the tenderloin

Sometimes you wander the cities of the globe and you're put off by the idea of so many people living in such a small space. They can be claustrophobic in the best situation, scary in the worst. I think the scary affects people more when visiting cities than the sheer number of inhabitants on the streets. If one comes from a less urban environment the shock can be stunning. Oh, I'm not done...

I was trundling through virtualtourist.com earlier tonight, reading inputs for cities that I know and love, and wondering just what has gone wrong with people who do nothing but visit Orlando. As an aside, since no one is really listening, I'm perfectly happy strolling through the inner 'despair' of big cities; that's where all the good clubs, restuarants, CD shops and characters live. Maybe I shouldn't feel so safe, maybe my mother would disapprove, but I've been doing it for as long as I can remember; from the days of the riding the train to Chicago, and my ever-growing love of that city during every visit, I've always been happy enough with the grit and grime of big cities. In the long haul maybe I'm a more comfortable person within the bounds of a city than those who haven't been through Chinatown on a Friday night. The jump-off to this tirade was inputs about San Francisco and the hazards of the inner workings of that fine city. The first thing I thought about when reading the horror of crime in the Bay Area was a discussion I had with Sarah when we were there last year that covered keeping your wits, enjoying the city, seeing how much life changes from block-to-block, and about what can go wrong in people's lives. We wish it weren't so...but shit goes bad for some people; they lose jobs, their homeless, and they look frightening most of the time. This conversation had hardly ended when we came upon a horrific argument amongst a homeless couple enroute to a coffeehouse (we were enroute, not they). Point made...loud and clear to her. That night we went down SoMA-way (the south of Market St. area) for a one-man show about the horrors of teaching school in the inner city.; if I'd only read the reviews on virtual tourist about that area, "STAY AWAY from SoMA! it's the third most dangerous part of the city!". Hmm, didn't know that then; we walked down and back with caution and well survived the evening. The next night, of all things (!), I dragged her down to the Tenderloin District (virtual tourist input: "Almost the MOST DANGEROUS part of the city! DO NOT GO THERE AT NIGHT!") for the Old Crows at the Great American Music Hall. From what I can discern, the Tenderloin ranks behind only Hunter's Point for death, murder, rape, pillage, plunder, and the overall horrors of society. And I was thinking of Hunter's the next night! (kidding.) I'll readily admit that the T'loin can be off-putting but it's certainly not Dante's Inferno. Maybe I should consider the name virtual "tourist" and understand that it's mostly written by the Hilton-resorts-Disneyland-Red Lobster crowd. Fortunately, I've got a bit more grit on me than the nice hotels, tourist traps, and worries about evil all around us. London had very similar inputs...as did Barcelona. Barcelona? Barcelona is like Des Moines for crying out loud; that put me over the top. Don't think I don't know...I see you thinking it...yes, I'm tallish, I'm male, and for some reason (proof never provided) nobody seems to want to eff with me. I'm well aware of that; I'm also well aware that it's a usually your comfort level in any city that makes you safe. To think that size matters, in the end, is a bit inexperienced. It'll be hard to convince me that SanFran isn't the best American city. I know it is because I doctored my test results to fit my needs.

A lovely weekend to all.

(p.s. up there ^^^ is a view of the Tenderloin and a shot of the inside of the Great American Music Hall)

tx

doing good; doing nothing

There was a bit on NPR last year during their "This I Believe" series on Monday mornings (I've downloaded the best of NPR 2005 on Podcasts). The premise of the five minute spots is to allow famous, and unknowns alike, a chance to pass on life's nuggets of wisdom. Some of the pieces can be a little overwrought for my taste but others are more pertinent to everyday life. I've been rolling a phrase around in my head for many a moon, trying to get it perfect, as a phantom response to an unknown person asking why I might be doing something: bringing bags to the grocery store, not driving a SUV, recycling...that sort of stuff. It's not perfect yet but it goes something like, "I may not be the solution, but I'm certainly not part of the problem." The way I riddle the issues of the world is that we may not know the answers to the ills of every neighborhood or country, but we can certainly avoid adding our own flames to the fire. Diedre Sullivan was the contributor and her take concerned funerals and the lessons she had learned from her father. She was a teen at the time and remembered her father telling her that she needed to attend a viewing of her fifth-grade teacher. She didn't want to, though she'd been to funerals before, because it just seemed a bother. She was the only child at the viewing, passed some lame words to the widow, and later came to know her better. The widow never forgot that she'd been there, and how thankful she was to see one of his former students. It mattered. Ms. Sullivan later realized that sometimes there are things in life that we don't want to do: attend funerals, help people, visit someone in the hospital when we don't seem to have enough time, and any other 'time-consuming' functions that show even a little side of us. Lessons learned...and an idea that her life isn't a battle between good and evil, she says that's too dramatic; but a tug-o-war between doing good and doing nothing. The things we don't do don't make us evil, or lazy, or lost...they just aren't done. The stuff we do has an effect on everyone around us. Such a simple idea.

If you have the mind, and the ability, to listen to online music, I'll throw out the Flogging Molly instudio performance at the Current in Minneapolis. They're a lovely 'irish' band with fantastic tunes.

Flogging Molly in studio

(scroll down to Flogging Molly)

xxx

T

latin maxims

Sometimes the law provides something beyond good guidance; dig far enough and there's some laughter for the rest of us. I know it's not fair to segregate the population into lawyers and us, we'll probably be sued for being discriminatory; but facts is facts. The hard part is sorting why the practice of law seems so different than any other; a career that's based on arbitary assumptions and opinions. Actually, I think I'll pitch the psychology and sociology fields into the breach as well. That'll be quite a disturbed little room of opinions. Doctors seem different, a little more scientific and anchored in facts, symptoms, things we can actually see by "looking with our eyes". The law posse is really just a group that have ideas about what could be right, could be wrong, could be agreed, disagreed, argued, published, decided, not decided, adjudicated and all the other stuff we did in kindergarten. Sometimes the playground monitor came over to help solve the unsolveable mystery of whether or not I had called Scooby-Doo before getting caught in a rousing game of cartoon freeze tag. There are utterances beyond those put forth from the high bench that just as effectively decide an issue with the finality any of us might need. It seems as if any judge (or playground monitor) could easily add these to his repetoire of courtroom utterings and get by just fine. Examples? How about Buzz Harrison's response to the "Have you seen (fill in the name)?" / "What happened to (fill name)?" query; "...he went to shit and the hogs ate him." For just a second you pause and wonder...what the hell does that mean? A quick second later and it makes perfect sense, no more questioning required. A scintillating combintion of "I don't know" and "I don't care". I say it compares favorably with overruled. What about Dave Porter's brilliant utterances, "build bridges not walls" and, "don't hate...appreciate". That's solid playground, or courtroom, legal advice if I've ever heard it. I can hear AGAG uttering either of those while being grilled by any number, and there have been a number, of Senate Committees. In the movie Fargo, William H. Macy's character blurts out, in the middle of a very confusing scenario, "What the Christ!". Indeed.

prosecutor (P): "Your Honor, I object!"
judge (J): "What the Christ!"
(P) "Well, your Honor, I think the defense attorney's question has no effect on this case"
(J) "And how is that you think it's beyond the pale of this case?"
(P) "Well...what about Supreme Court Justice Thomas' opinion in Doolittle v. State of Georgia? What about Justice Thomas?"
(J) "Thomas? Went to shit and the hogs ate him. Overruled."

Just as I said.

There is actually a legal phrase that cuts to the chase and I've got to throw out a bone: "res ipsa loquitur". Roughly translated it means "the thing speaks for itself". If I have this right in my pea-brain it means that there's only one possible solution to a case and the evidence presented. There is no other way the event could have happened and it doesn't matter how it happened; it just is.

(P) "Your honor, what do you mean by that statement about Justice Thomas.
(J) "Res ipsa loquitur"

I have some more cleaning to finish. I've no idea what that all means.

love to all,

t

early 40s

A birthday weekend out West. I pulled into Reno Saturday afternoon and settled in for a Todd Snider show at the Nugget in beautiful downtown Sparks (suburb of Reno). Stayed at the highly entertaining, yet trashy, Silver Inn. That's not fair...it's clean, cheap and very well run. Close to what I want and generally a great rock hotel. A quick dinner at a microbrewery between the Inn and the show at Uncle John's Celebrity Showrom. Here's the kicker...a fantastic 90-minute set by Todd and the Nervous Wrecks that exceeded even my expections. An unbelievable band, an entertainer of the highest order, beers, and great seats. Made me wonder about the best shows I've seen...the ones that made me SO very happy. I kept waking up and trying to plot it all into a list that boys so love. Really. Live shows are what make me tick and I'd be happy to drag anyone to any live show and then stare deep into eyes to get a feel. Nothing turns the human like a live performance...nothing. What I decided wasn't so much the 'best' shows, but the most influential: every Slobberbone show was in the top five (that's them to the left) but only one counts. Here are the specs:

1. Old Crow Medicine Show / The Borderline, London UK - So many factors fall into this ideal: I flew back to England for a five-day weekend with Christine. If you must know, the smell of Heathrow, the knowledge that I could buy the Independent, the thought that I was finally back home, and the inkling that she'd show up only adds to the brilliance. The Borderline is my all-time favorite venue, the beer is great, the Crows are the best...most importantly, we sat there laughing, kissing, and being extremely cool. The dinner that night was 'stumbling fabulous'. If you must know, the first night in town we saw the Royal Shakespeare Company perform 'Hamlet'. Getting from 'Hamlet' to 'Wagon Wheel' says it all...the most memorable night of my life.

2. Slobberbone / The 400 Club, Minneapolis, MN - The end of the greatest band of all time. Brent took the boys on the road for a final six dates...we knew it was coming but it didn't make it any easier. I flew to the Cities for the show after Skip procured tickets for himself, his sister Dana (I still see her as a 14-year old), and ME. The opening band, Two Cow Garage (great in their own right), had a van breakdown somewhere in the upper Midwest so the boys came out early and did almost three hours of the best music you'll ever hear. Brent was tuning his axe while I screamed out, "Where's the banjo?", to which he replied, "in pieces on my kitchen floor." I got an answer from Brent Best. Brilliant. I have blog entries to come that deal solely with his lyrics.

3. Tift Merritt and Tres Chicas / Slim's, San Francisco, CA - I have a undying love for this city and this was a fantastic show. The Chicas opened with some ungodly harmonies...stuff to make your hair stand on end; beautiful songs. I didn't want them to go, but they did...and were quickly replaced by Tift and her band. I'll never in my life see a guitar playing, tambourine banging, ass shaking artist that has more sex appeal. The band was from rock n' roll central casting (aside from the bass player) but they were something.

4. "Rock for Karl" / Quest Club, Minneapolis, MN - October of 2004. Karl Mueller was the bass player for the seminal Minneapolis band Soul Aslyum. Throat cancer and pile of medical bills brought on the idea. You see, for those of you from beyond the Plains of America, Soul Asylum was one of the pillars of Cities music. It's impossible to pass on the idea they represented if you weren't there...but according to CitiesSkip, in their prime they were the best band you'd ever seen. The lineage of The Replacements/Husker Du, Soul Asylum, the Jayhawks, Gear Daddies, Run Westy Run, and Golden Smog is a run that may never be duplicated. For Paul Westerberg (the 'Mats), Bob Mould (Husker Du), the Daddies, Smog and Asylum to get together for one evening in salute to Karl is an amazing thing. I flew in for the single night of rock n' roll. Nothing will ever match the vibe of the Cities from the late 70s to the early 90s - a time and place that is only there by dumb luck. Karl passed in early 2005...a salute to the brilliance.

5. Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band / Earl's Court, London, UK - (What a crap venue!) Hard to really get the nuts and bolts of this show into words. No doubt two decades later than I would have like to see him but I finally got the chance...and it was with a British crowd. I've never seen so many people lose their minds at one song....the opening chords of "Born to Run". The lights came up, and at that moment, I knew what rock n' roll was all about. Sometimes his music seems like too much to assimilate; I wonder if I can take in everything it represents, but in the end I succumb to the sound. Any thoughts that make you wonder are lost; just trust the music.

Honorable Mention:

Dave Alvin and the Guilty Men / The Tarbox Rambers - The Hacienda, Reno, NV
Lucinda Williams / The Fillmore - SanFran, CA
Steve Earle and the Dukes / The Corn Exchange, Cambridge UK
Chuck Prophet and the Mission Express / The Hacienda, Reno, NV
The Be Good Tanyas / Union Chapel, London UK
Bellwether / Robert McCreedy - The Borderline, London UK
Bastard Sons of Johnny Cash - The Zoo Bar, Lincoln, NE
Los Lobos - Caesar's Tahoe, South Lake Tahoe, NV
Lyle Lovett and his Large Band - The Nugget, Sparks, NV
The Uptown Rulers - Iowa Memorial Union (circa 1984)
Todd Snider and the Nervous Wrecks - The Nugget, Sparks, NV
Joan Baez / Steve Earle - Hawkins Amphitheater, Reno, NV (Joan had the best band I've ever seen...)
Emmylou Harris / Buddy Miller - Hawkins Amphitheater, Reno, NV

That's that...come hear the music.

When the attorney general of the United States suggested, before a Senate Committee, that anyone who questioned anything the government did in the name of Homeland Security was, "aiding and abetting terrorism"; Sen. Patrick Leahy said, "Well, Attorney General Ashcroft has the same First Amendment rights as the rest of us."

Tx

a matter of degrees

There's a pic of James McMurtry's axe from the Friday night show in Reno.

These seeds were planted last week after hearing some of this, and a little of that, during my routine little life. What exactly is a demonstration or protest? Really. Before anyone gets too riled up, let me clarify that I think Cindy Sheehan has lost the plot. I don't know if she ever had it, but that's another story. I'm going to lump her, in this instance, with the Senator's wife that also chose to wear a t-shirt to the State of the Union speech last week. Apparently there's a law that forbids protest/demonstration on Capitol grounds. Apparently the Capitol Police have no idea what the law actually entails. Granting them the benefit of the doubt for now, does a t-shirt signify a demonstration? A protest? Neither women wore shirts with profanity or egregious examples of libel. (Bad taste in semi-formal attire is only a Joan Rivers law.) Both were asked to cover up the t-shirts (Sheehan's asking when the war would end and the Senator's best gal's supporting the troops), both declined. Both were escorted from the upper gallery prior to the speech. We're not talking unfurled banners, disruptive behavior, yelling, screaming, or rotten tomato-tossing. I'll ask this; what if I had an anti-war organization that sported little purple ribbons? What about the swank lapel flags worn by everyone in D.C.? Are those protests one way or the other? What if I don't clap at the appropriate 'applause' sign during the President's speech? Is that a demonstration? A protest? The hackneyed decision to make either woman leave is a VERY sad commentary on the way we see our country. Don't even think about the 'what if they went bonkers during the speech' argument...our country wasn't settled on the presumption of something happening. Seems a matter of degrees.

Marlon Brando to Kevin Bacon...go.

Marlon Brando to Robert Duvall in The Godfather; Robert Duvall to Nicole Kidman in Days of Thunder; Nicole Kidman to Val Kilmer in Batman Forever; Val Kilmer to Tim Robbins in Topgun; Tim Robbins to Kevin Bacon in Mystic River. Voila! Six degrees of Kevin Bacon.

....matters of degree.

T

triage; you win some, you lose some

It's a busy ER these early days of aught-six. Blustery overnights outside and hung storms in the Sierra making the staff wonder just what's coming next. Before you know it you're stuck sorting out what goes and what stays. Look around and pull any available body to serve as triager (yes, I made it up) to make those hard decisions. I'm looking both ways, eyeing the new stuff of '06, and can easily move from chair-to-chair and delineate what's 'in' and what's 'out'...so to speak. Isn't it like the much ignored rule saying that if you bring something into the house then something must go? (Children are generally excluded.) I've made my in/out, thumbs up/thumbs down, love/hate decision; I've been in the trenches making the hard choices. You don't know what it's like...

One word for the keeper: podcast. I'm embarassed at how often 'pod' and 'tunes' appear in my postings but I can't help it. Since my computer / music / iPod / life are finally realigned I've taken on podcasting. Let me say this: podcast. I can download all my favorite stuff from my favorite stuff: NPR's 50 memorable moments of 2005, Seattle's own KEXP's 'music that matters', The Current's 'musicheads', and Paste Magazine's Culture Club. It's TiVO for the ears and it's fantastic. It won't be long before sitting by the radio on Sunday mornings turns to listening whenever I want. Podcast. Genius.

The loser? My local coffeeshop has changed hands as Corie got some crazy idea to sell and travel the World for a year. What does a 25-year old know? Nothing. Well, she does know something but I can still stamp my feet. She sold to a local couple that don't have nearly the vibe of the old days. They still have music on Friday's, the staff is adequate, the coffee seems okay, but it's not the same. You can't take Patton away and expect the Army to be the same, right? No idea where that came from. Maybe it's better in the end since I'd been seeing Bibo Coffee in Reno and feeling a little guilty. Maybe I knew it was coming. The end of the road for Jive n' Java and me. There's a picture of the Jive Thru up there.

Great live music strolling through the Reno/Lake area over the next six weeks. It'll center on a night with Todd Snider and the Nervous Wrecks down in Reno on my bday eve. I'm sure silly reports will be posted.

Tomorrow is Thursday and I don't even know what the cafeteria is serving.

T

nuts and bolts of anger

It was only 8am when the phone rang and fifteen minutes later a 'truth' was laid upon the world. Actually, that phrase will seem much funnier when you're done reading this blurb. I'm not how it all started but it seems a little bird commented on how we've lost so many of the most basic abilities that were common early in the 20th century. As examples you can look at anything falling under the banner of "do-it-yourself" these days: woodworking, automobile/carriage repair, basic home improvement, welding, herding, harvesting, roofing and any other thing I know I can't do. At some point we, we'll call us the industrial people, we've acheived a point of financial saturation where it became easier to just pay someone for the task; we didn't have a need to learn the basics. (Beware of the segue, it's a-comin' up the track.) These days, In order to learn how to do something, we're forced to buy a book and attempt to sort this from that; twist here and release the thinga-ma-gig before devoluting the bit you can't find. One of the problems one faces is there seems to be endless ways of getting the thinga-ma-gig twisted and released and everyone has an opinion on what's what. Ah, the loss of generational know how. This started out with woodworking and power tools and my contribution (much less D.I.Y. than suburban desire...) involved just how to get a perfect cup of coffee from a french press. I know, life altering stuff going on in my little house. If you must know, I yanked hard on the Google-lever, and much to my surprise, there's plenty of folk that have an opinion on the french press. I don't think details are required. Now we had woodworking and coffee in the thrasher and the realization that the number of ingredients involved (x.y,z), and the more options or desires for the finished product, the more intense someone will argue for his or her case. I mean, if nothing's known for certain, if opinion is the only 'final' outcome than people can babble on incessantly...and angrily. Into the mash came facial wash, the turning of nuts and screws, and religion; we've suddenly brought in the entire spectrum of human endeavor. Let's see if it makes sense. The more inputs and the more open-ended the result, the more intense and passionate the debate. I guess if these activities were put in some kind of order, from least debateable to most hostile, it would go something like: nuts and screws, french press coffee, woodworking, facial wash and religion. I'll leave the french press and woodworking position open since I can sense some debate. You never know, do you?

t

but it's not

I'm fighting the urge to stop typing. I'm listening to some Lyle Lovett and wondering how it is that we find ourselves avalanched by bad music. I guess it's media, it's Clear Channel, it's what we're forced to listen to during the commute from our point As to our point Bs. That's forgivable...but supporting such an idea isn't. How much do sounds affect my life? I listened to the Rose Bowl on the radio earlier this month and loved every minute, I listen to music every night, I've got some strange gene that makes me support 'sounds'. I can be cooking, cleaning the house, driving a car, dancing (badly) around on a Friday night...sounds are so much a part of my life; the music and rhythm of my days are so important. Throw in live performances that I chase like stardust and it adds up to a significant part of my livelihood; I listen to songs on my iPod before I take exams, I rolled-and-clicked to those same songs as I was walking to a plane and a mission that seemed too much to handle. I give music to people because it's usually the best I have to give. So much out there isn't worth our efforts.

What do I want for the New Year? I want to finish the perfect CD of music, I want all of us to walk down the street holding hands, I want the pressure of TiVo and TV to end, I want us to talk about the sounds of family and friends that move us. I want the end of the week to be a time when we laugh about how funny it was that 'you said that'; about the dinner that was so good; I want it to be about sitting around and talking of our lives and how difficult they can be..every single day. I want to know that everyone important in my life knows how much they've been an influence in what I AM. Sometimes it's hard, my music helps make it easier. I defy anyone to tell me that there aren't songs that are so ingrained, so much a part of us, that we remember them beyond anything in our lives. I want to hear those songs, I want to just listen, I want to know...

A belated Happy New Year to all.

Sorry, can't hear you over the music.

tx

hidden gems

The Holidays are over, girls back home, work to be done, school around the corner. For those not up-to-speed on my iTunes/music disastrophe I'll review. Early last summer I finally ran out of space on my harddrive, broke down and bought an sexy external number, and promptly made a complete mess of everything. To add misery to the pain, I was in the middle of selling all my CDs since they were no longer needed and were simply filling valuable space. The transfer to the new drive didn't work and I've since erased about 40GB of music (accidently) and been without any iTunes for six months. My computer wouldn't recognize my iPod and I couldn't transfer those 40GB of happy, happy music back to my computer. Horror! I'd resigned myself to keeping this iPod as is (a museum piece of music) and buying a new iPod to use in my daily life. (No comments.) My woes came up at work today and a co-worker suggested using some freeware that allows one to access any iPod and move everything onto any other computer. (Editor's comment: ALL my music has been legally purchased.) Hmm, interesting. My hopes were low, wrongly so, and I'm now happily moving my groovy tunes onto the new external...oh, joy. It'll take a bit but it seems as if all has been saved. My life is so very tragic. More soon.

tx

boy makes list

It's true; "Best of this" and "best of that", we can't help it. The wonders of the genome. It's that time of year when the yahoo music group starts to toss out our top ten CDs of the year. It'll all be correlated, tabulated, and put forth into a second round of voting for the overall champeens that I call the "Ommies". The whole process of voting sounds like a distant European election but the results are always excellent.

Just a start for tonight.

I had an inordinate amount of Ryan Adams today. First of all, I needed a new rear wheel for my townie bike "Dooley" (best bike ever!). I stopped in at College Cyclery on So. Virginia and promptly rolled my horribly mangled aft boot across the floor. The wrench working this morning, a dead-on Ryan Adams impersonator, said, "that thing don't even ROLL straight", and truer words were never spoken. After some twisting, banging, axle greasing, and all-around monkey business, I had a new wheel, two new tires and four tubes. Bingo. Back on the road for a brunch at Pneumatic Diner (up to number two on my all-time restaurant list) in downtown Reno. I diverged from the norm and ordered a Shredder Bazukka (third best on the menu) and listened to...an entire Whiskeytown (fourth best group ever) CD with Ryan Adams crooning away. Can't be any more, can there? Back to the car and the drive down to Soundwave CDs (best music store in town) for a look at the new CDs and a run through my list of 'to listens' (see above). What do you know but the new Ryan Adams (third CD this year) is staring straight at me. I'm sure you know the rest. Oh, and when the cashier girl rang in my order and punched in my phone number for my 'buy CDs get free stuff program" she asked if I wanted to use my $50 credit. What? I have no credit. The owner taps my shoulder and tells both of us that I'm not "suppose to know about that"...it's coming in the mail. Shopping local and hanging with the crew always pays off...

I'll be house and dogsitting over the next ten days. The girls (first and second best) get in on Tuesday...two dogs, two girls; seems fair enough. I'll have my cell...

Happy Hoidays to all.

x

t

black's

Will someone explain to me how my life has become intertwined with 'my people' in Reno and Christine? She's very pushy.

I have a very specific path that I run when in town on Saturdays. As long as I've been here I've chased the same rabbits, leapt the same holes, done the same thangs. I pitch my man-purse over my head when I wander into Soundwave CDs on West Moana. I have the discussion of upcoming shows with the (alledged) ingrate at the register. Yesterday we debated the merits of New Year's shows: the Blasters at Liquid Lounge in Reno (fifty effing dollars), or Chuck Prophet and the Mission Express in Oakland ($15). Hmm, $40 for gas...the Mission Express! You see, Soundwave ended up a part of a lovely (long distance) hunt that someone sent me on last year (who?). Also, I saw Chuck in Reno about this time in 2004 and pushed someone to see them in London three nights later. We have horribly goofy pictures of me with Chuck in Reno and 'her' with Chuck in London.

Before that I was in Dharma Books on the river. Christine wanted me to see if they had a copy of Black's (my thought exactly). There was a text fired back saying... 'dictionary', but it wasn't until I almost purchased the wrong Black's (rulings, not dictionary) that I was subtely guided in the right direction. Cheron (that's her on the right) didn't have any dictionaries but called over to the other locally-owned bookshop and found the fifth, sixth, and seventh editions available...and promptly had them put on hold. Oh, before I go on, you should know that when I walked into Dharma, Cheron greeting me thusly, "Hey. How's it going? How's Christine?" It never ends. Off to Black and White to grab a sweet copy of Black's seventh edition which cut my mpg back by about five. Why do lawyers need a whole seperate dictionary? The twenty volume Oxford ($1200 used at B & W) isn't good enough?

While on the river I stopped in to see the gals at Bussola. Hang on...the converation starts, "Hey. How's it going? How's Christine?" Really! She's never lived in Reno! She just another pretty face. Get over it! The girls at Bussola played in the hunt last year, volunteered to wrap and pack a 'pirate' book while we walked about in July '05, and generally are the coolest. I wouldn't be put off by a reference to 'Todd'...girls; can't do a lick with 'em.

Started the day at Pneumatic Diner with a plate of Huevos Rancheros. Fine. Yes. She's been there. Something about Sunday waffles, finding lost watches, smiles about the concert from the night before. I sat at the table reading the Times, glancing at the puzzle, wondering about how sweet it would be live near Tahoe: all the hiking, skiing, high blue skies, white-water kayaking. I remember walking down the street one night and some well-versed street person saying, "Hey, you two look good...have a nice evening..." I think it was her, not me, that drove that comment.

I stopped by the Nevada State Capitol as I headed back home. Gov. Kenny Guinn came out to say hi...the conversation started....nevermind.

and that's that.

t

but i must work

Near impossible to sort out what weekends are meant to be; relaxing, cleaning, crosswords, cooking, or combinations. In the end, what we choose to do on Sat and Sun reflects how we see life. Do we sit down and make sure we finish everything on our 'to do' list?; do we do some, forget others, and just get on with it? Is it a time of accomplishment or a time of just letting things move through the dynamic? I think I've got an answer...I have my answer. If you spent 48 hours pounding away at life, you've lost the plot. Life can be defined in so many ways...I'm using the 'todd' definition of "something that has to be done because someone told me it had to be done." Very simple. If you're spending your weekends traipsing down that little path...you need to think about the newspaper; think about a a long, easy breakfast with the ones you love; think about sitting on the back porch wondering when you'll get up to refill your coffee. "I think I should rustle up some grub for dinner. What? About three hours away? Perfect." Stumbling over a Will Shortz puzzle, listening to Garrison weave his yarns, checking on the plants, walking up the road to see of the horse and goat are still friends; nothing more, nothing less. I think it's a loss of time away from the world, and time with those very cool people in your life, that drives us down the road of misery. As Todd Snider says, "I'm only one man..."

Love to all. Come over for dinner on Sunday and we'll play games.

t

soup kitchen

Well, well. I recall chatting, not so many months ago, about how I felt Autumn in the air; the leaves changing and the fresh smell of MY new year. Now it's just a few weeks to official Winter, and my, how things have changed. Our second good snow of the year is fluttering down this evening and pasting the ground with a beautiful flock. Fallon actually gets very little annual precipitation (about 5"), so two snows by early December is near crazy. For those who get snowbound early year, you must remember that a 'snow' here is just a few inches on the ground...gone in a day or two. The Sierra, about 70 miles due west, gets dozens of feet each annum so the skiers have some resort. Funny enough, little snow up there so far; late openings at Squaw and Sugar Bowl with booming bases of 28". I'll be taking the girls up tubing over the New Year and I'm sure they wonder why sledding can be so difficult; after all, you've got to sit on your gigantic tube while the lift pulls you back to the top. Arizonans.

The kitch. Why make anything but soup when the temp changes? Exactly. Corey make some fab soup over Thanksgiving because you can't NOT make soup when the weather changes. You think it's a subtle thing, something you can control, but you can't. This house has been filled with sweet roasted peppers and a lovely lemon / egg / onion soup. Perfect.

I'll wander next week and find that thing who makes my life happy. The girls come out on the 27th and we'll spend a week doing all the cool stuff that kids do...okay, cool stuff that I do, which by default, is the cool stuff.

t

duds of culture

My chemisty professor, Dr. Vaz, Dr. Apollo Vaz, is from Pakistan. As Dave Porter and I sorted years ago, you have your cricket-playing nations of the world, and then you got the rest. The primary benefit of being a cricket-playing nation is your position relative to the Queen when Remembrance Day comes in November. Your emissary has a better seat...luxury boxes of a sort. A cursory review of wicket-loving locales: England, India, Pakistan, the West Indies, Australia, South Africa, Canada, New Zealand, Sri Lanka, Wales, Scotland. Yes, I'm missing some, but if you aren't on that list then the Queen isn't, or never was, your head-of-state. Not only do these nations compete at cricket but they blend very nicely into the atmosphere that is the business paperdoll kingdom of England. This isn't a good or bad thing, just an observation. The dress of professionals in England, and the cricketeers at large, is deafeningly similar. I'd say 'continental' but that's not right, nor true. Dr. Vaz dresses in that European/sub-continent/cricket style: pleated, cuffed slacks and open collar long-sleeve shirts. I imagine there's a tie while at hospital during the day but it's more casual in the classroom. The blend of colors is very interesting and something you cannot buy in America. Those colors remind of a 128 crayon box, not the horribly inadequate 24 or 48 that my kind get by on. This is stuff that you need a shopping destination of London or Islamabad to buy. I quite like it because it's so different than the standard Tom DeLay-power suit that thrives in America.

Boston is whole 'nother joint. I spent a fleeting few hours involved with Logan airport and the type of folk you see in the terminal. I think major airports represent a nice cross section of what you might see in the greater Metro area. I think I've the ability to eliminate those that are clearly imposters, visitors, and transients. Coming into Logan last week I decided that Boston is made up of professors (and their associated progeny) and punkers. London punkers, no less. You get a feel for both in the photos above. Speaking of duds; the baggage claim at Logan is the worst thing ever! My first movement through that airport and it jumps above Atlanta Hartfsield and the Phoenix AirGarage on my list of most awful places in the world. At least on my way out it was 4:30am so it didn't seem so bad....aside from the detour through downtown Beantown that takes you somewhere out somewhere....and then ceases to post signs. I ended up somewhere near the early stomping grounds of the New Kids.

I've a fine story about my wonderful holiday...

soon enough.

t

incognito

Add a long weekend in Omaha together with three nights of class back home and I've been away for a while. Laurel participated in her first wedding last Saturday. Her Uncle Geoff got married and she performed in the much acclaimed role of "flower girl". Since it was an Autumn wedding she was more of a "leaves-from-the-cornucopia" girl; either way, the Academy loved her. The snap above is her in fancy dress (sans accessories) the morning of the wedding. I'd taken her to the salon to get an 'up-do' that morning...amazing to see her whole face since she's very unwilling to have her hair up. We saw a movie, made salmon and pototoes, did her homework, practiced her clarinet, played games of chess, and generally had a hoot. She's just a hair shy of five feet tall, greatly enjoys school, and is more than happy to do whatever's on the agenda...such a great one. Funny thing about chess...she plays just like me. This isn't meant to be a genome discussion, but we both tempt the other into crazy moves that lead to seriously imbalanced play. Get the queen out, bring the bishops, rooks, knights...jailbreak! The pawns are merely in the way. One game she took my queen as I lost focus on what was happening, I got her back, then lost her, then got her back. Kasparov never got his queen back twice in one game. I guess we're better players; maybe we're more fun.

no such thing as a stupid question

The checkout clerk/bagger/high school graduate at the grocery store asked me this question as she put my loot into my canvas bag, "Why to you use these bags?" Maybe not...

them kids

I work with someone who bought my beloved Geo Metro two years ago for her 'stepson'. At the time he had turned 17 and just then procured his driver's license. Oh, the stepson bit. He wasn't the step back then, he is now, but at the time he was living with her while his father finished his overseas duty. At some point he got a new truck and the Metro went the way of the wooly mammoth, of the way of someone in Fallon who needed a very economical means of transportation. Moving on. Young man (dubbed Cabin Boy by your's truly) finished high school in the Spring and is waiting to start his military career in a few months. Over the summer he moved to his own apartment (bought my couch and entertainment center) and was set to revel in new found freedom. Fast forward to this week and a little update. He's been in and out of the house since summer, gone through some girlfriends, and decides on a weekly basis to just not get up and go to work. Apparently, it's too much work. I think he's worked every hourly job the town has to offer. His only responsibility is to pay his $225 truck payment to my co-worker (the loan is in her name)...that's it, nothing else. Well, she pays the payments every month and has grown weary of chasing him down for the money. Last weekend the ultimatum was issued: come to the house on Friday (tomorrow), by 5pm, with six months of payments (to cover him through basic training) or the truck keys. Pretty simple. As I do...I started the idea of having a BBQ at her house, starting about 4pm, and running book on the following: would he show? would he be early or late? would he bring the girlfriend? would he give her the money or the keys? check or cash? repentant or not? Lots of action all ways. So what happens? It's not Friday. Why am I typing? Well, Cabin Boy decides the way to make his feelings felt is to take his 10-month old truck out to the desert and beat the holy hell out of it. Destroyed. Unrecoverable. Just enough juice to get it to her driveway in the dark hours....where he leaves the remnants and the keys. Adjustors say it's a total loss...over $10,000 in damage. I'm gobsmacked. At the same time, I'm not surprised. Those feelings are strange bedfellows.

variations on the simple life

It's vitally important to understand that of the eleven folks in my office, ten drive either SUVs, mini-vans, or colossal pick-up trucks. In fact, amongst those ten, there are 15 jumbo vehicles tearing about the wilds of northern Nevada. (In case you're wondering, and you are, there are also two trailer-campers, one boat, two ATVs, at least three motorcycles, eight other cars, and enough armament to hold off Bolivia for a week.) It's math beyond the tangent of 270. Not really the point of the entry, but the numbers started crawling around in my brain and I couldn't expel them. Christine and the boys 'did' camping last weekend at Harper's Ferry, W. Virginia-Marlyand-Virginia and suddenly camping raised its silly little head at work this week after a question from a co-worker. To be fair to him, he's got a big ol' pick-up and big camper that he uses quite often...not sure how that gets him off the hook, but there you have it. Way back in early 2004 we had many a laugh trying to figure out the difference between (in his words) 'tent-camping' and 'camping'. Seems rather obvious, but it's another in a long list of off-beat descriptions that gnaw at me. If you'd like to know how my little brain works just think about fiction and non-fiction, and camping and tent camping. I'll explain just the one and let everyone scratch chins and think. Camping is, by default...camping...in a tent or in the open. The grammar of it SHOULD be 'camping' and 'RV-camping'. You can't take the original idea, repackage it by adding some adjective, and smoothly replace the original idea with the lazy idea. I'm sure everyone just left the blog...sorry. So. On Monday the good lieutenant was asking if anyone knew anything about batteries, connections, power, and other manly tasks required of manly men. I immediately offered up sarcastic advice that had nothing to do with my ability to do anything with tools, power sources, or directions; but it did offer a spotlight for my ability to pick up the male lingo (Holley double-pumper carbs, boring stuff out, brake horsepower, 220 or 221s...whatever it takes). Show me flatpack and I'm off to the library for a few hours of Latin study. Come to find out he's trying to figure out how to run batteries, power, generators, possible solar panels, and myriad other devices to/into his camper in order to...drum roll please....run the AC in the 35-foot luxury trailer. Now, I'm just one man, but I think you can sit home in your underwear, on the couch, drinking a beer, and have the same effect of 'camping' as you will in a 35-foot, three-bedroom, Manhatten apartment of a camper. As Kramer so beautifully said in a 'Seinfeld' episode..."I can't go outside. There's nothing out there for me!" How very true. I'm guessing we've moved to another level, another place in outdoor history....'tent camping', 'camping', 'climate-controlled camping'.

"Honey? Seems the camping gear is packed. Did you remember the 500-count sateen sheets, Chianti, and oysters?"

I jest, even if the story is true. And to be fair to X and the boys, they did camp in a tent on the banks of the Hoohah river. Thankfully, when all was unpacked, food was stored high on a tree branch (bears, you know), guns were loaded, and all seemed swell...a headlamp and a nice Consitutional Law book was pulled from the rubble to save the intrepid explorers.

hey to all.

t

abracadabra, voila, open sesame...

Everyone doubts the otherworldy around us. We doubt, yet we can't turn away from the approaching scent of mystery. A street magician tugs us close even as we try our damnest to walk away. Have you ever been to a restaurant that had table-to-table entertainment while you wait for your meal? That's probably a too-specific question so I'll just come right out and say what I need to say, tell what I need to tell. There was (still is) a Mexican place in Omaha called Julio's that had a very good sleight-of-hand magician on selected Friday and Saturday nights (he is the was, the restaurant is still there). He'd move around the place doing two or three very quick and deftly executed tricks before moving along to the next top. Not only was he a great trickster, he was hugely funny. (As an aside, his name was Pat Hazell. I can remember that because my friend dated his sister and he had finished second one year to one Jerome Seinfeld as funniest new comedian in America, circa 1982.) But back to me...in my house I have my very own tricks. Tricks that not only astonish and bewilder but also filly your tummy when I'm done. I'd certainly offer thanks to my magical mentor but I don't have one...my bestest monkeyshine is something dubbed 'magic' potatoes. The onset of this mystical doing came as I prepared some salmon and potatoes for Laurel way back when. (We've covered her love of both off in some other post.) The fish is easy enough, but it seemed to me that pototoes can be a little bit...bromitic: baked, mashed, french fried, boiled, on and on and on. I was overcome with the need for something different, easy, and appealing to the ever increasing loss of taste you get with those six or seven-year olds. It struck me as I stared at the new pototoes in the the stainer....slice, oil, salt, pepper, and in the pan. I thought some more, eyed my salmon accouterments, and suddenly I knew what to do....slice, oil, salt, pepper and in the pan. Crispy discs of delight with just the perfect texture and flavor for the fish. Now, I know that this is something that's been done with potatoes for eons and eons all across the galaxy, but the wonderment when people see it for the first time is just silly. I could just as easily pull a rabbit from the hat and get the same response. Laurel called on the phone Saturday evening and asked if the pototoes needed to be cooked before they were put in the pan. Cooked? Isn't that was the pan is for? It can't be...potatoes cooking in a pan! Shazam!

Many thanks to the lovely that gave the moniker "magic pototoes"...she had her doubts.

t

so it tumbles

Finally, the best season of the year is in full bloom. Get out the sweaters, nice jeans, and just-cool-enough kit...it's really Autumn. September and early October are all well and good, but Fall really kicks you in the behind between mid-October and the 1st of December....everything else, imposters. The leaves are getting raked and that strange smokey smell takes over the days. I don't know if it's burning leaves, burning old wood from last year, clearing brush, or whatnot, but it smells of Autumn. The last two weeks here have been beautiful and it's because the temperature in the afternoon is so perfect. I'll refine that; the temperature from 9:30A to 5p is perfect. I never felt that morning freezes and cold nibbles meant much in the grand scheme of things (tomatoes, flowers) simply because it's the brace of hours after sunrise, and few before sunset, that tell the mind and body all. How nice it is to wander over and close the windows about 6p; the feeling of starting a fire near dusk so the house is warm by sundown; that chill that sets in and makes you start thinking about the flannel sheets on the bed. I went out on Sunday and tried my best to get some pictures of the colors around town. Fallon is full of irrigation canals... it isn't so much desert as it is a green strip of agriculture across the high plains. Water flows with the roads and the fields are full year-round. Very East Anglia...pitch in the overcast and I'd swear I was back in England. A few colors in the picture for all to see. Wednesday always seems to end the week as my classes are finally done until Monday. My mid-week hopes are in Florida....

xxx for those that need them

t