This piece at Slate.com is brilliant stuff. Brilliant. And so very true – even if my own hand-drawn maps can be utter farces. This is the type of story idea and writing that makes me smile.
Yes, (or should it be “No,”) I don’t want to talk about the Capitals.
If you don’t know about it, because you don’t have kids in school and you can’t even fathom the thought of have kids around who are in school, you can follow your progeny’s progress and grades online these days. PowerSchool is the main supplier to schools and you get a login for your kid and checking up is easy enough. I look at L’s everyday so make sure she’s not missing assignments or doing poorly in certainly classes; consider it more prevention of a slide into oblivion. That’s a short story made long. I do want to pass along that she is getting a 100% in Ultimate Frisbee this quarter.
I haven’t pass this along to X yet, though this might be notification when she reads it, but I plan on doing nothing on Sunday aside from one or more of the following: museums, lunch out, a film, a play, a nap. She can have her choice. I’m willing to make a good run at stuff on Saturday but we haven’t taken a weekend day off for what seems like months.
School is going well this quarter and I’ve finally moved along from making sure everything gets cooked properly within our time lines to figuring out plating and presentation. In my kitchen, presentation is something akin to “here’s your food.” Now that I’m comfortable enough in my thinking that I’m not a totally gimp cook – and I really wasn’t to begin with but reassurances help – I have a little more foresight on how I’ll plate something and get $19.95 out of you for Crepes de leche de dulce; tip not included.
Our final pieces of the garden have arrived and the tomatoes (and peppers?) will be in the ground this week. I look at the vegetable garden this morning and on a scale of 1-10 the progress, so far, is simply dirt. And with that, I give you our President, consider me the reporter / farmer combo…
Saturday marked the final push of this year’s gardens. You might ask yourself, “What do you mean by gardens? How many did you have last year? How many do you have this year?”, and you be onside with those queries. To address those concerns, yes, gardensssss. We now have what could be called five gardens: our driveway Mediterranean herb-ish garden, two shade gardens (one in front, one in the back), a bigger vegetable patch on the side of the house, and a pumpkin/squash patch at the top of the backyard. As for last year? Well, I’d say we had three about the plot – a smaller veg patch, the driveway garden, and a square-foot garden of which we won’t speak. The garden construction really took hold two weeks ago when the six cubic metres of manure compost showed up in our driveway a few days after X received her two pre-planned shade garden plants. She worked the front shade garden, I helped out getting the veg patch in order, and then we called it a weekend. On Saturday we finished getting the vegetables in the ground and she blasted through the rear shade garden and pumpkin patch after I got as much compost into the back yard as was needed. She finally wrapped up about 8pm as the darkness fell and she could vaguely still see the ground. She was a tired and dirty pup when she came in the house at the fin. Rest assured, she got a nice trip to the day spa yesterday afternoon to get a bit of recovery time. We’ll take some pictures as all the life develops around The Hilltop.
Here’s an interesting finale to a case in Texas a few years ago. The Supreme Court dismissed a request for cert (I’m so legally!) last week in a once sentence release. Why this case is so bizarre isn’t so much because of the actual events between the judge and prosecutor but the responses of people who think about it and then post comments. Even though the article is clearly directly as the process – and not the guilt or innocence in the case – the law-and-order, badass, gun-toting, citizens can’t look passed the “guilty and fry him” mentality. If anyone with a sense of the judicial system can look at this case and say that that actions are defendable then we are really lost.
The Capitals failed to finish off the Canadiens at Verizon on Friday night and now how to play Game 6 in Montreal this evening. Friday’s game was so poorly played on their part – and I witnessed it – that the cliff-dwelling Caps’ fans are close to folding it up and giving in. Even though it wasn’t great, they’ll probably win tonight and all will be forgiven.
Here’s a strange article from the NYTimes last week. Well, I consider it strange because I love cilantro and can’t imagine a whole pod of people in this World who do dislike it. Julia Child? Really? I guess she never considered cilantro pesto on my flatbread with hummus and grilled shrimp.
The Eleven was at Verizon Center on Saturday night for the madness that was the Caps’ 2nd playoff game. The Caps came back from 4-1 down to tie it at 4-4, gave up another late goal to fall behind, and tied it again with little more than a minute to go. They won it 30 seconds into OT on a goal by Nicklas Backstrom. By the third period, amidst the craziness, even X was yelling about a interference penalty call across the ice. I think it was something along the lines of “Hey! Hal Gill’s a punk. Are you blind, ref? He can’t do that!” – she then threw her beer and started cussing. Okay, she didn’t do those last two (or use Hal Gill’s name) but she was offended by the interference. Just so you know, it was whistled as a penalty moments later.
We spent all day Saturday working on the lawn and gardens: I got the veg garden soil/compost in order and X labored through getting 50-ish plants into her new shade garden along our front porch/roses/walkway. By last summer it’ll look quite stunning; the veg didn’t get planted yet and the wind has kicked up so it might be a few days. We’ll keep you posted.
We hosted a dinner party for Kt’s work pals on Saturday night and everything worked out well. The original plan was for 10 or so but it ended up being more like 17 after the RSVPs were mailed and settled. We decided to skip the formal sitting portion (can’t manage that at our tables) and went with something along the lines of a buffet situation that, interestingly enough, ended up with everyone in a big circle sitting around our living room coffee table – you can’t do anything with guests.
I was worried about having enough food, and how to distribute the chow, so we ended up with huge dishes of golden, mushroom lasagna; Spanakopita; corn-and-goat cheese enchiladas with a mole sauce; a massive Greek salad, a green goddess salad, about a gallon of tzatziki, bread (brought by a guest), two huge sheets pans of roasted vegetables (parsnips, new potatoes, red and gold beets, red onions, turnips, garlic and freshly grated ginger), and two cheesecakes (also baked by a guest: one plain and one peanut butter). We had enough food – but not by a ton. I think the invitees were selected from Kt’s group of comrades based on their abilities to survive without huge hunks of meat…or any meat. As I pulled everyone over to the table / buffet to fire out a quick description I offered up the “there’s no meat, so don’t look for it” preamble. Truth be told, no one cared much and all the mains were absolutely destroyed before the evening was over. I think between the food, wine, and beer, everyone left sated. X and the boys were all over the housecleaning as I spent my day in the kitchen; they were a battalion (company?) of dedicated worker bees.
Did I pass along that we have something like 6 cubic metres of horse shit in our drive? Wait, call it compost. X has a great plan for two new shade gardens and we’re about ready to get the vegetable garden planted and on task – I don’t know if I can wait a few months for all my kitchen product to grow, bloom, blossom, or whatever else growing stuff does in dirt.
My latest selections for quality reading these days, at least in the periodical arena, are Steven Strogatz at the NYTimes, who writes great pieces on math; and, Matt Taibbi who primarily writes for Rolling Stone (which I haven’t read in years) and has been amazingly aggressive in covering the financial meltdown. You can get to Strogatz’s main page here and Taibbi’s main page here; and his latest RS piece here (I go printer friendly versions of Matt’s stuff and then read it in hardcopy.) From that RS page you can dig back deeper and read his other half-dozen stories on the financial world.
Even though I sometimes scroll through 2 or 3 pages of ‘comments’ on some stories or op-ed pieces, I rarely look at anything beyond the first few anymore…if that. I guess what I’m getting at is this: what drives a person to make a comment on a story when they see a meter saying that 1,234 people have already commented? Do you like yelling at a wall? Do you think anyone is going to, first of all, find your comment; and, secondly, send or post you a response saying how moved they were by your entry? Or, is it the yelling at the wall that gives people some sort of release? I’m also wondering about my online class this quarter (this being my first ever) that requires me to participate online, in commentary and threads, at least four days per week. I think there’s something like 25 folks in the ‘class’ and we all have a daily assignment to post and then we’re to post those additional four times about someone else’s entry. What are the odds that I, and I’m pretty diligent, am going to read beyond the first or second threat before I post? Zero, those are the betting odds. There’s no way I’m reading all 25 entries on three topics each day and then reading all the threads and finding what might tickle my fancy – not a chance. Of course, online isn’t the best way to learn and I understand this attempt at interaction but there really isn’t going to be any. Yelling at a wall.
Drilling and Obama. This is a parallel to a discussion the Eleven had about insulating a rental house that we might spend 3-5 years occupying but that is for another another another time. My first reaction, mild as it was, was that he was caving in on a campaign pillar and was ready to start drilling off the Atlantic and Alaskan coasts. My second reaction was stronger, and a counterweight, and fell in line with what we’ve seen of Obama for the last 16 months: patience. Let this develop and then determine its success. Third, maybe this is a bit political and I’m fine with that feeling. Taking it backwards now, if this is a political move then it simply has shut the door on the stupid “Drill, baby, drill” motto of Palin. If I never hear that again or see another sign in a yard calling for a fifteen-year fix to a “this summer” problem, then my days will be happier. Here’s a bit of the transcript of the speech:
“So today we're announcing the expansion of offshore oil and gas exploration, but in ways that balance the need to harness domestic energy resources and the need to protect America's natural resources. Under the leadership of Secretary Salazar, we'll employ new technologies that reduce the impact of oil exploration. We'll protect areas that are vital to tourism, the environment, and our national security. And we'll be guided not by political ideology, but by scientific evidence.
That's why my administration will consider potential areas for development in the mid and south Atlantic and the Gulf of Mexico, while studying and protecting sensitive areas in the Arctic. That's why we'll continue to support development of leased areas off the North Slope of Alaska, while protecting Alaska's Bristol Bay.”
Of course, exploration, not drilling is the phrase he uses and that also says something about the patience and process involved in what he’s trying to accomplish. That sort of mitigates that first impression of caving, which I’ll get to in a second.
The patience part is just learned, the hard way. Being a liberal – and a Democrat – I often get swallowed up in waiting for the right thing, my priority, to get done. In the arena we’re living in that just isn’t going to happen. Maybe there will be 6-8 major successes in Obama’s first four years and maybe 3 or 4 will perfectly align with my hopes but that’s good enough, isn’t it? If the others are of benefit to the nation as a whole then I can live with it. It takes time. It takes effort. We’ll get there.
Now, about the caving part. If I believe in what I think I believe in, then drilling for oil domestically is neither here nor there on the grand scale. There are two parts to this process and the first is that America needs to use less energy. If this move, away from buying foreign oil (or oil from ‘terrorist’ gub’ments; remember that most of our foreign oil imports come from Canada – almost three times more than any other single country), then this is a great move. If we want to drill here and use our oil product as our primary supply then we have some serious usage to cut back on: and that fits perfectly into my hopes. What is the political challenge or response to not buying oil from our ‘enemies’ any more and using our own oil, even if it’s not enough? Are people going to start yelling for us to buy more oil from OPEC during the next election? The second, and even more damning portion, is the idea of a world environment. Why is it okay for oil and coal to be drilled and mined as long as it isn’t in America? If one were to believe the scientists (and who does? Those crazy malcontents) about global warming then it isn’t any better to drill here or there – drilling is drilling. And with that, I happened to trust this Administration to do a better job of protecting the environment, so I’ve got little problem with this decision. And, before anyone gets up in arms, this isn’t the same position the Republicans had in the last election. Their position was, and is, use more energy and in order to meet that demand drill more here. Drill more there. Drill some from my bones.
What this will be, in the end, is a policy that will allow us explore our options here, drill here if needed, and if that’s done then using it as a frontal attack on our energy consumption. When you look at from the point-of-view that environmental issues are not blocked by borders then it makes perfect sense.
And, to give you and idea of how the long view usually wins out if the strength is there…
As I said above, I don’t always get these things out of my wee head – X dives in, sorts it all out, and gives me the down-and-dirty as she sips on her wine and reads her Lucky magazine. Is that both a compliment and stereotype? Ah, whatever.
I broke out the old Jacobsen mower this afternoon for the first hell-and-down-and-up our yard for the new season. It didn't want to start up so much but managed to finally turnover and keep 'running' at about half-gasp for long enough to cut the mountain. A few things to consider from your mechanically-handicapped author: the mower was rolled in the shed at the end of last summer, the gas wasn't emptied, the oil was - well, who knows - the blade ain't never been sharpened in 2+ years, I think the Holley double pumper 750 is gummed up, and well, it's just a $20 used thing that I'm hoping gets through one more summer. It used to be propelled, long before we bought it, so I'm pushing a non-propelled, heavy-ass beast up and down the hill on The Hilltop. In betwixt my sets of 10 engine cord pulls and my resting (it's both aerobic and anaerobic!) I was taking a good, solid look at the mower - eyeing it up-and-down, bending low to check on the shocks, pushing this and pulling at that wire, messing with the throttle, and adjusting the catching bag. Anyone driving by would certainly have thought me a man of tools and means. Of course, what was going through my head was a memory of when Buzz (and I, observing) worked on a two-stroke mower back in England (are all mowers two-stroke?) Buzz was pulling plugs, checking carbs, and generally explainin' to me all the tricks of, what he dubs, "the World's simplest motor" - as if that meant diddily to a dolt like me. I also thought that it would be great to have Buzz down the street to come over and fix my shit. That's what I really wanted; I didn't give a rat's ass about knowing how to do something. Maybe if he pops over he can give me a haircut, play a saw, lose at Yahtzee, and then knock out four of five games of NHL 2000 on the computer. Well, none of that happened and I mowed the grass with a wheezing, sputtering, non-propelling relic of the 80s.
I'm back into class beginning tomorrow night - Tuesday through Thursday nights this round - but I'll have my weekends off for sleeping in. I was able to buy two of my textbooks via Kindle (I'm borrowing L's) so I save a load of cash. I'm in Nutrition (online), American Cuisine, and Latin Cuisine. Looking forward to another round.
The screened in porch is about 90% complete with one more weirdly-shaped roof panel and one screen remaining. Once that's done we'll do some sealing between pieces and call it summer.
I have interesting issues to bring up on Obama and drilling, most of which is stolen for X, but that'll be for another day.
By the way, that's not my mower up above, I'm just too lazy to go take a digital picture at 9pm
Here are some shots from the early morning jaunt Saturday AM. There was some debate from the peanut gallery about getting there at 6:30am but even then it was getting overcrowded. It ended up be a very nice and worthwhile trip even if we couldn't round up a breakfast joynt after we finished at 7:30am. L. was in charge of photos and did a stunning job.
My movie watching has been less than stellar over the last year but I wanted to point everyone in the direction of Fantastic Mr. Fox. It’s not much of a secret that I’ve loved every single Wes Anderson film so I guess this isn’t a huge surprise. Having floated that disclaimer, Mr. Fox is a simply beautiful piece of art that no one should miss. We watched it Saturday night and I’m still playing back great scenes in my head. To take a book, turn it brilliantly to stop-motion animation, and have it voiced to perfection (Clooney as Mr. Fox? Perfect!) is something to behold. Honestly, I don’t know how it wasn’t voted film of the year by everyone. You have my full recommendation.
“They'll never catch me... because I'm fucking innocent.” – Dignan.
It must be March Madness at the pub as we made our way to 2nd place in last night’s quiz. After our last performance a few weeks back – the worst ever – it was a pleasant surprise. The only question that led to protest, at least from me, was this: What is the native currency of the following islands? Christmas, Aruba, Wight, and Canary. Feel free to look those up, we only got the Isle of Wight correct. I couldn’t come up with florin for Aruba even though we knew it was a Dutch property, and even with me writing down ffl on the napkin, just wouldn’t come to the brain. We went with the dollar for the Christmas Islands, sans Australian, so we misfired there. The Canary is where the debate raged – we were debating Portuguese v. Spain ownership issue and ended up going with the peseta. Well, that’s sort of right if you go with the ‘native’ portion of the question but is apparently wrong when he says that the Euro is the answer. The Euro? Native? To the Caymans? If we’d been asked “what is the currency of…” I could play along but I don’t buy the Euro as the native currency of anywhere. The analogy would be saying that the native currency of Germany isn’t the Mark. L. came along and managed to let us know that the Cobb Salad originated in L.A., told us that Singing in the Rain has a scene in front of Grauman’s in L.A., and that the largest U.S. fortune cookie factory was in S.F. – who knew? The Cobb Salad really surprised me. Small potatoes…
Here’s a piece at dcist.com that addresses the first month of the $.05 tax on plastic bags that took effect in January. A yearly review will probably be more useful – and accurate – so I’ll keep everyone posted. S.F. simply outlawed plastic bags so you have a total of zero in use out there, I’d have been more happy with that, but this has, at any level, had a serious impact on usage. I’d like NoVa and Maryland to get onboard and play along.
We’re gathering up the clan early Saturday morning and rolling over to the Tidal Basin for a lap around the cherry blossoms – or to the cherry blossoms with a lap around the Basin. There’ll be some baking on Friday night and coffee brewing early in the morning. Sunrise is set for 6:50 am so we’ll be there by 6:30 to beat the crowds and the Metro schedule. There’ll a nap when I get home; we’ll send pictures.
X has come down with one of those bugs that mostly affect the voice, her’s is disappearing into a gravel pit, to which I pointed out on the way home last night that she makes it sound like I’m hanging out with Bonnie Tyler…or Demi Moore in the St. Elmo’s Fire days. If you’re wondering…
L. and H. were off this morning to school - on a Saturday!, that damn Obama - to make up the final time from the missed educating during our two-fer blizzard this winter. The school made up a good bit of the time by extending the school days over the last five weeks and this is the final surge. I find it ironic (is that right?) that a private school is making sure to get the days of education in but the public schools, who fall under the 169-day rule (or whatever number of days it is), are filing requests to not have to finish the required number of class days. The above is L before heading out for her final Zoology exhibition to finish her quarter today. Most of the classes at the school, particularly the high school, required students to present their research and answer questions from other students, teachers, and occasionally, outside experts and parents. Each student does about 20-25 minutes and is expected to present their position and then defended their research. It's not so much a debate as it is a chance for the teacher to see that the student understands their chosen problem, done the legwork, understands the process, and has used critical thinking to present and explain the position. It's quite a process and today is the second day of scheduled exhibitions throughout the school. Her other presentation of sorts, in German culture was on The Ambassadors by Hans Holbein the Younger.
We set upon the back porch and the screening in of about 2/3s of it this morning. Corey is doing the design and actual man-work and I'm doing the painting of the structure. I'm taking some photos as we progress and the barn should be raised and done by sunset tomorrow. It'll be very nice to able to use the porch through the spring, summer and early fall without getting savaged by mosquitos. Feel free to stop by in your seersucker suits and have some mint juleps.
I love a good egg salad with mustard on toasted rye. I realized when I ordered this at the deli for lunch that I sound like a crazy, old man, “I want my egg salad on toast! Rye toast! Don’t try to slip any of that frenchy yellow mustard on it, either.” (hitching up my suspenders.)
I have one more written test for class tomorrow and then I’m off for about a week-and-half before the next quarter. The big timeline says only one more quarter before I get my early summer vacation up in Stowe, and that can’t come soon enough.
I, for no good reason, started a debate on Facebook (what am I? 14?) about the healthcare bill with some friends – mostly from my military days. Being that the military is more conservative than a lot of areas – though my field was less so – it’s like debating any other crazies. I get it; I understand that probably half the population didn’t want this bill (or didn’t think they wanted it), but elections do mean something, voting means something, and a majority means something. Honest debate was, and is, very hard to come by and I’ve made loads of efforts to read and follow some of their talking points but they aren’t talking points – they’re yelling points. They aren’t true, they come from nowhere, and they mean nothing. There’s little compromise when half the players refuse to listen or move. So be it. I’m ready to move along to the next issue without them. I will say this, and it’s based on what I said a few weeks ago, by the time the elections come up in November we will end up with more Democrats in Congress than we have now. This has been a fatal move by the Republicans, they just don’t see it yet.
I have the Caps v. Pens at Verizon tonight so along with my decompressing from the Sunday vote and worries put forth about socialism, and whatnot, I get a great rivalry.
I don't have much love for baseball these days. I'm still a Cubs fan but that's not the issue. I find the 'salary cap' to be a joke, the PEDs, and the game to be boring. It's such a distance that I don't even know if the Cubs making the World Series would bring me back.
What has caught my attention over the last three years is Joe Mauer. I don't completely disconnect when it comes to sport and Mauer may be the best player in baseball. He's a Twin Cities legend, he was the Gatorade high school football player of the year and now he's the MLB MVP and three-time batting champion. If I had to pick an AL team, it'd be the Twins - the team of my youngest days in Edina. To see the Twins lock him up - with a beautiful new stadium next season - instead of the Yanks or Sox poaching him, makes me feel good. There will be many great summer nights in the Cities.
Today warrants an a goodbye to the great Alex Chilton. I was introduced to Big Star in early 1992, long after the band was gone, and I can honestly say they weren't a band I would have dug up on my own. The hippie/folk/pop combo from the early 70s wasn't naturally my thing so I could have gone my entire life, and sat here today, having never listened to the two great albums they produced - #1 Record and Radio City. In the end, they were really purely a pop band and one of my all-time favorites. Those two records deserve all the acclaim they've received over the last 35+ years. Man, only 59 and he's gone. Sort of feels like the day Joe Strummer died. Enjoy.
I got a text message from my friend, Buzz, and that title above is the complete transmission. There are any number of questions that arise from such a text.
First, was he walking through the airport, eyes up and alert to celebs, when he said to himself, “Why, I think that’s Donnie Osmond’s brother”? Or, did he think to himself, “My, my, what a massive set of smiley teeth. I wonder if that man is famous.” Under either of these situation, in order to determine who this might be, you’d have to approach him and query his lot in life (unless he’s just bullshitting me). With the former thought in your head, the answer from the “Osmond” would probably be, “Hey, yeah, I’m Alan Osmond, Donnie’s brother, nice to meet you”; or, “I’m only Donnie Osmond’s brother. Leave me alone.” Not likely. If the latter is the issue and you said, “Hey, are you famous?” He would have said something like “Sure am. I’m Alan Osmond. Nice to meet you. Who are you and why don’t you leave me alone.” Somehow, if any of these vignettes came to pass they were immediately translated, and transmitted to me, as “meeting Donnie’s Osmond’s brother.” What I also question is this: if he had told me that he’d met Jebediah Osmond at the airport did he think I wouldn’t be able to figure out that it was an Osmond brother? Did I really need the Donnie reference? Why couldn’t he be referred to as Marie Osmond’s brother? What about Jimmy Osmond’s brother? Wait, did he meet Jimmy Osmond? Granted, I can only rattle off Alan, Donnie, Marie, and Jimmy but that’s at least half of the clan, right? I have some Osmond skills. Speaking of which…
In my elementary school days I was a much bigger Donnie Osmond fan than Michael Jackson fan; though I did have three-ring binders with both on the cover. But I should also admit that I always felt that One Bad Apple, which I had on 45rpm and danced to all over my room, was much more Jackson 5-like than it was Osmond-like; sort of hard to tell the difference when you listen to it (apparently it was originally written for the Jackson 5). Well, take a listen…and a watch:
Those are some sweet moves and hot jumpsuits; channeling a later kung-fu Elvis. You might think that a white kid growing up in the flat Midwest would dream of being up on stage in a white, sequined jumpsuit and having the babies scream from beyond the stage. But, in my case, that wasn’t who I wanted to be in the early 1970s. Who I wanted to be, no question, was a Pip – plain-and-simple. I also had Midnight Train… on 45rpm and I remember watching Gladys and Pips on various variety shows when that wax was hot – mesmerized. There is nothing in this world cooler than being a Pip.
“I know you will…wooh wooh…” (spin, step, slide, spin)
I’ll spare you the He Ain’t Heavy Osmond video. Man, I loved the Osmonds back then..
We were doing breakfast stuff this week in class and Saturday night was tasked with crepes and fruit tarts from each team in class. On Friday night, as we were wrapping up other egg dishes (eggs benedict on my watch), our instructor pointed at the 'crepe' pans that we had available for the following night - about 6" and deep, teflon-coated pans. Based on what I've found during some intertube work today, I think they may qualify as crepe pans but I'd say it's a pretty loose interpretation in my house. Anyway, I brought in my four pans (2 x 6" and 2 x 8") that are of the style shown above and our associated crepe spatula; I was well positioned for success. Our team was up for about 40 crepes, savory and sweet, and do we decided on one set of shrimp newberg and I followed up with a smoked salmon, caramelized onion, and goat cheese with a havarti and green-onion sauce - but that's not so important here.
After all the teams' crepe batter was set - as if you really need to let it sit for 60 minutes - the fun began. Four six tops of teams trying to work 40 crepes each. With a simple spray and two 8"-ers, I was able to knock out all 40 shells in about 15 minutes. The deep, coated 'pans' were an absolute nightmare for the others teams so I doled out the 6" pans and passed along the eights when we'd finished. The crepe pans, along with a good immersion blender, a quality food mill, and a mortar-and-pestle are the simplest and most specialized pieces that most people really need. (Well, a three-cup food chopper ain't too bad, either.) Considering there are crepes in the house at least once a month - on a weekend morning - there's no way I'd be banging around with middling pans. You've been educated.
I'm in the middle of watching an early Sunday game that's seen the Caps come back from 3-0 down to start the 3rd - with no Ovechkin (ejected in the first) - to tie it at 3-3 with about 10 minutes to go. Another national TV come-from-behind win?
I’m a bit off-balance this week so I’ve been pretty quiet – or not, depending on where you live. A few things are gnawing at me and I haven’t fully sorted them out in my head.
First, I’m off meat in a much more permanent basis than the last five or six years. I’d say that I’ve been about 95% off since then – I’ll nibble on leftover scraps from the kids’ dinners – but we don’t do any mains for adults that include meat, and for varying reasons. You can ask X about her reasons since they’ve been well in place for most of her life and who am I to address her choices. Mine were primarily a cholesterol-avoidance plan that turned into the norm after years of not cooking anything with meat for meals. I haven’t missed it, really, so it didn’t even seem like much of a sacrifice back in about 2004 when it started. Right, there’s that. I’ll expand more on it at some point over the next week or so.
Second, (note: I just deleted and entire sentence of profanities and have begun, anew…) the healthcare insurance reform bill. I think it’ll get done over the next few weeks and we can move on to other issues that are presenting loads of other problems in our country. But, I need to take a few lines here to chastise people for ignorance. By ignorance I mean specifically the method of putting head to sand and refusing to have any type of debate on an issue that is causing so much wasted time and effort. I don’t even know that it bothers me when people yell and scream “facts” that aren’t actually facts – not much I can do about that. The rub here are the people that are too lazy, too unwilling (is that the same?), or too blinded by their people, to actually study an issue before screaming from the rooftops. Unless you can give me one actual fact that supports a position you hold (without using something like the CBO as a prop but then throwing it out when you don’t agree with you) then you don’t get to play. I’m fine with giving up a year of our governing life to get this done – I’d like it to do even more – but we are at the end. Maybe it might seem wrong to say but I’ll give it to you straight: it will get rammed down your throat and I’m cool with that. I’m not concerned about the elections – they’ll take care of themselves – and the time has come for this to be done. I’d say that it’s been a good debate but it hasn’t been: it’s been nothing more that an embarrassment. If you don’t have a plan you can go sit in the corner and color with Mitch McConnell and John Boehner. Good fucking riddance.
I feel better.
(Enter less hostile Todd from stage left)
Everything here is going well – kids and school seem to be working in a temporary emulsion – and the weather has come to spring, finally. The damn cats (damn cats!) have posed a problem that initially seemed like a batch of bad cat food (we only feed them dry) but may be more centered upon warm weather, mole-snacks, and less eating required. I returned the first bag only to see the second bag receive the same treatment. I changed stores and brands, thinking I would avoid a bad delivery truck or company, only to get similar results. At this point, they can eat it or not – they’re smart enough, right?
The orthodontist issue is almost sorted out (see previous work), but not quite. We have a “consultation” appointment next week (“Hmm, you have braces, I see…”) and then hopefully everything will get off the start line.
The Eleven is planning a long (one-two week) crazy vacation for about a year from now. We’re tempted to just find the cheapest, late-booked, vacation packages and hit the road – nearly blind. But, if anyone has any suggestions on warmer and less-touristy worldwide destinations, please submit your inputs to our anonymous comment box near the door as you exit.
One more thing: the Formula 1 season kicks off this weekend in Bahrain and here’s a photo from yesterday’s festivities and practice session. If you don’t know me too well, or don’t follow F1, then you won’t find this picture nearly as ironic or sacrilegious as I do:
I’ve been remiss over the last seven weeks in not getting L. in to see an orthodontist. I actually did some legwork on this a few months ago at my semi-annual cleaning; I gave them a quick background and I asked them if they had an othro they’d recommend. Conveniently enough, they have one that comes to their office every Thursday to see patients and that seemed like perfect idea for L. She’s about 14-18 months into a two-year program so all we’re looking for are monthly adjustment visits until she returns to Omaha – or wherever – and has them removed.
I finally gave them a call this morning and rehashed the idea with the office manager and queried about getting her in Thursday afternoon. As if. What I unwittingly stumbled into was the maw of the “no people”; you know the tribe – can’t do, won’t get done, that’s impossible, are you fucking crazy? Yes, them. She tells me that he can’t do that kind of work because how could he possibly know (or learn) the inner workings of another ortho? How would he know what her plan was? What if this ortho would have done something different? It CAN’T be done. I pause momentarily before asking her a simple question: Are you telling me that no family has ever moved while having a child in braces? There was a long pause on the line. I followed up with: Do you think people decide not to sell a house and move because Jimmy has three more months in braces and they don’t know about the alchemy of braces in Nebraska yet? I told her that I had the contact information for her man in Omaha and all that needs to be done is to make contact, ask a few questions on the phone (I’m sure the two orthos understand the language), and then set-up an appointment. She takes my number and tells me that she’ll contact their ortho and call me back. Sounds good, I say, so I’ll hear back from you this afternoon? What? No? She tells me that she’ll talk to him on Thursday when he comes in; she is kidding, right? Does this guy live where there’s no phone? Maybe somewhere that requires him to teleport in from another galaxy? They are killing me.
(p.s. I just called back to get the number of the guy and do the work myself but the afternoon woman just said she’d give him a call and call me right back. Go figure?)
I had class on Friday night so I sent The Forty to see Orestes at the Folger Shakespeare Theater (I’d bought the seats about six months ago prior to getting my class schedule and child moving here.) They had a quick dinner in Rosslyn and then Metro’d in to see the show. When they picked me up after class there were great reviews (WaPo review here) from both girls so it appears their night out was a success. I’d taken L. to the Caps’ game the previous night and told her during intermission that she’d be hard-pressed to attend two more different events on back-to-back nights: crazy sports fans in red and a Euripides play.
I've been wanting to do a blog entry using only this online program and I think this is as close as I'll come. If you haven't been keeping up, and don't know about the Message to Garcia, then this will be wholly unfunny. I'm calling this my anti-Garcia:
After code was written and truth determined (it was bout 10,000 lines of repetitive numbering), the correct answers to the EHB game, if everyone is maximizing efforts would be this:
1st bidder: 75 2nd bidder: 25 3rd bidder: either 26 or 74
It's been noted by representation that I need to make a public apology to G. for his opening number of 77 that cracked open this can of worms. And so, I apologize with no additional input. The 77 was very close to the best possible option.
If you're wondering about the Price is Right version of the game (closest without going over), the max numbers for each player are:
1st: 67 2nd: 34 3rd: 1
There's no wiggle room in this one for the second bidder, and by default, the last guy in. The first set of rules allows the 3rd bidder to decide which end to attack and therefore give one of the two players (the one not attacked) as the most likely winner.
The 51 is off to see the Caps at Verizon tonight. Seems like it's been forever with the long Olympic break.
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