guilty by association

It's not often that you something or someone and pipe up with "hey, I know him!". Unless you're from a huge metropolis it's not often you can point to X and say they're from your hometown. Omaha leads one to Malcolm X and Gerald Ford's birthplace. A sort of association with Johnny Carson comes to mind. More importanly to me is that the Saddle Creek Record label has taken Omaha to the front of the music world. (And by important I don't belittle Mr. X...just how my life is affected.) Now (again) we get to claim Mr. Buffett and his forward thinking. I read the article in Time about the Gates Foundation, Bono, Buffett, and the meeting in Omaha earlier this year...and so wanted to be a part of what's happening. Funny how you can curse Bill Gates' business practices and suddenly throw out some forgiveness because the man and his wife are contributing $40 billion to the world. ($40 BILLION) That money is not going to symphonies, museums, Harvard University... but to the World. With his mindless need to succeed it can only do good. Now Buffett is on board and pushing $1.5 billion a year in contributions to solve AIDS, malaria, other diseases, American inner city shortages, and the mankind that needs help. It's not a half-hearted effort...the rules are strict, and money will be dispensed. There is no bad side to this. As I type on my Apple I've got to say that I truly hope the competition amongst the money becomes something like "taking the great wealth of the world and doing good". I can see what I want to do...maybe no monetary but with time. Apparently Buffett said during his news conference that his kids would have enough money, but not too much. He said something like, "They'll have enough to to anything they want, but not enough to do nothing." I think we rarely find someone of his mind. Well done.

really running

My first input from the South...not the Deep South, but the South nonetheless.

If you know what 'business casual' means than this will be VERY funny. If not, maybe it'll seem off-the-path. Washington D.C. (and it's warm cloak of suburbs) is strictly business casual dress tossed gently with piles of unidentifable laminate badges. The badge things is funny because it reminds me of a salad full of unnamed types of greens. Is that chicory? What's that, spinach? Hey, you're arrugula! Why do people wear badges after they've left work...or on their way to work? If I can see something around your neck it better be one of two things: a Metro SmartTrip card or a monthy bus pass. Nothing screams dolt quite like the "Department of Homeland Security" all-access Van Halen pass.

Oh. The point. Coming. I ride the bus on days that I'm too tired to ride the bike (take the 23A from Ballston Common to Tyson's Center/Westpark Transit Center...preferably the 6:06am). I admit that maybe I'm in the minority here, but if I think I'm late for my bus....if I can see my bus, then I need to effing RUN! Not some half-hearted business casual trot...but a RUN! Follow me here. I"m talking about tie flapping over your shoulder. You're running late and you see your bus sitting at the transit corner; here are your options: run like a madman to catch it, or, just be cool and walk your merry way along. Anything in between is just a pallid effort to make everyone think you're so important that you need to....trot. I want to see some dude in business casual hauling the groceries (fast!) to the bus. Really running. Christine claims she saw some guy in the Metro just hell bent for leather one day; trucking to the train; his wallet popping out of his pants as he ran. Solid! Someone called out that his wallet was on the floor and he stopped like a cartoon character...ran back, skidded to a stop, grabbed his wallet, said thanks....and proceeded to haul ass to the train. That's my guy. RUN!

It's been wet. It's deathly humid.

My two pimps for this post: Neil Young's new CD and Unity08.com

Peace

Todd

rendition

Before I get off into the weedy central reservation of political timebombs I need to make something very clear: Eddie Izzard is a genius. There, it's said, I've said it. The wonder of comedy (Izzard, Stewart, Mahar, D. Miller, Mencia, et al) is that it provides the only remaining outlet for serious discussion in our politically stigmatized, FCC-controlled daily lives. Neither the media nor the politicians have any forum to let loose and call a duck a duck. I'm not even sure they want to, but if they did...they won't. More than other options comedy is a wide boulevard of open debate. It may not be always be pretty but it is effective. I see that my list is a bit to the Left but at least I threw Dennis Miller into the huddle for the Cons. (Can conservatives be funny?...probably not...too busy persecuting.) Izzard's take on empire is enough to make anyone see just how bad things get when immature ideas cross with alledgedly decisive action.

So, immigrants. If you've already heard from me then you're free to take this period off and hang around the quad playing hackey-sack. I don't know that I can put into words the perfect thought but I can certainly say some things that aren't normally allowed. First, you cannot claim the immigrant experience of your great-grandparents as a basis for your expertise on the issue. I don't know what it was like to come to America and process through Ellis Island. I've no idea what your responsibilities were to the Republic. I've no way to know whether or not your ancestors followed the letter of the law. What I do know is that I don't know. Anyone who puts forth the "my great-grandparents did it the right way" argument gets the you-misspelled-that-word bell rang, is ejected from the game, and consideration of opinion denied. To draw a parallel; think about all the nutty adults living vicariously through their kids. You know, the revolting ones we see at little league games, those guys living the days of high school football heroics gone by, screaming at umpires...those people. They claim other's lives as their own and we turn away in shame trying to contemplate what's gone wrong. We don't let them get away with that behavior....ever. The idea that any other person's life validates your opinion is an ugly ideal. It cheapens the entire process. Second, if you claim to have Hispanic friends ("some of my best friends") and that "they've been to the house", you're only substituting 'Hispanic' for every other minority that's been cornered in this country; "really, some of my best friends are gay..." It's been done before and it has always ended up on the wrong side of humanity. Them's the rules.

So, you either have a solution to the problem or you can't participate in the discussion. This all runs to what I think is at the root of the immigration issue: the diminishing majority that the European American has in this country. That was a lame way out... the White American. We've gone from a European melting pot back into a fire that includes Asians, South Americans, Africans, and (dare I say) other North Americans. To even imagine that the issue is employment, the minimum wage, or a stagnant economy is ludicrous. Even our beloved right-handed scissor administration doesn't believe these are the issues. So, what is the problem? I'll put forth that the endless recording announcing the prevailing 'days of fear' routine has come home to roost. The endless clattering and banging of pots sayint that we are 'under attack' leads to an essay saying we can't survive if we don't do something... onto the desire to get anything done. How about this novel idea, we got we voted for, we bought into the fear (again in 2004), and here we sit. We've done nothing yet to combat the fear and suddenly, poof!, here it is... any foreigner crosssing our borders is certainly horribly wrong and dangerous. Like Europeans over the last two hundred years they are chasing the promise of a better life. Does it make their actions better if they've come illegally? No. Does it make them wrong? No. The process needs to be fixed, not the people. The easy-way-out ideals of the fringe will never serve a final answer. The dialogue that calls for opportunity to those in this country is the only real hope. If we now decide to change and lockdown the border, build a fence, and isolate ourselves from the world, then so be it. But the left-handed smoking idea that 11 million immigrants can be sent home is as crazy as ideas come; we need to recognize the situation and come up with a plan to make our business and economy strong while taking care of those doing the work that made us strong. Give them the same opportunity that your great-grandparents and gay friends had when they came to this country. Or to your house...

As an aside, sometimes a lot of people come together for something and it's perfect. Why we question those who use their public platform for good is beyond me. Here's a link to a great story and a better cause. I have no idea if I'd sit down and have dinner with Rick Reilly but I read his stuff (he's a great writer) and I think I'll trust him on this one.

peace.

tx

express lane

To open the tab I put forth that after a few middlin' albums, Bruce Springsteen has jumped the abyss and put out something worthy of his talent (note: some of that opinion was swiped from other music critics). I don't know that I can really hit him too hard since 35 years in music and a Rock n' Roll Hall of Fame induction is a hard life to exceed. In fact, if one considers Born to Run (1975) then he had nothing left to offer. It's a long road after seeing your fourth album reach that peak and somehow keep going. "The Seeger Sessions" is what he's forever been about, and to hear him do Pete's songs...so lively, so powerful, and so attacking the music is a wonderful thing.

(new episode)

Follow me. I'm in a store (TJ's, Wild Oats, Whole Foods, Super Wal-Mart, Raley's...) and I walk up to a register with the following in my hand-held basket:

olives
feta cheese
gyoza
a package of frozen salmon
a loaf of bread
bottle of wine
fresh sage

That's it. That IS an express line purchase. Actually, that's a European shopping at the markets of Venice, Florence, Barcelona, Paris, Stockhom.... I'm off along some tangent. There is NO way that "up to 20 items" is an express line...no WAY. Eight or less is the only thing that qualifies for express. 20? What? It runs parallel to the airlines deciding that the average human weight is 180 lbs. instead of the 150 lbs. of years ago, or that driving a gas-sucking EscalaHummer is okay simply because it's big and more (don't even get me started on gas prices), or living at the nearest Mall. More or bigger isn't acceptable. Here's the list of goods toted by the 'dude' in front of you at the express lane:

5 lb. mayonaise tub
package of frozen salmon
flatpack of 24 cans of dietary dog food
24 pack of toilet paper
DVD collection of the O.C. (first season)
case of fully-leaded Coke

(stay the course)

bonus collection of Extra Strength Sudafed cold medicine (card required to avoid production of crystal meth)
a sixer of PBR
the big plastic (3 lb.) container of HydroxyCut
one pair of cargo shorts
one package of wife beater t-shirts
one shirt sporting the logo "Slot Machine"

(still going)

a 2lb. circular tube of Red Laces
a 24-eyelet pair of shoelaces
one package of extra large condoms
the "Pauly Shore is Dead" DVD
one frozen package of Blueberry Eggos
lastest issue of "O" magazine (for the wife...is that Oprah on the cover?)

(almost done)

one jar of hamburger pickles
a case of 40W oil for the rig

Wow. That's done. That's express. That's America.

I can love. I'm not difficult

kisses to all

t

objectively speaking

This is it. I must put this out to the world. Must. There is only one side to the baggage claim discussion ---- There is no reason to stand with your shins against the baggage carousel...no reason. Honestly, I always stand back and watch the incoming portal of luggage from a nice distance. I long for my bags to pass through the dragging black carwash-looking things just like everyone else, I too live in suitcase hope. When I see my kit I step forward, take my bag, and walk away. See how easy that was? What is it with people and the claim? Of all the actions I see humans engage in, this is the most lemming-like. If only there was a cliff nearby that all the luggage t*&^s could trundle off...

Hey, back from Omaha. The travel scoobies (beyond the claim) involve my return flight from Omaha to Reno. Don't laugh, but my connection was via Chicago. It happens. Thunderstorms in Chi-town so we end up on the Omaha runway for four hours. Add an additional hour to the one hour flight and I miss all connections to Reno. A long story made shorter...I get comp'd a hotel and meals in Rosemont, Ill. and make it home Monday afternoon. That's that.

Laurel and I had the blast that one would expect. The temp was in the 90s until Easter morning when it dropped 35 degrees to the mid-50s. We dressed up and had dinner at Trovato's in Dundee, saw movies, played games, miniature golf (I won by 30 strokes, snap!), batting cages (she CAN hit), discussed insurance and premiums, had the salmon/magic tater dinner, crepes one morning, video arcaded, did endless logic problems, watched her DVD collection of The Muppet Show (season 1), and generally thought life was swell. She's at 4'10'' and way too heavy to lift or throw across her bed. She and Melissa are off to Kearney this weekend for the Future Problem Solvers competition. In case you raised the eyebrows at the insurance and premiums above...we were studying for the comp, I'm not that lame. There's a pic at Trovato's (note her original Liz Taylor necklace designed at Anne's house) and a shot of her driving one to the gap, as if Barry Bonds has anything. A lovely girl.

I'm reading Devil in the White City about the 1893 Chicago World's (Columbian) Fair. I'm still liberal. Still tall. I like a nice wrap with falafel, hummus, spinach, and romesco. That's all.

t

dodger

Since everyone 'seems' to be keeping up with my morning ride, and the dog posse therein, it'll be easy to play this story. Before I go further I need to trundle back to Omaha, circa mid-70s. I used to hang around Rockbrook Pool up 'round 108th and West Center Road...the real edge of the city back then. (Go to Omaha now and we'll drive out 300th St.-way and see how it's exploded.) We WERE the suburbs and our community pool was the cool place to be for a ten-year old. I used to ride my classic Schwinn Stingray (no gears/bendix brakes) to the pool everyday in the summer so I could check out the hot fifth-grade girls (does Kim Oberkrom ring a bell? thought so...). One afternoon I was riding my bike home with our neighbor, Brock, on the back of the banana seat when the Burns' dog, Duke, decided to chase a car (or me). There was nowhere to go so the 'Ray runned right over that damn beagle's back (picture a cartoon with a dog being almost busted in half...) and we ended up over the handlebars and across the pavement. Didn't seem like much (kids are resilient) but when I looked down I had a lovely gash on my inner left elbow that ran to the bone....then we panic. Wrapped the towel around my arm and made it the remaining few blocks home. In my defense, there was no choice but the chlorine soaked towel since the only other possible cloth was my beloved stars-and-stripes Speedo...address all smartass comments elsewhere. Damn if I didn't hate that dog, but it WASN'T intentional. From that to this...

On the ride to work a few weeks back (dark morning) I was challenged by a huge white dog that I hadn't seen in a good, long time. I vaguely remember this massive tuft of fur during the dark of some long ago Winter morning but it's been months since he's shown up on the road. He was back, or awake...take your pick. You now know I have dog-bike experience (see above), hospital experience (stitches...see above), but it does no good in the end. I immediately thought about trying the NASCAR tactic of steering straight at that clump of fur, assuming he wouldn't be there by the time our paths intersect, dogs don't do geometry. You've got to figure that a dog this big can't stop and hold ground once it's got a head of steam. As bad as the driving at a wreck idea seems to be, I think it's good advice...and normally it works out just fine. So here comes 'Saurus (now named) at an aggressive lope across my bow and I immediately....decide to wait and see just how agile this lug can be. Holding the straight line like Luke Skywalker in the first Star Wars...stay on target, stay on target. But no, I've found the one dog over seventy pounds that has ANY agility; he pauses, makes another move, and bounces back to center road. What? I make a very quick adjustment (based on my Formula Ford training) and narrowly escape death. Experience counts...not sure how, but it does.

Hey, there's a beagle in that picture...and the dreamy Speedo
love to all

big, hungry (now!), can't act

A few bits that are wedged in my brain from the last week. Let's start with the Nissan Armada; are we serious? When the world has decided that a SUV needs to named after a FLEET then we've just pitched it all over the cragged abyss. Does anyone need anything that big? I know, throw your spears to the left, I think I'm right on this one. The Armada? Some future suggestions might be: the SixthFleet, the Nimitz, PrincessCruiseLine, the QEII (I'm sure Infiniti will grab that one). I just want my due when they show up on our streets. In fact, maybe one vehicle isn't enough. We should seriously consider a formation of vehicles (a flotilla?) to get us from A to B. "Hey kids! Get in your dinghy ship-come-vehicle and follow Ma and Pa to the Mickey D's!" I'll leave that one. I did my shopping this afternoon and stumbled upon the GREATEST thing EVER invented. Ever. Fully cooked bacon; as advertised, "ready in five seconds!" FIVE SECONDS! FIVE!, "Hey baby, off to work and I only have ten seconds...make me two batches of that kicking bacon..." First, who is in such a hurry that they need bacon in five seconds? [a nod to Lewis Black who points distainfully at the eight-second PopTart instructions...] Second, can we eat in shifts; kids first (five seconds) with scalding bacon grease dripping down their chins; teens next (another five); adults (up to 15 seconds now)...let's go to South Beach and open our arteries. I know it's patently unfair to move from serious world affairs to Hilary Duff, but I must. Returning my movie at the local after the groceries (it was "Everything is Illuminated") and had a chance to watch ten minutes of Hilary's acting in "Raise Your Voice". (Don't even start on the ten minute thing, I won't have it.) As if I didn't have enough ammo to throw out at the masses; this is the motherlode. What talent. What skill. Amazing. If that is what's on offer at the multiplex then I insist you come with me...kicking and screaming.

I must be making risotto again....too much time to think. Tonight is a nice shrimp leek dealio.

I'll be nicer next time, really

hugs to all

t

synchronized swimming

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

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

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

(all names have been created to protect the innocent)

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

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

T

court of wits

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

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

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

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

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

Love to all,

t

play date

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

love to all

T

the tenderloin

Sometimes you wander the cities of the globe and you're put off by the idea of so many people living in such a small space. They can be claustrophobic in the best situation, scary in the worst. I think the scary affects people more when visiting cities than the sheer number of inhabitants on the streets. If one comes from a less urban environment the shock can be stunning. Oh, I'm not done...

I was trundling through virtualtourist.com earlier tonight, reading inputs for cities that I know and love, and wondering just what has gone wrong with people who do nothing but visit Orlando. As an aside, since no one is really listening, I'm perfectly happy strolling through the inner 'despair' of big cities; that's where all the good clubs, restuarants, CD shops and characters live. Maybe I shouldn't feel so safe, maybe my mother would disapprove, but I've been doing it for as long as I can remember; from the days of the riding the train to Chicago, and my ever-growing love of that city during every visit, I've always been happy enough with the grit and grime of big cities. In the long haul maybe I'm a more comfortable person within the bounds of a city than those who haven't been through Chinatown on a Friday night. The jump-off to this tirade was inputs about San Francisco and the hazards of the inner workings of that fine city. The first thing I thought about when reading the horror of crime in the Bay Area was a discussion I had with Sarah when we were there last year that covered keeping your wits, enjoying the city, seeing how much life changes from block-to-block, and about what can go wrong in people's lives. We wish it weren't so...but shit goes bad for some people; they lose jobs, their homeless, and they look frightening most of the time. This conversation had hardly ended when we came upon a horrific argument amongst a homeless couple enroute to a coffeehouse (we were enroute, not they). Point made...loud and clear to her. That night we went down SoMA-way (the south of Market St. area) for a one-man show about the horrors of teaching school in the inner city.; if I'd only read the reviews on virtual tourist about that area, "STAY AWAY from SoMA! it's the third most dangerous part of the city!". Hmm, didn't know that then; we walked down and back with caution and well survived the evening. The next night, of all things (!), I dragged her down to the Tenderloin District (virtual tourist input: "Almost the MOST DANGEROUS part of the city! DO NOT GO THERE AT NIGHT!") for the Old Crows at the Great American Music Hall. From what I can discern, the Tenderloin ranks behind only Hunter's Point for death, murder, rape, pillage, plunder, and the overall horrors of society. And I was thinking of Hunter's the next night! (kidding.) I'll readily admit that the T'loin can be off-putting but it's certainly not Dante's Inferno. Maybe I should consider the name virtual "tourist" and understand that it's mostly written by the Hilton-resorts-Disneyland-Red Lobster crowd. Fortunately, I've got a bit more grit on me than the nice hotels, tourist traps, and worries about evil all around us. London had very similar inputs...as did Barcelona. Barcelona? Barcelona is like Des Moines for crying out loud; that put me over the top. Don't think I don't know...I see you thinking it...yes, I'm tallish, I'm male, and for some reason (proof never provided) nobody seems to want to eff with me. I'm well aware of that; I'm also well aware that it's a usually your comfort level in any city that makes you safe. To think that size matters, in the end, is a bit inexperienced. It'll be hard to convince me that SanFran isn't the best American city. I know it is because I doctored my test results to fit my needs.

A lovely weekend to all.

(p.s. up there ^^^ is a view of the Tenderloin and a shot of the inside of the Great American Music Hall)

tx

doing good; doing nothing

There was a bit on NPR last year during their "This I Believe" series on Monday mornings (I've downloaded the best of NPR 2005 on Podcasts). The premise of the five minute spots is to allow famous, and unknowns alike, a chance to pass on life's nuggets of wisdom. Some of the pieces can be a little overwrought for my taste but others are more pertinent to everyday life. I've been rolling a phrase around in my head for many a moon, trying to get it perfect, as a phantom response to an unknown person asking why I might be doing something: bringing bags to the grocery store, not driving a SUV, recycling...that sort of stuff. It's not perfect yet but it goes something like, "I may not be the solution, but I'm certainly not part of the problem." The way I riddle the issues of the world is that we may not know the answers to the ills of every neighborhood or country, but we can certainly avoid adding our own flames to the fire. Diedre Sullivan was the contributor and her take concerned funerals and the lessons she had learned from her father. She was a teen at the time and remembered her father telling her that she needed to attend a viewing of her fifth-grade teacher. She didn't want to, though she'd been to funerals before, because it just seemed a bother. She was the only child at the viewing, passed some lame words to the widow, and later came to know her better. The widow never forgot that she'd been there, and how thankful she was to see one of his former students. It mattered. Ms. Sullivan later realized that sometimes there are things in life that we don't want to do: attend funerals, help people, visit someone in the hospital when we don't seem to have enough time, and any other 'time-consuming' functions that show even a little side of us. Lessons learned...and an idea that her life isn't a battle between good and evil, she says that's too dramatic; but a tug-o-war between doing good and doing nothing. The things we don't do don't make us evil, or lazy, or lost...they just aren't done. The stuff we do has an effect on everyone around us. Such a simple idea.

If you have the mind, and the ability, to listen to online music, I'll throw out the Flogging Molly instudio performance at the Current in Minneapolis. They're a lovely 'irish' band with fantastic tunes.

Flogging Molly in studio

(scroll down to Flogging Molly)

xxx

T

latin maxims

Sometimes the law provides something beyond good guidance; dig far enough and there's some laughter for the rest of us. I know it's not fair to segregate the population into lawyers and us, we'll probably be sued for being discriminatory; but facts is facts. The hard part is sorting why the practice of law seems so different than any other; a career that's based on arbitary assumptions and opinions. Actually, I think I'll pitch the psychology and sociology fields into the breach as well. That'll be quite a disturbed little room of opinions. Doctors seem different, a little more scientific and anchored in facts, symptoms, things we can actually see by "looking with our eyes". The law posse is really just a group that have ideas about what could be right, could be wrong, could be agreed, disagreed, argued, published, decided, not decided, adjudicated and all the other stuff we did in kindergarten. Sometimes the playground monitor came over to help solve the unsolveable mystery of whether or not I had called Scooby-Doo before getting caught in a rousing game of cartoon freeze tag. There are utterances beyond those put forth from the high bench that just as effectively decide an issue with the finality any of us might need. It seems as if any judge (or playground monitor) could easily add these to his repetoire of courtroom utterings and get by just fine. Examples? How about Buzz Harrison's response to the "Have you seen (fill in the name)?" / "What happened to (fill name)?" query; "...he went to shit and the hogs ate him." For just a second you pause and wonder...what the hell does that mean? A quick second later and it makes perfect sense, no more questioning required. A scintillating combintion of "I don't know" and "I don't care". I say it compares favorably with overruled. What about Dave Porter's brilliant utterances, "build bridges not walls" and, "don't hate...appreciate". That's solid playground, or courtroom, legal advice if I've ever heard it. I can hear AGAG uttering either of those while being grilled by any number, and there have been a number, of Senate Committees. In the movie Fargo, William H. Macy's character blurts out, in the middle of a very confusing scenario, "What the Christ!". Indeed.

prosecutor (P): "Your Honor, I object!"
judge (J): "What the Christ!"
(P) "Well, your Honor, I think the defense attorney's question has no effect on this case"
(J) "And how is that you think it's beyond the pale of this case?"
(P) "Well...what about Supreme Court Justice Thomas' opinion in Doolittle v. State of Georgia? What about Justice Thomas?"
(J) "Thomas? Went to shit and the hogs ate him. Overruled."

Just as I said.

There is actually a legal phrase that cuts to the chase and I've got to throw out a bone: "res ipsa loquitur". Roughly translated it means "the thing speaks for itself". If I have this right in my pea-brain it means that there's only one possible solution to a case and the evidence presented. There is no other way the event could have happened and it doesn't matter how it happened; it just is.

(P) "Your honor, what do you mean by that statement about Justice Thomas.
(J) "Res ipsa loquitur"

I have some more cleaning to finish. I've no idea what that all means.

love to all,

t

early 40s

A birthday weekend out West. I pulled into Reno Saturday afternoon and settled in for a Todd Snider show at the Nugget in beautiful downtown Sparks (suburb of Reno). Stayed at the highly entertaining, yet trashy, Silver Inn. That's not fair...it's clean, cheap and very well run. Close to what I want and generally a great rock hotel. A quick dinner at a microbrewery between the Inn and the show at Uncle John's Celebrity Showrom. Here's the kicker...a fantastic 90-minute set by Todd and the Nervous Wrecks that exceeded even my expections. An unbelievable band, an entertainer of the highest order, beers, and great seats. Made me wonder about the best shows I've seen...the ones that made me SO very happy. I kept waking up and trying to plot it all into a list that boys so love. Really. Live shows are what make me tick and I'd be happy to drag anyone to any live show and then stare deep into eyes to get a feel. Nothing turns the human like a live performance...nothing. What I decided wasn't so much the 'best' shows, but the most influential: every Slobberbone show was in the top five (that's them to the left) but only one counts. Here are the specs:

1. Old Crow Medicine Show / The Borderline, London UK - So many factors fall into this ideal: I flew back to England for a five-day weekend with Christine. If you must know, the smell of Heathrow, the knowledge that I could buy the Independent, the thought that I was finally back home, and the inkling that she'd show up only adds to the brilliance. The Borderline is my all-time favorite venue, the beer is great, the Crows are the best...most importantly, we sat there laughing, kissing, and being extremely cool. The dinner that night was 'stumbling fabulous'. If you must know, the first night in town we saw the Royal Shakespeare Company perform 'Hamlet'. Getting from 'Hamlet' to 'Wagon Wheel' says it all...the most memorable night of my life.

2. Slobberbone / The 400 Club, Minneapolis, MN - The end of the greatest band of all time. Brent took the boys on the road for a final six dates...we knew it was coming but it didn't make it any easier. I flew to the Cities for the show after Skip procured tickets for himself, his sister Dana (I still see her as a 14-year old), and ME. The opening band, Two Cow Garage (great in their own right), had a van breakdown somewhere in the upper Midwest so the boys came out early and did almost three hours of the best music you'll ever hear. Brent was tuning his axe while I screamed out, "Where's the banjo?", to which he replied, "in pieces on my kitchen floor." I got an answer from Brent Best. Brilliant. I have blog entries to come that deal solely with his lyrics.

3. Tift Merritt and Tres Chicas / Slim's, San Francisco, CA - I have a undying love for this city and this was a fantastic show. The Chicas opened with some ungodly harmonies...stuff to make your hair stand on end; beautiful songs. I didn't want them to go, but they did...and were quickly replaced by Tift and her band. I'll never in my life see a guitar playing, tambourine banging, ass shaking artist that has more sex appeal. The band was from rock n' roll central casting (aside from the bass player) but they were something.

4. "Rock for Karl" / Quest Club, Minneapolis, MN - October of 2004. Karl Mueller was the bass player for the seminal Minneapolis band Soul Aslyum. Throat cancer and pile of medical bills brought on the idea. You see, for those of you from beyond the Plains of America, Soul Asylum was one of the pillars of Cities music. It's impossible to pass on the idea they represented if you weren't there...but according to CitiesSkip, in their prime they were the best band you'd ever seen. The lineage of The Replacements/Husker Du, Soul Asylum, the Jayhawks, Gear Daddies, Run Westy Run, and Golden Smog is a run that may never be duplicated. For Paul Westerberg (the 'Mats), Bob Mould (Husker Du), the Daddies, Smog and Asylum to get together for one evening in salute to Karl is an amazing thing. I flew in for the single night of rock n' roll. Nothing will ever match the vibe of the Cities from the late 70s to the early 90s - a time and place that is only there by dumb luck. Karl passed in early 2005...a salute to the brilliance.

5. Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band / Earl's Court, London, UK - (What a crap venue!) Hard to really get the nuts and bolts of this show into words. No doubt two decades later than I would have like to see him but I finally got the chance...and it was with a British crowd. I've never seen so many people lose their minds at one song....the opening chords of "Born to Run". The lights came up, and at that moment, I knew what rock n' roll was all about. Sometimes his music seems like too much to assimilate; I wonder if I can take in everything it represents, but in the end I succumb to the sound. Any thoughts that make you wonder are lost; just trust the music.

Honorable Mention:

Dave Alvin and the Guilty Men / The Tarbox Rambers - The Hacienda, Reno, NV
Lucinda Williams / The Fillmore - SanFran, CA
Steve Earle and the Dukes / The Corn Exchange, Cambridge UK
Chuck Prophet and the Mission Express / The Hacienda, Reno, NV
The Be Good Tanyas / Union Chapel, London UK
Bellwether / Robert McCreedy - The Borderline, London UK
Bastard Sons of Johnny Cash - The Zoo Bar, Lincoln, NE
Los Lobos - Caesar's Tahoe, South Lake Tahoe, NV
Lyle Lovett and his Large Band - The Nugget, Sparks, NV
The Uptown Rulers - Iowa Memorial Union (circa 1984)
Todd Snider and the Nervous Wrecks - The Nugget, Sparks, NV
Joan Baez / Steve Earle - Hawkins Amphitheater, Reno, NV (Joan had the best band I've ever seen...)
Emmylou Harris / Buddy Miller - Hawkins Amphitheater, Reno, NV

That's that...come hear the music.

When the attorney general of the United States suggested, before a Senate Committee, that anyone who questioned anything the government did in the name of Homeland Security was, "aiding and abetting terrorism"; Sen. Patrick Leahy said, "Well, Attorney General Ashcroft has the same First Amendment rights as the rest of us."

Tx

a matter of degrees

There's a pic of James McMurtry's axe from the Friday night show in Reno.

These seeds were planted last week after hearing some of this, and a little of that, during my routine little life. What exactly is a demonstration or protest? Really. Before anyone gets too riled up, let me clarify that I think Cindy Sheehan has lost the plot. I don't know if she ever had it, but that's another story. I'm going to lump her, in this instance, with the Senator's wife that also chose to wear a t-shirt to the State of the Union speech last week. Apparently there's a law that forbids protest/demonstration on Capitol grounds. Apparently the Capitol Police have no idea what the law actually entails. Granting them the benefit of the doubt for now, does a t-shirt signify a demonstration? A protest? Neither women wore shirts with profanity or egregious examples of libel. (Bad taste in semi-formal attire is only a Joan Rivers law.) Both were asked to cover up the t-shirts (Sheehan's asking when the war would end and the Senator's best gal's supporting the troops), both declined. Both were escorted from the upper gallery prior to the speech. We're not talking unfurled banners, disruptive behavior, yelling, screaming, or rotten tomato-tossing. I'll ask this; what if I had an anti-war organization that sported little purple ribbons? What about the swank lapel flags worn by everyone in D.C.? Are those protests one way or the other? What if I don't clap at the appropriate 'applause' sign during the President's speech? Is that a demonstration? A protest? The hackneyed decision to make either woman leave is a VERY sad commentary on the way we see our country. Don't even think about the 'what if they went bonkers during the speech' argument...our country wasn't settled on the presumption of something happening. Seems a matter of degrees.

Marlon Brando to Kevin Bacon...go.

Marlon Brando to Robert Duvall in The Godfather; Robert Duvall to Nicole Kidman in Days of Thunder; Nicole Kidman to Val Kilmer in Batman Forever; Val Kilmer to Tim Robbins in Topgun; Tim Robbins to Kevin Bacon in Mystic River. Voila! Six degrees of Kevin Bacon.

....matters of degree.

T

triage; you win some, you lose some

It's a busy ER these early days of aught-six. Blustery overnights outside and hung storms in the Sierra making the staff wonder just what's coming next. Before you know it you're stuck sorting out what goes and what stays. Look around and pull any available body to serve as triager (yes, I made it up) to make those hard decisions. I'm looking both ways, eyeing the new stuff of '06, and can easily move from chair-to-chair and delineate what's 'in' and what's 'out'...so to speak. Isn't it like the much ignored rule saying that if you bring something into the house then something must go? (Children are generally excluded.) I've made my in/out, thumbs up/thumbs down, love/hate decision; I've been in the trenches making the hard choices. You don't know what it's like...

One word for the keeper: podcast. I'm embarassed at how often 'pod' and 'tunes' appear in my postings but I can't help it. Since my computer / music / iPod / life are finally realigned I've taken on podcasting. Let me say this: podcast. I can download all my favorite stuff from my favorite stuff: NPR's 50 memorable moments of 2005, Seattle's own KEXP's 'music that matters', The Current's 'musicheads', and Paste Magazine's Culture Club. It's TiVO for the ears and it's fantastic. It won't be long before sitting by the radio on Sunday mornings turns to listening whenever I want. Podcast. Genius.

The loser? My local coffeeshop has changed hands as Corie got some crazy idea to sell and travel the World for a year. What does a 25-year old know? Nothing. Well, she does know something but I can still stamp my feet. She sold to a local couple that don't have nearly the vibe of the old days. They still have music on Friday's, the staff is adequate, the coffee seems okay, but it's not the same. You can't take Patton away and expect the Army to be the same, right? No idea where that came from. Maybe it's better in the end since I'd been seeing Bibo Coffee in Reno and feeling a little guilty. Maybe I knew it was coming. The end of the road for Jive n' Java and me. There's a picture of the Jive Thru up there.

Great live music strolling through the Reno/Lake area over the next six weeks. It'll center on a night with Todd Snider and the Nervous Wrecks down in Reno on my bday eve. I'm sure silly reports will be posted.

Tomorrow is Thursday and I don't even know what the cafeteria is serving.

T

nuts and bolts of anger

It was only 8am when the phone rang and fifteen minutes later a 'truth' was laid upon the world. Actually, that phrase will seem much funnier when you're done reading this blurb. I'm not how it all started but it seems a little bird commented on how we've lost so many of the most basic abilities that were common early in the 20th century. As examples you can look at anything falling under the banner of "do-it-yourself" these days: woodworking, automobile/carriage repair, basic home improvement, welding, herding, harvesting, roofing and any other thing I know I can't do. At some point we, we'll call us the industrial people, we've acheived a point of financial saturation where it became easier to just pay someone for the task; we didn't have a need to learn the basics. (Beware of the segue, it's a-comin' up the track.) These days, In order to learn how to do something, we're forced to buy a book and attempt to sort this from that; twist here and release the thinga-ma-gig before devoluting the bit you can't find. One of the problems one faces is there seems to be endless ways of getting the thinga-ma-gig twisted and released and everyone has an opinion on what's what. Ah, the loss of generational know how. This started out with woodworking and power tools and my contribution (much less D.I.Y. than suburban desire...) involved just how to get a perfect cup of coffee from a french press. I know, life altering stuff going on in my little house. If you must know, I yanked hard on the Google-lever, and much to my surprise, there's plenty of folk that have an opinion on the french press. I don't think details are required. Now we had woodworking and coffee in the thrasher and the realization that the number of ingredients involved (x.y,z), and the more options or desires for the finished product, the more intense someone will argue for his or her case. I mean, if nothing's known for certain, if opinion is the only 'final' outcome than people can babble on incessantly...and angrily. Into the mash came facial wash, the turning of nuts and screws, and religion; we've suddenly brought in the entire spectrum of human endeavor. Let's see if it makes sense. The more inputs and the more open-ended the result, the more intense and passionate the debate. I guess if these activities were put in some kind of order, from least debateable to most hostile, it would go something like: nuts and screws, french press coffee, woodworking, facial wash and religion. I'll leave the french press and woodworking position open since I can sense some debate. You never know, do you?

t

but it's not

I'm fighting the urge to stop typing. I'm listening to some Lyle Lovett and wondering how it is that we find ourselves avalanched by bad music. I guess it's media, it's Clear Channel, it's what we're forced to listen to during the commute from our point As to our point Bs. That's forgivable...but supporting such an idea isn't. How much do sounds affect my life? I listened to the Rose Bowl on the radio earlier this month and loved every minute, I listen to music every night, I've got some strange gene that makes me support 'sounds'. I can be cooking, cleaning the house, driving a car, dancing (badly) around on a Friday night...sounds are so much a part of my life; the music and rhythm of my days are so important. Throw in live performances that I chase like stardust and it adds up to a significant part of my livelihood; I listen to songs on my iPod before I take exams, I rolled-and-clicked to those same songs as I was walking to a plane and a mission that seemed too much to handle. I give music to people because it's usually the best I have to give. So much out there isn't worth our efforts.

What do I want for the New Year? I want to finish the perfect CD of music, I want all of us to walk down the street holding hands, I want the pressure of TiVo and TV to end, I want us to talk about the sounds of family and friends that move us. I want the end of the week to be a time when we laugh about how funny it was that 'you said that'; about the dinner that was so good; I want it to be about sitting around and talking of our lives and how difficult they can be..every single day. I want to know that everyone important in my life knows how much they've been an influence in what I AM. Sometimes it's hard, my music helps make it easier. I defy anyone to tell me that there aren't songs that are so ingrained, so much a part of us, that we remember them beyond anything in our lives. I want to hear those songs, I want to just listen, I want to know...

A belated Happy New Year to all.

Sorry, can't hear you over the music.

tx

hidden gems

The Holidays are over, girls back home, work to be done, school around the corner. For those not up-to-speed on my iTunes/music disastrophe I'll review. Early last summer I finally ran out of space on my harddrive, broke down and bought an sexy external number, and promptly made a complete mess of everything. To add misery to the pain, I was in the middle of selling all my CDs since they were no longer needed and were simply filling valuable space. The transfer to the new drive didn't work and I've since erased about 40GB of music (accidently) and been without any iTunes for six months. My computer wouldn't recognize my iPod and I couldn't transfer those 40GB of happy, happy music back to my computer. Horror! I'd resigned myself to keeping this iPod as is (a museum piece of music) and buying a new iPod to use in my daily life. (No comments.) My woes came up at work today and a co-worker suggested using some freeware that allows one to access any iPod and move everything onto any other computer. (Editor's comment: ALL my music has been legally purchased.) Hmm, interesting. My hopes were low, wrongly so, and I'm now happily moving my groovy tunes onto the new external...oh, joy. It'll take a bit but it seems as if all has been saved. My life is so very tragic. More soon.

tx