quick! put it together!

A quick update. The Caps won their first round series in seven games and there’s much happiness about the Metro area mixed with the knowledge that the Penguins are up next. I’m newer to D.C. but Washington and Pittsburgh sports fans (particularly hockey fans) despised each other. This is real border war stuff. The biggest stars in the NHL will be clashing over the next week to ten days; I think I’m ready.

There is a herd of transport involving G this evening. He’s due at the public library at about 5:30pm to put his Bionicle collection – actually, his own Bionicle creations built from the six million parts he owns – prominently on display in a fancy display case.* After that exhibit I’m running him to drama lessons (just he and fifteen cackling girls in the club) and finally to Gungfo lessons to finish the day. I don’t know how I got roped into being the suburban “soccer mom” dragging kids all over town in the Mercedes wagon. It’s really quite embarrassing. Sure, I offered to do it while X meets up with folks for Happy Hour after work but that doesn’t mean I can’t complain loudly.

The boys have been hired to walk and play with the dog of the former occupant of our house; he’s only moved down the street. I think he’s giving them $10 a day for the five days they’ll be working and all I can see in their eyes are spinning slot machine wheels and thoughts of new video games. I suppose I was like that when I took over some paper route that my brother had taken as a substitute and then passed on to me. Back then, I think I might have gotten $10 for an entire week – certainly enough to buy a whole box of football cards down at the Rexall.

We got a blast from a furnace front earlier this week and the weather was way too hot – just a warning about summer, I guess. It’s been rain and low 70s for the last few days so I’m much happier.

Nothing else on the horizon right now; at least not anything I can remember.

*Last minute development: Apparently the library has double-booked the display case and some five-year-old punk is already there with his “cars”. I told X to let them know that all they needed to do was walk over and tell the kid to pick up his stuff and head right on home. Easy enough, right? X said that what they really asked her was if, being the older and more mature entrant, G wouldn’t mind waiting until a later time for his shot at glory. Well, I don’t know…what does a five-year-old care. Fine.

t

me and you too

Good gravy, I’ve been a bit heavy on the news the last few days. It happens. I found out this morning that one of my favorites, Todd Snider, is coming back to D.C. over the summer and this has nudged me off the news for a bit. While I’m in the vein of musical thought I figured I’d throw out a video I’ve watched a number of times over the last month. I think I latched onto it while watching U2’s weeklong stand on Letterman when the new album was released last month – while searching youtube, I came across this gem. I haven’t bought a U2 album in well over a decade – no grand reason, I simply haven’t been moved – but I was a huge fan throughout the 80s and just maybe into the early 90s. This song, With or Without You was on the Joshua Tree album that was released during my time in Monterey at the very opening of my military career and I remember listening to it over and over on the Mazda 323’s cassette deck; Joshua Tree was a fantastic album. I still love the band, I think they’re one of the greatest to tread the stage, and Bono’s voice can still rivet the listener. Here’s the live version of With or Without You that closed a show at Slane Castle, County Meath, Republic of Ireland. Put on some headphones, crank it up, and enjoy one of the great bands doing one of the great songs…



“We’ll shine like stars in the summer night.
We’ll shine like stars, it’ll be alright.
One heart, one heart, one heart.”

t

we'll just fix that later...or not.

It’s not like this is much of a surprise. (There’s loads of Web chatter today on the same subject.) George Tenet was a seriously incompetent DCI; first with the ‘slam dunk’, and now this peek further behind the curtain. I don’t know much more about him, but I have watched and listened to a bunch of his ‘avert the blame’ interviews, and this simply cements his lowlight resume. This caper that led to the CIA, and military members, to torture would be comical if the result wasn’t so heinous. I was trained by one the psychologists named in this article – two or three times – and it’s hard to believe that the SERE leaders didn’t fight back harder. Even with that mark against the SERE record, the CIA, legislators, and OLC were delinquent in doing in even the most basic investigation or background work on what they were proposing. Could it be true that they had no idea about the history and success, or lack thereof, of these techniques? Did they not understand that what we use as training on US forces (and I had all of these done to me, barring the water board) was done in an academic environment with training provided and after-the-fact review? There were timeouts allowed. Very little was a surprise to us and there was a clear timeline for the end of each training session. No matter where one might stand on the issue as a whole, if you were in this situation and decided you needed to call in the OLC for an opinion on legality then you better have done your homework. What your mind is telling you is that this walks, talks, and smells like torture yet all you do at that point is sit on your ass, at a desk, and make up whatever suits your needs. It’s not a lack of knowledge that’s embarrassing - knowledge can be gained – it’s the straight-pipe sense of moral right that’s the problem. I don’t care if this was during a time when people were worried and scared – that’s why we have laws. It’s during times when common sense fails that law gives us guidance.

"you'd bitch if you were hung with new rope" - my mother

This interesting little nugget has somehow caught commentators and the public (as if commentators aren’t public) by surprise. During the President’s first complete cabinet meeting he told all his department heads and agency chiefs to cut back spending (or find savings) by a total of $100 million: basically, find some administrative areas they can be more efficient and make them so. Now, I’ll simply point out that there is a massive difference, in monetary value and importance, between the spending programs, budget, and the economic recovery bills so ridiculed as waste by Republicans; and efficiency of an operation or organization. If the military is going to have a budget of x trillion dollars and the big budget cut is going to be the $550 toilet seat then we've got some comedy. But, this $100 million dollars is a matter of streamlining what is required for administration and management for the departments and agencies – nothing more, nothing less. This isn't meant as a move that adds or cuts programs in the big "budgetary" manner – we’re not talking about cutting a fighter aircraft order; we’re talking about saving money on the process that orders the aircraft, see the difference? And it certainly isn’t a pathetic effort or ploy as assessed by Andrew Sullivan or Greg Mankiw. Going back to the $550 toilet seat that everyone hoisted in the air as an embarrassment back whenever that happened: we wanted – we needed – to complain about the $550 in the vein of pure waste, but now we suddenly find it laughable that $100 million in waste can be saved…and someone is willing to do it?

Look, this has been Obama’s character since the campaign. Remember way back when he commented that ensuring that your tires were properly inflated could contribute – along with other programs he sponsored – to increasing mileage and saving energy? Regardless of the fact that it may only increase mileage by 3 -4%, being that we import more than 20% of our oil used for gas/fuel, it’s a nice amount of savings. He’s always been focused on building a process that leads to an end goal and not dicking around with lightning rod tomfoolery. Remember the Clinton and McCain support for the summertime gas tax holiday? He didn’t bite because removing a gas tax for ninety days isn’t any type of fix or leadership, it’s pandering. What he’s building in his administration is the idea that we’ll spend money wisely from the very top down to the smallest agency. If they can spend $100 to do something that an agency has been spending $300 to accomplish then why should we guffaw at them merely because our economy is in the shitter? That’s some really crappy analysis by Sullivan and Mankiw. You know what you could do to make it really funny? You could relate it to a cup of expensive liberal coffee and then it’ll really get a laugh! Hijinks!

How about this one: that funny total of $3 in the average family’s savings over a year would only save you enough money for 10 more rounds of .22 ammunition for your rifle. Man, that is so funny!

Here’s the breakdown: this savings idea is the equivalent, in your household, of buying a plain label brand of NyQuil or plain label pain reliever. It always makes sense; in good times and bad times. We get the same actual ingredients for less money. That is a totally different animal then saying that you can’t afford a $60,000 luxury car and then settling for something in the $55K range. Can I put a percentage savings on the plain label medicine that makes it look funny in relation to a $55,000? I can. If you are saving $4 on medicine but buying a $55,000 car then it’s only a matter of about .007%. That person is such a damn fool.

Buy the NyQuil.

catty corner

We don't need to talk about the two opening playoff games the Caps lost at home this week.

Lemon went missing sometime on Friday and hadn't been seen or heard from until this morning. Needless to say, Pumpkin has been very distressed and on constant watch for the return of his best friend. We finally sent the boys out this morning on a reconnaissance mission - via bicycles - in order to eliminate a cat v. car incident. They weren't gone for more then ten minutes before H. sent word, via G. and his bike, that Lemon has been found - unharmed - not a block from home. There are some other folks who keep cat food outside and we think they probably she can't follow through on the wooing. X told me a few yarns about how their childhood mother cat would wander off for days in the springtime only to return knocked up and back to normal, so to speak. I went down and had a little talk with Lemon and she's seems pretty well crazed about such stuff but wasn't coming home with me. She'll no doubt work her way back home over the next few days and then I have a little talk with tramp cat. Unfortunately, we have no way of explaining to the distressed Pumpkin that she's fine and will eventually return to him and the huge couch.

I'm hoping tomorrow it's Friday because I'm ready for the weekend.

pop the cap

It’s the opening game of the playoffs for the Capitals tonight. The NY Rangers invade Verizon Center for the first two games (the second is Saturday afternoon) of the best-of-seven series. Nerves abound in the nation’s capital even though this shouldn’t be much of a test: the Caps should wrap it up in five or six games. But, therein lay the problem; the expectations are so high that anything other than a convincing win will be met with the end of times; or some such. The Caps system is very wide open offensively and they are susceptible to defensive breakdowns every game. The harangued poster boy for the team’s defensive miscues is always the goalie, Jose Theodore. I’m not one of the haters, even if X thinks he’s cute, so I won’t be overly hard on one player. Even with that, Jose will be on the hot seat throughout the playoffs. I’m calling for a shutout tonight to open the series.

Wish us luck.

state your case

I have no recollection of how this little debate got started last night. Really. I know that X didn’t have a book to read before bed – as if we don’t have books all over the house – and somehow we ended up determining which states had “distinctive shapes”. I, of course, ended up defending my home state as a distinctive shape. She, of course, declared everything west of Massachusetts as square. Here’s a collection of states. I’m not claiming “most distinct”, I’m merely claiming distinct and not square-ish. Damn east coast liberals.

planted seeds

Here’s a little insight into Justice Clarence Thomas. This may be the most I’ve ever heard uttered from him in any setting. I’ll leave my analysis to this: there is a difference between rights and the awe reserved for the dishwasher.

We had a pile of rain on Saturday (and I was working at the Library of Congress) so we didn’t get the square-foot garden* in order until yesterday. As the WonderTwins made a run to Baltimore to pick up children and mother I pulled out the tools and started getting the wood cut and ready for the frame. At one point I called X to see how she wanted the box configured – I knew it was to be 8’ x 4’, shush – and out of nowhere Corey showed up at the house with tools and tool belt in hand; sort of like a superhero. No real bother. I would have gotten there in the end but it’s much faster when the woodworker shows up on your doorstep. All the seeds have been planted and we’re hoping to take a weekly picture of the doings; if they’re interesting then maybe you’ll get a time lapse series of shots.

I flexed my manliness by sharpening all my kitchen knives and cleaning and restocking my spice and herb rack with a fresh batch of Penzey’s.

The NHL playoffs start this week – Wednesday for the Capitals – so the city is abuzz with anticipation. And, by “the cit”y, I mean the hockey weird-os.

It’s been awhile,

T

*As an aside, 600 lbs of top soil will give you about 6 inches deep over 32 square feet. I guess we could call that about 16 cu. yards of coverage. A train departs station A at 35mph at 1pm and a second train departs station B….

cubes of stuff

On Saturday night I created a stunning version of Campbell’s tuna casserole. Maybe stunning is too strong a word – I followed the recipe, sans chopped pimentos – and the boys set upon it as if a horde of locust. I don’t normally have luck with them when it comes to any mixed dish that doesn’t have easily identifiable parts and pieces. (I will admit that I added some shredded mozzarella to the recipe in order to tempt them with something a bit creamier; I’m always trying to sneak about the place.) There may have been a day’s worth of hunger hidden inside them but I have a different theory. Casserole. The boys have some upper Midwest (Wisconsin) DNA running around in there and I think this is just the first sign of those Midwest / Great Plains roots blossoming. X mumbled something about liking casserole when she was young while running the woods of western Mass but that’s just silly. They don’t do casseroles (or hot dishes) in New England; not like we do in Middle America. It won’t be long before I’ll try again on the meatloaf with a side of green bean casserole; the classic green bean casserole didn’t make much of a dent the first time around a few years back. Maybe I can round out the menu planning with scalloped or au gratin potatoes. Oh, I can open up with a lettuce, cottage cheese, pineapple ring, and mayonnaise salad. Those Midwestern eating desires will eventually catch up with them. The next time I make the tuna I think I’ll add the Ruffles across the top in lieu of my healthier version with just bread crumbs - chips on food!

While I was trundling about yesterday afternoon the little missus swung out to various points in NoVa and gathered 640lbs. of topsoil, peat, some wood, and some other junkity-junk I don’t remember and now we prep for some square-foot gardening at the top of the driveway. I’m planning on unloading the Merc this evening – so it’s at least drivable – but the rains have come and that may be on hold. Over the last week there’s been a good bit of arranging of seed envelopes on the kitchen peninsula and mumblings about whether capsicum and alliaceae can co-exist; some strange alchemy that sometimes escapes her mind. I’ll tell you my opinion on that, no idea. I am, however, quite interested in working the garden of little one-foot cubes.

For those of you not on Facebook, I took some quizzes last week and apparently if I were a Supreme Court Justice, I’d be Ginsberg; if I were a legislator, I’d be Pelosi; if I were a movie star, I’d be Grace Kelly. Take those for what they’re worth.

Hey.

consider your license suspended

So, here’s my daily issue – eventually, it had to come to this. When I drive to work I go through this intersection every morning (pardon my crap drawing, I did my best). I’m traveling in the lanes at the bottom of the picture and moving from right-to-left toward the #1, #2, and #3 lanes from where I’ll turn right: #1 and #2 are both right-hand turn lanes and labeled as such on the road. Also, when you’re sitting at the light there are signs above the signal that indicate that lane #1 is right-turn only (available on red), and #2 is either straight or right turn (no right on red, just so all the drivers know). The issue here is what happens through the turn? Or, more pointedly, what the hell should happen through the turn? Everyone, and I mean everyone, that is turning right onto this three-lane road that disappears to the right of the picture knows that the #1 lane ends pretty quickly and will push you onto I-495 (the Beltway). What they're doing in the #1 lane is using the available red light to turn right when there’s an opening in oncoming traffic; the light here is very long and they are in a business casual sort of hurry. That’s fair enough, I’m cool. Unfortunately, once the right turn signal comes up for both lanes #1 and #2 we’re now ensconced in the full double right-hand turn lanes. I’ll tell you right now that I’m always in lane #2 awaiting to turn right because I need to go straight through in lane #2 and I don’t want to get pushed onto the Beltway. I also have no need for #3 - as if some dumbass would be turning from #2 and ending up in #3 – if that’s you, you’re a problem; also, #2 let’s me eventually merge into a new #1 begins shortly after that first one ends. So, here’s the damn problem: every time I turn from #2 and stay in #2 I have some jackass from #1 who really wants to go straight ahead and is just fucking rolling into my car in lane #2 as if he owns the road; my turning parallel to him and staying in MY lane is apparently some sort of issue. I always end up giving said jackass a honk and he inevitably waves angrily at me for actually staying in my lane. Not one time have I ever had a #1 turner stay in #1 through his turn and then signal to slide over to #2…never. Am I crazy? Seriously. For those that are contemplating disagreeing with my tirade, I’ll ask you two questions: first, if this were a double right-hand turn onto a five-lane road, does the asshole in #1 get the first two lanes? The first three or four lanes? Second, If he can move from #1 to #2 during his turn, why can’t I just badass move from #2 to #1 through my turn and wave my fist at all the jerks in lane #1? Don’t you always remain in your lane through a turn…even if this were a single right-hand turn lane? The point is, is you’re turning on red from #1, while cars are coming at you in #2 and #3 from the left, you’ll stay in #1 to avoid getting t-boned. Doesn’t this all come down to the basic rule of not changing lanes in an intersection? I defy you to think about it and come up with any reason why you’d be changing lanes in an interaction, turning or not. I'm not saying you don't do it, I merely stating the obvious that you are wrong.

Damn it.

potting machine

(Sometimes you get archival stories...I keep them here for when I get old and crazy: read at your own risk)

I can’t believe it’s been eleven years since I hit the road with my friend, Buzz, for our first venture to the World Snooker Championships (we went the next year but it wasn’t the same staying in a cheap motel). About a year earlier I'd purchased an older Bedford caravan that looked a lot like this one with the intent of doing some caravanning around England; very English, indeed. Needless to say, the caravanning never happened and it mostly sat around – having completed only this journey before eventually being sold.

Way back in 1998, in order to attend the Embassy World Championships, I had to complete an actual paper application form for tickets; I’d mailed mine on the first eligible day in hopes of getting seats for the finish of the semi-finals on Saturday and the Sunday/Monday finals sessions (the second day of the final is always on the May Bank Holiday Monday). My ticket packet arrived a few months later and we were set – somewhat surprisingly – for all three days of snooker.

First, the Bedford. This little, old dinghy thing had the standard sleeping set-up with a dinette table turning into one bed and a second over the cab. The kitchen area had a small refrigerator (electric when in camp, propane when on the road), a two-burner stove, a small oven, and a radiator heater; all running on propane. If I remember correctly, we loaded up on Saturday morning with some bread, instant grits, eggs, milk, sandwich fixings, bottled water, butter, bacon, and Heineken: your basic guy weekend necessities. I also brought along the portable CD-player stereo since they didn’t apparently have stereos in Bedford caravans built in the 1980s. I stopped by Buzz’s to grab him – and his bevy of classic rock CDs – before heading out to the A1 and running north to Sheffield. The Bedford four-speed manual ran like a champ that day as we listened to some Sabbath (or any Sabbath family-tree band;believe me when I say I got a Sabbath family tree lecture) and imagined just how crisp the green baize would look when we entered the great Crucible Theatre.

The camp/caravan ground I’d found (I don’t know how…the Web was still a bit immature) was up the side of a steep and muddy hill on the northwest outskirts of Sheffield with nothing else around it. It took quite a bit of navigating to find - after driving past the bog at least once - and some quality driving to get the rig in and parked between the scrappy trees and mud. South Yorkshire is still a damp, cold place in late May and this was something we hadn’t really considered prior to the trip (see below: heater). The campground was probably half full with mostly tent and sleeping bag folks that were doing who knows what out in the cold and dirt. We had a power post for the caravan and a bathhouse about twenty paces away. Overall, it met our needs well enough since we were living large in the Bedford condo. I did feel a little bad each morning as we stepped from our warm cocoon – with the scent of toast and grits spilling out the door – and headed to the shower. The well-chilled and hardy north England campers would be hunched over small brews with hunks of stale meat in their medieval claws. Okay, not that bad, but it was dang cold in the mornings and I secretly admired their manliness as I ate my eggs and grits in the warmth of the camper.

Our first foray into the Crucible for the first Saturday afternoon session was amazing. The table is set in a pit so all seats have excellent views of the action; being that a snooker table is monstrous it shouldn’t have come as much of a surprise. You’ve got fully stocked food-and-drink vendors that ply a vast selection of sausage and/or ham sarnies and pints of beers – manna for snooker fans. Each session, which runs eight frames, can take anywhere between 75 minutes (if Ronnie O’Sullivan is playing) to 3 hours (if Steve Davis is very slowly ambling around the table). You can come and go between frames if you need to top up on beer but the place is absolutely quiet during play with only the occasional eruption of applause at difficult pots, great safety play, completion of a frame, and century breaks. We attended seven sessions over three days and watched on Monday night as John Higgins won it all for his first World title. We also managed, prior to Saturday’s play, to get then reigning World Champion Ken Doherty’s autograph as he entered through the player’s entrance. Damn snooker groupies.

Here’s what we learned on our first night of camping in the Yorkshire hills. The drinking of a good numbers of beers, playing Crib Golf, and listening to the Jerky Boys while sitting in a caravan in the north of England can be hilarity; maybe not to everyone, but trust me, it was stupid hilarious to a couple of half-loaded snooker followers. We were perfectly happy as our little heater kept plugging away and keeping us warm from the howling English winds while we played round after round of Crib Golf. The other thing is this: even though it feels nice and toasty when bed time arrives at 1am, don’t turn off the heat because you think you’ll be “warm enough” through the night. The Bedford is just a big sheet of aluminum bent into the shape of a box and boxy aluminum isn't warm. I was sleeping above the cab and Buzz was on the dinette-configured-as-a- bed and by about 3am it was freezing cold. Of course, neither of us were initially willing to get out from under any covers to save ourselves. I eventually, against the will of my shivering bones, managed to climb down and fire up the heater. Needless to say, the heater was hard at work all through our second night of camping.

By the time everything wrapped up Monday evening, with Higgins besting Doherty 18-12 in the final, we were packed up and ready to head home to East Anglia. We gassed the Bedford up, pointed south, and managed to make it home safely as the clock neared midnight. We made the trip up again in 1999 and 2000 (only having tickets for the Saturday semi-finals in 1999) but the Bedford was long gone by then. It didn’t have anything near the same feel as 1998 because we were limited to bars and the local Happy Eater for drinks and food – if you’ve never been to a Happy Eater in England, you don’t know garbage food from nothing. Looking back on that weekend in 1998 it was probably as much fun as you can have at a sporting event. I was at the Caps playoff games last year, and it was pretty amazing, but my love of snooker combined with a smaller venue and a crappy camper easily put it up at the top.

Maybe if the Caps win the Cup at Verizon this year I'll change my mind. Even with that, I might need to rent a camper and sleep out on 7th and F St. the night before to get it over the top.

my cult

I was able to watch Milk on DVD over the weekend; I don’t know that there’s much to say that could clarify either the symbolism or add to its laurels. I’ll leave it be.

What I will chat about is the documentary No One Said It Would Be Easy (in stores April 21st or purchased on-line here) that covers the life and times of the band Cloud Cult. I’m a huge Cloud Cult fan so the final result would have had to be horrid for me not to like it. The primary focus is on founders Craig and Connie Minowa and the life they’ve led from the band's formation through personal tragedy, and onward to some critical and public success. Craig, more so than Connie, is the driving musical force behind the albums and the years of endless touring. What he represents – in his mystical and powerful form of songwriting and performance – checks all the boxes on a survey of what I would love about a band I support; maybe a band I want to be in. The music is a multi-layered concoction that marries violin and cello with more common band instruments and Minowa’s powerful storytelling lyrics. I’ve never quite figured out how to describe his somewhat orchestral compositions but the songs always feel as if they are about to lift off and orbit the Earth. The live performances include two visual artists (one being Connie) who create massive paintings on stage throughout the show and then leave/sell the art at the end; leaving behind pieces of the music, art, and love. They’ll be in D.C. in May and I think I’ll finally make a show after missing the two or three passes since I moved here almost three years ago. I think a camera might be in order.

(For my legion of followers, check out these dates in your area:
Monday, April 6th, 2009 @ Pearl Street, Northampton
Tuesday, April 7th, 2009 @ Paradise Rock Club, Boston

Wednesday, April 8th, 2009 @ Toad's Place, New Haven

Friday, May 8th. 2009 @ Neumos, Seattle
Tuesday May 12th, 2009 @ The Independent, San Francisco
Saturday May 16th, 2009 @ Plush, Tucson
Sunday May 17th, 2009 @ Rhythm Room, Phoenix
Wednesday May 20th, 2009 @ The Waiting Room, Omaha)

For those who I haven’t passed word to – mostly through my laziness – I’ll be starting school full-time in the fall at George Mason University here in Virginia. Sen. Jim Webb provided a lot of the impetus by sponsoring, and successfully passing, the new GI Bill that covers all in-state tuition, books, and pays a housing stipend that will actually allow military folks to attend full-time university. It felt strange filling out applications and writing an ‘essay’, but what can you do? I’m sure that my sterling transcript from the U. of Iowa, circa 1983-85 will stun them into submission; you know, you’re always going to have to answer up to your past. I can’t wait for the first big dance. Can I rush a fraternity?

Everyone here is doing well.

Love to all.

t

revision

The old North Park crew enjoyed a boutique dining experience (their phrase, not ours) at Farrah Olivia last night. The event was a set menu four-course dinner that included a passing session of instructional techniques by Morou, and assigned seating at larger tables – forced social interaction! Apparently, nothing brings out the social butterfly in Corey more than hanging around a bunch of strangers at dinner – he was a Chatty Cathy all evening. As far as the learning bit, Morou came out and did a demo on cured meats and smoking salmon (here’s a quick interview with Morou.) Since the menu included veal or duck breast as main options he was giving us a little background on how to give everything a twist – the twist is all chef’s are looking for in the long haul, according to him. He used tons of salt and sugar in the process and one of the most interesting notes was that meat will only absorb a finite amount of salt – you cannot over salt meat in the curing process…ever. You can over salt sauces, or the meat when cooking if you add too much, but not during the curing process; the excess salt will disappear into the grill or the pan. The sugar is used as transport for the various herbs and spices that will penetrate the meat. Seems simple, right? I never knew exactly how the process worked – it’s not magic? My claim to fame – in my own mind – is that I have the same smoker he used for salmon; a gas stove-top model that does great work. Dinner was superb, as always, and we still managed to get the cackling WonderTwins home by 10pm. The highlight of the great food was X’s tarragon gnudi (gnocchi) which may have been one of the four of five best dishes I’ve ever tasted. As a final note, Corey absorbed most of the Twins’ twee chatter on the ride home and I consider that a small victory.

The second review is of the documentary Man on Wire. It’s the story of Philippe Petit’s life as centered on his dream of walking a wire between the World Trade Center’s Twin Towers. The film turns to caper territory as you learn of the plan (involving about a half dozen helpers, archery, and business suits) to sneak into the newly constructed towers in 1974 with all the equipment needed for his attempt. The film is brilliant in giving you a combination of the fairy tale idea and the love he has for what he feels he needs to do. Through all the developing steps of the dream, and all the interviews with the participants, you never realize just how deep the fear of failure is for the supporting cast. Philippe seems resigned to what may come but the others were essentially standing on a sideline with little at risk, at least in the grander view and right up to the moment Philippe steps off the building. The emotion that overcomes them when finally talking about the walk – even 35 years later – is stunning. When they see Philippe’s face change as he recognizes that the wire is good, and what that meant to them at that moment so many years ago, is overwhelming. The black-and-white photos of that most grand of challenges will leave you breathless. In the end, he’s not so much heroic as he is mystical. It’s a near perfect film.

on line

After walking down to West Falls this morning to catch the number 28 to my cubicle, I once again encountered – or was reminded – of a pet peeve: bus jumpers without SmartTrip cards. Here are some important items to bear in mind: first, the SmartTrip card, which is good for most local buses and the Metro, allows you to merely swipe the fare box and move right along. Second, feeding in money – especially piles of quarters, dimes, or nickels – always slows down the process at the bus door. Don’t even get me started on people who haven’t crisped up the dollar bill via the fold / unfold / iron-with-finger technique prior to bus arrival. Lastly, it’s raining this morning and this may be the most important factor of all. There are about a half-dozen of us hanging around under the bus stop shelter when the 28T rolls up and opens its door. Of the six of us, I don’t think anyone has priority over anyone else – there’s not much chivalry in bus mounting, particularly when there isn’t actually a line already formed at the bus schedule post. As we all step into the rain and approach the door there are two passengers who aggressively slip in front of the nearest folk in order to make sure they are the first on the bus and out of the rain. You know what? I don’t mind that technique on a normal day but if you’re entering the fray with the rest of the customers during boarding then you better swipe your card and move along. Let me ask you a question, and there’s no need to answer aloud, do you think these first two people had cards or cash? Four of us end up standing in the rain while the first woman tries to figure out how much the fare is, dig out her Greek drachmas from the war, sort out which slot to put them in, and eventually decide which way the seats located on this newfangled bus contraption. The second in line decides she not only wants to pay her fare with cash (a ratty dollar bill) but she also decides to charge up her empty SmartTrip card, something she could have done in the station while we waited for fifteen minutes. Here’s the deal: don’t pole vault to the front of the line if you are going to hold up a bunch of riders. The four of us with cards would have been on the bus in a flash and the other two wouldn’t have noticed any real difference and could have stood there for a pig’s year messing around with the fare box while I read the gossip portion for the Express newspaper. (I just made up “pig’s year”, it means nothing, no need to wikipedia.) I guess I’m a cranky old man.

I had something else important but I’ve either forgot or don’t care anymore.

t

payola

This piece was passed to me by a co-worker after a lengthy market discussion we had last week. I think everyone should read it for the background, details, and ideas concerning how the markets were affected and some of what contributed to where we are right now. It's well written and does without the yelling, screaming, and preaching you often come across these days.

da plane, da plane

I wandered through the old Clarendon ‘hood yesterday because I needed to stop at La Chapparel Latino market to snag some queso fresco for the Anaheim and pablano chile stuffed enchiladas (most excellent, if anyone’s asking). The market has a small space just off the front of the store that used to house the wine with occasional wine tastings and Flamenco dance lessons on summer Saturday afternoons. The wine and ruffles have now been replaced by Boccato Gelato (they also do coffee but I can’t remember the coffee par of the name. Both the market and the gelato are just east of Wilson Blvd. and N. Edgewood, across from Whole Foods). The market owner told me that’d simply rented out the space to the new company and let them run down their own path. It’s a small place that’s full when there are six folks standing in line for service but it’s well worth the wait. They’ve got an excellent selection of gelato – which in my book, is way better than any ice cream ever made – and the price is respectable ($4.25 for two scoops). Fortunately, I had five bucks in my pocket because they don’t yet accept credit or debit cards. I went with one hit of pistachio and one hit of hazelnut; I’m nothing if not a nut-driven gelato guy. What they appeared to be missing were pans of fior di latte or riso, which are the classic Italian gelatos; if you can do those well, you’re golden. As I was paying my tab and heading out I noticed that the manager (or owner?) was wearing a Bottega Italiana t-shirt. Bottega Italiana is just around the corner from Pike Place market in Seattle and Sarah and I had some great gelato there a few years back; I’ve always remembered the quality there and I wonder if he’s spun off from Bottega or maybe the he’s the owner who’s decided to move east and expand. I’ll corner him next time and get the scoobies.

I learned this week that 2009 marks the 30th anniversary of the music CD. From what I gather, 1979 was the “date” of invention but the first release in stores wasn’t until 1982 (it was an Abba’s last studio album, Visitors). What’s interesting about the CD – by the way, a good bit of this was exposed to me by the Sound Opinions podcast – was that the CD enabled the music industry to continue to thrive for two decades, at just the point where it was probably beginning to sag. I think they said that something like 3.5 billion CD have been sold and a good chunk of that number must be made up of people repurchasing albums they already owned. If you think about everyone turning their album collections into CDs, it’s pretty mind blowing. Of course, it also unwittingly marked the beginning of the end for the big labels; the technology opened the door for every thing we see today. Quite an anniversary, eh?

My friend Buzz was in town last week and came over to the wilds of NoVa Friday afternoon. The two of us took in the Udvar-Hazy Air and Space Museum that afternoon – absolutely no crowds – he spent Friday night at the house, and we did some D.C. things early Saturday morning before he headed to BWI for his flight back to Dallas. The two funniest bits of the visit involved planes and pizza. First, the planes. For a couple of retired Air Force flyers, we know precious little about historical plane identification. Sure, we can point to a sleek, black jet and scream out “SR-71”; or look at a huge white vehicle and say “Space Shuttle”, like a couple of simpletons. Everything else? Good luck. As we’re walking around the place and spying any prop-driven WWI or WWII plane we’re just blowing out smoke saying things like “Is that a P-46?” – basically just adding any number to the letter “P” and trying to sound intelligent. I think every volunteer tour guide (usually someone around 60-years-old, British, and a plane watcher) just flinched as they listened to these two yobs babble on and on. Of course, it didn’t help that at every turn all Buzz could add to the conversation was a loud declaration, “Didn’t Pappy Boyington fly that?” What a couple of yucks.

Pizzagate didn’t arrive until about 8 pm as I’m pulling handmade pizzas out of the oven. I was admittedly running a little late and the natives were just bitchy: “I’m hungry”, “I’m dying”, “Hurry up.” The first thing I learn from X and Buzz, as they conversed like I wasn’t there in the kitchen, is that my only job is to cook the damn food and have it on the counter when they’re good-and-ready to eat. They don’t care if it’s cold because there’s a microwave right over there and they know how to work it – monkeys do have fingers. Apparently, I’m the only one interested in timing the meal so it arrives warm and luscious – they, are infidels. The second part of pizzagate was this: I made a full sheet beef, pepperoni, and black olive pizza; and a normal, square veg pizza for the Eleven. Here’s what I figured: Buzz is manly man from Texas, via North Carolina, and he wants meat on his pie. So, I make an extra large pie so he and the boys can eat away at the monstrosity. I dish up two big pieces for him to eat – which he sort of does – until he finally spits out that he’d rather have the veggie pie than eat the very subtle kid’s pizza. Well, whaddya know? Maybe you should say something instead of crying on the inside…think about that. Fortunately, there was some veggie left and he managed to eat a piece whilst still crying about this-and-that and already being full – like I need these two in my kitchen. Good for nothings…

I’ll let you go for know; consider yourselves updated.

get out your old pill bottle....

A few quick music notes: Buddy and Julie Miller have a new CD out, Written in Chalk, that’s full of great songs. I was playing it today, repeatedly, and at some point X let me know that she didn’t much care for Julie’s voice. It’s not surprisingly since I’ve always felt there was little doubt it takes some getting used to. I quite like it but I’ve been listening to it for 15 years. If you don’t like her lead singing then feel free to skip those songs and still be amazed at the talent that Buddy has for writing and playing music; and Julie for singing harmony. The second tip is the newest Derek Trucks Band CD, Already Free. Trucks is probably the greatest living slide guitar player – at least of those that aren’t on some street corner in Muscle Shoals, Alabama that we’ve never heard of. We caught him a few years ago in Virginia and he and his band are stunning. If you want to open up the windows this spring and kick back, you need some Derek Trucks.

My book recommendation, for those that love exploration, is The Lost City of Z by David Grann. The summary is that it covers the great explorations for a lost Amazon city – possibly El Dorado – that took thousands of lives and create a million myths. If you love stories of real adventure, get on it.

Spring is all about the joint and I’ve penciled in next Saturday as vegetable garden creating and planting day. I think X has some square foot gardening plan that takes full effect this year. I’ll do the weeding and cooking with herbs and veg…beyond that, I’m out.

I just got my $2.1m stimulus check in the mail today. Unfortunately, Pelosi and Reid have created a 96% tax on Todd’s stimulus check just to be constitutionally challenged, little bitches. It’s truly comical.

Love to all.

t

...everybody's got one.

While I was volunteering at the Library of Congress over the weekend there was a family of five (ma, pa, three kids between 5-11, or so) who stopped by the desk and inquired about directions to the Spy Museum in D.C. I immediately called upon my very helpful Todd and told them that walking north to Union Station and taking the Red Line to Gallery Place/Chinatown was the best option. Being that the Museum is just around the corner from the Metro stop – and there’s a nice selection of food in the area – I felt I’d fulfilled a very important tourist need. What I realized after spitting out this brilliant information, as if some autotron, was that the Spy Museum stinks. I took L. there during one of her visits and neither of us was impressed in the least. She’s perfectly happy to be a bit more restrained when reviewing places we visit but she didn’t think much of it and it was pretty high on her list of things to do. I passed along to mom that I thought the place was a waste of money (at $18 or so, per person) and that most kids probably wouldn’t find it terribly fun – there are some interview videos that talk about the usual FBI and CIA moles that were caught but it’s not something most kids would enjoy. The museum tries to make it fun – they certainly have external ads that make it seem like it would be fun – but the place is definitely not worth nearly $100 for a family of five. For the same price they’d be much better off doing the NewSeum in D.C. I haven’t been, but there’s an eleven-year-old in the house who raved about it for three days after his school took a field trip there. For about the same price, that’s a much better review. Of course, I told them that for free they could take the kids to the Air and Space Museum and would probably have a much more enjoyable time. As I was finishing my little ‘summary’ of the place I realized that maybe I was being a bit too judgmental (just like I am with movies, music, Celine Dion, and my friend Buzz’s movie ratings.) It was then that the patent attorney who always works the desk with me – and who’s lived in D.C. for thirty years – pipes up with “I’ve never heard anyone say anything good about the place.”

You want to know what brought this up? How about this. Someone at CNN is writing stories based on tour books.

Just put my good deeds on a Tiffany gift certificate.

whack jobs

I was listening to some commentary this morning about the various state governors either refusing stimulus money in whole, or wanting to move the money from one program to another. I’m of the opinion that governors probably have a better idea of where their state might need funds but, unfortunately, it becomes a problem when stimulus money is just passed out to folk and they are allowed to do as they please (see: AIG). If a federal stimulus plan is based on the ideals of the administration and congress in charge then it’s going to lead to some gnashing of teeth on programs. Clearly, the Obama plan is to build infrastructure, education, support unemployment benefit pools, and hopefully reassess and support the mortgage market. If, as a governor, you don’t agree with that, so be it – make a rational argument. But if you’re Mark Sanford (S.C.) apparently your input is that the stimulus package will lead to “debt” and “higher taxes” As Seth and Amy might say, really? If you want to push back, not take money, request to move money, or fight for your people….do so, just don’t look like an idiot. How exactly does he think it is going to work? I’ll give Gov. Sanford a story problem: you need $100,000 to get yourself through a year of your life but you only earn $70,000 a year and you can’t sell your house because the market’s for junk. What are you going to do Mr. Man? You either need to bring in more money or you’ll need to borrow. Or, if you’re Mark Sanford, you complain that living with less than you need can’t possibly be remedied if those are the choices. Sanford is nothing but static gumming up the airwaves. The state of South Carolina requires more money than they are bringing in and they’ve got a few choices: cut services, raise taxes, or increase debt. Take your pick as opposed to saying that your choices are cutting services, raising taxes, or increasing debt; that’s actually the question, not the answer. If your state’s unemployment benefit pool is almost empty and you are offered help then you should probably take it. Yes, I understand that the money won’t magically be created down the road; it’ll have to come from higher taxes and it adds to the debt – do you think you’re telling us something we don’t know? And if I may, finally, I’ll add that Sanford is a Republican – a hack Republican, but a Republican, nonetheless – and his party has spent hundreds of billions of dollars that the government didn’t actually have – we also call that debt in the liberal movement. In order to pay back this debt….they cut taxes. What? Let’s see: I ran up my credit card with more than I can afford and I think the best solution might be for me to quit my job and cut my revenues; excellent plan. That’s that, I guess.

On a lighter note; sports fans are nuts. I’m a huge fan of a number of teams – most don’t win many championships – but I don’t think that I ever get completely thrown off my rocker. Some of the Capitals fans who “contribute” to the blog at the WaPo are seriously crazed people. (The Caps have had a very uneven start to the month.) I actually think there are old coots out there who think they should win every, single game – it’s mind-numbing. Maybe I just shouldn’t read the blog; there’s a solution.

My cat, even though already demanding more than is necessary, has decided to actually speak to me when she wants her pets. She used to just climb up on my lap but suddenly she’s taken to making noise prior to arrival and attacking my hand with the top of her pretty little head. I didn’t ask for any of this…

try this on for size

This has been rattling around in my head all day – and it’s something that my baby passed along last night – no doubt after our very in-depth Ethicist discussion about contractors and sub-contractors. I’ll try to recreate it as best as I can recall. Most people tend to marry and/or date those that are similar to what their life has presented them as they grow up. There’s no doubt some association between your girlfriend or wife, and where and how you were raised. What this leads to is wondering about Barack Obama. He was raised primarily by his mother and her family in Hawai’i – a place I’ve never been but I’m doesn’t have a huge African-American presence. He was raised by a white household with very little presence in his house from the black community. Being that he’s mixed race he could just as easily ended up marrying someone white; in fact, that may have been something more expected based on his life experiences, including his time at Harvard. This question, though, isn’t necessarily about why or how he ended up marrying Michelle, it’s about what would have happened – or where would he be – if he had married someone white? It all wraps my brain around a post too many times to sort out. I thought I’d just throw it into your mind to see what happens.

Good luck,

t