.

happy meal

I considered a long diatribe on the differences and spectrum variances of liberalism, conservatism, socialism, and communism that would summarize what the Eleven babbled about between the end of the debate and bed last night. I know you’re yelling at your monitor in disgust that I haven’t produced this stirring piece – consider yourselves lucky. I decided to do food instead.

Early on in this kibbutz experiment – way back in the N. Park Dr. days – I was put off by the fact that the boys would mostly sniff-sniff, or lick-lick with a lizard-like tongue at dinner food no matter what I produced. It bothered me quite a bit because my personal issues back then were two-fold: first, I’m not making two separate dinners, and secondly, the question in my mind that asked why they were such little heathens. The heathens question was answered after more than too many encounters with the “I’m not hungry. Can I have a bowl of cereal?” dinner conversation. The most important aspect to the solution was that they, and most kids of that age (including my daughters), don’t care for dishes that are too complex: they want to be able to visually identify what’s going into their precious little gobs. Fair enough. What I’ve managed over the last six-to-twelve months is the building of a limited number of foods they’re willing eat. That small food pyramid is based partly on their likes and dislikes, and partly on how easy the food is to concoct while I’m cooking real dinner for the adults. Our dinner table last night was what brought this all to mind: wild rice stuffed squash for us (a stuffing of onions, garlic, carrots, celery, sweet red peppers, oregano, thyme, sliced almonds, and gruyere), and pan-grilled salmon fillets and homemade mashed potatoes for them. It went swimmingly. Of course, if I give them the mashed every night they’d probably eat just about anything else chucked in front of them. On occasion they’ll eat big people food – on Monday night we had a woodsman’s rigatoni that they managed to gobble up with little fanfare. It’s a work in progress.

Monday night was an interesting story at the dinner table – beyond the aforementioned rigatoni. The boys had a friend over who apparently eats nothing but take-out Chinese, Taco Bell, and Pollo Loco. How or why his eating habits have come to this isn’t as frightening as what it’s done to any idea he has of real food or a meal. We set him a place at the table and dished up pasta and a very basic salad but his ability to even consider it as food was nil. He looked at it and literally said something along the lines of “that’s disgusting”, said he wasn’t hungry, and got up and walked away. Again, I’m not so much bothered by the disgusting/not hungry/walking away checklist as I am by the fact that here’s a 12-year old kid whose eating habits are so numbed that there’s not even an inkling in his mind to ask what had been served, what’s in it, or that he might even give it a try. It was a pretty uncomfortable situation.

We’re doing asparagus and caramelized leek soup with fresh bread tonight.

I’d like to give a shout out to Rockbrook Elementary School in Omaha *wink*

t

knock knock

There's clearly someone ready for this troop to walk in after his year in Iraq. Before we sit through another hour of name calling we should just watch how happy dogs can be.



See? I can do feel good.

t

nevermind. i'll stay on this island

It’s taken some long, sideways glances and deep thoughts to sort out what it is about boys and doing stuff. This thesis is not merely an indictment of my two test subjects on the Hilltop; they are merely the most visible and easiest to study on a daily basis. Not only are they not the only brace of daft children currently plying this trade – they merely represent what was no doubt true for a great many children of the past, myself excluded, of course...

The battle that must rage in their head whenever a choice is presented that offers two things: first, something they would like to have or do; second, actual physical movement required to either have or do that thing. Here’s an example:

X: “H, would you like to go to the video store and pick out a DVD?”
H: “Cool! I want to get see the new Miyazaki movie! Yes.”
X: “All right. Let’s head out.”
H: “Hmm. Do I have to put on my shoes?”
X: “Yes. You’ll have to go in the store to find a DVD. You’ll need shoes.”
H: “Hmm. Are we going to drive there?”
X: “Yes. Why?”
H: “How long will it take?”
X: “I don’t know, ten minutes or so…”
H: “How long to get back?”
Todd: “You’re laying on the couch staring at the ceiling!”
H: “What?”
X: “We’ll be gone for a total of thirty minutes.”
H: “Nevermind, I don’t want a movie”
X: “Fine. We’ll be back in a bit.”
H: (calling from beyond) “Can you find me a movie while you’re there?”

The problem is quiet riveting and the human nature appalling. What we’re asking ourselves – and I’m now including most men in this generalization – is this: is the caloric output of putting on my underwear really worth the embarrassment of getting caught walking to the kitchen buck naked for a glass of juice? From that the decision one no doubt falls towards not spending critical life energy bending over and putting on the underwear. It’s merely a skip to the point where we decide we’ll just have to survive while actually dying of thirst in the warm bed. And with that, an actual conversation from yesterday afternoon that began as we stopped to talk to H. while he was walking home from the Metro and we were driving to the grocery store.

X: (rolling down window) “We’re going to the store. We’ll be back shortly.”
H: “I want to ride along.” (climbs in the backseat) “I’m DYING of thirst!”
X: “We don’t have any water, why didn’t you just walk home?”
H: “I thought this was a better option for water.”
X: “Sorry, pickle.”
(Galactica cruises to the Balducci’s parking lot.)
H: (looks up from a book) “Where are we?”
X: “At the store. Do you want to come in?”
H: “Is there water in there?”
X: “There might be a drinking fountain.”
H: “Hmm.” (wheels turning, calories considered….)
X: “Henry? Are you coming in? I thought you were dying of thirst.”
H: “Hmm. I think I’ll just stay here.”
X: “Fine.”
H: (calling from beyond) “Can you bring me some water?”

The prosecution rests.

t

cutting the wire

I know I’m way behind the curve on The Wire since I rely on DVDs and not TV. I’ve put on some Pogues to write this after hearing The Body of an American at McNulty’s ‘wake’. It’ll keep the mood.

Halfway through the final double-episode I felt it all slipping away. David Simon created an entire series based on the most flawed cast of characters in TV history. I really felt that as it was wrapping up – concocted murders, illegal taps, complete misbehavior – that we should have just watched each of them trotted off to jail, with the exception of Daniels who should have stood his ground and fucked everyone. That would be my preference. In that sole respect, I think he wanted an end that was too much of refined finish upon the grime of the series. Consider that picking nits. What I did reaffirm during the final season was that the creation of State Senator Clay Davis (played brilliantly by Isiah Whitlock Jr.) was one of TV’s greatest moments, ever. I’ll also never get over Omar getting done by a 10-year old, in a convenience store, just as you felt he was about to off Marlo. As I looked back on Omar’s end I realized it was really the only conclusion, wasn’t it? But, I still hated it.

Even though HBO has taken some hits lately it’s cool think that between the Sopranos, The Wire, Deadwood, and Six Feet Under, they redefined good TV. It seems like every basic cable channel has followed the lead. Putting the bolts to crappy broadcast TV feels pretty good.

I’d seem like a horrible loser if I didn’t at least give a kick at the Cubs. I don’t think they could have gagged worse than they have in the first two games. I, like Harry Carey, always think there’s hope against all hope. Maybe a sneaky win tonight in LA will start a roll, but, the odds are so long. I’ll be watching.

t.

dressing on the side

                                                       (Woodward/Newman 1958)
I like the moving pictures. I liked Paul Newman. For some reason, my exposure to him was limited to a few instances pretty early in life: seeing The Sting when I was young – maybe 8, and not at all getting “the sting”, as it was; Butch Cassidy (“You think you put enough dynamite in there Butch?”); and charity. It wasn’t until well on in life that I learned more about him and listened to, and read, interviews with him. He always seemed to be a headstrong kind of guy that never gave two shits what anyone thought of him; you began to think he had both “rebel” and “liberal” tattooed across his back. I also always appreciated the amazing amount of time he spent before the world’s glare while being able to maintain a perfect sense of dignity. He and Joanne Woodward were probably the grandest Hollywood couple of the last half-century. It’s hard to say that it wasn’t a full life, or that we’ll miss him, because we’ll always have him on film and that’s all we ever really knew, wasn’t it? I think I’ll go back and check out some of the films of his that I’ve never seen. I don’t know that X will watch with me; I don’t think she's quite as enamored of him as I was...she's enamored of me, silly girl. That is one good-looking guy.

t

looking forward

It's like looking back at my elementary school picture, isn't it? I'll be short. Those fine, upstanding gentlemen are the 1908 Chicago Cubs. The last in a line of three consecutive championship teams. Tonight begins the homestretch toward what I can only hope will be the first championship in a century. I shouldn't complain so much, really, because my Cubs' consciousness only runs back about 30 years and my greatest crushing blow was losing the 1984 NLCS to the San Diego Padres. There's been only one other, 2003, that came as close to breaking my heart. Shoot, my parents, both Chicagoland natives were 9 and 11 when the Cubbies last appeared in the World Series. My dearest aunt should be here to see this if it happens - an Old Style in one hand, a Salem in the other, and WGN radio turned up; she hated Harry Carey all those years and refused to listen to his 'lovable' babbling. The radio broadcast was on for the 1st - 3rd innings and 6th - 9th; Harry used to go over to radio for the middle innings and she's just reverse the process and listen for an hour to the TV announcers. She was a Northside original. 

It's a longer post-season than it used to be and they've got to hold it together for 11 wins over the next month - 11 out of 19 to be called champions again. This is certainly the best team they've had in my lifetime but I'll be holding my breath every night they're going at it. There's little that will get an American boy going like watching his baseball team try to win the World Series - it doesn't happen often, the chances rare.

Maybe I should walk out Melrose, turn right on Broadway, and walk up to Addison like I used to do in the Summer. 

Hope.

t

calling a shovel a spade

X headed down to G’s elementary school last night to volunteer as a gardening troop. If there’s a way to entice her anywhere you’ll want to bring up some digging, some dirt, plants, and any available horde of weeds. After the kids were in bed last night she told me about another little boy who was gardening right near her; an H clone. As she was talking with him, and rending weeds, she learned that he was half-English on his mother’s side; which, of course, answered for her the nagging question about the spade he had brought from home. With his father nearby she idly commented that his being part-English explained why he had an English spade. I got the impression that the father was quite curious as to why this loon knew the dif between an English spade and a shovel…or vice versa. As she’s telling me this little yarn I cannot keep myself from laughing – another perfect story of her “phone a friend” knowledge. At that point she reached across the sofa and gave me the “shut up and quit making fun of me” whack. Chuckles all around. And then, she starts in on how English spades are flat and square while shovels, “which are different, you know,” are round with more depth. She can’t stop herself.

The cats have decided the place is all right now that they have the freedom to come and go as they wish. Maybe happy isn’t the right turn of phrase; they now look at us as if we were peasants merely here to support the crown. Cats can be cold.

I got a new iPod touch in the mail today. I’ll push my older Nano into my ever-growing iPod museum – someday I’ll charge admission for the public to paw all of my originals. The fact that I can now sit on the couch and check e-mail, sports, etc. with the WiFi-capable jewel simply amazes me. Of course, I’m dumbstruck by the whole photo negative thing.

Nevermind.

Hey to all.

t

detour. turn left.

I'm giving all of you some free advice. I'm also putting pressure on new blogger Bryce. You might remember my mumblings from months gone by about his adventures in life: cooking school in Ireland, wanderings about the isles, 'internship' in a lovely London restaurant. I still damn him but at least he's decided to blog about cooking now that he's back and settled in Omaha. He's very euro: beware. I've already gathered up my needs for the yoghurt recipe so there'll be a review in the near term. Here's his new blog. Bookmark it. Enjoy. I'm sure the three people that read my blog will kick up his visitor counter.

t

nothing but demanding

Does it mean you’re old if you zoom or enlarge a Word document as you’re typing? It sort of feels like putting on the big Coke-bottle glasses when the damn kids come to the door selling all their goddamn school stuff. Oops…that slipped out.

As mentioned at some point during the week, we have two cats who've become lodgers (or squatters) here on the Hilltop. X found them on craigslist after a failed attempt to get a kitten from some freak show out in West Virginia. Apparently, there’s a mystery man who gathers up kittens from this ‘person’ in WVa. and offers them to the families at H.’s new hippies-through-the-backdoor school. After that fell through we somehow ended up with these two chuckleheads – I think they’ve been officially named Pumpkin and Lemon but I refer to them simply as cat and cat. Cat the Younger (and smarter) is sitting on my desk as I type and checking out the happenings beyond our front porch. I finally got her to settle onto her little pillow after she harassed me for about thirty minutes of non-stop petting. Kids and pets; you’ll never be rid of them.

I got a call from my last military supervisor last night. She retired earlier in the year and was calling to touch base and offer me work. She calls it work, I call it a kick in my shins. It would work out to a huge chunk of money, thirty-sevens days off a year (I now get 14), and a small, hip company. Unfortunately, the work is in Austin, Texas and relocating isn’t in our plans. What’s good to know from someone who hires and manages contracts is just how much more money is floating around the government contracting business. I’ll keep that bit of fluff in my hip pocket.

This morning’s Farmers Market is leading me to some Spanish eggplant, heirloom tomato, and feta dish over couscous. We’ll manage.

Cubs v. Dodgers this week!

I give you this in parting:

"And today President Bush met with John McCain and Barack Obama. He did take a moment to show them the best place in the Oval Office to hide porn. But McCain showed up without his running mate, Sarah Palin, which is a shame because she has a lot of experience with banking and financial matters. You know, she lives right next to a bank." --Jimmy Kimmel

Love to all.

t

'conductor'

There are two new CDs coming out shortly and I’m in the mood to push both for similar reasons: girls gone rock. Based on what I’ve heard from both the new Lucinda Williams and Jolie Holland CDs they’re both shaking off some doom-and-gloom, at least musically, and turning up the tempo and volume. Lucinda, who’s suddenly blasting through releases, sounds much happier in the rock n’ roll place than the grinding corner she’s stood on for any number of years. It sounds like the CD might actually fly by while I’m cooking instead of requiring a deeper and darker venue to listen. Jolie Holland must have been hanging around Lu when she worked on her new song – off the noir and up on the volume. Holland, who we saw a few years ago, was one of the original Be Good Tanyas but moved onto a solo career after at least a portion of the first Tanyas album was complete. I think it’s her voice on the CD versions of “Littlest Birds” and "Lakes of Ponchatrain”. She also gets due reward for being a part of my collection of redheaded singing angels which includes Patty Griffin and Neko Case. That’s the music for you. Leave me be.

The Eleven hit the Kennedy Center for the opera last night. The Pearl Fishers by Bizet was on the agenda and our reviews married up well with something like a B or B+ as the final result. Of course, I’ve got such a limited range of opera viewing and technical understanding that I might as well be trying to identify whether a fossil came from the late Triassic, late Cretaceous, or late Maastrichtian period. “Oh, right. I think that B flat sung by the tenor in the fifth stanza was a bit off. It also seemed like the harpist was a bit too adagietto in support.” That’s the kind of like the junk I say when I’m trying to impress people with my knowledge of engines or other machinery. Here, you can read the WaPo review. I just like to watch any performance as long as it doesn’t put me to sleep.

I’ll be watching the debate online tonight with a generally hopeful demeanor and a bottle of Maker’s Mark.

It’s Friday.

t

matt

I thought that in the interest of some light-hearted hopes I'd simply post this little video created by Matt. I don't think anything, outside of my family and chick, has made me smile so much in a very, very long time.


t

spare change?

I remember taking both macro and micro economics during my foray at the University of Iowa: I hated them both, but for different reasons. All you need to know about my micro economics class was that it was in the basement of a very old university building at 7:30am two days a week.

"When we add an additional trillion dollars to the debt, the burden of the taxpayer, sooner or later there's got to be a reckoning," said Sen. Richard Shelby (R-Ala), ranking member on the Senate Banking Committee.

I’m onboard with Sen. Selby – and I think I’ve seen him during various hearings and no doubt laughed at his generally horrible behavior. I’m only letting him participate in this entry because he has said it best. Not only that, remember last month when Freddie and Fannie were in “trouble” and the government passed a bill that only authorized a government takeover “if” it was needed for the two mortgage giants? Everyone pretended that authorizing the use of force was not the same as actually saying you could use force. Wait, wrong fuck up. What they said was it was only an authorization to move further into Freddie and Fannie if needed. No worries they said, it won’t be needed. I could be forgiven for thinking that we were reckoning this out six weeks ago but there’s no way that authorization wasn’t going to be used. Shoot, if they send me a credit card with a $20,000 limit there’s no way I’d actually use it, right?

What we’ve got now is another reckoning. In the most basic economic terms I can sort out, it comes down to a proposed ~$700 billion Treasury buyout of mortgage and mortgage-related failing investments. The breadth of the buyout is limited to Wall St. banks and corporations and not specifically to individual buyers and mortgage holders – call them ‘the people’. Sec. of the Treasury Paulson wants a quick and clean move to get this rolling line of credit up and running. Some in the Congress, on both sides of the aisle, appear to be pushing back against a straight, uninhibited, no oversight, limited control, three-quarter of a trillion dollar check. For differing reasons (the fighting Republicans dismiss it as a bailout; the fighting Democrats want more oversight and more help for ‘the people’) I think it’s probably a solid idea to hold off and take the time to bang more heads together until there’s a much more solid piece of work. I see how desperate everyone on the Hill seems to be but why is it that suddenly, beginning on a Friday afternoon and carrying through Sunday meetings, did everyone decide that we were in a 60-hour time warp where we’d just discovered the problem? Wasn’t it clear over two years ago that the housing and mortgage sector was collapsing? Haven’t I listened to endless talking heads discussing whether or not we were in a recession yet because the official term ‘recession’ can’t be used until two consecutive quarters of a crappy economy have happened? What worries me most about Paulson in particular is what the hell has he been doing since he was appointed? It looks like he’s been sitting in his office playing minesweeper and watering the plants. Imagine someone who actually was taking steps as the problems arose and attempting to sort out solutions in a serial manner. Instead we get everyone running around over a weekend with their hair on fire as if this was all a surprise.

You know what? I don’t have the solution. I know that’s pretty obvious. But…I’m not paid to have the solution. If you want me to kick some ass on PowerPoint, I’m your man. I’m all for the reckoning that’s coming and I know it’s going to hurt…a lot. This is an opportunity while we’re standing in dire straits for someone to come out and say the words I long to hear, “This son of a bitch is going to hurt for a good long time. You might need to lock down that seatbelt and get ready for a rough, rough ride.” And I want them to mean it. I want them to quite blowing smoke up my skirt. We aren’t children.

And the next time a pile of politicians come out for a press junket and stand line abreast like they’re a stern and supportive looking YMCA basketball team, I’m going to kick them all in their shins. Nothing says “we’re so confused and useless” then a flight of unblinking, alleged leaders.

Ah. Monday.

t

humdinger

Regardless of your political leanings, I think everyone should go out and canvass for a political campaign. The Eleven spend a beautiful Saturday heading into D.C. to pick up some G’town law students and then driving down to South Fairfax county to canvass for Obama. What the process gives you, and what you’ll realize if you take up the challenge, is a chance to interact and be a part of a process that’s horribly broken and left on the side of the road. We were together for our walk sheet, knocked on doors, and had some great conversations with undecided voters, Obama supporters, and homes with a bit of both McCain and Obama present. We were nervous at the outset as we sorted our goods and got parked to begin: how would we present ourselves? What stories did we have that might convince people to just talk? What would they think of a couple of newly-minted political campaigners? You know what? For the most part, whether they agree or not with your candidate, most are perfectly happy to stand on the porch and talk about what’s important to them – and just as often, what’s important to us. It’s a wholly different view of the process than the yelling and screaming you hear across the rest of the landscape. You know what? There are a lot of people out there that are struggling to decide who they’ll vote for in November. There’re a ton of issues pulling everyone this way and that. There are, hopefully, a few dozen that are happy that someone who cared came knocking on their door on a September Saturday to talk honestly about where we are and where we’re headed. I found that much like every other volunteer activity I’ve added to my life over the last two years, people care that you’re there. Obama has registered over 250,000 new voters in Virginia in 2008. If nothing else, getting everyone to the polls is something no one can argue against.

I headed to the 9:30 Club last night to catch another Old Crow Medicine Show concert. I happened to be first in line and meandered to the best seat in American music: upper level, dead center, with my can on one of the club’s eight or so barstools. I love the Crows but their 2006 show at the 9:30 was very disappointing; both for the sound of the performance and the shitty crowd. Last night was a whole new ballgame – they were on fire and the crowd was so much stronger. They ran about two hours with a 15-minute break and screamed through most of the new CD (out next week, but in my hot, little hands) and a good bit of the back catalog. What they’ve become is a band with enough material to not have to rely on playing everything from every album – they can pick-and-choose what’s to come. In fact, they didn’t play at least six songs that I was expecting to hear yet I didn’t miss any of them. With the exception of a few slow moments, the show was stunning. As I was standing outside before the show, Ketch (singer, writer, harmonica, fiddle player, banjo player, guitar player) was walking to the tour bus with his mother, who was visiting D.C. to see her son and last night’s show. I don’t know if his performance was that much more inspired but he was fantastic. If only I could do any of that stuff. Considering the dip that’d taken after the last outing, last night’s gig put them right back up at the peak of live bands.

Apparently there’s a cat coming to live with us tomorrow morning. I’ll see if I can get to the farmers’ market on a pass before the feline invades my life.



t

calling all cars

The D.C. Examiner is one of the two free morning papers handed out at Metro stops all about the D.C. area. It’s the more conservative of the two (the Express being the liberal, WaPo-published rage) and it has some columnists I enjoy reading so I pick it up along with the Express and work through them on the to-and-fro bus rides. One of the indicative traits of any Metro commuter (bus or train) is arriving at work with a copy of either or both papers – it’s some kind of species identification technique. Anyway, I was reading in yesterday’s Examiner about an “incident” at the Columbia Heights Metro station. This link is to a follow-up story at the dcist.com Web site that further explains some details and has a picture. But, here’s the text of the Examiner story that also included a picture of the stunt:

“The Columbia Heights Metro station was closed for nearly two hours Tuesday morning for the D.C. bomb squad to investigate a weird sight: A stuffed polar bear costume leaned up against a garbage can. The arctic reproduction, clothed in worn pants and a threadbare jacket, was posed to appear as if it were digging through the trash, leading to speculation that the display was street art to protest global warming’s destruction of the polar bear’s habitat. Not everybody got the point, and police were alerted around 10 a.m. The Metro station remained closed and trains were not allowed to stop there while authorities cordoned off the area and sent in the bomb squad. Investigators cut open the bear but found nothing dangerous.” (my italics)

Let me tell you a little something: If I’m in need of hiding something suspicious I’m not hiding it in a life-sized polar bear. I can’t even imagine the discussion that took place between the police while they took two hours to sort out what to do. I understand the police have a tough job and I think Greenpeace more often than not goes overboard when demonstrating, but cutting open the suspicious bear to make sure there was nothing dangerous? Brilliant.

hey

t

obama

married white couple

It’s my duty to report on X and her genus. The most recent sighting of her type occured in a mysterious parking lot down Springfield way: an exchange of Chinese-based, yet Delft-like pottery. She was looking for something to sit in our entry way on the Hilltop and hold the myriad umbrellas that seem to wander to and fro. It was another Craigslist hook-up that involved the exchange of laundered money and blue/white goods that ended with this riposte while X attempted to load the first item (a vase) onto the backseat of Galactica, “On the floor…the floor! Vases and cakes on the floor!” she declared to X. Right. Cakes.

We have another lamp that sits on an end table and was procured via the List. For this exchange the two met in the Whole Foods parking lot in Falls Church – the deepest, dankest, darkest corner of the drug trade. Based on what was occurring with the planning of the above transaction – a thought of exchanging in the same parking lot if able – I figured she’d be busted for some type of illicit Delft activity in the suburbs: piles of high-end fancy cars and various bits of ceramic. In the end, she made it home safely from the Whole Foods (last time) lot without a felony on her record.

The last incident, though it fell between the other two, was the purchase of something I’ll call the porn chair. Her father purchased something referred to as “the ultimate chair” – something that requires a second mortgage to acquire. Anyhow, X found a twenty year-old version of the same chair on the List. For cheap. I hadn’t seen “the chair” prior to its arrival in our living room: if I could make the sound of the Shaft theme song via typing, I would. The rest of our living room is purely Victorian and it looks at the new starlet with some serious disgust…as if. We’re looking around for some swingers.

The humidity is too much. The temperature is fine.

Ah.

t

sporty and spice

Congratulations are in order for Sebastian Vettel of Toro Rosso who became the youngest winner of a Formula 1 race. Not only the youngest, but he’s driving for a lower-tier team that’s supported by the Red Bull Team and Ferrari. He qualified on pole in the rain at Monza and then lead the race to the end; he also allowed the championship to tighten up to one point with four races to left; go Ferrari. Well done.

Valentino Rossi won his fourth straight race in MotoGP at Indianapolis today…in the rain! Shoot, NASCAR can’t run in the rain but the cyclists simply change tyres and go and go until there’re but a few left on wheels. Rossi is the greatest rider of our lifetimes and will wrap up his sixth 500cc title, and 8th overall, next week.

The Brewers have decided, in the absence of Cubs games, to simply lose. I think we’re eight up in the loss column with sixteen to go…and leading tonight.

The Eleven hit the D.C. Jewish Community Center Theatre (DCJCC) to see Sandra Bernhard last night (WaPo review here). She’s doing fifteenish shows over three weeks and even though I was never a Bernhard guy, I thought it’d be something different than me dragging X along to see all my twang shows. Sandra does a singing, commentary, comedic turn that’s very enjoyable for a couple of reasons. First, it’s over-the-top to sit in the JCC with the older Jewish community while laughing at barbs ending in fu*&er, motherfu&#er, and I’ll kick her ass. Second, it was cathartic to hear her absolutely rant at the state of political affairs – the state of affairs as of that morning. It certainly made me feel better by the end of the night. As she pointed out, maybe Obama can’t say it out loud but she certainly can. She also has a band up on stage that rolls through a half-dozen great songs, harkening to the ‘80s, with Sandra belting out lyrics that become comical when she delivers them with a dose of sanity and distance. In the end, she ripped passed two hours with not a slow moment on display. I’d imagined her as a tireless entertainer and she definitely hammered home that ideal.

The final issue of the entry; when someone does some Little Red Corvette, as Bernhard did last night, you’ll be singing it for weeks…weeks. Think about it, “pocket full of Trojans, some of them used…’’

(clap clap)

t

dead and buried

I’ve tried, truly, I’ve tried but I have to put at least one match to the tinder. The McCain campaign has become a debacle. I support Obama because I believe far more in the Democratic platform than the Republican. I also believe that he is a once-in-a-generation leader that will serve us all. In the last few weeks I’ve become even more impressed by his ability to hold his steel and not devolve into the swill that is prevalent in the McCain campaign. McCain, who eight years ago seemed a reasonable politician, has pissed away whatever good will and hope that any centrist or independent person might have for a long-serving Republican. If you support McCain, I wish you luck with the blinders you’re wearing. There isn’t one iota of substance that his campaign is offering, not one bit of integrity, nor any chance that he and his administration could lead our country. Even if you dislike Obama there’s no way you can possibly not see how amateurish the McCain campaign has become and wonder just what it might be like to have another single term of blind, dangerous, and sophomoric leadership. I understand that it's the way of the political world to disagree on the issues but it is never acceptable – success or not – to blatantly lie about your opponent and yourself. If you buy into the elitist tag that’s been tattooed to Obama, feel free to use that to support mindless verbiage with absolutely no basis to support all the junk you read and hear. Take a serious look at what has swayed you toward the McCain campaign and decide if what’s taken you down that dank path is not only true, but whether it’s worth high-jacking the country with deceit that McCain sits upon. If you’re happy with how McCain has decided to run his race, well done – you and he have absolutely no political integrity left on your plate. I wish you well.

T

my heart will go on

(photos: Washington Post)

On Monday evening we met some of my old work mates for dinner at a very nice Greek/Turkish/Lebanese place in D.C., Zaytinya. Actually, there were supposed to be eight of us but only four showed up – we had a huge eight-person round top in an alcove that would have been perfect if the rest of the inconsiderate hacks had shown up. It ended up being Sue, Johnny B. (of upper NY and guest of honor), and the Eleven; a grand time all around the piles of mezze, wine, and pricey martinis. This is all merely a short back story and this isn’t meant as a “quick as a bunny” tale. I thought we should spend some time together at the blog and let the people know that we do in fact go out to dinner on occasion. As I was doing some research on the restaurant and parking, we’d decided to drive into the city (yes, we got a ticket…go figure), I realized that the one and only Celine Dion was playing at the Verizon Center a mere two blocks from our soiree. If you do the math on our 6pm reservation and the 8pm show time we were worried about two things: one, was the area going to be mobbed? Two, what if people thought we were going to the Celine Dion show? You can deal with the mobbed parking situation and streets easily enough, but the idea that some unknown person hanging around the city thinks you’re a Celine Dion fan is simply too much to bear. I think I may have tipped my hand, and rightly so, in order to continue the story.

I dug up the concert review at the WaPo online and gave it once over yesterday afternoon (you may not be able to read it unless you sign up for the “free” membership). The reviewer, who is the main WaPo concert and music critic, didn’t take much effort to hide his near hatred of Dion. I found the review fit my overall opinion of her and I think his description of her histrionics was dead accurate. This review led to a discussion at home last night about the responsibility of critics. Is there any point in sending a critic to a show if that person is wholly predisposed to not enjoying the show or being unable to put themselves in the shoes of the fans? I almost think that swinging either way – too great a fan or too much a hater – would then become an issue with just about every review. Do reviews fall under news or op-ed? I think that some of the best reviews I’ve read or heard were prefaced with the “I don’t much like this type of music (or this band), but this was a really good show (or record)…” Obviously, the counterbalance to that would be someone slagging off an artist they care deeply about – I know, I’ve done both when talking to people about shows and CDs. It seems that if you believe there shouldn’t be predisposition in a review then you’d have to find either a completely middle-of-the-road music fan/critic or you’d have to have every review open with a declaration of position. Or, I guess you could have a pure, idealistic person who can sit through the schmaltz of Celine Dion and keep that infection from the review. I’m not clear on which I’d vote for but after we debated it last night I realized that this review, though hilarious to me, was probably a little over the line when taking into account the whole of her career and not focusing on this particular show. Maybe a little insight into how the crowd reacted both during and the after the show would have given some depth to the review.

Vocal flyover…what a great line.

t

roses are red

"Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds."

This is how another little interaction with X jumped to the fore on Saturday afternoon. As we were standing on our front porch and thinking about making a dash through the torrential downpour from the remnants of Hanna, X recites this motto perfectly as she curses our yet-to-arrive postman. The reason I call it a curse is because she was waiting – on day three of the wait – for a check to arrive in the post. The lack of a postman provided the opportunity and Hanna provided for use of the motto. What I found so, dare I say comical, about her recitation was that it took me a few minutes to realize that she’d actually delivered the entire thing verbatim. If I’d tried to make my distaste for rain and mail known I would have said something like “You know, rain, sleet…all that stuff. Where’s my mail?” because I don’t actually know the entire song. To get an idea of why something like this is so strange yet so familiar, you need to know that there’ve been hundreds of times she’s turned to me and said things like…

“We wear the mask that grins and lies,
It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,—
This debt we pay to human guile;
With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,
And mouth with myriad subtleties.”

“Oh…who said that? It’s a rondeau, you know….a rondeau….who was it?”

To which I always reply, “What’s a rondeau?”

She has a mind that’s latched onto just about every bit of poetry-like text she’s ever read and it often bubbles to the surface when she’s doing something like…curling her hair. I, on the other hand, have absolutely no poetry knowledge; I’ve tried because it seems something I should know but it never sticks. In fact, I don’t think I could recite even one poem if you offered me $100.

Of course, when we were at the Post Office about thirty minutes later she was suddenly looking about claiming “it should be posted somewhere in here….” I’d completely forgotten the postal creed by then so I wasn’t too sure what she was on about: posted? what? where? As she dodged between rows of postal boxes, looking along the walls and columns, I thought she’d gone mad. In truth, I thought she was looking for something posted about umbrella rules since I was, at that very moment, gathering up my umbrella and readying for our exodus into the swale. Umbrella rules? Right.

what's that buzzing?

I’m going to work backwards through the musical portion of the weekend. The Eleven was at the Birchmere last night to see Steve Earle and Allison Moorer. I’ve seen him through most of his musical forays over the last decade and enjoyed them all. This was X’s first Earle show and she seemed impressed enough with his musical prophet songwriting and performance. I’ve read quite a few reviews of this tour and there are some unimpressed with his use of a DJ during the latter part of the show as he plays guitar and rolls through songs from his newest album; people want to hear the hard-rocking, loud Steve Earle and the Dukes…all the time. I’d disagree with some of the unfavorable reviews and put forth that his ability to shift between the pure acoustic presentation of his older stuff, some of which I’d never heard him perform live (Devil’s Right Hand and Ellis Unit One), and more modern sounds shows an amazing amount of flexibility and musical intuition. The show represented exactly what I expect of a Steve Earle show – professional, great songs, powerful storytelling, and political commentary. And now, my forward pitch into the abyss. Allison Moorer opened the evening with about eight songs primarily from her latest album, Mockingbird. At the risk of irritating Moorer, and possibly Earle fans (they are married…Earle and Moorer, not the fans), she is a wholly uninteresting solo acoustic performer. I could have heard that type of performance by any busker hanging around the World’s subways. Don’t get too wound up – there are some great buskers all across this great World. I just found her guitar playing, voice, delivery, and overall presence to be a complete blank slate – muzak to get me to the main event; picture an elevator where you’re staring at the numbers and counting floors until you can get off – I was counting songs. Since my primary exposure to her has been via video and live late-night performances with Steve, I had an inkling that she’d be much better as part of the later show when she joined him on stage for songs from Washington Square Serenade. That portion of the show, when she danced a bit and harmonized, were a much better representation of where I think her talent lies. Am I condoning here to life as a background singer? Maybe. Even though I love someone like Neko Case, who has a stunning voice, I’ve always been more impressed with her when she’s performing as part of the New Pornographers than when she’s done solo work. Sometimes voices and performers are like that and I’d put Moorer in the supporting role.

On Friday night my friend Sue and I hit the State Theatre to see The Gourds. This show was aces all around. Eight or so albums into their career and they just keep getting stronger. I’ve long posited that there’s nothing better than a live band that really knows its craft; the solo acoustic performer has a very tough row to hoe with any crowd. The Gourds are a five-piece, multi-vocalist contraption that runs you down the road of a crazy folk, bluegrass, country, rock n’ roll, and twang atlas. The sound they create is perfect salve for a long, hard week and they’ve mastered the live show – it’s not merely a CD recreation but an actual performance. They don’t wander down rabbit holes, they don’t make you wonder just how long you’ll be there, they don’t have poorly mixed sound, and they don’t make you think they’re just going through the motions. The State was perfectly suited to their show and the crowd was excellent. In addition to the Todd Snider show last year (a solo acoustic dealio, go figure) it was the best show I’ve seen since moving to the D.C. area in 2006.

I’ll give you a quick update on the doings at the farmers market and the U.S. Postal Service motto when we next meet.

t

three alarm fire

The small place across the street from us is going to be torn down tomorrow and the owners have been working for a few months to pull out whatever is salvageable before the claw attacks. They're planning on building a story-and-a-half house that will fit into the neighborhood much better than the horrid ego mansions that seem to pop up every other lot. Being as the final destruction is tomorrow, the owners coordinated with the fire department to come over today and play fire fire fire: busting in the door repeatedly, breaking all the windows, setting part of attic ablaze, breaking through the roof...all the stuff you see on Rescue Me. I honestly didn't know people did this house volunteer work with the fire department until X was giving me the rundown this evening. She was outside working on gardening and weeding (are those the same thing?) while the fire boys were playing their game of destruction. She was working specifically on two large pots of lavender that had turned south over the Summer. Apparently, based on her testimony, the firefighters showed quite an interest in her lavender. 

Ah, my child. Firefighters loooooovvvvveeeee lavender.

She's still cute.

t

i knew that

The Eleven was driving to Trader Joe’s yesterday and having a discussion about H.’s new school when he pointed out that he had someone, a teacher maybe, with a last name he’d never heard of before. He thought it strange – new names and all – and pointed out that even a strange surname like Turvey had been represented by two people in his school back in England. X immediately pointed out that Turvey is a quite popular name in England because “those who used to cut peat in England were known as ‘turveys’”. What the heck? I looked at her as she was driving Galactica, as this little nugget of wisdom was hanging in the air, and murmured a bit too loudly “What the hell do you mean? How would you possibly know that?” But thankfully, just as my query was posed, yet before I could fully poke fun at this new bit of trivia, H. pipes up from the backseat with “What’s peat?” I now think the quiz show is diverted a bit while I continue to contemplate the Turveys of England because I know the peat definition will be more simplistic. But before I have a chance to recover from turvey I'm hit with “peat is like loam.” Ah, problem solved…loam! Peat is like loam, young man. I was now totally lost in a discussion about loam, a word or description of a thing ,of which I’ve never heard. It did however make me think of foreign language teachers who explain one foreign word with another foreign word; you don’t often get too far. In my love’s defense, she has a mind like a trap, especially when it comes to nuggets like turvey and loam and she was merely relating a story from an Englishmen name Turvey who’d explained where the name originated. I, of course, relayed my deep knowledge of names like Baker, Smith, and Shoemaker.

The second part of this enlightenment doubleheader took place as we were reading before bed (me: The Great Derangement / she: Forfeit) and I asked her about Dick Francis and his horse books: Were there chase scenes while riding horses? People running on track with the horses? Horses involved in the murders? Jockeys riding races with guns? You know…the basic stuff. I find out that racing, in general, is the backdrop but everything else is your stock mystery stuff. She tells me he was a jockey when younger. I reply with what seems a normal response, something like, “Oh, he was a jockey?” to which she says “Of course, he was Queen’s Champion!” As if one would know that Mr. Dick Francis (CBE) was a former Queen's Champion jockey and not a turvey in his previous life…

She’s lovely.

t

american evolution

In the great tradition of American Labor Day we headed out to buy school supplies and rat food. There you have it. I vaguely remember going out with my mother to purchase supplies but it seemed more a matter of some trapper keepers, one binder, and pens and pencils from the Rexall drug down in Rockbrook Village. Actually, as an elementary student I don’t ever remember getting anything – it wasn’t until junior high at Valley View that supplies became necessary. The schools across northern Virginia are hardcore when it comes to “The List”. The kids need very specific stuff like low odor dry erase markers, Kleenex, college-ruled paper, yellow highlighters (yellow!), four 1” white vinyl three-ring binders, two glue sticks, and erasable pens (I hate erasable pens). What I realized at the checkout is that every school is saving about $75 a kid. If nothing else, the college-ruled paper seems fishy; no one uses college-ruled paper until…college. Are they worried about kids writing too large and sneaking less than what they consider a full-page essay entitled "What I Did Over the Summer"  into the homework box? It wasn’t so long ago that I did some research on the whole college-ruled vs. wide-ruled paper. I was overly interested in the term and exactly what started the battle of the ‘ruled. (As an aside, I might also have been some research into pica vs. elite font from my junior high school typing class days.)

The rat food isn’t so interesting; the rat needed some food.

The boys and X have settled back into the house. That basically means the boys can run all about, enjoy their own rooms, and not worry about anything. For X it means I’ll cook her food and give her kisses – what’s a boy to do?

I’m adding an embed of Ricky Gervais doing a bit on evolution. If you don’t know, Gervais created and starred in The Office in England. He’s a consultant on the American version that came years later. I gave the American version a go when it first started but seemed to miss out on the funny. His original version is still, to me, the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.



and this clip from the show about his office doing training...

"go get my guitar..."