Laurel and I headed over to Eastern Market this afternoon to get our first look at the refurbished (re-after-the-fire-ished?) market and wander the artisan stands outside. I don't know if the re-opened main building has attracted more locals folk, or if it's a combination of the tourist season and the new building, but it's very crowded these days. It also seems as if the new building has drawn in even more craft, arts, and flea market sellers. The finished building is quite nice inside and they've perfectly arranged the food sellers in the exact same positions as from the temporary building - no worry of getting lost when trying to find Bowers Cheeses. We managed to escape the heat while gathering pizza fixings and a variety of veg for the week. Once we got into the artisan area I ended up finding a cat-hood, bamboo bath for Mavis, a huge ceramic tea mug for X, a few containers of loose tea, an Obama print, and two massive lemonades...for survival. Aside from the lemonade, I'm not sure any purchase could be dubbed a necessity. Laurel somehow managed to convince me to buy her a bag of hot, mini-donuts which she then overly dusted with the supplied powdered sugar (the overdusting being fully intentional and not merely a mistake). She could only get through five of the seven donuts before giving it up and thereby extending her life by at least ten years. Here's a good look at the overdone bag of donuts:
Dinner last night went well once we figured out the table configuration for ten, or eight, or nine, or ten...you see the problem. The beets, sweet corn, and homegrown garlic are roasting for tonight's pizza extravaganza.
The heat and humidity furnace has been turn to the full blast setting. It's lovely.
Last night was spent in and about the city. L and I headed in to met X at Rosa Mexicano for dinner before heading separate ways - X to a gathering at a friend's house in NW, L and I (the 51) over to the Woolly Mammoth Theatre in the Penn Quarter. Woolly is hosting the Second City Improv for a three-week run of their Barack Stars show. (We had tickets prior to the invite to NW so splitting up, post dinner, seemed the best option.) The show is two hours of great fun; poked at President Obama, the GOP, the public, and anything else they could imagine. Even Laurel was impressed and laughing all night - it's two hours of very good theatre. Much like the Oresteia a few weeks ago, this troupe represents what's really great about live theatre in the six to eight-member mold: everyone can sign, dance, act, and deliver great lines. You'd be hard pressed to have a better time on a Friday night - and, they're letting you take your drinks in during the show! A rarity only seen of late at the Keegan Theatre on Church St. This was my first visit to Woolly Mammoth and it's one of the great theatre spaces that I've seen. There's not a bad seat in the house, the design is gorgeous, the staff top notch, and location easily accessible. The lobby is perfect for the size of the audience and the ticket prices reasonable. They offer $20 standing room only tickets which actually seem like a great idea. There's a bar rail/standing area behind the main floor seating that would be quite comfortable for a two-hour show. We'll definitely be heading back throughout the 2009-2010 season.
Here are a few shots from last night: Laurel over the main lobby and then posing with "Michelle".
We have a herd of kinfolk and friends over tonight. Report at 10.
I'm off baseball for the year; no apparent reason, just am. But, Mark Buehrle of the ChiSox pitched his second no hitter this afternoon on the South Side - this one a perfect game, only the 18th in history. The most stunning play? One out, top of the ninth and he's two outs from the finish. Normally, the final out is the highlight clip but there's no doubt that the 26th out was historical within historical. Watch the video and watch this kid go, and go, and go. That shot was hit hard and DeWayne Wise covers at least 30-35 yards just to get to the fence before he pulls the ball back, bobbles it, and finally holds on. Amazing stuff. Stuff of legend.
Weddings are stressful, I guess. The formality involved in vows can be overbearing and I've often thought (thought, not married!) that something to lighten the mood would go a long way. Since I don't have much to say today, and it's been a week of heavy thoughts, I'll just pass along this fantastic wedding - and its video. Very few things make me smile outright; this is one of them.
Being that I’m not philosophical enough to ever get all my thoughts properly aligned, nor my writing ability up to scratch, I’ll direct you to Ta-Nehisi Coates' piece at the Atlantic. It’s a bit long – and I’m passing that along as a warning to you, not an critique of the piece – but so perfectly encapsulates for me not only the problem of “-isms” but also the massive divide I see between conservatives and progressives. And to some extent, it ties into how we frame our positions on other important issues; using extreme examples to justify whether we are or aren’t doing something wrong. The most obvious scenario where I see this happening is the ‘ticking time bomb’ line of defense when we talk of torture. I think it’s brilliantly written. What’s always on my mind when talking about social issues is my belief that things aren’t the way they appear because there’s so much still behind the curtain, stuff we don’t see and therefore don’t take into account. We think we have full awareness of everything around us yet we don’t even try to see details that aren't overtly displayed. I have pages of my memory that are filled with why something like disparate impact makes perfect sense. Volumes of thoughts from the ride home that have been penned about how disingenuous it is to see the phrase “reverse discrimination” used in an serious discussion. It always sounds like two kids fighting on a playground. The big kid is always punching the little kid in the face – every recess, every day, all year long. The little kid decides that enough is enough and he buys a catcher’s mask to wear every single recess; sure, he’ll look pretty funny and the damn thing isn’t comfortable but it seems the best option. As they head out the first day for some morning games the big kid hangs out around the corner of the exit and, as usual, punches the kid in the face. Fortunately, the mask takes the brunt of the strike and breaks three of the kid’s fingers. Now, is there any sympathy for the big kid? Should the thug be going to the teacher and claiming the little kid broke his fingers? I’m just saying…
I think I’ll just relax tonight and quit getting wound up. Maybe I can squeeze another entry out of Laurel. She told me the other night that she “doesn’t like deadlines”. We’ll see about that.
Love to all.
t
P.S. If you are Mad Men follower there’s some sort of unintended second-season spoiler over the first few paragraphs of the Atlantic article. If you’ve seen that season on TV, no worries; if you’re waiting for the DVDs to show up…well, I’ve been spoiled.
Guten tag! I’m Todd’s younger daughter Laurel, and welcome to the first installment of Fantasy! (by a dork who can talk of nothing else.) I’m thirteen and live in Omaha, Nebraska. I really want to be an author, and have started my first book with my laptop that my school handed out to all the eighth graders. Which is great, because I could steal the neighbor’s internet. One more thing you should know about me: I have an unhealthy obsession with anything magical (dragons, elves, mythology, etc.).
Have a lot less people than I thought read Lord of the Rings? Because yesterday my dad was driving me to camp, and he asked who the elves are in LOTR. When I told him who they were, he then asked me who the short guy with the ax was, and if dwarves and hobbits are different. While I was explaining to him about how no, hobbits are much more peaceful than dwarves, I was suddenly struck by what a geek I was. Considering one of my favorite topics is the logic of the characters within fairy tales and mythology, I’m surprised I don’t feel like that more often. But I mean, come on, who just walks into a creepy old lady’s house in the middle of the woods, even if it is made of candy, which is pretty much awesome? Not quite as cool as Baba Yaga’s house, because it walks around on chicken legs, and… I just got that geek feeling again.
Has anyone here read the Percy Jackson series, by Rick Riordan? Because you really should, if you like fantasy. It’s like a modernized version of Greek mythology, and it’s honestly one of the best series I’ve ever read (and I read more than most of the people I know.) It manages to be really funny without sacrificing action or plot, which is nice, and as I mentioned earlier, I’m a mythology nut, so it’s basically perfect for me. (PS: If you have read Percy Jackson and liked it, try The Shadow Thieves by Anne Ursu. It’s really good too, but Percy will always be #1 in my heart.)
Have you ever noticed how the gods in Greek mythology are kind of hypocrites? They find humans basically worthless animals, but then get mad when we ignore them or don’t honor them enough or something. They were upset about Prometheus giving us fire, so they sent Pandora with her jar (it’s not actually a box,) and insist humanity honors and sacrifices to them. Doesn’t really seem to be a fair trade off. Your kind-of friend steals fire for us, but that leads to us beginning to worship you, and you release a bunch of vices on us. Even-steven. And they seem oddly eager to punish us. Like the king Erymanthia (that’s the best I can spell it) once forgot to include Artemis in a sacrifice, and she released an enormous boar into his country. Hera doesn’t like Zeus’s son Heracles, so she drives him insane a couple times. Though admittly, her husband cheats on her all the time, and punishes her if she tries to get back at him, she’s allowed to try and get revenge on his offspring and girlfriends instead. But anyway, when Heracles (named after Hera!) is driven insane and kills his family, he gets punished for something that is blatantly arranged by Hera. Where does she get off?
Anyway, I hope you have been educated by this rather rambling blog entry, or else you’re probably entirely sick of fantasy. This has been the first installment of Fantasy! And yes, that means there might be more.
As I was putting the final touches on a miniscule dinner party last evening - and, after fetching the WonderTwins and a co-worker from the Metro - there was monkey chatter all about as they tore into a package that had arrived at the house. There are a few things to know about when the monkeys are together; first, if they both know what's in a package then it's clearly a pre-planned event of great excitement. Second, if it somehow involves you then you know you've been dragged even further into the clan's clutches. This package included a print by Amber Alexander (shop her cool stuff here). There's long been the opinion that I'm more type / blog, and watch or listen quizzically at the loons who live in the canopy; believe me, you don't want much to do with those that live in the canopy. So, my reflective gift was this print which is truly a priceless rendition of me and my couch...and newspaper....and coffee. Not a monkey in sight.
I'll have a Laurel's week update later today. Maybe even a guest post.
As if on cue or via eavesdropping, Jack Shafer at Slate.com has decided to do a piece on something the Eleven debated, at length, last week: e-books (and our discussion eventually turned the newspaper industry but that's for another time). What brought it up then was the arrival of L.'s Kindle reader that I'd promised her for her birthday - Kindle reader, iPods; books, music. My position on all the technology and cultural tidbits is this: I believe that the publishing industry and newspapers are too stupid to have learned from the downfall of the record labels. That's a very simplified version but it cuts to the point. I also don't believe that those running newspapers or publishing houses are any smarter, either in business or technology, than music industry executives; I think they're all blinded by profit and are willing to do anything they can to keep what they have right now. I told X that if I were a book publishing house I would be at the very forefront of moving nearly all my books to e-books while working in coordination with Amazon and Sony to develop software that protects the product while still earning money. I don't see that as swimming against my company's or my client's best interest - anything less is more like dereliction of duty. Yet, here we see publishers fighting the technology by wanting to keep prices up and delaying e-book releases for no good reason. What's even more comedic about the "delayed release" road is that the movie studio-to-VHS-DVD triptych has already played that out. Remember when the window (I think that's the movie business term) for release of a movie on tape or DVD after it's theatre run opened used to be six months or more? Then 90-days, then 60, now it's something like 30 day for most movies. Why? because people won't wait that long and the iron, for a hot movie, cools rapidly. As the scales tip toward more e-books the industry will fall way behind if it keeps the prices up and plays with marketing via two different technologies. I cannot even fathom what business model involves a meeting where anyone in the room utters the phrase, "Well, we'll release it in print on June 1st and dick over the e-bookers by waiting to release it until September 1st." I'd actually fire that person for even thinking that thought. I don't know what to say about the person who accepted that advice. The question is this: what outside agent, and it may be Amazon, is going to jump into the market and force the publishers to work by their rules? Apple has clearly dominated the market for music and they don't even own the music - nothing but a gateway that racks up billions of dollars because the music industry was too slow and stale to consider keeping up. We'll talk again in a few years and see just how much wasn't learned by the publishing industry.
When you grow up visiting Chicago, and in a time when tall buildings ruled the World and boys were interested in these sorts of details, you have a laundry list of buildings: EmpireStateBuilding, John Hancock, Standard Oil, and the Willis Tower. Granted, the last three are all Chicago landmarks since the WindyCity seemed to rule in the tall building derby back then – I think that at one point they were the three tallest in the World. Oh, maybe I need to go back and check that list…right, the WillisTower. I remember in my youth when I’d ride the massive, high-speed elevators to the observation deck of the tallest building on the globe. Looking out far to the east-northeast I could see Wisconsin on a clear day; I could see my favorite Chicago landmark, the John Hancock building over on Michigan Ave. As I stood there, in awe, I thought “Wow, the WillisTower is just way cool…” (remember, I was in my teens). I’ve often thought back on my journeys to the Willis Tower, my bus rides down Sheridan Ave, my walks around downtown and all these passed along to my children; the greatness, and trivial details, of theWillis Tower. Everyone who goes the city wants to see the WillisTower. Even though it’s been bumped down some random list of “tallest structure/tower/blah blah blah”, it is still considered the tallest of the skyscrapers. SKYSCAPER! What a great term apparently from a nautical history and first applied to the HomeInsuranceBuilding (1885) in, of all places, Chicago. Long live the WillisTower
The other night while I was making the pizza dough – and no doubt humming to myself - I suddenly came to the opinion that cooking shows, primarily the 24-hour Food Network, are part of a larger problem; it seems a food problem cloaked in a TV problem. I don’t have anything against cookery shows, at the base level, because I learned a load from quite a few of them (Lidia on PBS, the older Bobby Flay shows, the early BBC Jamie Oliver shows), but I’m starting to believe that cooking has become something closer to a hobby than an actual live requirement. Think about all the other hobby-ish stuff on TV: flipping houses, antique collecting, makeovers, home improvement, and gardening. That’s not an all-inclusive list but it does reflect a load of activities that seem to fall under sideshows to actual daily life. All of them are great activities but they aren’t required in order to survive. With entire networks devoted to home-and-garden, cooking, motorcycle building, and new wardrobes, I think we’ve begun to see all of them as accessories to life as opposed to actual life. What logically comes to my mind is that we’ve moved from cooking as a part of our daily life and decided that it’s much like gardening, knitting, or redoing a bedroom; it’s nice enough but it can wait. Not only can it wait – like the bathroom redo – it can be fulfilled by someone or something else be that a restaurant, a microwave, or a bag of chips. If you untangle that mess and pull yourself back towards the idea that buying quality food and cooking it at home is an actual function of everyday life then you’ll be in a better place. I don’t buy into the idea that eating out, or eating crap food, is either easier or more cost effective in either man hours or money. Cooking at home certainly consumes a piece of your day when you do the shopping and putter about the kitchen but it’s not an inordinate chore that is somehow beyond most people. I know it’s no a fully-formed idea as written here but it makes sense to me. The other issue I think I could fold into my idea of “food isn’t that hard” would be the American workday timeline. I happen to think that eating breakfast at 7am so you can be to work at 8 or 9am throws off our entire cycle. If we awoke a bit later and had our workdays run more like 10 or 11 am to 7pm then we could change our dinner planning – which is the bane of the eating process – to something more like 9pm and then hit the sack closer to 11pm or midnight. The forced eating process that squeezes everything in between 7am and 6pm is problematic, at least as I see it. I think that I can make the point better by imagining a TV network that was full of shows that showed nothing but housecleaning techniques and tips; within that idea, people would stop cleaning their houses because it would’ve become a hobby. Here’s some enlightening news about fast food:
Sen. Sessions refuses to actually listen to anything that Sotomayor gives him in response to his questions. His stance is very simple and I’ll summarize here; “You say that life experience, whether or not what you mean is that experiences comes from your youth, law school days, prosecutor days, and/or 17 years on the bench isn’t applicable here because all I see is a Latina woman. The fact that you are a Latina woman, and a minority, is clearly the only life experience you are considering and that means you don’t like white men. Good day.”
So, I have the Sotomayor confirmation hearing up in a small window. My first take of the day is that Chuck Grassley (R-IA) is a tool. Of course, I already knew that but it’s nice to have your beliefs reaffirmed. Even though Grassley is spouting on about his “review of her judicial record”, I seriously doubt that he’s cracked an opinion written by Sotomayor. Of course, maybe Jon Kyl (R-AZ) is showing himself to be even worse: it’s enlightening that Kyl, in particular, can’t even look directly at Sotomayor during his opening remarks as he twists ideas and throws about the “activist judge” epithet. Sen. Kyl has let us know that “80% of her decisions were either overturned or vacated by the Supreme Court.” Nice number, Kyl, but it’s not true. In Sotomayor’s 11 years on the appeals court she has written the majority opinion in 380 cases. Of those 380 cases the Supreme Court granted cert on five of those cases and overturned three of them. No matter how you slice that up mathematically, the Supreme Court only chose to review less than 3% of those case and overturned three – which is 7/10th of one percent of those in which she wrote the majority opinion; or, one in every 127 cases. If you were to take in consideration the full number of opinions issued by that court – other opinions in which she was in the majority but didn’t write the actual opinion – the number of overturned decisions is probably well less than one-half of one percent. Sen. Lindsey Graham (R-SC) is now flexing his stellar abilities from the dais. I love this line from Graham, “Does this mean I’m calling you racist? No, it doesn’t.” That’s pretty much like saying to someone, “I would never be one to call you an asshole but others might.” At least Graham has the strength of character to look at Sotomayor as he’s telling her that he wouldn’t throw water on her even if she were on fire. Oops, I had it turned down just now but it sounds like Sen. Leahy (D-VT) just laid some smack down on Graham for being petulant child – now Jeff Sessions (R-AL) has jumped in as big brother and Leahy gives him a whack on the nose. What’s most comedic about any of these hearings is that we have to listen to all the senators pontificating during their opening statements: four hours of blowhards from both sides of the aisle who like to hear themselves speak. I’ll finish off the morning session with Tom Coburn (R-OK) pointing out that the law should not be unpredictable, something that Sotomayor apparently said as some point in her life, according to him. He believes that it shouldn’t matter what judge you draw on a case but the law. He’s essentially saying that every case should be a unanimous decision at any level. By his standard, there’s no need for appeals courts or the Supreme Court because every bit of law is objective – and even if we maintain a Supreme Court, every decisions should be 9-0, preferably always deciding for the corporations and against citizens. Did I say that aloud? Oh, and by the way, if anyone wants to even consider international law as something worthwhile? Well, you can move back to Europe, Frenchie.
One more thing is this headline, unrelated to the hearing, from Yahoo!, “S.F. Zoo's gay penguin couple broken up by female penguin.” I think that’ll open the door to the “anti-gay, it’s a choice” crowd; and in San Francisco of all places.
So, last night I took my love to see Dizzie Miss Lizzie's Roadside Review's version of the Oresteia. Call it a mythological tragedy, if you will, but this troupe of minstrels turned a very entertaining presentation. They'd first done this last year during the Capital Fringe Festival and this year they've been booked late nights into the Keegan Theatre in D.C. for three weeks. There was some serious discussion as we were homeward bound about the adaptation misfiring on the Eumenides portion of the trilogy; it was a bit slapdash by skimming over the Furies chase, social justice, and the hung-jury issue of the law. Granted, it's an important bit that ends up being wrapped in a big Kumbaya finale song (good as it was) that doesn't quite give full force to the finish of the actual text. But, for a rousing evening's entertainment it can be overlooked because there are so many great talents across the stage. Everyone is musically gifted, they all act well, the rock n' roll aspect is fantastic, and the comic turns hilarious. X's laugh-out loud moments during the Furies center stage moment and Orestes' ponderings were comforting. (She thinks one of the Furies licked me during the show but that is wholly untrue.) Orestes, in particular, was just great. As Elektra is trying to convince him to slay their mother - during a revival/bible-thumping song - he finally yells to all to just "Shut the fuck up! I hear you!". From there his soliloquy addresses his feeling that he's "a bit ambivalent" about killing his mother and uncle. The music and performance was grand all around and I'd recommend it to anyone wandering DuPont Circle on a weekend. Bring your tap shoes and your hoots-and-hollers.
Laurel has arrived safe-and-sound for her summer month here in D.C.; trading kids on The Hilltop.
I managed to recreate the goat cheese and corn enchiladas with mole sauce this evening. It was met with howzahs across the house.
We have the farmer's market and test run for Laurel's commute tomorrow morning. Results to follow.
In my Omaha youth I had an elementary gym teacher, Mr. Halperin, who might be considered by many as an early Chris Berman. He was making up nicknames for kids during sport endeavors long before Berman unveiled his ESPN mug (and he ended up marrying the hot fourth-grade teacher!). I was a pretty good elementary school athlete: all-arounder, good basketball player, pretty adaptable even it was the days that I still threw my tennis racquets. I'm sure many kids looked up to the gym teacher when they were young and Haleprin was no different for me. For some reason he once dubbed me "Taco Todd" - even if that doesn't sound as entendre-ish as ESPN, it was pretty big for an elementary kid. I think I even drew it in those cool 3-D letters that every kid learns on the front of my faux-denim three-ring binder. At some point, maybe in fifth grade or so, he'd let everyone take half-court shots in the gym/cafeteria after school. Anyone who made one would get a gratis chocolate shake at Goodrich, across the overpass. Good times. That's my backstory.
The boys had a couple of friends over today since they are leaving tomorrow for a month. Tonight's plan for their dinner was tacos and I was suddenly hit by the fact that I'd need more tacos than required for two boys. I somehow managed to turn the fixings into 16 tacos to feed four hungry mouths; no mean feat. As they were laid out, half with sour cream, half without, they were set upon by locust. Loads of oohing-and-aahing at my simple taco feed on The Hilltop. It got to a point that kids were selling tacos to each other for hard, cold cash. I'm not sure if I felt used or flattered. That's about life, ain't it?
Taco Todd, indeed.
One more thing - this Michael Jackson thing is comical. I loved a decade of his music and he was a grand entertainer but really, all this? There's a picture of his brothers sitting in the front row at the sports event / memorial each wearing a single, sequined glove. Honestly, at the risk of offending those that have passed on, it was horrid. That's all I have to say about that...
love to all
t
P.S. I just got a text from L. asking me if she has unlimited texting on her phone. What do we think that means? My response was, "Should I get you unlimited texting?" I think the question is actually answered by the question. I see some charges coming on this month's bill.
After The Eleven put a wrap on our civil rights discussion (Ricci) and my query as to whether or she felt Roger Federer’s 15 Grand Slam titles or Tiger Woods’ 14 Major Championships was more impressive (she went with Tiger), we finally settled into bed about midnight. At which point there was some story from her youth that included the following phrases: Fra Angelico Blue, a “pigment enthusiast”, “started her own religion”, and Ruthie. That was enough to send me to sleep with a chuckle but I was also then lucky enough for her to speak of “scrapping dead chickens off the road”, as if that were a normal pursuit in every child’s upbringing.
I'm not normally a fan of Bob Herbert's columns because they tend to wander into the obvious but today's piece is interesting and fully damning of Robert McNamara. What strikes hardest is the accusation that McNamara must have found it hard to look in the mirror knowing what he knew and doing what he did. The admission by McNamara that he knew the war was a massive mistake, yet he continued execution of that mistake, is probably something lost on the public as his death is being overshadowed by Michael Jackson Tribute Month. My first association is to Colin Powell who we may not remember as being a huge cog in the war machine but whose actions were the straw that broke the dissenters. By the time Secretary Powell sat down at the UN to give his "brief" on Iraq there had already been plenty of time for the Bush Administration's quality to be questioned. The number of Americans, who were ready to walk away from Bush/Cheney and probably the Iraq War, was growing rapidly. I think that as a country we were back to realizing just how inept we felt the Administration had been between Jan 2001 and Sep 11, 2001 and there was a realization that what happened between 2001 and late 2003 wasn't so much leadership as it was a course of events. The war in Afghanistan was justified to most but it wasn't going awfully well and there was still no way out or any endgame in sight. The idea of Iraq was lunacy yet we fell for it because of Powell's UN appearance. He was the one who unwittingly or not, and I don't believe he was played for a fool, brought enough independent and wavering Americans onboard the war idea. As he walked away after that first term – having been the cheerleader for the war and the man who essentially got Bush re-elected – I often wondered how he looked in the mirror every morning. I had great hopes for Powell but I vividly remember watching his testimony that day while I was sitting in a hotel lobby on Crete ; I was shocked to see and hear everything he provided. It was shabby information that wouldn't have passed muster to the most basic intelligence officer or analyst, and I know because I was the most basic intelligence analyst type. But you know what? It didn't pass those desks because they were removed from the process and the rest were bullied by the herd-to-war executive branch. What makes it all the more egregious when comparing McNamara and Powell is that Powell had spent his life in the military; working, supporting, and protecting the troops – he knew the cost. McNamara, if you discount his advisory service in statistical analysis, was a desk jockey with no real military experience or interaction. For Powell to know the dangers of this war and yet still saddle-up that day at the UN and spout the party line is a massive reflection on his failure to continue doing what had been his life's work. No amount of post-event analysis or dramatized Hollywood scenes where "Powell" is trying to speak truth-to-power will undo his mistake; any more than McNamara's mistake is undone by his admission. We can debate all day long the issue of war execution with Rumsfeld, Bush, Cheney, and Myers, and etc. and their overall responsibility for what happened, and that responsibility is whole, but the accelerator was the sale made by Powell. Could he have stopped it? Who knows? Could he have resigned and chosen to not be a part of it? Yes. In the end, I think he now claims that working from the inside was in the best interest of the country but that's a weak stance. I'm sure McNamara felt that working from the inside on something he knew was wrong and horrific was the best option; what good did that do? I'll never be convinced that Powell's best position wasn't to be a vocal opponent of a war he felt was wrong. I believe his position as an outsider, had he left the Administration, would not have been questioned as sour grapes or a case of a disgruntled employee as so often happens. He made a choice – McNamara made a choice – and they were both horribly wrong. And it isn't the being wrong that the most grievous result, it's the dead bodies, ruined lives, and broken families.
I mistakenly forgot to pass along my tennis confession. I watched the first 4 1/2 sets online at NBC.com - but suddenly, and without warning, they cut the feed at 6-6 in the fifth. The feed continued to post "network difficulties" but it was clearly a matter of the "fuck yous". I was, surprisingly enough, fully able to reconfigure and watch the Travelers' commercials - shocking. Suddenly, action needed to be taken - heroic action - and we fired up the big 36" Sony Wega configured with the digital converter box. It was all for shit and the remote did nothing but fire the on/off switch if you hit any button: no scan, no channels, something messed up in the wiring. As we tried to rescan the channels and get NBC to configure we were stuck sorting out how to start the scan, remove the batteries quickly enough to allow scan completion, and then repower the system to get the tennis on. You've got to be kidding me. Or, in the immortal words of John McEnroe, "You CAN'T be serious!" X manned the remote and longed for the ribbon deloader while I sat on my ass directing activities. As she finally managed to yank the AAAs from the remote in mid-tune, and we suddenly had the NBC picture - the only one that came in since it's first - she fell to the floor in misery as I told her to quit her belly-aching; shhhh, the tennis is on. By that time it was 10-9, Federer, and I called in for assistance. Needless to say, she was fine and assitance wasn't required as she later in the evening said to me, "You didn't mention my heroic effort that allowed you to watch that tennis thing."
In the end, the fifth set could never go any other way. Roddick broke Federer in the first - to win the set - and early in the fourth to essentially grasp hold of that one; but it wasn't going to happen in the fifth. Even though Federer didn't get that first break until the ultimate game, Roddick had zero chance to break over those 15, fifth-service games. If you look at the numbers from the fifth it's not so much that they are lopsided as it becomes clear that Roddick never even sniffed a deuce game. I think he may have gotten to 30 two or three times, led at 0-15 or 15-30 twice, and got lambasted the remaining games. Federer, on the other hand, continued to chip away at Roddick's service games, getting to deuce at least the final three games - probably four times in the set - and eventually he was going to close one out. Both men played fantastic tennis and I sat mesmerized for the final 3 1/2 hours; like Pete Sampras, I showed up a bit late.
"She was reliable 90 percent of the time." I've lifted this little gem from a news story. I'm trying to sort out at exactly what level you'd classify someone who is reliable 100 percent of the time. I imagine telling my boss that I'll be reliable, for the most part, and only skip out on work one day every two weeks. I mean, I'll be around but it'll be a bit of a mystery as to why I'm not at work. I like this management style.
I'm running a strange experiment on tonight's - delayed from Friday - pizza night. Don't worry, the boys will get the usual but I'm going to try to do a roasted new potato, roasted corn, leek and garlic wonder; with everything resting on a vidalia onion, white wine sauce. Reports to follow.
It was a very cool 70-degree holiday weekend. Everyone still has all their fingers since we didn't really do fireworks.
As I think about rustling up some panini this evening I'd like to pass along the Quote of Week from my darling after she enjoyed last Thursday's offfering: "Why is there a chutney in my panini?"
I'm going to try to draw a parallel and I'd like you to follow along. If you've bowled in a league at any point in your life than it'll make more sense. I guess if you been to college and worried about a GPA it might make sense. Lets say you're bowling average, based on your history, is 166. You'll generally head out to the lanes and rack up a 500 series every week during your league. Early in the season the average will bounce around a bit as you get used to the lanes, the teammates, and the atmosphere. What you found out very quickly is that it's much easier to see your average drop than to climb. The requirements for increasing your average are more stringent - you're actually excelling above-and-beyond the norm. Do you know what it takes to get that average to drop? Sit on the couch, don't give a crap, and just chuck the ball down the lane. I guarantee it'll drop like a rock. And, just to add to your bowling misery, it'll take even more excellence to bring it back to that 166 after you've spent three or four weeks struggling because you're hungover, stupid, and don't care. Once you everything back in order then moving forward requires even more hard work and thundering scores. Not only that, as the weeks pass and pile up on your league scoresheet it becomes even harder to make up time. You're dealing with a load of crap.
Here's the analogy for all the Democrats and liberals out there who are endlessly complaining. Imagine we're in a bowling league - keep that in mind - and think about how much work needs to be done in order to get back to a balanced point. You won't do it tonight and you won't do it next week. If you want to just throw the ball as hard as you can down the middle and hope for the best, fire away, it won't work...it never does. Otherwise, shut up. Do you really think that over the course of 150 days we'll unfuck the issues this country is facing? Do you really think that over a 24-hour news cycle we'll be able to restore the country's strength and dignity? You know what? There's load of stuff that isn't being moved along as quickly as I'd like but at least I have an inkling that it'll happen - and some point beyond 150 days.
What have you done in the last 150 days? I thought so.
Maybe in another month I can read how Andrew Sullivan - and the Democrats - look back and say, for the umpteenth time, "Wow, I didn't see that coming. Seems like he's always a step ahead of us..."
I was out running errands this afternoon - dinner fixings, a few clothes, water filters, and a new sink spigot thingy - and stopped at Home Depot on a lovely Sunday afternoon. The Home Depot is the herding grounds for all types of knuckleheads; primarily the employees. You've got your weekend DIYers, contractors, people who think they are contractors, people who aren't contractors and yet act like contractors and pay for everything in cash, and the oft spotted married couple (and kids if it's a good day) doing everything they can to not kill each other in public. (I don't qualify as any of the above because I have zero handyman skills and I just let ol' Measuring Eyes sort our stuff. I'm a cook, not a carpenter.) I happened to be wandering the aisle that displays all type of water spigot: kitchen sets, bathroom sink sets, and the crazy mash of shower heads. I'd wrongly assumed that I needed to be in this aisle if I wanted a spare part or two being that it was the melting ground of spigots. Ha. Not a chance. But, as I'm wandering up-and-down the aisle fruitlessly looking for what I need I pass by a couple in their 50s who are clearly in the middle of redoing the kitchen. I couldn't tell if the husband was doing the work himself of if it was contracted, but they were at least responsible for purchasing the sink set and bringing it home. Here's the problem with this scenario: men don't really care. Women care. The wife had a list of set numbers that she'd somehow gathered online or from friends with faucets and she was dedicated to finding each one and analyzing whether or not the brush on the nickel, chrome, or stainless steel was just right. He just wanted to get the fuck out of the entire discussion, buy a goddamned sink set, and get home to watch the soccer and/or read the paper. (I'll freely admit that I spent extra time "looking" at the sets near them even though I'd already sorted out that what I needed wasn't anywhere nearby. When you see something like this winding up you must stay close for the payoff.) After being dragged through the entire list of kitchen sink sets, and some twice (I know, I heard it.), the wife finally grabs a box from the shelf and hands it the husband who immediately pops off with "Great. Let's go." Under his breath you could hear clearly what he was really saying even if my text won't do it justice. I think what I actually heard was, "Thank God! Jessssuuuuuuusss! Can I please get the hell out of this inferno you've dragged me into and wasted away half my Sunday surrounded by people I hate and wouldn't piss on if they were on fire?. And all this sink crap...I couldn't give a shit about it? Who cares? Grab something that costs any amount as long as it dispenses water. I DON'T CARE." Or something like that. I think that's probably about what she heard. That's the opening salvo of the payoff; if you've seen this often enough, or been a part of it, you know it's a call-and-response game. I paused, stood quietly staring at both the two-handled and single-handle faucets, and waited that split second. "Why are you being such an ass?", she replied in perfect timing. I'd had my fun and started to sidle away down the row while looking up at the ceiling hoping to escape. You don't want to stay around once the guns are blazing - frankly, it just gets embarrassing after the first shots have been fired. Knowing that I still had the deathtrap known as the Home Depot checkout line ahead of me I feel that even if I shouldn't have stayed behind to listen, it was sweet nonetheless. I think the only department that might lead to more hatred of loved ones would be meandering through paint samples and those irritating little cards. Maybe next time.
I managed to get everything done and make it home in time for the U.S. v. Brasil football final. Since X is working on some sort of 'review', I headed down to a neighbor's house, who we are dog-watching for, and watch football on an actual big HD TV. Not bad for a Sunday.
Language. people, and culture. Here's a great read on a theory about the relationship between how cultures think and the affect on language; or vice versa, or vice versa; pick your versa [thanks to Andrew Sullivan]. I've read some Steven Pinker, who knows from language and always intrigues, and this is exactly the type of wonder that runs through my mind every few years - and certainly during my time in Monterey where you made friends who were in myriad language training courses. Some of the differences in how language difficulty was ranked back then were no doubt based on both pronunciation difficulty and some of the psychological aspects of given languages. Spanish and French were grouped together at the lower end of difficulty, followed by Hebrew and others, and it finished at the highest difficulty with Russian, Chinese, and Arabic, among others. When we're exposed to something so distant from our cultural norm, whether a language or a life, we're probably going to struggle not only with the objective language but also with the basis beyond the language; and that's the people. In fact, the most memorable stories that most people have from Monterey (aside from poorly though out and failed marriages) usually revolve around our teachers. All the instructors there are native speakers so the curse and promise of their upbringing and culture had a massive effect on many students results. I'm sure that differing alphabets only add to the worry. Maybe the next time my mind starts to roil with language I'll look at it a bit differently.
The Eastern Market in D.C. is reborn today after two years of restoration following a massive fire in 2007. I was thinking of heading in this afternoon even before realizing the throng of locals and press that may be in attendance; I think I'll step up and head in, regardless. Maybe I'll bring my new camera and pass along some views.
I'm not that old but now I know what it feels like when your childhood icons slowly fade away. Along with Evel Knievel's passing last year there aren't many true idols left from my youth.
I'm in the midst of a fairly heated back-and-forth left/right political discussion with a co-worker. Well, it's only heated in ideas, not yelling; we get along well but disagree on some serious issues. To some extent it's a repeat of what we all went through prior to the November elections but there's been a shift in the ground particularly as banks, automakers, and others have collapsed and the government has needed to step in to assist; and now the Iran election. There seems to be a load of fears that boil to the surface, particularly on the moderate right. It's been a very smooth step from being in charge for eight years (six in the Congress) and performing poorly to blaming someone else after 150 days. This desire to put blame somewhere, and it's a very strong conservative trait, has actually deepened the abyss between myself and the moderate conservatives. In fact, the more I think about it the more it becomes clear that I even find myself separating from a good number of the liberals (moderate and extreme) who seem to implode on a daily basis at some injustice they feel has been perpetrated because things aren't moving fast enough. That may be an issue for another day.
One of the trunks we debate is origins of principles and it sort of comes down to this input from someone: "I suppose one of my points is that we'll never agree on this issue because of our respective world-views and perception of human nature." What becomes clear pretty quickly is that this devolves into a nature v. nurture debate when that root is elevated to levels of principles (those beliefs we draw from the origin) and further upward into what I call the balloons that we debate every day. Think about it this way: the origin is the core of what we believe, the principles are how we shape those cores into words, the balloons are the yelling and screaming we see and hear on TV. In a real world example you could say that sanctity of life is an origin, not killing another person is a principle, and the abortion debate is a hovering balloon. The debate always centers on popping the abortion balloon that's hanging over your opponent's head; more times than not no one chooses to understand or address the core belief because we all generally believe in the sanctity of life and there's no money maker in that debate.
The huge difference I see, when considering what people want at the core level (happiness and a chance to live a good life), is that the table isn't balanced. Over a very long time I've come to realize that sorting out what's best for a country, as a whole, should come from looking up from the bottom; even if I'm not at the bottom I can certainly start my task by attempting to remedy the problems at that level. The problems that I encounter, as a white, upper middle-class American, are not the starting point for most of America. If my desire is to maintain only what I have then I'm merely mounting blinders on my head and whistling through life. Instead of assuming that humans, and their human nature, are merely choosing to sit in their own shit, or that they don't have any desire for a better life, only furthers the blindness of which many conservatives are guilty. We can debate all day long about choices that may or may not be available but if we recognize that there are choices then it's more of a debate than the simple standard "make the right choices to succeed." It's a far more pontificating position than what liberals are routinely accused of holding. It's just looking down the steep mountain and telling everyone to either hang on or climb harder.
It's enlightening to consider the idea of lifting yourself "up by your bootstraps" in order to make it in this world. If you read Outliers then you'll understand a bit about that; virtually no one (Bill Gates, famous athletes, Sonja Sotomayer, Clarence Thomas, etc.) got to where they are without help; it's help that not every person has access to no matter how well they make their choices. Lives aren't strictly based on choices even if they are a major factor in how the road unfolds before you; but it's easy enough for conservatives to wash their hands by saying that it's only our individual decisions that will determine where we sit or stand at age 40. That's a hallow position that serves to justify their own fears and ignorance.
If I look back over the span of my lifetime there is nothing within the realm of humanity in America, nor abroad, that conservative movement was correct on when history finally judged the results. In fact, you'd be hard pressed to come up with any real economic issue that's been vaguely successful. The pat answer will be Reagan and the Berlin Wall but I don't consider that something that was ended by Reagan (or Bush 41) as much as something that would have happened anyway. But, if I must, I'll allow a feather in their hat and then they can keep on looking for something else. We don't create revolution and Iran right now is a prime example. When a stance is premised on the idea that everything I have, sitting fat- and-happy on the top of the hill, will eventually trickle down to the others who are struggling is to be believed then I only see a people that are fighting against, and not for, a better joint to hang our hats. It always seems to be all or nothing.
There was a time way back when that Sports Illustrated had some very good writers. Of course, once upon a time Rolling Stone had great writers. At some point in the last three or four months I got a cautionary e-mail from some such organization that alerted me to a number of "bonus points" that were about to expire. There weren't enough points to trade in for anything of real value - movie passes or a Mercedes-Benz - but enough to get three or four magazine subscriptions. Fine. Even though I'd pared down to the New Yorker and one cooking magazine (gift), I decided to at least use the points for something...anything. Free points! My first mistake was in not hitting myself in the head immediately for even thinking that more magazines is a good idea. Secondly, if the mags are on offer for basically nothing then they probably aren't needed. It's sort of like the Mike Greene theory for choosing wine: always buy the second least expensive. His idea was that the cheapest was the cheapest for a reason and the second cheapest was probably just good enough to get by. The one outlier was a second or third cheapest wine on sale by the case (if you are aware of the previous price). At that point, buying the cheapest is just fine. X goes by the theory that all wine purchased should come from the aisle ends (something recommended by Waitrose in England). I think it's basically the same thing. But, back to magazines. I chose the Economist, Sports Illustrated, and Glamour. One of those wasn't for me. My first problem is that no human can read an entire Economist issue - or part of an issue - before the next one darkens the door in seven days time. I have a hard time getting through a New Yorker in one week - the Economist is a behemoth. The follow-up is that Sports Illustrated has become the Blender of sports mags. There's no quality like Frank Deford, there are no well-written pieces - at all - and every page seems to be an exercise in just how sexy the mag can be. I've probably gotten six or eight issues and I'm just wasting away the environment; I've tried, it stinks. I don't have any input on Glamour because I'm not reading it. (Cue the Seinfeld references.)
I'll give you a quick hit on Obama and the photos, if I may. One of the main clauses when applying classification to anything in the government, or military, is that classification is never to be used to prevent embarrassment. The photos - and a number of them are already out there and they are revolting - aren't an issue of national security; they are a matter of embarrassment and shame. Anyone who's been a part of the machine should recognize the problem with applying classification to any of them. Will they provide fodder for our foe? Yes. Do they fall under national security and the shield that classification provides? Nope.
(noun) a self-evident truth that requires no proof.
I guess we could just call it “Car” since that too would be a self-evident truth. I’ve been torn over the last decade or so between hating either stupid names for vehicles or hating stupid alphanumeric sequences as names for vehicles. You might consider this parallel to whether you like how Chicago titled their albums or how The Flaming Lips managed to come up with demented titles. Considering that the Isuzu Axiom looks exactly like every other mini-SUV/suburban mother vehicle it isn’t really self-evident at all. I think I’d just prefer the car companies, or what’s left of them, to simply put the company name on the car and do away with the model. Just choose your model by the look and nix the name; I don’t think you’ll end up with the wrong shape by accident. "I'll have the 1963 Lincoln." It’s sort of the same with what Apple is doing with its operating systems. They’ve latched, inexplicably, onto the family Felinae: cheetah/puma, jaguar, panther, tiger, leopard, snow leopard. Those descriptions also equate to versions 10.1 through 10.6. There doesn’t appear to be any rhyme or reason to the cat name or an actual zoological classification of the greatness of each cat. (Obviously, the leopard v. snow leopard idea is pure lunacy.) If I can’t remember in what order they arrived, by name, I can certainly remember that I have 10.4. There’s little need to look at me and say, “Oh, you have Tiger”, because I have no feline idea. It’s just 10.4; we all learned to count and we can keep up with numbers. And, if you’ll indulge me, I would much prefer to be a cheetah or puma than a tiger so I don’t see how tiger is better, in the end. Maybe we can start a betting line and choose what we think will be the next four versions. Here’s my fortune from the crystal ball:
If I’m going to have to figure out how to equate a version number with a genus then we might as well make it fun.
I ended up forgetting to pick up some shredded mozzarella for the boys’ pizza (on said shopping trip) so I had to make an extra stop at the nearest grocery. I bought only the bag of shredded cheese; the cashier scanned it and began putting it into a plastic bag – as they are wont to do. I told him I’d just carry it with the hands provided. I know…I’ve brought this up before but really, a bag to carry a small bag? It wasn’t too far from me going into a hardware store to buy a single, spare drawer handle and having an employee put my handle into a bag for ease of carrying.
I'm providing you, generously, with the final lap of this weekend's MotoGP from Barcelona; you can thank me later. The yellow rider is Valentino "the Doctor" Rossi, the eight-time World Champion. His competitor on this fine day is his team-mate, Jorge Lorenzo, who he is now tied with Rossi atop the championship standings along with Casey Stoner; not that any of that matters to you. Since I love just about any type of racing, Formula 1 and MotoGP in particular, I exposing you to a fantastic finish that you never see in auto racing these days. Feel free to overdub the Italian (or Spanish) commentator with your own version of "the door, the door..."
A second video to entertain you comes from some genius living in Arlington, VA. Every place you see in this video is in and around the neighborhood where we used to live - and where WonderTwin #2 and brood still live. I'm not sure this could have been any better. I do think the creator owes about 90% of any royalties to Andy Samburg of SNL.
The house has been cleaned to within an inch of its life - if a house had a life. The lawn, containing the deadly hill - is in dire need of a cutting. I think I'll hold out for closer to sunset and cooler temperatures. Betwixt now and then I'm off to the grocery to gather needs for taco variants: plain, standard, meat-and-bean for the hordes; some sort of fish tacos for the normal kids. Maybe I'll update you later, maybe I won't...
As we've been watching Hulu lately there's suddenly some degree of commercial exposure on The Hilltop. Even when watching online, at least for now, you still get three or four 30-second spots every hour. My question is this: have GM and AT&T been running these horribly patronizing commercials for a long time? The GM commercial, with some hockey player down on the ice at one point, is covered by some bullshit narration about the 'new GM' that crows of a massive responsibility taken by GM to remedy the company's ways. I'm positive that a bunch of the mental midgets that run GM sat around saying to themselves in a meeting one day, "I think we should quit building Hummers." It comes off as a bit rich as they file for bankruptcy protection after getting something like $30 billion. Beyond that, it almost sounds as if they're claiming to have been beaten down by forces beyond their control; they're merely picking themselves up from the mat, dusting off, and are suddenly fighting fit because of the grand visions floating around that boardroom. You can see the commercial below (okay, I 'fess up. The first one you can watch is the actual commercial, the second one comes from some brilliant and gleaming lights in my universe busting on GM - stunning...and thiefs!). I couldn't find the AT&T commercial that outlines their unprompted "decision" to buy clean and efficient trucks and vans because of their great desire to help the American people.
This strange "guiding the public with junk input/output" popped into my head yesterday when, for reasons unknown, I clicked on a link at Yahoo! that appeared to discuss restaurant food and its health value. I thought to myself, "We only go out once in a blue moon (to FarrahOlivia) but I'm still curious to know what's going on in the Americana dining world these days." That was the wrong idea. Here's the sub-headline from the piece on food, calories, and fat intake:
"New list shows fried mac-and-cheese isn't as healthy as it sounds."
No way. Actually, it doesn't even sound healthy.
Do I need some crack journalist to break the story, and save my health, by showing that not only is plain mac-and-cheese pretty low on the dietary health table, but that when fried in clumps it's even worse? Fried mac-and-cheese actually screams that it's bad food. Was there really a question? Did someone actually think to themselves, "I need to cut back on all the sewage I'm shoveling into my gullet and try to eat better stuff. Hmm. Let's see. Yeah, I'm going to go with the fried mac-and-cheese grease cubes; but, I'll just have water to drink so I don't counterbalance my healthy selection with a sugary beverage." I really want to break this down - this fried bit - and come to a conclusion. Let's say you have a nice, fresh heirloom tomato sitting on your counter. You're thinking about slicing it up, slipping it on some farmer's bread, drizzling it with some olive oil, and nibbling on it as a nice afternoon snack. Or, you could just deep fry that mother and improve the nutritional value. I didn't think so. So, how exactly does anyone think that frying anything on this Earth could possibly make it healthier? Even if you just rolled out of bed in your shack in the woods, and fired up the Sterno to make some mac-and-cheese, you surely wouldn't suspect that adding a good deep fry to it would make your insides better, would you?
I will point out that this particular feast of fitness is available at...The Cheesecake Factory. I'll let you ponder that.
It can be difficult to gather up the small victories in life. I think I've mentioned in passing just how much I admire both Radio Shack and Walgreens for finding and holding fast to their niches. We have Radio Shacks all over NoVa and D.C. but we are just now getting some Walgreens on-board. To my utter shock I came across the new Wallys in Clarendon this afternoon. The Eleven used to frequent Clarendon during our Ballston days but now it's nothing by a bi-monthly pass through on the way to somewhere more important. There was some legal bullshit that was keeping Walgreens from the area - at least that's the rumor I vaguely remember - and we were instead littered with boatloads of CVSs and Rite Aids; both send shivers down the spine. I can't place my finger on the difference between the chains but a good Midwestern boy wants nothing more than a Walgreens. I'll let it go; it does really seem a smallish title belt.
It didn't hurt that I was in the area for either; a quick stop at the grocery store, a pop-in at the excellent gelato place, to pick-up my election gear for tomorrow's Virginia democratic gubernatorial primary (and a few democratic delegate primaries), all of the above, or any combination of the above when I stumbled upon the mecca - I'll let you choose.
Summer is here and the humidity is just perfect. No fear of drying out when you live on a swamp.
The Blonde said she could smell smoke. Smelling smoke at 30,000ft is one of those unnerving harbingers of modern life. Like having your Harley Street heart specialist insist on cash. Hearing someone muttering in Somali while rifling through the knife drawer in the kitchen at five in the morning. Or finding half a mouse in a pasty and wondering where the other half went. I said, “Don’t worry.” Men do that. We say “Don’t worry” to take away the worry, as if the phrase itself was a prophylactic to worrying. But in all the years we’ve been saying don’t worry, no woman has ever turned to us and replied: “Thank you for saying that, I won’t worry now.” I think we assume that panic is gender-specific, like pain, flu, football and crying in films. (All male.)
AA Gill strikes again. This was the opening to his restaurant review last Sunday. I'll never again say "don't worry." The entire 'review' is another great piece of writing. If you have some spare time you can wander through it here.
I managed to get out yesterday and resolve my pepper mill issues. I picked up a Peugeot Hostellerie which was one of two on my list. I was particularly interested in a Unicorn Keytop but I would have had to order it and I'm too impatient for that - at least in this instance. I've had a poor man's Peugeot knockoff before and it wasn't my favorite mill; this one got off to a much better start during last night's session. While I was in the kitchen store yesterday I reaffirmed my cooking theory that your cooking methods and frequency are inversely proportional to the number of trinkets hanging about the kitchen. Even though I love wandering the cooking device meccas there's load of kit that is merely space filler.
We, or I, are off for some theatre this afternoon. We've got tickets for Lincolnesque which is being staged by my favorites at the Keegan Theatre. They have a second stage in Arlington that I haven't been to so we'll get a first look at that space; I am fan of their Church St. stage in D.C. so this'll be a measure of the secondary digs.
I'm a bit late to Internet radio, via Pandora, which is strange in many ways. I've been a listener and supporter of The Current (MPR) since they swung open their doors about five (?) years ago. With the iPod touch app and/or a laptop we can have great music pumped through the living room speakers whenever we want. The only frustrating bit of listening to The Current is hearing about all the stuff happening in the Twin Cities that you can have no part in. Beggars and choosers. They've got great DJs that hump the bins to find great music; and in the end, I actually like to hear a human voice every now and again. Pandora, even with its missing human voice, is pretty damn amazing. It was created by the folks behind something called the Music Genome Project. Their mission - feel free to read about the details here - is to map every song over multiple specifics in order to match songs to songs for the listener. What's interesting here is that I've had any number of discussions about songs and music (with X and via e-mail with one of my favorite artists) and I have a really hard time explaining what it is that draws me in. Considering that both my daughter, back when she was about 6, and Christine find my favorite music to be, let's say, repetitive, it shouldn't be hard for me to verbalize. Not surprisingly, when I start a Pandora station by inputting a single artist it only takes the scientist inside my computer about three seconds to overload my playlist with all the bands I already own. But, the beauty of Pandora is that I can just let if roll for hours, via different stations (I have ones called Slobberbone, Steve Earle, and Noah and the Whale), and rarely come across anything I don't like. I don't have to swap out CDs (ha!) or make multi-hour playlists from my music collection. The pitfalls? No human voice which makes me feel a bit disassociated after a few hours and there's no real ability, via this genome project, to suddenly pitch some Otis Redding into the middle of my alt.country. The DJs at The Current are excellent at slipping in songs that are tangential to the artist you just heard: something a scientific approach will never do. Mary Lucia and Barb Abney at the Current are particularly good at surprising you by their mood, not yours.
** On a quick sidenote, Internet radio, whether associated with a broadcast station (The Current) or not (Pandora), is struggling. The royalty cost per song played is about .019 cent. If you like and want to keep Internet radio strong then do your part. Support the broadcasters and keep it active and growing. Pandora offers a yearly membership for $36 a year and that'll cover about 160 songs a month. Obviously, you can listen to way more than that and it's costing you nothing more even if it's costing them more. As for The Current (or something like KEXP in Seattle), become members. Thanks.
What about my pepper mill, you ask? Well, the one I've been using for about four years (it was a gift) finally broke. The pepper mill purchase falls into the same hunting style as my bag: seems I've had hundreds of both and I'll never find the perfect one. I'm happy enough with my Yak Pak and now I'm back in the game for a pepper mill. I've hit the Internet and have a good idea of what I'm going to buy - I just need to find it locally or I'll be waiting a week for it to arrive. How does one cook without a pepper mill? Don't tell me to use something other than freshly ground pepper or you'll be sent away, post haste.
A couple of things: Hulu/Roku and music. I ordered a Roku box over the weekend so we can watch streaming movies from Netflix on the the big TV - unlimited along with my normal three DVD membership. The box is a one-time purchase that will eventually (fingers crossed) also allow us to watch Hulu.com on the big screen. For those wondering, Hulu allows you watch a good number of shows and networks on-line the day after broadcast, for free. We can pick-and-choose what we want to watch - which isn't a lot - and not worry about cable or satellite. You know what my cable / sat bill was last month? Zero. How about next month? Zero. How about in January? Zero. Point made. We don't need eight million channels because it doesn't fit our life.
Music. I'm streaming the Dave Matthews Band right now from the Beacon Theater in NYC... on Hulu. A precious few comments: I'm not a big Dave Matthews fan but I do dearly love a great live band. I've said it before and I'll say it again - a great band, of any ilk, in full flight is a beautiful thing. These guys are tight and deserve just rewards. Of course, I've seen the Justin Trawick Band any number of times here in D.C. (they are local) and DMB isn't any better. In fact, Trawick at least gives me a band dancer and a little more funk. Either way, great music is well-worth the effort. Now that I think about it, go get yourself some big funk with the Delta Nove Band. Now I'm running some Delta Nove in my head. I first saw them at the Fallon Cantaloupe Festival in 2004. They were booked in out of SoCal by the owner of the great local coffee shop owner (and Cantaloupe musical director), Corie. I spent the afternoon sitting on hay bales under the rickety roof in 90 degree heat drinking cantaloupe margaritas and jamming to these cats. A great, great band.
I'll let you go for now. I'll drag you back in, shortly.
Dinner last night went well once we figured out the table configuration for ten, or eight, or nine, or ten...you see the problem. The beets, sweet corn, and homegrown garlic are roasting for tonight's pizza extravaganza.
Posts
