i've seen this trick before

The Lumineers show at DAR Constitution Hall last night was damn fine. The speed with which this band has moved from opener (over the summer they opened for OCMS here in D.C.) to headlining for a sold-out crowd of 3,700+ is amazing. As with most bands they’ve been around a lot longer than one might expect, and that’s clear when you watch the five-piece in action (three members are more original and played a few songs on their own). In particular, Wesley Schultz represents the face of the band, and his blazing light can carry this band a very long way. I know, it sounds like I don’t care about the rest of the band, but I do. What Shultz is to the Lumineers; Ketch Secor is to OCMS – the trick (not a bad trick) seen before. What this band has written is a nearly perfect album that mixes americana, folk, rock, strings, and harmonies that have been laid down by lots of bands over the last ten years. What the Lumineers managed to do is take all of that groundwork and build it up into ten songs that everyone can (and will) sing at every show, and that’s no mean feat. They had the (strangely diverse) crowd in a lather from the get-go and by about song four had cemented their place in the memories of the entire Hall. You won’t often see a band so tight in performance, playing to the crowd, and generally forcing you to be not only there, but to be a part of the show. (SPOILER ALERT for those who are randomly searching for reviews on Google – even though videos show it all.) The highest point of the show was when all five grabbed their instruments and marched through the crowd to the rear center platform above the boxes in the hall. From there they played a fully unplugged version of “Ho Hey” with everyone singing along; doesn’t get much better than that at any concert. If you’re headed to a show to see them, you won’t be disappointed. If you aren’t, figure out a way to go now – they won’t be in even 3,700-seat places any more.  My only nit to pick was that they did another version of “Ho Hey” toward the end of the show. I felt they might have overreached there – leave us wanting more. The unplugged version was more than enough. Where do they rank for shows? In the great category, but not the top – simply because my top shows all have more personal depth to me and my life. I say that as a way to justify not having their set at the top, and the other five are truly spectacular.

I was in one of DAR’s boxes last night – they seat five, pretty nice but no more expensive than other seats – and chatted with a couple between the opener and the Lumineers. We were talking about other bands on the rise out there (yes, dorky) and I told them about John Fullbright who is out on tour right now opening for G. Love and Special Sauce. She laughed about the G. Love reference because apparently she’d hung out with him after a show at her college any number of years ago. I told her that this was clearly her ‘brush with greatness’, but her boyfriend (husband?) disagreed. She looked a bit confused at his insistence until he pointed out to her that she’d been on the front page of newspapers worldwide in 1978. She’d been held as a child by the Pontiff, in Rome, on the first day of John Paul II’s tenure. Oh, yeah, that too. G. Love and Special Sauce or the Pope? Hmmm.

*for the man i've become / not the man that i was

I always wonder about how we judge people of influence who lead visible and affecting lives. I read the obituary of Harry Callico today: he served on the Virginia Supreme Court for 42 years and wrote the Loving v. Virginia decision in 1966 that was overturned by the US Supreme Court in 1967. I often use Loving v. Virginia to represent the recency of some of the last civil rights decisions in America. I was two. I was alive when the Supreme Court struck down laws against interracial marriage; I’m not old – I’m going to a concert tonight. The point is that it hasn’t been that long.

But, that’s not really the point of this entry. It was early-ish in Carrico’s career (he was seated on the court in 1961) that he wrote the Loving opinion, and he then served another 36 years. A number of interviewees say in the obit that he would not have ruled the way he did if he’d been faced with that choice in years, and that he’d changed. And, let’s say he did, it doesn’t matter so much right now. We can say he changed, we can say he was a product of his time, or any other reason, but it won’t answer my question. When influential people are involved in horrible decisions early in life are they are better off in our remembrances than those that do so at the end of life? Is that short timeline at the end of one’s life simply not enough time to defend an act (Joe Paterno)? Does it matter what exactly that you’ve done? Is it impossible for us to step back and see the entire package before resigning someone to the scrap heap of one act or one decision? Can one bad thing override everything that may have come before or after?

Of course, we could ask the same question of ourselves.

Okay. That’s more than one question.

(*Avett Brothers / The Perfect Space)

pay you tuesday for a hamburger today

Ah, the endless debate for children.

I'm sure this fits neatly into some game theory or delayed gratification subcategory: the weather:school matrix. The boys are off school for the next few days for the end of their semester; today there was 'weather' in the D.C. area so the government is operating a vaguely 10am or noon workday configuration. Knowing that the government determined a delay was in order it's a well known in these parts that the county would have delayed schools at least two hours, if not all day. (The math of delaying kids only two hours while their parents are delayed four hours doesn't make much sense.) Anyway, back to the game lab. Assuming there would have been a two-hour delay today there is moaning about the place that, "Man, we totally lost out on a delay." The theory in their world (and mine when I was young) is that they would trade a two-hour delay followed by five hours of school if only they didn't already have today off. The missing pieces in this grand theory are these: you have an entire day off (most important), and you off and you can't bank weather. There is no actual choice to be made, nor is there anything lost or gained. It's akin to getting a hamburger for free on free hamburger day, and then finding out that in the paper there was a 20% off coupon for hamburgers at some other place. In a single-day situation free always beats a discount; a day off always tops two hours.

Of course, it doesn't help that L. had Wednesday - Friday off last week at her school (for the semester break) and now gets another free day off today due to weather. That, by the way, is the Royal Flush of days off at the Great School Days Off Hold 'Em Championships. She can just drop her cards on the table and walk away....

hey, what's that?

I remember my first glimpse of the Grand Canyon. It's something everyone should see in a late-afternoon or early-morning light. It's a wonder that seems impossible on Earth. This video, and project, is only the second time I've ever felt that why - and I'm only watching on a computer. The process of pondering the science and technology behind this success is almost too much to comprehend. The idea that this could, or would, ever work must have seemed overwhelming. Fucking amazing. What must it have been like when Edith was called in to 'take a look at something'?

The full documentary is on Discovery on Sunday night. Do. Not. Disturb.

lords of the rings

The Eleven dropped an A4 at the Audi dealership this morning for some instandhaltung. Apparently, the headlights need to be calibrated so that if you’re zipping around Matterhorns and such, the lights anticipate your intentions and make sure you get to the Black Forest on time. That was all; the check-in mädchen stared at me with great interest as I waved my hands and said things like “aim”, “change angles”, “align”, “computer-based arithmatik configuration of headlights”, “make them point where I’m going”, and “there is an error that explains it on the dashboard”. Finally, she thinks and says, “you need the headlights recalibrated?” Yep, that’s it. A bit painful getting there, wasn’t it?

What we both immediately noticed upon pulling the car into the autohaus/maintenance/Begrüßung facility was that no one could possibly have created a more assembly line-like set of car owners. All of the people/men were about 30-32 years old, stubble, black hip-length jackets, black pants, boots, and scarf. Each carrying a blackish version of the European carry all. All having stepped from the six A4s created equally from the A4-rainbow spectrum of white, black, gray, and silver.

Dan? Any input?

Now we Sprocket!

two for thirteen

There was one thing I wanted to do this year: learn to play music. I meant to get at it last year, but I simply spent 2012 driving by the nearby music place and rereading the sign that read "Bring Music Into Your Life in 2012!" I don't know if they've changed the banner this year, but I'm staring mandolin lessons in a few weeks. There are loads of good reasons for me and my life: I do love music, I occasionally get asked if I play anything (to which I meekly reply, "Nope, I have zero talent."), and because as some point you have quit watching the years click by. Someone once said that another year will roll by whether or not you do anything - might as well.
I had piano lessons when was a kid, maybe for three years somewhere between the ages of 11-14, but I never practiced. We were the classic case of parents paying for lessons and kid not doing anything but hating lessons. I've often pointed out that never  has this phrase been uttered by a kid who actually took time to learn an instrument: "Man, I cannot believe my parents made me learn how to play saxophone!" Never will hear it. You do often hear those of my ilk saying, "I wish I'd put in just a bit of effort to learn music. Life would be better." Or, more likely, I could be up there with some middling band enjoying myself on weekends. Getting older certainly gives one pause when pondering opportunities offered and lost. The older part does also create obstacles, primarily wondering whether or not you will ever really acquire any skill - and to that I offer Ta-Nehisi Coates, discussing learning a new skill:

"One of the things I've noticed in my studies of French is how much it resembles my studies of athletics. Predictably, I struggle in both athletics and foreign language. But one of the great lessons of my childhood was that no one has the right to be naturally good at anything. More there's a particular pleasure that comes from becoming good at something which you kind of naturally sucked at. I played the djembe as a kid. I had a pretty good ear for rhythm, but no physical coordination. I could hear what I wanted to play, but my imagination exceeded my abilities. For the first year I did it, I sucked. 

But after a year of practice in my parents garage I came to suck a lot less, and by the time I gave up the instrument I had risen to the ranks of the "Merely OK." But I didn't feel "Merely OK." I felt like a king, because I knew from whence I came. I knew that great distance (and it is great) between "Utter Suckage" and "Merely OK." So while I believe in natural talent, I've never seen much point in talking about it. Generally if I decide I want to acquire a skill, I don't see much point in talking about "aptitude." I have chosen the road. Now it's time to walk."

I figure it's my time to walk.

My second item is either more crazy or less crazy. I'm not even sure how to sort out those possibilities, but I will open with this: I have zero actual construction skills. This started out as my desire to jump back into baking - breads, pizzas, lunas. What this has become is my desire to build a wood burning brick oven in the back yard. This is going to take some doing: I could just save some money and buy something to do the trick, but I really do want to take on another challenge and baking (though a challenge) doesn't quite fill my tank. I think I need to remember to pack my aggregate, right? Maybe like this:

to erin is human

I know…I always feel like everyone should be storming the castles for shows that I think are worthwhile. Seriously. Iota, in particular, seems so hit-and-miss: hardly anyone for a Blue Mountain show a few months back, literally ten of us for Jason Ringenberg a few years ago, massive crowd for The Drams. Hey, I love Brent Best and the Drams, but really? I was surprised by that one. It was nearly a decade ago that I first saw Erin McKeown. She opened for The Be Good Tanyas at London’s Royal Festival Hall in March 2003. I’d never heard of her so I didn’t know what to expect that night; what I got was one of only two opening artists that I’ve ever really loved, either from the get-go or upon later listening (the Tarbox Ramblers are the other). Actually, there was never an opener that I came to like a few weeks later. She played at Iota last night and I was stunned by a few things: First, she didn’t have to creep way back into the catalog from whence I first encountered her way back when (no Le Petit Mort, no Slung Low) simply because she has an amazing amount of material from the last five or six years, and two or three ‘styles’. To see someone so comfortable with new music (her CD just came out last week) while playing such a small venue is no mean feat. Second, who puts together a tour and says, “what I need is a drummer and…a…sax player”? That’s it: Erin (and what always seems a HUGE guitar), the drummer, and a horn man. I’ve never seen that combo before, and I doubt I ever will again. The three of them were just great – perfectly comfortable, appeared ready for anything, and the sound aligned masterfully for her musical stylings. The crowd was good, though way smaller than it should have been for her talent and local roots, and it was wonderful to be about ten feet away and center stage for the show (see above). Luckily there’s a big brick pillar in the middle of Iota (that I kept behind me) so I didn’t quite feel so stalker-y. Not that I am. Nevermind. Jenn Grant opened the show and easily convinced me to buy her newest CD out today (she was selling, in her words, the “sweet Canadian version” that was already released). She had a strong four-piece on stage and also did something I hadn’t seen before: two mics set up with different mixes (it appeared and sounded); a pretty cool little trick to allow for smooth transitions even within songs. I’ll give her CD some time to grow, but she seems to have at least a few things and styles working in her songs. Grant’s set was definitely worth my time. Or, my time was worth her set…

After the show I nabbed Erin’s playlist (^^^^^ up there) from the very small Iota stage – and felt a bit like a criminal doing so. I had a chance to talk with her a bit afterwards and admitted my misdeed, and our original London encounter. She didn’t care a bit about my thievery, and signed the playlist for me. Ah, brushes with greatness. Here’s her first ever video – and she played the song backwards for us last night; something she had to learn during the shooting.

ice ice baby

X treated us to a Holiday spa visit this weekend; we snuck out whilst the teens weren’t looking and did three hours at Spa World. As part of our visit we were booked in for a reflexology massage – better known as 30 minutes of dude attacking your feet and lower legs. Now, I’m not too much of a baby, but that guy was solid; while working on my left foot/leg he had to slap my foot a couple of times to indicate that I needed to relax. Sure, buddy, all over that. By the right foot I was well into the this-and-that of reflexology. No worries about X, she just sat there as if someone were lightly tapping her foot, not attempting to put their thumb and knuckles through the arch in your peds. I have to say that by the time he was done my feet felt damn fine and I was ready to stand around anywhere you’d want to stand around for at least eight hours. Give me some standing.

I did two rounds in the pools: one post-cardio workout, and once after our massages and hot rooms. They conveniently provide an ice sauna room for bears to enjoy in between bouts of clay stones, forest heats, amethyst heat, and various other lizard rooms. Nothing calls a bear quite like a big room of ice. Overall, you can see exactly how much happier the world would be with weekly visits to an overly relaxing spa. We wrapped the day with dueling Bibimbap in the spa restaurant. If you come visit we may drag from a stupor to spa…be warned.

all in one

On Friday X got an e-mail from a D.C. liquor store - some now near legendary joynt that provided the Singleton for Christmas - about a new release Spanish wine that Charles Parker rated a gazillion. She just happened to open her e-mail between 10:00am and 10:09am and decided to plop down an order for 2 bottles at $16.99. Done deal, hands dusted. We swung by after work to pick up her two bottles where upon she was treated as some legend who'd mastered wine greatness. Apparently, only 50 cases were delivered to the greater D.C. area and this shop managed 49 of them. Wth a limit of six bottles per customer, only 98 D.C-area customers tapped out the 588 bottles - well, 47 with 6 each, X with 2, and one person who called and could only get four, and now doubt wondered who the hell would call on release day to only buy two? If you're getting in during the nine-minute selling period you'd surely buy six. I'm sure the talk around the nation's capital wine circles over the weekend involved determining just who busted up the six pack. Along with that discussion, they must have awoken a bit hungover, because we were. Breca packs a 15% alcohol content and it certainly knocked us around (during our rousing new geography game). It is very, very good.

This is a picture of one of the two matching handmade mugs I've gathered from an Eastern Market artist. I keep one at work, one that I've been using for coffee for about a year - everyone (most) know this is my mug; I have it at meetings nearly every morning. Anyway, about three weeks ago it went missing, and I quickly sorted that I must have left it on someone's desk whilst walking about pontificaing, as I'm wont to do. Well, nothing. After a number of weeks with no one saying, "Hey, Pontiff, you left you mug on my desk," or (walking to my desk an hour later) "Here's your mug old man. I hope you don't leave your kids alone in strange places." Finally, last Monday one of my closer confederates says this to me, "Hey, I think your mug, the blue-and-white one, is on Beasley's desk. I think he's keeping pens and pencils in it." What the fuck? I remember going to Beasley's desk for something a few weeks back - a rare event - and the bell finally rings that I did leave my mug on or near his desk. Most likely with at least a quarter cup of coffee still in it. Let's break down this scenario a little more: you've discovered and unknown coffee cup on your desk. Hmm. Said cup is pretty distinctive in styling; you aren't looking at a styrofoam cup, or anything that looks as 'distinctive' as this:

I guess if it did look like that you might think something other than "this clearly belongs to someone", take it to the kitchen, rinse it out, and leave it in the drainer. Nope, not happening here. You have a handmade mug left on your desk, including some coffee undrinked, and you decide this: I'll just rinse this bitch out, give it a dry, and put my pens and pencils in it. Bingo. This is akin to seeing some kid wandering across your lawn, grabbing him, giving him a shower, and having him settle into your family. Look at my mug. How could you not figure that it belonged to someone? I'll never know. I did see him in the hall after data was received and nicely said, "Beasley, I hear my mug is on your desk holding your pens and pencils." To which he replied, "The ceramic blue one? I'll get my stuff out of it and bring it to your desk." Fade to black.

This is the final install of the cat door/vaporlock. As you see, it has space for a plant, a candle, and the cats' stockings come Christmas. For you non-local folk, the hand-built box has two doors: the one you see, and one on the opposite end, outside access. The cats can't have both doors open at the same time so the cold air (or heat in the summer) doesn't much affect our weather bill. (Yes, there's carpet inside the vaporlock - seriously?). There's the carpeted platform inside, a painted platform outside. Lemon figured it out in about half a day; Pumpkin took some coaxing and a few days of thought. All is fine now.

life

I sat in the car in our driveway on the Hilltop listening to the final Terry Gross interview with Maurice Sendak. I remember how powerful it was. I remember I might have had lots of dust fly into my eyes. It’s something special – his entire life was something special. You’ve been warned. A discussion has come up at the Dish, and continues.

bottle full of dirt

Let’s talk politics, but use the world of concert tickets as the narrative.

Back in 1994 when DoJ was investigating Ticketmaster for a variety of bullshit, Pearl Jam entered the fray (willingly) as they fought the company on another front: service charges. (Their issue was that tickets were to be sold at $20, but Ticketmaster was adding a hidden service fee and basically selling them for $25, and not revealing the fees to buyers.) For those around at the time, let’s put on our thinking caps and remember the amount of grief the band received for pushing back against the machine (I was not one of them, nor was I much of a PJ fan at the time). For lots of people the idea that Pearl Jam, then the biggest band in the world, was fighting for anything financial was generally frowned upon. Aside from service fees, Pearl Jam attempted to sue Ticketmaster for monopolistic practices because of their exclusive, long-term contracts with most major American venues – if you were going to play in arena X then you had to use Ticketmaster as the vendor. The band tried to tour venues not controlled by Ticketmaster, but failed to gain traction and cancelled the tour. Those that laughed at Pearl Jam back then, most because they didn’t understand the completely egregious crap that Ticketmaster was pulling, didn’t really care, “Look at those crazy fucks [grungy band] trying to make more money,” and “I can’t believe they have the audacity…” You know why you didn’t care back then? Because it didn’t have any effect on you all.

Fast forward nearly 20 years, and now you’re trying to buy your tickets for the Lumineers tour, and guess what? You can’t get a ticket at face value to save your live because the Ticketmaster beast is punching you repeatedly in the head, taking your lunch money, and telling the other kids that you’re just a big baby. What do we have now? A company that charges $8-$12 in services fees (usually close to a third of the cost) just so you can print your ticket at home. A company that sells tickets directly to the secondhand market – controlled by them – to maximize profits simply because they can: who could stop them? And, they still have exclusive contracts with most of the quality venues. Oftentimes, events that are ongoing seem like they have zero effect on your live. Sure, concert tickets seem like small potatoes, but it wasn’t like we didn’t see something in Ticketmaster all those years ago. It’s okay, laugh off the small stuff. Don’t worry, it will never come back around and cause you even the slightest ill will…

PS. I managed to get one Lumineers ticket.

welcome

Let’s start off the new year with some trending music. I don’t know if my age takes me to more rootsy music – more and more as the years pass – or there is just more of it out there. First you get The Lumineers, who are in town at the end of the month, thank you very much, doing Stubborn Love. Second, you have John Fullbright, brought to us by X, doing Gawd Above live. Both have been nominated for Americana album of the year so I guess the times of playing out in the woodshed are over. The Lumineers tickets for D.C. are nearly impossible to come by; Fullbright is opening for larger acts on the road in the new year. I hope he gets here to a smaller venue before, well, before...

song

There's new book about addressing the ubiquity of the Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah. I won't read the book because any discussion of the song should at least include input from the creator - also, there's probably not much in there that differs from my personal viewing of the song's growth. I never knew much about Cohen until at least 2003; I had come to the song via the Jeff Buckley version around the time of his death in 1997. Being an alt.country junkie from way back, Buckley was an iconic figure in the late 90s and I no doubt bought his CD based on write-ups in magazines like Q and No Depression. Buckley's version was on about a dozen mixtapes/mix-CDs that I used while driving, at the gym, and while sitting around the house. It wasn't until later that Cohen came into my life via X and I came to know the original nearly as well as the cover. ***

The (late) popular success of the song would be a mixed bag for the younger me - someone more interested in keeping songs and artists as my little secrets. I wanted success for them, but only in the sense that I could see them tour and play venues of the size that I liked. Now? I'm considerably different when it comes to music - I'm not as secretive, I have much greater respect for what other people like, and success for any musical artist is a good thing, even Justin Bieber (which thankfully is not yet auto-correctable on my computer). The 45s that I loved when I was young were just as poppy (and vaguely nausea inducing) as what the 'tweens listen to now. The stuff of my college days was as pretentious as everyone else's ("Oh man, the fucking Style Council rules!"), and my tastes now are as varied as the next guy. The point is this, whatever gets you going is good. Great songs - Hallelujah, not Boyfriend (I had to look that up) - being played as tributes and covers ain't a bad thing.

Interesting facts? Bieber and Cohen, both Canadians. The last time we heard Hallelujah? It was being played on a ukulele by a man dressed as an elf following the tabs on his iPhone. See?

*** As for covers, Buckley's version is great, but kd lang's live version is probably the best I've ever heard.

the new year

It's over.

I don't tell people quite enough how much I care about them.

I don't tell people around here how great a life I have.

Both apply...

Happy New Year and best to all.

Love.

Cloud Cult - Love You All (Live on KEXP) from Jim Beckmann on Vimeo.

time and debate

It's time.

I'm a ways into Steven Pinker's The Better Angels of Our Nature and confusion is settling into my thoughts. It appears his proclamation is that we are living in a safer world than our long-ago ancestors.  It's clearly true, and not much of a voila! moment, when you crunch the raw numbers, or rate of deaths per 100,000, in various gatherer societies versus the Leviathan-controlled peoples of civilization, but that's not really the point, is it? I certainly don't measure the safety or security of my life and family against the hunter/gatherer's historical numbers. It's measured against my neighborhood and my society. What does this matter? Well, if our goal is too simply be safer from violence than those that wandered the Serengeti then we could probably kicked up the violence and still be winning. But, that isn't what we want, is it?

Guns have long been an issue: as tools of directed violence, accidental harbingers of death, purveyors of death crossed (inter- and intra-) families and lovers, and the most efficient of suicide options. They have also, in ways we generally care less about, provided safety to neighborhoods, countries, and peoples. What they have never been is a remedy for crime or violence. Not once; not ever. The love of, and number of guns, won't change - and why that's important to me is because I have to begin to look at this issue the same way I force the illegal immigrant / anti-immigration crowd to start at the point we are at: 11-20 million people in our country. We won't ever 'round them up' and remove them from the country, so holding that as any serious starting position is not even a reasonable option. Rounding up 295 million of 300 million guns in America isn't a serious position, either. Laws and regulation have done nothing so touting the passage of such laws (by the anti-gun folks), or talking about laws in place (gun folks), is neither here nor there. What does change things in America is the mounting desire of people to do away with (often) what we at one time see as normal or sane, but eventually decide fails to represent the society we choose to live in. Laws and screaming about guns won't change anything, your neighbor and my neighbor will change everything

When X was in a bar exam review course there was an issue reviewed concerning domesticated animals vs. non-domesticated animals and how the law applied to each. What was your responsibility when it came to securing your animals (either type) against damage they might do if set loose in a town or village, or if Jimmy McBobbin from next door stuck his arm in the cage? The debate partially held forth by the students, instead of simply determining your liability if your herd of goats (domesticated) ran roughshod, was exactly how one draws a line between domesticated and non-domesticated. Law students attempting to perfect their study were filled with questions such as: "What about if I owned a tiger?" Is that domesticated if it's in a cage", or "What if I'm keeping javalinas in my backyard?" The instructor had to go to great lengths to point out that within the confines of the bar exam you won't be debating with yourself if the animal is domesticated or non-domesticated, because it will be painfully obvious. You would simply be asked to determine the law based on whether the animals got loose, the dumb kid next door stuck his arm in your hyena cage, or if you needed to build a fence or cage. The domestication issue would be clear, such as: "You own five Bengal tigers and are keeping them in your garage at your apartment complex...", or "You own three laying hens and have them fenced in in your backyard." Right - Bengal tigers not domesticated: Hens domesticated. Don't get too crazy on assessing which is which, it'll be obvious.

What does this mean? When you look at guns you can divide them into those that are 'domesticated' and those that aren't. For people that want guns for self defense in the home, fine. For those that want guns for sport/hunting, fine. I'm like to start there. When the question is asked on our societal bar exam we'll know the answer. A pistol in your home? Self defense. A shotgun in your home? Self defense or hunting. A rifle? Sport (not great for self defense, but good under the sport heading).*** An AR-15 with a 50-bullet clip? Not. (See Bengal tiger above.) We know the answer when someone says they want a semi-automatic weapon with the ability to lay down 100 rounds in 100 second. The answer is no. Our goal should be to make owning and buying those types of weapons something that we don't accept as a society, law or not. I don't want the guy living next door to me to have that type of weapon anywhere near me. I honestly don't want it anywhere near him. The amount of killing that can be done in a limited amount of time is a problem. How about we try to fix that first?

I've come a ways on guns over the years. I once preferred them to be outlawed completely, but I can see how people feel the need for self defense in the home even if I can't understand it, nor see how something that is as likely as getting struck by lightning, gets into people's head. I can't argue them out of that position. What I can offer are options that allow both of us to live in a world where your choices are the tools of violence, and mine aren't - I think I should get a head start.

*** And, keep them in your house. Truth be told, the kind of person who feels the need to carry a pistol around, strapped to his ankle, hip, or thigh is generally, based on most of my 'acquintances', is struggling with dick envy. Sorry, I had to say it. I don't need you out patrolling the streets to protect me and mine. Thanks.

in summation

The cat door was finished over the Holidays. Herewith is the finished product designed by X, constructed by her and her father in the Yankee Workshop:

The beauty of this gem is that it's a double-door contraption that's essentially a vapor/temperature locked compartment that the cats, the damn cats, can move from door-to-door with both doors never open. We'll decorate it and pass along updates as the knuckleheads figure it out. We fear that at least one will eventually decide that napping mid-entrance/exit might be enjoyable.

We made another evening/night through NYC last night - no issues aside from the need to make a run westbound through Danbury, CT before attacking from the north. Nothing significant to report aside from no traffic and the crazy-8 entrance to the GW Bridge when approaching along the Henry Hudson. Who created that mess?

Let's crack some numbers. Our total drive up, 435 miles in 440 minutes (including stops), worked out to a tidy 59.32 mph avg/traveled. The return, with Danbury included, worked out to 452 miles in 473 minutes, again with stops, totaling 57.34 mph avg/traveled. You find these numbers interesting, don't you? My interest is that the NYC overnight route commits to fewer stops and gives one a chance at a 60 mph avg travel time. You can't really do the Falls Church driveway to the Great North driveway in less than 7 hours and change (435 minutes) unless you limit stops to a total of 11 minutes. Truth be told, we only had 16 minutes of stops on the way up; something more like 40 minutes on the return; drive time on the return was less. I'll offer up my other thoughts if you feel like giving me a call on the the road-math hotline.

union labor; made in america (also known as yankee workshop)

Around 3p this afternoon, at a homestead on a rocky Vermont ledge, father and daughter headed out to the heated workshoppe to begin a tussle with a newly-designed, double-door, vapor-lock cat entry/exit point for our house in Virginia. The design is meant to allow access through the house window for our two furballs, whilst keeping wind and weather-related gusts from either entering or leaving the house. Imagine, if you will, a door far too extravagant for simple suburbanites: carpeted, alternating door locations, ledges on both sides, and (probably) a hot tub.

As they ambled across the snow-dusted driveway to the shoppe there was nothing but intent in their strides: band-sawing, lumbering, measuring, shots of whiskey, dove joints, measuring (twice), re-cutting, and Holley double pumper carbs. After an eternity, or ten minutes, they return to the warmth of the main house declaring that a run to the lumberyard is necessary - as oft quoted, the plan did not meet the first obstacle well. Off they drive with dreams of plywood, 2 x 4s, joists, drywall nails, and sandblasters. As I'm holding down the house - cooking, as I do - I receive the dreaded call about an hour later. They've called to report that they've ended up at a local hangout and are having snacks and tea. Snacks and tea?

They return an hour later, alleged lumberyard items in the van, and enter the homestead to great cheers. Cheers of tea and snacks.

What more of life?

another year, bound for glory

We've wandered up to Vermont for the week: a fairly easy drive with just three of us (the 61). The boys departed on Saturday for the U.P. so they are ensconced in the cold and surrounded by trigger happy potheads* of near Canada. We pulled the all night drive up Saturday (departed at 8:38p) through NYC (hit the GW Bridge at 12:39), and reached the house in Vermont at 3:58a. Absolutely zero traffic. The total, in case you might wonder, was 735 miles in 740 minutes. I almost made the 'Joe DiMaggio' trip. That time include our two short stops - clearly the 735 minute drive is the ultimate goal.

On Friday night the 61 once again journeyed into D.C. for a show at the Redrum Theater - we must be the only people to have spent two evenings there. This was for The Santaland Diaries (Sedaris) staged for the fourth year by a Joe Brack; great stuff, highly entertaining, and something you can watch and simply hear the voice of Sedaris coming straight from Brack's mouth. He has another play from last summer's FringeFestival that he's taking on tour after the new year, My Princess Bride, which is a one-man version of the movie. When he announced that at the end of the show, L and X just about screamed with delight. I, for one, have never even watch The Princess Bride in its entirety, but I'll no doubt book tickets when he brings it back to D.C some time next year. We used this opportunity to venture to Ping Pong Dim Sum for dinner, which yielded some very good dim sum, drinks, and atmosphere for a reasonable (D.C.) price.

I was planning on doing some type of year-end music roundabout, but I don't think I have the time or willpower to get too deep into it. It's been a nice year for music, and even though I wasn't particularly high on Mumford and Sons sophomore release, it's grown on me over the year. In particular, Below My Feet toward the end of the CD sort of brought me back around to the entire disc. It's a great song, and so my offering is this live version:



Oh, wait. If you don't like that one, I'll incorporate them into this ten minutes of bliss:



* citation: H. reported once from the cabin in the U.P. that he was bored because everyone in the house was watching football (Packers' fans), and screaming at the TV. Henry has zero interest in football. And, he reported, he couldn't go wander around outside because it was dark and the land was roamed by "trigger happy potheads."

hope and situations

As I was babbling about hope, situations, and how we might react a few weeks ago, I couldn't bend the words to my will - that's my problem A week after the shootings I offer you a parallel ideal posted by TNC at The Atlantic. In his words at the bottom of the post he answers a lot of what was calling me, and these two in particular stand out:

"But I would not insist that I was the same person armed, with the power to take a life, that I was without it."

and,

"These are compacts I have made with myself and with my family. There are other compact we make with our country and society. I tend to think those compacts work best when we do not flatter ourselves, when we are fully aware of the animal in us."

The first statement rings so true for me - I cannot insist that I would or would not behave a certain way in a different situation. I do believe that if you are holding a gun in your hand that you aren't the same person you are without it. I don't even think it's a debate, and it follows my general rule, no doubt heisted from somewhere else, that if you pull out a gun you better be ready to use it. For any person to assume that they know what will happen tomorrow, next week, or next year in their life is fooling themselves. Proof of that, in the current situation is that Ms. Lanza never imagined what her son was capable of doing. She had guns in her house legally. She never expected her son to kill her then drive five miles and mow down 26 innocents. When you remove the anchor we all have, the one that allows us to imagine that we are the perfect ones, it's much easier to see the problems that exist. When you put that gun in your hand, when you release that anchor, you are a different person: one probably for the worse, one for the better.

As for the compact it's the same thing, and tied to same instinct that we are so often wrong about - we aren't necessarily who we think we are and my day-to-day life is so different than the pact I have with society. Any assumptions I have about how my life is to be led should always be measured in tandem with the compact of which I am a party.

you just don't know it

I have no idea if the phrase was uttered, but if it were:

"Take the deal," Obama said to Republicans, referring to the broader proposal, adding that it would "reduce the deficit more than any other deficit reduction package" and would represent an achievement.

This immediately reminded of the final scene of Searching for Bobby Fischer, one of my all-time favorite movies. The only set-up you need is that this is the championship match between two masters-level, chess-playing kids - you can figure out the movie good and bad. I sense we may be at this point...



Brilliant.