i can't make anything of this...

I confess

I’m reading a story about the Central Park Five and their overturned convictions from the 1989 rape in Central Park. I remember vividly the entire story about kids out “wilding” in the parks and streets in NYC. I didn’t know that all five were exonerated and released in 2002; my immediate excuse might be that I was living in England but that’s probably lame.

What this has got my mind working on is the intersection of “the times” and “techniques” modes. For criminal proceedings the easiest events to look at are the exonerations driven by the passage of time, exonerations combined with advanced scientific techniques like DNA testing. What we want to believe is that wrongful convictions are simply a poor application of a mathematical formula: The reason that a conviction was wrong was because the techniques we had at the time weren’t advanced enough to convict or not. But that never seems to be the case – when people are exonerated through DNA testing what is exposed in the underbelly is always horrible or biased police work. I never read about someone being released who was convicted through efficient, unbiased, or unprejudiced police work. Maybe a murderer is released and we hear a backstory about how at the time of conviction the preponderance of evidence, or whatever legal term fits here, showed that the suspect was the murderer. No false confessions and no violations of rights and no crappy witnesses. No guesswork or assumptions that led to a failure to disclose evidence or the like. Is this because it’s nearly impossible to mistakenly convict without some of law enforcement insider trading?  Are we as humans preconditioned to convict based on bias? Or, does our system’s “beyond a reasonable doubt” ideal force our hand? There must be convictions are would stand up to any test of technique or time, right?

In a lot of human endeavors we can agree that “the times” we the basic underpinning of human behavior – times when no technique would ever trump or sway the truth. Nearly all civil rights issues wear this anchor: It was the times we lived in; we didn’t know or believe that X was equal to us. We eventually outgrow that and move forward, but we recognize somehow that there was a contribution from time and place within our granting of civil rights. We can understand it. With police/court work the techniques reveal the truth, not the passage the time.

Right. I’m stopping. My head is spinning. I haven’t even fully addressed the ins-and-out of The Life of Pi.

Lemon was taken to the doctor/parole board this morning at 7a and even though he was wishy washy on releasing her, she will roam free this evening. All hail...

struck

Whilst enjoying corn chowder this evening the entire clan (well, some of the clan) enjoyed Moonstruck. It's hard to believe it's 25 years old; then again, it was in the days when Nick Cage was good, and when Cher was temporarily ruling the actress landscape. Part of my interest in X's favorite movie is that my favorite, Big Night, both vaguely revolve around food, love, and crazy people. Another part of my interest is in completely out of nowhere lines in movies that somehow convey a mystery that only each watcher can decipher. In Moonstruck, as Johnny is picking up Loretta and taking her to his bed his declaration is "Son of a Bitch!". Not in a bad way, in a love way. Even with that love understanding, the line seems to come from nowhere yet somehow perfectly narrates the scene. My perfectly shouted line, seemingly from nowhere, is Han Solo in the beginning of The Empire Strikes Back screaming at some poor NCO who questions his going back out in the storm, "Then I'll see you in Hell!" How is that an appropriate response to some safety officer who is simply trying to make sure you don't think your aircraft is falling backwards off the carrier? Trust me, if in a meeting you drop the "Then I'll see you in Hell" line when asked by Human Capital Resources whether or not you've finished your proposal, hilarity will ensue.

I'm giving you some music today. The first is ZZ Ward doing Put the Gun Down - I'm debating seeing her in Baltimore on a weekend in March 2013 because I can see her exploding and going venue grandstanding by next summer. The second is Maia Sharp doing Me After You. I'm new to Maia and apparently I've missed a load of talent. Great song. What's arbitrarily weird, they both talk about guns.

princes and the challenged

 Prince’s career kicked off in earnest about the same time I entered high school. It was in full flight by my senior year and throughout my freshman year in college. He’s sold somewhere between 60 and 100 million records, changed his name, done a gazillion tours, made legendary videos, and generally been the coolest cat on the planet. I’ve followed him through the years even if I haven’t bought any of his records – though I did totally ace his discussion about the internet being dead a few years ago and built it into my own ideas of the online world and death of social activity. That’s a discussion for another day. This is about a return in 2012 of the man: a new song (online even!), wonders about a new record, and the still way too cool bass lines and voice that define him. I’m amazed that after 30 years there has never been another artist that can produce this kind of music. Pretenders to the throne – I could listen to this all day.

My dearest Lindsey, Saxby, John, and Peter,

     I’d like to take a little time to address the grand and heroic gesture you believe you are making in possibly deciding to act against the wishes of Grover Norquist. To make something very clear up front: I don’t give a shit whether you do or not; your wisdom, and self-important sacrifice, is not needed. The country move forward and you’ll forever find yourselves on the wrong side of history, as usual.

     Here’s how compromise works: I give something, you give me something. Simple, right? I was going to type out the OED definition of compromise, but I don’t have the patience. You can look it up, let me help, c-o-m-p…. If I start at position A on the alphabetical compromise scale, and you start at Z (both acceptable starting points), then compromise means meeting at ANY point in the middle. I may come all the way to Y in order to remedy a problem, but if you insist on sitting on Z at all costs then you are a fuckstick. You can claim that it’s some sort of integrity when, in fact, it exposes you for what you are: a petulant child. Do you really believe that if someone is willing to move further towards your desired outcome it means nothing? In the scenario that considers the US Government budgets, deficits, and debt think about this idea: the solution to our current problems lie somewhere between less spending and more revenue. Somewhere. Anywhere. Let’s say I’m a tax-and-spend Liberal and you’re a Crayola-using-contract-promising-going-to-love-you-forever,-Grover-is-the-best dipshit Conservative: how’s about I start at A, you start at Z, and we work from there? Oh, did calling you a dipshit hurt your feelings? Sorry. What if I came over U, V, W, X, or Y? Any interest? Didn’t think so. Feel free to read the first few sentences of this paragraph again. It might be best, in the end, to take your box of crayons, your third-grade math polling numbers, and go color in the corner. Let me know when you’ve learned to draw hands with all five digits.

      Graham, Chambliss, King, and McCain believe in their hearts that if they try to unfuck something that they fucked up to start with then they must be heroes. They aren’t. I will give them this: they are at least the first of their kind to recognize the writing on the wall and they are hoping to save their own skins.

      And, in case you wonder where I stand, I’ll tell you. My first offer would be to make up 50% of the shortall with spending reductions; and, 50% with revenue increases. I, unlike these four that I can only consider as wedges, might even further discuss the numbers and compromise.

     Good riddance, jackasses, your days are numbered.

Best,

Todd

pumpkin pi

A very nice Thanksgiving weekend wrapped up. We managed a full (classic) meal on Thursday with the guests from the north before they back up yonder on the day. The Vermonters were here most of the week and managed to touch base with kids and grandkids.

Friday was cat day: one in for oral surgery, the other in for a set shots. All went well with the surgery and Lemon has now been sentenced to 14 days of house arrest in order to heal. I'd like to explain a few things: she is as close to a wild cat as you can have and, she's already been given nine days off by the house court of appeals for good behavior and time served. She'll be released Tuesday afternoon. I know what you're thinking, "you must follow the doctor's orders", and to that I say bullshit. I fully understand the need to let her heal, but her mouth is looking good, she is aware of the surgery, she won't do anything to harm herself. Also, if you'd spent the last three days in a house with a caged panther, you'd agree. Truth be told, I understand the doctor and liability. What I also believe is that the 14-day sentence is based on non-supercats; you know, babies. We'll finish her painkiller meds on Tuesday and then cut her loose.

L. and I finished the weekend with some entertainment  - Life of Pi on Saturday, and You For Me For You at Woolly this afternoon.  As for Pi, what I find most interesting are the reviews. The reviews seem to break the movie into three parts (I assume the book might fit that division) and somehow discuss the parts as if independent. The flagship portion seems to be the boat part, and it surely is the longest part of the movie (and wonderfully shot), but without the before and after, it's nothing. In fact, the idea that the movie is somehow a kids' movie - oh, animals! - is a mistake. Sure, some well read youth will enjoy it, but the ins-and-outs of the storyline are so much greater than a tiger on a boat. I haven't fully absorbed the layers but the film is extraordinary.

The boys are back from California. None the worse for the wear.

they died of TB

Talk about an amble. The 61 enjoyed a night in town on Saturday with dinner at Clyde's in Chinatown followed by our third Dizzy Miss Lizzie show, The Brontes. I now know so much about the Bronte family - learned through rock n' roll visionaries - that I can answer just about any type of Bronte trivia.  The minstrels had rented the Redrum theater space in NW to ply their trade over the last three weekends. You'd missed the Redrum's door on the 6th St. block of L if you weren't literally staring at the walls of the shuttered warehouses and old distro centers. The space is quite good for theater of this size and the 35-40 fans in attendance enjoyed the evening's entertainment. As usual, the music, lyrics, and performance was a blast - I'll go see anything that DMLRR decides to stage.

I managed to see Lincoln on Saturday morning (at 10a) with the senior crowd. Afterwards, we went and had some creamed corn and took a nap. The film is well worth your attendance if only to see D. Day-Lewis appear to have reincarnated exactly what we all probably expect Lincoln be like in real life.

Cooking has been slim of late. With visitors in town we've been out much more than usual; last night was a return visit to the Peking Gourmet Inn for ducks and whatnot.

I'm seem boring, don't I?

cat's game

In a world...

One of our cats, Pumpkin, has been a bit out of sorts for a few weeks; with cats that means puking. It doesn't seem too serious, but both cats are certainly due for a vet visit so this seemed an opportune time to gather the furballs and take advantage of Obamacare. (All pets are covered under the 2012 initiative within the Affordable Care Act.) Destiny was for 1p today - X was alone, cats were loaded.

Over the weekend we grabbed a newish pet kennel/carrier specifically for this first of many future trips. X's plan, alone and unafraid, was thought out: gather Pumpkin around 12:30 (since he's never far away) and then hope that Lemon wasn't out on a death run. X found and locked Pumpkin in the kennel before heading out to scour the landscape for Killer - a whistle, a cluck, and along came the most beautiful cat in the World. How simple. She brought Lemon to the kennel, opened the door a dash, and was immediately in the midst of a Royal Rumble: Pumpkin blasting out, Lemon fighting (nicely), X hoping. In the frayed aftermath Lemon slipped out the cat door while X managed to squeeze ol' thickneck back into the kennel. Once more into the breech...outside to see if there was any hope that Lemon might have at least remained in the zip code. A quick gander about the place and sure enough she's just sitting on the table outside the cat door. How easy is this?

Back into the house with Lemon in hand and wondering exactly what to make of the 'man' situation. X being smarter than the average bear has headed into stage two with the cat door locked to prevent escape; with the house secured, where could the little demons possibly go? Here's what you do: open the kennel, put the second cat in, gently close the door, and if they escape - no worries, they can't get away. Let's cover what happened: open the kennel (check), put in the second cat/Lemon (sort of), easily close the door (trying), and if they escape - what? In the midst of this second round of battle it's Super Pumpkin who escapes while Lemon decides to take a nap in the perfectly acceptable pet carrier. Not only does Pumpky (Super) escape, he simply uses his Maori Warrior-like head to just bust through the locked cat door - THROUGH THE DOOR, leaving nothing but shards of humanity in his wake. There's no need to head outside to see of he's nearby, dude is gone daddy gone. So, X and Lemon head to the vet, sans SuperP.

Lemon is now fully inoculated. Unfortunately, she has a broken back tooth which is a serious concern. It's going to cause her lower jaw some long-term problems; it has to be removed, but there is serious risk to her lower jaw. We have a contact for a pet dentist in Vienna who can hopefully give us some good news - I'm pretty worried. I'm not willing to have her life limited if the jaw becomes a problem; she can't be locked in a house. I'm hoping. We'll see.

rum, clean.

On Friday afternoon I offered an early Saturday morning (6a) departure to the gals of The Round Table. I wanted to drive down to Warrenton, VA for a visit to the Red Truck Bakery - a well-regarded joint that does cakes, pies, desserts, croissants, etc. They open at 7a on Saturdays and I, as a father of Americana, wanted to brew some coffee, drive an hour in the early morning sun, and visit before the weekend crowds. I loved the early morning view of the two bakers on duty; it's hard to believe there wasn't at least one other who had hours a bit earlier - bakers are a rare breed. We got coffee, a few croissants, a rum cake, and pumpkin pie to bring back to the confines of Fairfax county. The croissants got good grades, I love the rum cake, and word is that the pumpkin pie is excellent.

We were back at the house by a little after 8a and I headed out to the farmers' market - the calendar is moving. Today was easily the most amazing day at the market: mushrooms, red beets, black beets, parsnips, eggs, cheese, Swiss chard, watercress, the last of the garlic, bread, ghost peppers, carrots (I left my greens behind for someone's rabbit), and loads of apples. I was unprepared with just a single bag that was immediately overrun; hands providing the only backstop to the food onslaught. A stunning display.

Because I wasn't busy enough the 51 went to see the new Bond movie at Angelika this afternoon. I quickly remembered why I don't have for the blockbuster (action) movies - there's nothing to them. I give it a C-.

More later.

express line

A new conglomo-market area opened down the road from our house: a somewhat urban version of the outdoor malls you've seen pop up about America in the last decade. This one, The Mosaic, is anchored by an elevated Target, but surrounded by more high-end stores, restaurants, boutiques, a killer independent movie palace, and a MOM market. I'm here to talk about MOM.

There's a MOM down in Alexandria that we used to hit every few weeks for the really good stash of quality foods and whatnot. Unfortunately, after moving to The Hilltop the drive became too long and MOM became nothing but a distant memory, until now. The new store is bigger, with wider aisles, and (for now) far fewer customers. Word of mouth will eventually bring the hordes to the better store with its great parking. And, since you're wondering about my list of greatest grocery stores/markets of all time, I feel I'd be delinquent in not at least giving you a passing glance at my list. You can thank me later.

MOM - the new store is fantastic. I shop there, I'm happy....while shopping.

Central Market - I've only been once to a single location somewhere in Dallas (University Dr.?), and it's stunning. I remember walking in and thinking I'd found paradise.

Waitrose - All about England. For some reason this fairly benign English endeavor always felt comfortable and holds great memories, for a few reasons. This is where I shopped when I first started to actually cook - real life cooking. I also used to always stop by X's house for a coffee on the way home.

Trader Joe's - Yeah, pretty obvious, but I hold them in high esteem for this specific list of quality items: nuts, cheese, wine, and some frozen stuff. It can be a tough shop, but they are worth inclusion.

Wegman's - Right, I used to laugh at the Wegman's prosetlytizers, even after I'd done half the store on my first visit. (They are really only located outside the Beltway here so it's a special trip - and a special $400+.)  This place is spectacular - from their own brands to high-end product. Loads of ready-to-eat stuff, great deli, great bakery...great around.

Byerly's - The upper Mid-west doppelganger to Wegmen's. Well, not quite, but close. Once again, a great selection and a place where you won't have to leave and stop at some other store for that last ingredient.

Wild Oats - I was pretty sweet on them before they were sucked up by the Whole Foods empire. In particular, the store in Reno served as my base while I continued to learn how to cook during my three-year cooking internship out West. I really love hitting the Wild Oats, TJs, and the International Market on South Virginia St.

I'll skip my specialty shops for now. For now.

The 51 drove up to Baltimore (Towson) today to visit Goucher College. I was hugely impressed; Laurel was stoic. Go figure. We decided at 9p last night to not do NYC this weekend - too much stress for the residents, and a Nor'easter to boot. We'll give it another shot in December.

the uncomfortable situation room

During my final tour in Nevada I was present for a number of Air Wing debriefs led by a senior Commander who, about halfway through my tour, headed back to sea to lead an Air Wing. What was most impressive about his ‘precise’ and hilarious debriefs was his ability to distill to the younger pilots exactly how it was the world of aviation and strike execution actually worked. His most important lesson, and something I’d long ago learned but never quite got into words, was the idea of situational awareness (SA). SA is a military term that applies to the world around your little bubble or weapon system. As he so simply stated, often, “There are three types of SA: good SA, bad SA, and no SA.” He’d then go on to quiz most of the new pilots, and the new(er) strike leads, throughout the debrief – Where are you? What are you thinking? What do you know? Where, exactly, is your SA needle at this point? The kid would look up at the dry-erase board, peer down at his kneeboard, look up, and mumble something like, “Well, I thought…”, and then proceed to ramble just long enough to fully realize that his cockpit was stuffed with bad SA. Here’s a quick rendition of the gas gauge the Commander would draw on the board (he refused to use the required debrief PowerPoint):

His training point was this: If you are going to base your decisions on what someone has told you, or data that someone has provided, you better know where you are on the SA meter. Measured against the ground-truth you are gold if your SA is good. Bad SA will kill you – you think you know what’s going on, you trust what’s been said, and you then make the appropriately bad decision. You are far better off to have No SA then to have bad SA – if there’s no SA then at least you are aware of having nothing, and everything you do is then driven by keeping focus on the develop the situation; at least you aren’t sitting around fat, dumb, and happy with a big pile of bad data.

I bring this up as the background to my only post about the election. The disservice done by the GOP/Conservative bloggers and political commentators would, if I were one of the followers, make me homicidal. The final three weeks of the campaign was full of endless diatribes from the right against pollsters in general, and Nate Silver in particular.  Even if you hate the NYTimes, don’t like Silver’s methodology (or his political leanings), attacking the messenger was such a reach that I think it fully dysfunctional. Silver has explained his methods and they make sense to anyone who listens. As an example, if there are 12 polls out of Ohio that show the President leading by between .5 and 1.5 points, while one outlier (see how I use words?) show Romney leading by 6 points, then he assesses the polls and comes out with something that balances out the differences. But, even his methods aren’t important and you don’t need a higher math degree to see that 12 v. 1 means the 1 is most likely out of whack. Numbers don’t lie, but if you willfully choose to ignore basic math to the extent that you are misleading your own ‘party’ then you shouldn’t be allowed to ‘commentate’.

Back to SA. As the talking heads spent weeks trying to get the voters out they decided to attack math, disregard some stable poll reporting, and simply chose to tell the posse that the (wildly vague and incorrect) Rasmussen poll was right - Mitt Romney was 5% up in Ohio! They told people that he was leading the national polls (which he never was), and that Romney would most likely take 300+ of the Electoral College votes. To the followers, that’s bad SA – believing you know what’s going on when, in fact, you have shitty data. You know what’s better? Nothing, no SA. At least the minions can then decide for themselves. You know what’s even better? Good SA. Here’s how I would use the 538.com math:

“All right folks. Here are the numbers: we are losing by about 2 point in Ohio and Colorado. We are down less than a point in Florida, a point in Virginia, and 3 points in New Hampshire. These are the facts. In order to win we need turnout – thousands of voters to get out and make up the difference. Believe the numbers.”

As opposed to Peggy Noonan saying something like, “No worries folks. I did the point-and-click mappy thing at TPM.com and Mitt should easily win this election. Rasmussen shows our guy winning. Also, I think Nate Silver is effeminate.” You know what this might lead to? People not showing up to vote because it’s in the bag. Well done, Peggy. I thank you and your ilk.

Hey, Fox News, where’s your needle pointing?

eek!

As we sat at the table last night enjoying dinner (risotto with a beet-and-pear salad) my beloved Lemon returned via the cat door from her early evening activities. She came quickly over to the table area, wound her away around G.’s chair, and allowed only him to hear a subtle squeak squeak from nearby. It was in that pre-apocalypse moment that he called out, “Lemon’s got a mouse!”

But, dear readers, before we continue let’s take a quick break from our story to review what we know about Lemon: she’s a killer, she will occasionally bring a kill home for our viewing, she will sometimes bring it home still alive – I think she and Pump like to take a little foray into the catch-and-release mentality before fulfilling the soon-to-be-gone-from-this-World appointment of said small animal. I have exactly zero problem with her killing ways; I’m not too cool with the dead and/or teasing in the house situation, but hey, she’s a cat. Back to the story.

Post-exclamation we all scoot quickly away from the table and glance under to see what was what. What was what was this: Lemon had dropped the mouse in order to begin her party-of-death game and mouse decided he wanted exactly zero to do with the Death Cat. And how did mouse avoid the fate of thousands – by scurrying directly up G.’s pants. Oh yes, you read that right – before we could prepare ourselves fully for the hilarity, the young man is up and doing the MousePants dance in the middle of dining room: “I got a mouse in my pants! The mouse is in my pants!” Now, I didn’t have film of said event, and I certainly didn’t have any clock recording data, but I will be honest and say that the elapsed time it took to pass from “mouse in pants” to concern to raucous laughter was surely less than one second. He was still in the midst of the shaky-leg-varmit-in-my-pants jig when the other four of us bypassed concern and fell into laughter. Is that wrong? As Lemon scurried about trying to find her damn mouse (G.’s lucky she didn’t see the mouse go up the sweatpants, because he would have been dancing with two furry things in his pants) I managed to yell the only thing a mature adult yells in this exact situation: get the fuck out the front door. Honestly, I don’t want the mouse paroled from his pants straight back on to the dining room floor. Yep, I’m a quick thinker. Nearly heroic. G. in his moment of distress did manage to hop, bounce, and dance outside with his brother in tow; where, it must be said, he continued the dance until mousy mouse fell to the grass and apparently made haste into the night.

Ah, life at the Round Table.

standing back up

Sure, it’s been a few months, but you knew a music thing would bring me back.

Last night I saw JD McPherson just down the road from the Round Table at the State Theatre. It was a bit criminal that the house wasn’t packed to overflowing – he’s shortly to play the big room at First Avenue so that’s indicative of where he’s at, popularity-wise, on the Todd music spectrum. He’s difficult to classify because you immediately take the easy route and say he’s a new wave Brian Setzer, but the fact is that he’s more rock n’ roll than rockabilly and I think his draw will be much broader. I have an inkling that he’s the next big Americana-alt-rock artist to hit the big time, most likely within the next year; it doesn’t take long. As an example, Mumford & Sons went from being the most accessible of the string band artists within a small chunk of the musical spectrum to being about the biggest band in the world. JD probably won’t get to that level, but huge exposure is on the immediate horizon. The show was stunning on all levels – crowd, music, atmosphere. Unfortunately, one of the issues with tickets was the State’s mediocre recognition amongst the D.C. area venues – I don’t think they often pull from beyond the greater Falls Church area. JD will be back in a bigger D.C. room at some point early next year. He, and his band, is better live but here’s a quick shot. (P.S. Jimmy Sutton is easily the best and coolest bass player to ever walk the land.)

L. did a number of college visits last week: Mary Washington, U. of Richmond, and UVa. We are also doing Goucher (Baltimore) and the New School (NYC) this weekend. She was also up and at ‘em early on Saturday morning to take her SAT at Yorktown High. I dropped her off at 7:30am and can safely report that I’ve never seen so many slack-eyed teens wandering about on a Saturday morning. Not a single one looked like some hard-charging Tracy Flick. I think half of them still were in their pajamas.

We are set for election blackout tomorrow night: a special pizza and double feature night (Princess Bride and MP and the Holy Grail). We’ll awake Wednesday AM and get on with life.

It’s been a few months, but I’m back in the saddle.

door bells

Two things to add to your wisdom ledger - one a receivable and one a payable. Actally, I have no idea which is which but when I typed the word ledger I immediately transformed into accounting man, circa 1981.

X brought back a wonderful set of chimes from Vermont and they've been hanging in our front yard tree for a few weeks. They're quite subtle and well-tuned (that sounds of a restaurant review) and can't actually be heard from any great distance. In fact, L. told me she can't hear them from her side of the house. Last night they seemed loudish to me whilst vaguely keeping me up around 3a; I worried that they might be bothering our neighbor so I decided to hop up, head outside, remove them from the tree, and put them on the ground for the rest of the night. Right. If you ever come upon the urge to 'gently take down some chimes in the middle of the night', rest assured that there is no way it won't sound the equivalent of strangling a cat in the middle of the night. Feel free to glance at the chimes, ponder the chimes, attempt to come up with the calculus that allows you to gently free them from their own noise - just know that it won't be quiet or pretty. There's a lot of clanging that essentially could be mistaken as a chime thief running rampant through the neighborhood.

On to doors. Our gym has one set of double doors. Every time I visit I end up waiting for X to finish yoga and I'm sitting by the doors and watching 70% of the people pull the one door that is locked. Why is the door locked? It's always the same door. Is it broken? Is there an issue with people using that door? Why even have the door? I know that somewhere within the blog is another similar story about a half-broken door in Barcelona. Who writes twice about doors in a single lifetime?

collections of things

I try to get out as often as possible - there aren't many  venues in D.C. that I haven't seen/done/did. Last weekend the 61 headed to the Philips Collection for an amble and coffee. I've certainly been missing quite a bit: it's a fantastic collection that fits nicely into my top list of doable-sized museums. As X pointed out after about 75 minutes, the eyes and mind begin to glaze. We ejected to the courtyard cafe and drank coffee on a coolish (by August standards) D.C. morning. Truth be told, joining the Collection would be well worth it to simply have free access to what is a very nice cafe in the midst of DuPont Circle. I'll be checking the cost.

As a last DuPont aside, the single CD store in the greater D.C. area that I routinely 'clacked clacked' music in has finally shuttered. I've bitched about this before so I won't get too deep, but it's horribly depressing. I do have an exchange in my area that stocks mostly used with the occasional new release hidden amongst the gems. I always feel a little more complete when I wonder into the dusty bins.

After the Philips we wandered a few bookstores in search of who knows what - I bought a 1932 edition of a 'Games' book that covers more than one person needs to know. What we immediately learned that night is that what we play as Charades is officially called Burlesque. I'm fairly sure the adults will be much more interested in gaming if the rascals are screaming about a Burlesque in the living room.



As we plan for the next bit of time off I'm gathering information for NYC - we going to be in the city for four days/three nights in early November. We are staying at an Army base hotel in the southern portion of Brooklyn (Bensonhurst) and will train into Manhattan in the AMs. We've already booked a journey to north (?) Brooklyn to visit some legendary bar owned by one of X's boss' family; it looks stunning in the bar (and grill) tapestry of America. I think, speaking of tapestry, we are planning on a shot up to The Cloisters during the weekend; together with a visit to the New School for L., that's the current agenda. Input appreciated and desired on other hot spots. (I'm already deep into checking on music venues....)

Lastly, prior to our collection visit and bookstore journey we stopped at the beloved Litteri's for a sandwich and fixings for pizza night - pepperoni, great cheese, etc. The crew knows L. at the deli counter and as she headed from the deli to find some more balsamic, the king of the deli looks at me and says, "She knows her stuff. Never gets anything cheap," I created this, don't I know it...

just a bunch of pussies

I was shopping yesterday and noted a woman studying the ingredients on a loaf of WonderBread; there’s no need for that kind of behavior. You will read exactly zero on the WonderBread bag that will entice you buy the product.

Okay, let’s talk cats. There was a study a few weeks ago that outlined (via mounted cat-cams) how many small animals and birds cats generally kill. There’s some follow-on talk about it at Andrew Sullivan today.  (The video is pretty creepy so watch at your own risk, you don’t need it to understand the questions I have.) Is there some environmental issue with the number of birds and bunnies that cats kill every year? I’m not being cheeky, I honestly want to know – even as a somewhat environmental liberal you’d have to show me some serious facts. I’m sure Lemon kills two or three living creatures every single day – she’s like that. Do I care? No. I do wonder about a few comments in the post: first, what is an “outdoor cat apologist” exactly? My generally pet- having rule is that I don’t want any pet that is locked in a house or cage-like venue, ever. I’m much more likely to hassle people who keep their cats locked up as if they are living on the Serengeti and they fear the dingoes (I have no idea if there are dingoes on the Serengeti…). Second, what does “Still, the bird death toll could be even more seriously reduced if people stopped letting their cats roam about unsupervised,” mean? Does this person think there are cat parks out there? Or that anyone can actually supervise their roaming cat? “Hey, Henry, get your cat supervision kit on. I need you to follow Pumpkin around this afternoon for four hour and make sure he isn’t doing any, well, cat stuff.” Lastly, anyone whose advice – or solution to this massive dead bird ‘problem’ – is to keep cats locked up in a house is a moron.

“…We found that house cats will kill a wide variety of animals, including: lizards, voles, chipmunks, birds, frogs, and small snakes.” Yep. Yep. Yep. And Yep. What is a vole?

Okay, I read some of the study outline/presser and the implication is that “one in three American bird species are in decline,” because of cats. I’d like to see some more data on that fact. The University of Nebraska punditry added that feral cats were responsible for the “extinction of 33 bird species worldwide.”  Once again, there are no other factors involved in declining/extinct bird population aside from my cats? I’m not buying it.

mysterious

As an opening, The Eleven is engaged. Very happy. I don't know a better way to write that news - now you have it.

We are on our way back from a week in Vermont; in Danbury, CT, to be exact. I think nearly all of my readers were actually in Stowe with us so my update might wander a bit from the norm. The weather was clear and hot for most of the week. P., L., and I drove up to Craftsbury Common one lovely afternoon and if you'd like to find me five-to-seven years from now then you'll have to drive a ways into the Northeast Kingdom. We can get X working at the high school and I'll finagle my way into work as an in-house cook/chef at the college. I'm not kidding.

Sam Johnson. I don't know if that's his real name, but based on vague internet work he's the man we call the 'slack wire king', of Burlington, VT. I saw him on Church St. in the summer of 2006 - a consummate professional entertainer. Apparently, he's worked of late in Washington State and New Zealand. He has no internet presence, except for a few youtube clips, and we'd hoped to see him at this weekend's Festival of Fools in town. It wasn't to be - his mystery life and, in fact, actual presence on Earth is standing on shaky ground.

G. won the second Ducketta on the river last night. My entry, Nut 3 (heir to defending champion, Nut 1) drown at the first challenge. Needless to say, he was unable to keep the syndicate's winning ways intact. I managed to defend my Stowe Invitational Golf in Miniature title via an absolutely lucky 18th hole hole-in-one; a move that took me from two strokes down to the trophy. Wholly unfair, but what can you do? The three teens all spend a morning ziplining out at Smuggler's Notch, and gabbed for a few hours afterwards about the seven zips - one that ran for 1,000 feet. One of their tour partners was filming a bit for the resort and if you look quickly you can spot all three in the video.

X has a new job - it was a busy week - that should commence in about a month. Updates as the time nears.

Fantastic dinners at both A Single Pebble and Cafe Shelbourne.

Lastly, I hate the New Yorker's new e-reader format. Consider yourselves lucky to only have to hear about it for one sentence.

onward!

Our A/C has died. It's only about 95 today. How did Laura Ingalls survive? Fortunately, we are heading to cooler climes this weekend and then there are plans to have the HVAC / AC / Furnace redone (it's an all-in-one thing). We were warned on the age of the unit so this isn't a surprise, but we'd hoped to get through at least a full year. Updates as things cool off.

I stopped at the sandwich shop on the way home because after running the oven/stove the last two evenings I've decided that we can do three days of food created with no heat by me. As I was waiting for my sandwiches another family came in, 2-plus-3, to order ice cream. As as aside, this place makes their own ice cream and the entire joint is a complete flashback to Goodrich Dairy in Omaha. Anyway, they walk up to the counter to order and Mr. Man says, "Do you have a list of ice cream flavors?" Teen boy manning the cash very instructively points to all the signs that have been hand-drawn and reflect each type of ice cream - about 20 flavors. "Oh, I see," the gentleman says. Now I'm wondering how this will end. As his three kids (ages 4-8) are standing there he then drops this bomb on order guy, "What flavors do the kids like?" What? What flavors do the the kids like? How would dude at shop know what your kids like? It's not even a fair question. Listen buddy, you've got vanilla, chocolate, fruit flavored, cookie stuff, mixes, coffee flavored, mint flavored, etc. This isn't like asking a waiter "What's good?" on a menu - we are adults and know our own tastes. "Hey, what flavor do you think my 7 year-old would like?" Gee, I don't know. And if you ask me that question again you're barred from this store. As Pops finally orders the three cones he pointed to each kid as he order, "Chocolate for this one {point}. Strawberry for this one {point}, and cookies n' cream for {point} her." Thanks JP Sousa. Why don't you hold the pointing and I'll just hand you some finished cones.

About midnight last night we heard the telltale sounds of cat prepping to puke. If you have pets you know the sound. Pumpkin on on full heave at the foot of the bed and X tries to literally kick him through the wall in time to avoid damage. Not accomplished. What we did get was some on the bed and some on the floor. X then picked up Pumpkin, who was done, and threw him outside. The look on his face was priceless - why am I being thrown outside now, I'm done. What this did get me thinking about was how hilarious it would be if people were the same as pets, who simply puke where they stand/lie (not counting drunks.) You're at work, mid-conversation, and you start heaving a bit, "Hold on conference call, just a second..." Blahhhhh, all over the place. Step one foot to the side and continue. Animals have it made, you never see them running for the toilet, "I'm fine, I'll just chuck right here. Really, no problem..."

I think I've revealed too much.

at least he had a dessert

Last night we all headed into D.C. to see the re-staging of Beertown (from last year's Fringe Festival), an award-nominated, interactive play about a fictional town and its 20th Quinquinnial, in which they open the town's time caspsule and debate additions and subtractions. It's a noble attempt at bringing political discussions to the fore in a comedic form, and the audience is fully participatory in the entire show, but the second act when we freely - and improvisationally - debate the merits of various items before voting tended to drag out far too long. It was primarily due to the repetitive nature of the debate and voting. Overall, not bad, but nothing that had me thinking too much in end. Unlike The Normal Heart from a few weeks back...great show.

More importantly, we grabbed dinner, pre-show, at Cafe Assorti in Rosslyn/Courthouse. X had suggested it earlier in the week and we enjoyed it enough to head back last night. It's a fully Russian menu joint filled with wrapped beef, cabbage, and potatoes. Between the six entrees we've had over two visits they haven't misfired yet; whoever is cooking knows from cooking. As if that tweren't enough, the desserts are unbelievable. I'd been thinking hard about giving a Napoleon a shot in my kitchen for a few months but never managed the gumption. After last night there's no need to try: I had the dessert at Assorti and it was the best dessert I've ever had, nipping out some stellar carrot cake from my past. Absolutely absolutely. The boys both had individual strawberry/yoghurt cake-lets that also managed to disappear with great haste. Napoleon and coffee. Tops.

Last week before vacation.

gas on the fire

I'm a big fan of Gaslight Anthem. I hadn't seen them live and figured the chances of seeing them live - outside of a festival, or a 20,000-seat amphitheatre - seemed unlikely. Their success is such that even a venue like the 9:30 Club here in D.C. is probably too small to hold the real 'tour' crowd. The impending release of their fourth album Handwritten  has apparently driven them out on the road for a short tour of smaller venues; shaking off the rust? Getting back to roots? Brian Fallon admitted about mid-set that they'd be back in town later this year so we can assume it'll be a venue holding 40-50 times as many fans.

Last night they played the relatively new U St. Music Hall in NW, a place that holds a cool 500 - think biggish, underground bar. It was my first foray to the music hall and it was well worth it - its size is reminiscent of the Fine Line in The Cities, where they also played, and Slim's in SF. This (early) show - there was a DJ set/partly later in the evening - blasted out of the blocks at 7:30 with Dave Hause ripping through a 35-minute solo journey, a set that was simply fantastic. I didn't know Hause before the show, I can't know them all, but his CD was in hand at the end of the show. He immediately reminded me of seeing Bob Mould solo: power guitar, strong vocals, great songs. I couldn't be happier to have come upon Hause and his music.

Gaslight Anthem followed quickly on the heels of a somewhat hilarious 15 minutes soundcheck on stage. I have no idea why I found it so funny, and I know they were in Baltimore earlier in the day for an in-store, so I can only guess there wasn't a load of time to get everything in order in the afternoon. The lights dropped, the band stepped on stage, and the next 90 minutes was packed with great songs blasting into the faces of a hypnotized crowd. It's a rare occurrence, even in a smaller venue, that you get 500 people acting as one - it can seem strange at first, but eventually the sweat, pogo-ing, and arms in the air will overtake everyone. You don't get that with a festival crowd, or even at a 1,000+ venue: those don't give you the distilled mayhem of a 500-person crowd - all there for the exact same thing.

The band managed to hit every high mark in their discography over the 90 minutes. As an aside, Fallon pointed out early in the show that with the planned 10pm DJ show they weren't going to waste our time - one set, no breaks, no encores; when it was over, we were all done. Not only is that the way I love my shows, it really opened up the crowd because there wasn't any worry about holding out some energy in reserve for the 'encore'. Open up the throttle and let it go - no off switch. If you know all the Gaslight's songs then you have only a few real favorites and the rest are near-favorites. What you don't do during the show - or what I didn't do - was wonder about when they'd play x or y song because they'll get to them all before you stumble out happy and complete. The current five-piece was perfectly balanced on the very small stage and the sound was overpowering - I'd guess that Gaslight fans don't go to the shows wanting a quiet evening, and they weren't disappointed.

At about mid-show I knew that was experiencing a show that I'd choose to make anyone else's only concert of the year, or years. There's no substitute for a bar band...in a bar. You'll never get the same feeling in a huge venue, and it's hard to bring someone to a Slobberbone show (my all-time favorite band...bar band) if they don't know the songs. That's not the case with Gaslight Anthem because the songs - a tight, pure mix of punk, pop, and rock - are strong enough to carry any person willing to open up and enjoy. They truly put on a show that could be the benchmark for most to say it was the best show they ever saw. For the fans that didn't manage to squeeze into the small joint, I almost want to apologize. And, for the jackasses on Craigslist asking $175 for tickets? Fuck you.

One last award: the 9:30 Club (who booked the show) sent over the big security guy to work the front of the stage, and he was busy. This guy is so big that as the body surfers periodically tumbled towards the stage, he simply stepped to his left, caught some random 220-lb guy in his arms like a baby, and set him to the side. Over and over with nothing but a straight face.

A show that gives me the security of knowing I'll never need to see them again. It won't get any better. Sort of what music is suppose to do to people.

ps The band did a live one-hour online show at the Ed Sullivan Theater last month - they sounded great, but the venue isn't good and the crowd was a bunch of stiffs, probably for security reasons, who knows. Trust me, not even close to the same vibe. Not close.

queue it up

At the shoppette (convenience store) on base last week I had a hilarious interaction with the manager; we get along well and see each other every day. In the afternoons he’ll pop into a closed line and open up as customers at the (usually) two open lines begin to back up five deep – he’s so fast compared to the other cashiers that he can clear three or four sales in the time the others do one. What I had done that day was begin my single-line operation between the two open registers (they face each other) and managed to magically get the next ten or so buyers to go single line behind me. When he opened his register at the rush we had a lengthy, and friendly, discussion about which is faster: single line or pick a line. I know from my experience overseas that the single line is the best option even without an engineer explaining it; the manager disagreed with me. I’d send him this video, but harassing the shoppette manager seems petty.

The funnier version of this same story is the Case of the Urinals at Verizon Center. On the 400-level (upper tier / cheaper seats) all the men's rooms use the single line process. Sure, the lines go out the door and look longer, but they move much quicker. The 100-level (lower tier / expensive seats) have the same bathroom configuration, but everyone insists on lining up ten deep behind each of the 15 urinals - makes zero sense. Occassionally you get some 100-level civilian up in the 400s who immediately gets all riled up and screams "Get in a line behind the urinals. Why is everyone not in a line behind the urinals!" He is quickly dealt with by other semi-drunk hockey fans. He's usually from Pittsburgh or New York.

quick like a bunny

I was thinking about a whirlwind update, but there’s too much to cover – at least in paragraphs. Here’s the summary:

Boys left and returned.

L.  left, back at the end of the month.

Hot.

Storm.

Lizard eaten by cats.

No Power.

Power.

Hot.

Done…hit 105 over the weekend.

Are we caught up?