synchronized swimming

After riding to work yesterday morning, soaking in the hot shower and then getting dressed, I decided my watch needed synchronization to the atomic clock in Greenwich, England. That was the first tick mark complete on my mental 'to do' list. It feels great to get off to a successful beginning on a beautiful Monday. Of course it IS Monday so there's a long road laid out before us...paddle paddle.

We're in the mirror of Autumn here in N. Nevada. Less the changing colors off the Fall and the everything else (temperature, smells of burning detritus, daylight hours, etc.) seems a perfectly reflected image. Along with the other myriad of happenings the water has started to flow through the canals along the roads and fields. This brings out two things: swimming ducks and fields being prepped for planting. Not all the ducks leave over the winter; maybe they do and other more northern ducks show up from the likes of Idaho and Manitoba, who knows. I'll miss the ducks. Sometimes the flock just sits there in the middle of the side road that I ride home everyday - not much traffic, no real worries. I foresee my much more urban, traffic-laden ride in my future and I'll miss the absolute crazy selection of animals I see everyday:

sheep
tons of horses
goats with stairs and ramps
peacocks
llamas and alpacas
osterich
ducks
one flock of geese
lots of cattle,
plus, all the dogs: the Stooges, Trey (the three-legged dog), Midge, Mop, Anthony and Jester, Shadow, Jackpot, Stan and Oliver, the Sandlot (too many in that lot to name!), Casper and his pal Casper II, the ever relaxed Ghost, and Bullet the Wonder Dog

(all names have been created to protect the innocent)

I made shitake mushroom and black olive risotto for dinner Sunday night. Risotto gives one a lot time to think while standing and massaging the doings in the pan. Dinner and (inner) conversation! I'm a perfect date.

My weekly recommendations include the new Kris Kristofferson CD; Good Night, and Good Luck; the New Yorker article on just how off topic those clunky frames in art galleries appear to be. At the National Gallery last month Christine commented on that problem...everyone steals all her grand ideas.

T

court of wits

Delinquency has abounded over the last few weeks, at least blog-wise. Maybe not delinquency perse, but laziness? a lack of typing abilities? the sunny days of Spring? a reasonable person? Not sure which story'll fly so I try them all. While working evenings a few nights last week (manning so much as 'working') I ended up reading (and rereading) the Supreme Court's decision in Georgia v Randolph. How this has come to pass is perfectly understandable when one considers the lethal combination of open debate, logical pursuit, and a squatter of my mind posing herself under the rubric of girlfriend. This opinion appears the first difficult decision of the Roberts Court; not merely the softballs of 8-0 or 7-1 decisions. I sense the justices were just standing around smacking tire irons into palms, begging for a chance to lay into the other end of the bench: philistines. When I read an opinion, dissenting or otherwise, that uses 'red herring' to describe the other's position I know it's on...'til the break of dawn. My seperately issued concurrence is this; I don't suspect anyone standing next to me, physically NEXT to me, can invalidate my individual rights. Seems simple enough, right? I did later see Shepherd Smith attempting to ask indepth questions concerning the ruling from an equally inept expert on CNN the next day...geniuses.

I'm booked into Omaha the week before Easter to hang around with a very cute almost ten-year old. Planning on a fancy dress dinner out on either Friday or Saturday evening. I'd say it's because she wants to get dressed up but it's more my inkling to get kitted out for a nice evening at V. Mertz in the Old Market. Does V. Mertz have hotdogs? I might need to call ahead.

I was off school this past week for Spring Break. I packed up the car and spent a week in South Padre Island picking up chicks. When you tell them you go to Western Nevada Community College (Go 'Cats!) it's like magic.

On my way out of the store this afternoon I overheard a woman scream the following at her young child as she got into the family car, "Why are you barfing all over yourself?" I'm not sure if it's a dumb question or merely a question that has no answer. Let the voters decide...

The retirement paperwork appears in order. I start the new job on June 5th.

Love to all,

t

play date

I've finalized my work come 1 June 2006. Unless I win the lottery I'll be at work on Monday, 5 June at a company in Vienna, VA. All that work stuff is rather boring discussion beyond the fact that I really enjoy the folks that work there, the office is nice, the work is what I've done for years, and I'm happy to finally move on to something else.

I sat the redeye into Dulles last Friday night and arrived well before the rest of the country was awake: 5:00AM (!) arrival in the Nation's Capital amidst the night cleaners who hadn't yet finished their work. Picked up my bags and headed east to Arlington and a short week of vacation.

What happened? Well, there was plenty of cooking: a zucchini pasta I'd been dying to try, a Sunday roast with a fantastic bread pudding for dessert, some drooling gnocchi, lovely crepes (that I quickly learned from Christine), stuffed french toast, lots of fruit, lots of veg, many variations of coffee (instant, press, cappi'), a mistaken lunch at Starbucks (not the lunch...the Starbucks), and some serious devouring of leftovers. Endless trundles through the kitchen make life worth living, it's the gravity of life. Sunday's roast was particularly enthralling as it reached apogee during Corey's impression of Johnny Depp channeling James Brown while character-acting during Pirates of the Carribbean. You had to be there; type can't do it justice. I think Kt was horribly embarrassed, and rightly so, but who are we to judge? Between Corey and I (manly competition?) there will be endless piles of food to eat throughout the week, particularly on weekends. Wander by if you need a nibble. (p.s. he's a much better cook...)

On Monday we metro'd to D.C. and caught the Cezanne and Frans van Mieris the Elder exhibits at the National Gallery. X and I (as Roman numerals we'll be know as Eleven...) agreed that Cezanne is on and off with his arty stuff. I particularly enjoyed his watercolors but the endless scribbles of the house in the south of France were a little boring. Anyone who knows me would bet that van Mieris would make me giddy (hmm, a 17th century Dutch painter? what?...) and about half his stuff was quite impressive; all so detailed and such lovely play on light. You'll be hard-pressed to undo my Dutch thing.

Christine was assigned the task of observing Federal Court over Spring break (along with the writing of a brief and applying for Moot Court) so we decided it would be easy enough to stroll down Alexandria-way for a day with the Federal District Court for Eastern Virginia. As we soon discovered, the place was locked down since Moussaoui is being tried on the 7th floor (can't get in there! see a definition of festival seating). We headed up to the 9th floor for five hours of the first case dealing with all the False Claims against the U.S. Government that ballooned in late 2003 after the war in Iraq ended. The company in the brig was Custer Battles LLC who had 'allegedly' (read: raped) overbilled the U.S. Government and the Coalition Provisional Authority for something like $20 million. These guys (Custer and Battles) are the worst kind of people...absolute whores. What I learned was how the system functions (I've always been suspicious), and had the realization of just how horribly you have to eff up before the bell finally tolls for your soul. I can't swear, but now I suspect, that you've got to be pure evil to find yourself before Judge Ellis III in Federal District Court. By default, if you don't find yourself there then it's a good bet you aren't what they claim. These two guys (Custer and Battles) were former Army Rangers who popped up in Iraq, winked the Army conversation line, flashed Academy rings...and promptly took CPA money that could have been used to buy bulletproof vests, armored vehicles, helmets, and anything else that could protect soldiers; soldiers that may have been their company mates, brigade friends, or battalion leaders. They were asses...to say the least, and I was quite happy to watch them burn. There's a whole other entry on their 'defense' attorney's closing argument; that'll come soon. This 'attorney' was the worst (within a my experienced group of one) representative for a client that I could imagine. As off the road as it seems, the Eleven will forever laugh about just how inept the defense attorney was...horrible; it's a verb now, "you've been Douglass'd!" As the wonderful New Yorker so concisely put forth; That dog won't run. This just in: Custer Battles was found guilty of fraud against the U.S. Government and sentenced to pay $10 million against the initial $3 million dollar contract. Justice served...

Podcasting as usual. Jay Farrar is on Paste's Culture Club and I'm loving the music.

I've got a house for sale...anyone looking?

love to all

T

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.