incompetency

Sometimes your computer skills, point-and-clicking, typing, and general Internet usage, when viewed by a second party, appear unimpressive. In fact, when a computer is in use and there are two people involved with said computer, you don’t want to be either the controller or the backseat driver. I learned long ago that when the IT guy, or in-flight engineers as I knew them on the plane, show up at your computer to fix a problem you’re best served by heading to the coffee bar – or lunch. Do not do either of the following: stay seated and attempt to type, select, or pull-down any menu that the technician (we’ll call him “Dan”) is telling you to do – what he really wants is for you to simply get out of the way; or, stand behind him as he works “the system” and say self-incriminating things along the lines of “I wouldn’t have thought of that would work”, or “I don’t understand what you’re doing.” I know that in either case you can’t see computer guy’s face but trust me when I tell you there’ll be a slowly simmering recipe of frustration, anger, laughter, and incredulity bubbling across his face. Just walk away.



Stay with me. Last night the Eleven was madly searching for an Æbleskiver recipe for the Holidays – I’ve no idea why we seem unable or unwilling to bookmark these tidbits. I think it’s important that you have the lowdown on set-up in the dining room as this fiasco kicked off so you follow along and see the misery unfold in your mind’s eye. I was using her laptop (soon to be my laptop) because the genesis of the task was the sending a shopping list to my mother in Florida for the Christmas Eve and Christmas Day nosh shopping. X is standing about, doing not much of anything as she does, when I mistakenly asked her to play by saying something important, like “how do you spell Æbleskiver?” The good X correctly spells Æbleskiver (well done); the bad X immediately moves around the table so she can lean over my shoulder and “help”. I’ll tell you this, my google skills are impeccable - apparently she feels the same about her google skills. Maybe it’s why we like each other…some kind of narcissism, but not narcissism, concerning Boolean abilities. As my results for Æbleskiver appear before me eyes I get an earful of this: pick there, click here, not that one, this one (touching the screen), “why would you type it in with quotation marks?”, that won’t work, roll up, roll down, stop, there it is, try it with the word ‘recipe’ (to which I think “oh, should I use quotation marks now!”), you misspelled that, backspace, and finally I get this… “your google skills are horrible.” Remember that intro paragraph up above? Sure you do. Ask for help spelling Æbleskiver and then walk away with nary a word as she sidles across the room; go get a cup of coffee in the kitchen…or go to lunch. Nothing good will come from staying nearby and exposing your computer soul to another…absolutely nothing. There are aspects of relationships that shall never be overcome.

X ordered a new fiberglass duvet cover and matching pillows last week. Our cotton, winter standby cover suddenly gave up the ghost and fell to pieces - emergency action was called for and executed. Let me tell you that nothing feels quite as soft on the skin as a scratchy, pokey, uncomfortable pile of linen misery. I’m not quite as princess-y as the princess so I didn’t notice the horrible feel until shortly after she pointed out that the whole new bedding set sucked. Our bedding set-up in the winter, since you asked, is a bottom sheet with just the duvet colligo cover on top – very European. The problem in America, and I accurately pointed this out based on my middle America upbringing – is that in this here country people sleep with a top sheet all the time so the scratchy duvet cover (or bedspread) never actually touches the body. Also, any pillowcase that loads from the middle back isn’t actually a sleeping pillowcase but a decorative case and it’s usually pitched on the floor to expose the actual sleeping pillow. She had no idea what I was on about but she did remedy the situation immediately by changing pillowcases and getting out a top sheet. Comments?

Right. This is my life.

t

my dearest Roisin and Aisling

March is shaping up like something of a something for music. On the 1st we’re off to Baltimore to see Flogging Molly and on the 9th I’ve got (well, I’m hoping to got tomorrow morning) two tickets for the Pogues at the 9:30 Club in D.C. A week later I’ll get an evening of Bob Mould’s music at the 9:30 Club on his tour in support of his new CD. It’ll be a big hunk of Irish and/or punk music.

The Eleven hit the D.C- area Christmas party scene last Saturday night via an appearance at X’s former and future law firm’s shindig. I’d like to say I clean up pretty well but she cleans up much better – of course, she starts off from a much higher level. There was some confusion on whether or not this was an eating party since it didn’t kick-off until 8pm; I’m normally thinking about bed at 8pm. We ate at home around 6:30 (the kiss of death) and then discovered that the party was in fact an eating party. What can you do? Arrived at fancy D.C. hotel just after 8pm for cocktails and mingling before the ballroom doors swung opened for seating at 9pm. The food looked adequate but we mostly sat and gabbed while others ate. (Is this story too long?) This was the first chance I had to meet the high-powered types from her firm. Here’s a shortlist of who I remember meeting: fisheries guy, guy from same high school as X, IT guy, sad guy, tax guy, hedge fund guy, summer associate herding guy, various summer associates – to include X’s Cordelia (Buffy reference), and myriad other eagles. All in all it was a nice evening out of the house with a cute girl.

obama

I’ve signed petitions here in Virginia by all who’ve asked for help in getting their candidate on the primary ballot: Obama, Clinton, Richardson, and Huckabee. I suspect that the very blue northern Virginia area isn’t getting much attention on the Republican side since I’ve seen no one but the 'Huckabees' looking for ballot signatures. Of course, the big three GOP candidates probably have better organization and everything is in order at this late date. I do suspect there to be a Ron Paul push between now and the New Year if he's not already on the ballot.

I standby my earlier post concerning those that can win a general election: Obama, Edwards, and Paul. I know it still sounds crazy since Paul won’t get the nomination but the rest of the GOP field stands little chance in November – although I am enjoying watching the Huckabee surge and discomformt it causes the frontrunners. The election algebra calls for some solution involving those I don’t think can win a general election if they are actually part of a general election: Clinton, Giuliani, Romney, McCain, or Huckabee. We can cross that bridge when, or if, we get there but if it comes to fruition than I’ll vote for Clinton.

I’d have liked Bill Richardson to make a stronger showing over the last six or eight months but he’s struggled to get any coherent message to voters. He seems confused and often stumbles when trying to clarify his issues when pressed for quick and decisive answers. I think he’d be a great cabinet member but his abilities as President are questionable.

There is probably an unfair penalty to be paid for association with what I consider to be 28 years of oligarchic rule in the White House being extended another eight years; I’m including the Bush 41's time as Vice President. I honestly believe that cleaning house – in both branches of elected government – is in overdue. If we could chuck out 90% of Congress at the same time as we swap the White House for new ideas, I’d be the first to sign on. From my view, both leaders in Congress have been horribly inept over the last year and I’d just as soon see Reid and Pelosi step aside and hand the reins to someone who doesn’t have twenty years of Washington stink wafting around their behavior.

My vote in the Virginia primary will be for Obama. I believe this is a rare chance for the American voters to throw the career junk from Washington and make as clean a start as is possible these days. The Obama and Clinton platforms appear nearly identical on the surface, and they are by necessity, but Clinton’s foreign policy mentality scares me to death. I think it’s vital to remember that in the grand political scheme Senator Clinton is beatable by just about any GOP nominee; Obama isn’t beatable by any of them. If I finally have to fall in line with the “Nader cost the Dems the 2000 election” mentality then I will – the Obama v. Clinton debate mirrors that issue. If I don’t believe a candidate can win the White House as the Democratic nominee than I’m not willing to risk losing it all when I vote in my primary.

I guess the die is cast.

T

heroes and gyros

X says she possesses something called “Exam Brain” that she claims is triggered by the desperation of finals. I think it sounds like a superhero of sorts – “Quick, call Exam Brain! A high school junior in Manhattan has overslept for his SAT." Ta Dah! She says it’s not so much a superhero as it is a setting, an on and off thing. As an example she gave me this, and I’m not making it up, “It’s like the bagel setting on the toaster. Have you ever tried to toast a bagel without pushing the bagel button?” Or tried to take and exam without the bagel button? Maybe it was meant as allegory, or irony, or simile, or some other type of grammar I don’t understand but I now think of this highly-evolved brain as something akin to a kitchen appliance add-on.

On my way home Friday I took a picture of the warning sign near the doors on the inside of the Metro car. I know it’s a little out of focus but you can make out the premise: not only should you not block the doors, you shouldn’t do it in superhero fashion.



My rush hour Metro riding is limited to running against the tide and staying out in the safe Virginia suburbs but I’m certain that when the doors do get blocked it’s not like this. Most door blockage is generated by riders scurrying, like rats, into overcrowded cars – some rats doing so more effectively than other rats. One of the only instances I remember hearing concerned some lobbyist, young lawyer, or congressional staffer jamming his arm into the closing doors as if to say, “to hell with forward motion and all progress! I'm getting on this damn train.” The warning sticker model seems much more heroic in the “I will, through brute force of heroism, maintain the open valley of passage for all commuters large and small. I. am. Door Man!” vain.

I took the boys to their final gymnastics’ lesson Saturday morning whilst X took her Evidence final. There are normally three classes flipping about the well-equipped Arlington Aerials training facility/gulag. On Saturday the instructor of the 5-8 year-old bouncing daisies has split them into two, the 12-14 year-old bevy of twisting and rotating girls where there, and there was an additional school of 15 year-old balance beam artists tumbling and rounding off. What I find so disturbing about watching all this crazy activity is that I’ve never been able to do ANY of it. Ever. I can barely summer sault and I’ve got no cart wheeling genes. These pixies spent an inordinate amount of time upside down and hurling themselves through air with a future landing on some appendage (or behind) as an afterthought. Up they bounce as if it’s nothing. It’s strangely peaceful to realize that the six year-old flying five feet in the air will eventually come to a landing on parc ferme. I’ve decided after much thought to use this collective term for the limber, flipping hordes: an inversion of gymnasts.

That’s that, for now.

T.

hey! bud!

One of the grand mistakes to affect MLB was the 1992 appointment of Bud Selig as acting commissioner. The follow-on act of confirming him as commissioner in 1998 – after a six-year search (where the hell were they looking?) – was simply pouring gas on the fire. Selig brought baseball back to Milwaukee 1970 when he purchased the Seattle Pilots and rebranded them as the Brewers and for that he’s considered a baseball hero in that city. The great problem in the appointment of a club owner as commissioner is the inability to separate the business of owning from the business of the game. An owner’s only concern is making money,and making money and on-the-field product go hand-in-hand. At some point during his time as acting commissioner, though it might actually have been at the time he become the permanent commissioner, he ceded control of the Brewers to his daughter in order to deflect any conflict of interest issues. The point here is that I wouldn’t want any owner or former team owner as a commissioner; I wouldn’t want any former player or union representative as commissioner. This type of responsibility requires someone independent of both parties, whose salary is paid by both, and whose decisions are final. There is nothing that Selig has done during his tenure that merits any measure of awe. The two events that seem to draw applause are the wild card playoff teams and interleague play. I’m pretty sure the wildcard would have come to fruition with or without Selig sitting in the office. From a purely marketing model baseball needed the wildcard. As for interleague play? Well, you’ll find only a smidgen of fans who don’t hate interleague play – if anything it’s become something of a joke. How about the bad stuff? The league that wins the All-Star game get home field advantage in the World Series may be the worst idea ever. That’s like having a free throw contest to determine home court advantage in the NBA Finals? He oversaw the players’ strike and cancellation of the World Series in 1994. He banned Marge Schott – wow! That’s impressive. He reinstated George Steinbrenner – does anyone care?

His greatest failure, and it rests on him alone, was his oversight of the drug scandal in baseball. You’d think that after the strike and World Series debacle of 1994 baseball would be in a better state 13 years later. The fact is that baseball is in a worse state now than it was in those dark days. MLB can quote all the profits it wants – that’s what Selig desires – but the game is hollow and lost. Selig knew full well what was going on over the last ten years but he was too weak, mindless, and scared to attack the problem due to the risk of losing money. At least Fay Vincent, as commissioner before Selig, admitted that the owner’s were guilty of collusion and that there were major problems. Peter Ueberroth would have beat this down with a stick. Bart Giamatti would have been handing down dictates from on high and started a ‘suspended player’ queue outside his office. You often hear that the games (baseball, football, basketball, etc.) are greater than the players, and it’s true, but when the game itself is being run by incompetents it can and will be horribly damaged.

Those players named as cheaters will eventually fade from memory because the game is greater than each and every one of them. Baseball will never move forward from this decade of deceit until the ringleader of the circus is removed. It is impossible for me to even think of Selig meting out punishment and pontificating from on high after release of the Mitchell report. If the commissioner had any inclination to exhibit his love for the game then he’d step down and walk away from ashes he’s created. Of course, we’ve never known him to carry that sort of gumption. Selig will never admit nor apologize for his errors.

gonna let it rock...let it rolllllll

I was listening to Diane Rehm interviewing Daniel Schorr on this morning’s show when I popped over to CNN for a quick look at breaking news. Oh look! The Spice Girls are opening the new Virgin Terminal at Heathrow and there’s live video. Yes! They’re my cross to bear.

The newest Rock n’ Roll Hall of Fame inductees have been announced and the opening report from the MTV generation of artists has been heard. Obviously, Madonna has been a lock for years but will still generate heaps of criticism from the hordes. Is it coincidence that Madonna and the Spice Girls show up in one entry? Considering the hold MTV had on an entire generation her entry is bonafide – as an entertainer she is of the same mold as Elvis and no one would argue with Elvis. Hey! I didn’t say she was Elvis. Add in a dash of “she’s getting better looking as she gets older” and I’ll support her.


John Mellencamp is another product of MTV, albeit a forgotten one to most. His days as John Cougar and the videos for Hurts So Good, Jack and Diane, and Pink Houses were staples of the network long before he became a more politically and musically driven (?) rock n’ roll figure in later years. I own most of his stuff and am very happy to see him gain entry. Very few of my generation would be unable to sing along with the opening verse of Jack and Diane – and we’d be doing the hand claps while preparing to croon. Here’s the video for everyone’s enjoyment…


Weather moving in for the weekend. We won’t need to dig out around here, it doesn’t get that bad. We’ll be bundled up for the Eastern Market on Saturday afternoon.

Love to all.

T.

map to market

I’m attaching a map of the craziness that is the Northern Virginia street and traffic pattern. I’m only using this as a representative example of jackassery that goes on about here. The reason I can finally put fingers to keys is a visit the Eleven had with a landlord/homeowner a few weeks ago (we were eyeing a bigger place at the time). He’d grown up in the area and commented, after I’d laughed at trying to figure out exactly how to get from A to B, that there is rhyme or reason to the labeling of streets and one of the ‘well known’ items was this…don’t laugh. The word streets go in alphabetical order. That’s not all. When they ran out of letters (years and years ago) they started over with A but then named all the streets with words that have…two syllables! There is an entire alphabet even further west from the river that has three syllables. In my imagination I can see a tree-lined street further west that’s nom d’boulevard is Arugula. I have no five-syllable words to even contemplate.

Here are the maps....enlarge and zoom into the blue areas for a good view; if you're a geek.

Here's the switch from one to two syllable streets:

View Larger Map

Here's the switch from two to three, note how the letters don't actually align - and how some still slip through, and how some crazy streets that are a part of nothing show from the abyss...

View Larger Map

I made my first trip to the Eastern Market this afternoon. Last spring or winter it caught fire and it’s in the process of being rebuild and restored. The actual building is sturdy of brick and I think it’s mostly the inside that needs refurbishing. As it is, they’ve set-up temporary spaces outside on the city blocks and the food market, a separate building across the street, is operating as normal. I asked the boys if they wanted to come along but they decided against – unawares that street and open markets tend to have huge crepe stands with gigantic piles of goodness. Oh well. It was an absolutely gorgeous day in the District and I was in a very holiday mood. I’ve sorted Laurel’s stuff, snagged some jewels, two Swiss peelers (yes!), a few knickknacks, and some stocking stuffers. It was a day well spent. P.S. X was at the Arlington Central Library studying law all day.

I’ve bribed the boys with Pokemon cards in order to get them to clean their room tonight. I know, precedent. I think it’s easier right now to get the room cleaned, and further groundings averted, than it is to consider future “I want something in order to do something” arguments. Their mother will be more at ease…it’s for her, not me! I’m taking them to see the Golden Compass in the morning before I settle in for a day of cleaning and Sunday Times reading.

I know…a rare weekend post. Read this.

gidgit or gadget?

There are two things in this world that I either don’t have, have had and lost, or can’t possibly be found: the perfect spill-proof coffee cup and the perfect over-the-shoulder bag. The reason I’m revisiting these topics is due to an order placed last night for a new Yak Sak. For those who know me intimately you’ll remember my first messenger bag crush was a simple black and gray commuter I bought in S.F. about four years ago. I’m certain that walking alone along the streets of that fine city over many a long weekend, with a bag purchased there, influenced my love of said bag. Since the retirement of Ol’ Baggy I’ve been through a Timberland, the current Timbuk2, a few cheap imitations bought at sundry stores, and at least a couple I probably don’t remember. The Timberland was never more than a one-night stand; the Timbuk2 is closer to just fine than most, but I’m going back to the company that began the evolution. Update to follow. We don’t want to get into the number of ‘spill-proof’ coffee devices I’ve purchased, lost, smashed, kicked, run over, or cussed at…

Speaking of updates. I neglected to mention that I didn’t go the Pats vs. Ravens Monday night game because my ticket seller bailed on me without so much as a peep. He’s basically a huge loser. I do have a ticket set up for the Colts vs. Ravens in Baltimore on Sunday night.

Kitchen gadgets. Here’s a ratio that I put forth as fact: the number of kitchen gadgets is inversely proportional to the amount of real cooking done in your home. As I’ve cooked more over the years I’ve actually gotten rid of more stuff than I’ve bought. When I was wandering through Williams-Sonoma yesterday I recognized this grand theory as I oogled the contraptions like I stare at animals in a zoo: cute but not really functional as pets. I bought two peelers, some kitchen shears, and a cutting board scraper. I have no need for the fancy stuff. As much as anything, contraptions need cleaning.

We had a beautiful snow through yesterday and into the night. The best part was throwing snowballs at Q. while I was outside with him. A totter in a snowball ‘fight’ is like a game of chance at a carnival: he just keeps tottering around and I keep refining my launching technique. Yup, he’s merely a piece of midway machinery to me.

T.

and the winner is...

I know that data basing, opinions, and ratings can be mangled up in a blender and poured into an icy, cold margarita glass. I’ll also admit that I’m not one to worry too much about the chemistry, actual science, and logic behind the process; in fact, when the 20Q handheld game first came out I was somewhat frightened by its ability to figure out that I was thinking of a weasel and not a badger. Most of the “you’ll like this” junk never really works on me – there’s always some system that tell me that Meet the Parents is really, really funny.

I’ve joined Netflix for my second go-round and I’ve joined for the same reasons: I don’t like late fees or worrying about returns, the selection is amazing, the price is just right, and they’ve got all the TV series I want to test view. I’m not actually sure why I let my membership lapse the first time. After you join they’re fairly aggressive in trying to get you to rate a whole bunch of movies you may have watched in your life, they ask you some questions, and then they allegedly build a suggestion list for a given genre. Today’s quizzing was so they could extract my comedy leanings and then suggest films I might like, as if that’s possible. I’m a little weirded out by the eight main suggestions:

High Fidelity
Waiting for Guffman
Manhattan
Ghost World
Fargo
Royal Tennenbaums
Big Lebowski
Secretary

I think that I’ve owned seven of the eight, and Manhattan I did see at some point. I love these films. I know what you’re thinking “Gee, they threw in a couple Coen Brothers movie, a Wes Anderson, and a Christopher Guest…that WAS hard.” But, the Ghost World and Secretary shots are off-the-wall – that ain’t easy. In fact, Ghost World has one of the funniest scenes, and greatest characters, I’ve ever seen in a movie: Doug. You also get early Scarlett Johansson (17?) and Thora Birch. Anyway, the query results fall under the same spell that gets X all lost in iTunes when she slinks in for a song and comes out a $100 later simply because some little bubbles read “if you like this then you might also like…”

I came with a bubble over my head.

t.

back to the roots

On Friday evening the Eleven and kids were driving home from a children’s dental appointment and Balducci’s gourmet market trip (the Balducci’s visit was my filling while the boys had their filling) and we decided to stop at the Eden Center for a little treat. The Eden Center is a shopping area in Falls Church that gives you an idea of what if would be like to get set down smack dab in the middle of a Vietnamese city, or so I guess – markets, restaurants, jewelers, too many people. Anyway, we’d stopped by for a couple of taro root, nee Colocasia esculenta, bubble drinks as our Friday treat. On the way out of the shopping center X turns to me and says “I pretty much love any root vegetable.” Maybe the conversation involved roots, with the taro and all, but it still struck me as a pretty broad proclamation to make in any environment. You can’t just say something like that and not expect to get laughed at. What did I do? I laughed, and then tried to come up with some other freakishly broad generalization which ended up being “I love most aubergine-colored fish.” Case closed.

Sunday morning brought visits to the DuPont farmer’s market and the D.C. fish market. I was in a mood. There are more seasonal changes at farmer’s market as the greens have changed, the gourds dominate, and the flower lady is off to Europe and Asia for the remainder of the winter. She apparently does quite well selling flowers. The pick of the week was a basket of jerusalem artichokes, nee Helianthus tuberosus or sunchoke, that will be deftly turned to a gratin in the immediate future (click here to see that the city of Jerusalem has nothing to do with the name…I know you want it). More roots? Maybe X poisoned my mind with root and tuber thoughts.

The fish market was a whole new experience this trip. I got two 2-lb mullet for dinner but didn’t want, or even know how, to filet them myself. The seller pointed out the blue-and-white stripped ‘building’ at the market that does all the fish cleaning for the vendors. I toted my two mullet to the shack, walk in, and get stand in the midst of an amazing adventure. There are about six workers, a counter, a scale, and work stations ripe with boards, hoses, buckets, slop, knives, scalers, and more slop. It’s $.45 a pound for cleaning so my 4 lbs. of fish is going to run me $1.80. This little cultural nugget is so foreign to me – this isn’t some fish house out in Virginia, or Omaha…this is a fish house. The talk is fast and loose, the NFL pre-game is playing on a crappy 13” TV in the corner, the fish is cleaned and dunked to rinse, and I’m mesmerized for fifteen minutes while I watch the destruction. Unless you have serious issues with fresh fish I’m taking all visitors to the market and fish house.

I’ve scored tickets for tonight’s Patriots v. Ravens game at M&T Bank Stadium up in Baltimore. The weather forecast is for cold and windy so I’ll bundle it up. As one would expect I’m working the light rail transport right to the stadium. Report to follow. If you see me on TV make sure to get a good TiVO.

t.

tribute

The end of my salad days as a youth in the great Midwest. How many afternoons I spent awaiting glory and disaster while sitting in front of Wide World of Sports. I haven't flown since about 1978, when I was 12 or 13 years old, but tonight...I could of cleared a bus, if I had one. Upon hearing the news I grabbed a plank, a stool, some boxes, an 11-years old's bicycle and headed out into the dusk to fly once more; it couldn't wait until tomorrow. Tribute.



RIP Evel.

trains and spotting

I remember an entry earlier this year about the bus girls checking out each other’s fashion every time the 401 stopped and some gal the walked up the aisle towards an exit: heads swiveling, eyes glaring. It seemed a combination of both fashion grading and fashion idea theft. In order to present both sides of the sexual agenda I need to rat out the guys – at least the Metro train drivers. I suspect that the bird watching occurs primarily during the morning and evening rush hours as the flocks move in heel-tottering, well coiffed formation. I also believe that the actual Metro station has a lot to do with the view – those stations with the exits/escalators toward the head of the train provide the greatest cinematic pleasure. For those beyond the Metro confederacy, here’s how trains manage passenger exit (first) and entry (second). The train doors open upon arrival at the station and herds of folks pile out as new herds pile into the oft-packed cars. The drivers, after a few seconds in the station, open the platform-side window of their cockpits and stick their heads out in order to look down the platform so they have a basic idea of when the crowd has managed to complete boarding. Once everyone seems on board they trigger some switch in the cab, while still looking out the window, and signal a warning before the doors close and the train begins to pull out of the station. I know that’s a long description but it’ll come in handy. Any number of drivers during the morning rush spend a little extra time looking down the platform because they’ve spied hottie who’s exited three cars down and is waggling her little self towards the escalators located near the front of the train. I can tell you with absolute certainty that those long(er) stops in some stations can be confirmed by verifying the escalator location. If you happen to be getting off a train and heading towards the front you could simply catch a glance at the driver and you’ll easily find who he’s looking at – and he’ll look until he gets a walk-by, full view and all. Of course, he doesn’t have carte blanche on girl watching – anyone beyond three train cars isn’t get the eye…he doesn’t have that much time. I can’t really blame the drivers. If I spend a good part of my day in and out of the tunnels under D.C. and the greater metro area I’d need some fresh air and scenery. I’m just saying.

The Minnesota Vikings head coach says he’s going to continue using two running backs even as super rookie Adrian Peterson returns from injury this week. There are some good reasons to share the workload, and I don’t disagree in theory, but the excuse he’s giving is this – they don’t want to risk him getting injured again. Right. This brings to mind a great book / great problem called Fermet’s Last Theorem. The book, about the problem, is a grand yarn involving a mathematical theorem that us normal folk can actually understand. Fermet, an amateur math genius from back yon, put forth the following: for a3 + b3 = c3 (those are cubes) there are no whole numbers to make the equation true. Same idea as Pythagoras but with the mysterious threes included – “it’s a magic number.” As later mathletes attempted to prove this theorem they ante up the idea that the variables couldn’t be odd numbers (or even numbers, I can’t remember) so they could basically eliminate the search by half…all the odds (or evens). Of course they realized shortly thereafter (probably within minutes) that since we believe in infinity there was, in actuality, no reduction in possible numbers to test: infinite odds and infinite evens. I love that story. Anyhow, back to football. Since most injuries - particularly knee injuries - occur on freak plays and poor footing during a violent sport, cutting a players actions from 40 to 20 doesn’t really change the odds of him getting hurt. Are we assuming that freakish plays and injuries only happen on odd or even downs? Just wondering.

I’ll leave everyone alone.

T.

thinking and planning

Laurel was here for the Thanksgiving weekend and we managed two days out that completely confounded my planning. I imagined that Friday on the Mall would be a good idea since I didn’t imagine many visitors to D.C. for Thanksgiving and I envisioned all the locals out shopping. Bad idea. For the record, this was the first time I’ve stood in line at museums since I’ve live here – and that includes the height of the summer tourist flockings. We had the best luck at the Museum of Art since not many kids enjoy strolling around art museums. We did the zoo yesterday and I planned on being a small cog in a huge wheel but the place was near empty. The weather was glorious and all animals were out playing in the mid-50s, beaming sunshine, Sunday afternoon. Absolutely the best day spent wandering around and chatting. She’s back in Omaha after her evening flight last night and should be sitting in school listening intently to an Algebra or German lesson.

Thanksgiving Day turned out just fine – turkey, cranberries, deviled eggs (argh!), stuffing, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, gravy, biscuits, pie x 2, and whatnot. The two most important things I learned from my first full-frontal attack on a T’giving meal are these: you’ll be cooking all day and you need a solid plan and, a big 11 lb. turkey breast is all you need for a whole lot of people. An 11 lb. breast with all the other deadweight elsewhere ends up providing about 10 lbs. of meat. The dark meat loving folk might give you a hard time but they can always be uninvited.

So, Trent Lott is re-elected to his Senate seat last year and now decides that he has other stuff he wants to pursue and will leave office “by the end of the year”? Interesting. The Governor will get to appoint someone to serve the remaining five years of his Senate term. There also seems to be some little law that says former congressmen must wait two years from leaving office to become lobbyists – unless, they leave office prior to the end of this year and then they’re grandfathered in to the older one year waiting period. Good work Trent! (chest thump!)

That’s all for now. Still getting back to real life after the long weekend.

T.

it happens every so often...i rail

Based on the poverty levels established by the Federal Government, a family of four earning double the poverty level (the mysterious and evil 200% number) would be looking at numbers much like these below. Of course, those who were so infuriated at SCHIP or health insurance reform can only see 200% and/or the $41,200 income per year for that family of four – the $41,200 that is published by the government as a part of the poverty tables; I wonder why? Here we go…

After taking out federal income tax ($7,000/year), Virginia state income tax ($2,117/yr), and FICA / social security ($3,150/year), we end up with about $2,421 brought home per month. The family of four sits down and runs a pretty conservative budget:

$1,000 rent for a two-bedroom apartment (the kids sleep in one room)
$300 for family of four health insurance premiums
$600 for food
$200 for clothing fund and activities for children
$100 for both parents to the ride the Metro buses five days a week (roundtrips)

Total expenses: $2,200
Leftover: $241/month

We haven’t included utilities (another $100-$150/mo.?), dental insurance, they don’t have a car (no gas, no insurance), telephone service – no kids running around with cells, no vacations, co-pays on health insurance, Christmas presents, or any other niceties. Nothing. That $241 will be gone when we eventually pay for heat, water, and dental care. No investments. No IRAs, no savings for retirement. What exactly is unclear about just how much money it takes to live a very simple and basic existence? No credit card debt, nothing owed, no money saved for college. The kids are walking to school or riding the bus. These numbers are for the 200% family – they toe the line and they still have absolutely nothing at the end of each month. If you need a little more to drive it home think about this: in order to bring home an income of $41,200 per year the two parents would each need to work 40 hours per week and earn $10.15/hour. That’s truth.

So, for all the Michelle Malkin followers, Fox News watching drones, Republican hardheads in congress, the President, and the Hummer driving, cell phone-toting, two-home owning, and vacation-taking screamers…please…shut up.

Sorry. I couldn’t help it.

T.

deal, or no deal

There are a bunch of scantily-clad model types on chorus risers – each fondling a silver briefcase. What do you do? Not only that, you’ve got crazy Howie Mandel freaking out in your face; you’ve got your crazy ‘family’ telling you to go just one more round. It’s amazing.

This isn’t so amazing. You can buy a hairbrush that runs $130...or you can take that buck-thirty and go elsewhere. Here’s what you get for that outlay…

$100 on the Patriots to cover the spread and beat the over/under over their first 10 games (they’ve done both for every game) ~ $2,240 after the book’s grease is removed.

18 bottles of my tea tree shampoo.

Eight-month membership with emusic.com (about 720 songs or 60 full-length CDs.)

One ticket to a Redskins game.

130 pints at $1 pint night. Tips not included.

About 35 minutes of X shopping at Nordstrom Rack.

4 tickets to the New Pornographers show at the 9:30 Club.

13 pair of Stephon Marbury’s new kicks.

26 weeks of the boys’ allowance.

Weekend lift ticket out around Tahoe.

One tank of fuel for a Hummer, maybe.

13 dime bags, officially speaking.

Two seasons of Deadwood on DVD.

In reverse – a day working the polls in Virginia.

23 tickets to the first concert I ever saw: Kiss and Uriah Heep at the Omaha Civic Auditorium in 1976 - $5.50 per.

One-fifth of the cost of X’s jumbo suite at the Silver Legacy (2004) in Reno. (I got a parking garage kiss for my troubles.)

Two trips to Whole Foods: four bags, total.

$130 on your SmartTrip card for the Metro.

26 weeks of the Sunday NYTimes, tax excluded.

21 Martinis (tip excluded) at the Metropolis in B’boro.

15 tickets of embarrassment at the theater in B’boro.

Some number or other of annual food for Sally Struthers' kids.

Nothing, if it’s an Oprah gift.

40 cans of San Marzano tomatoes – bingo!

9 months of Netflix.

You get the idea. Choices….as they say.

I’ve used the brush. It’s a damn nice brush – hair of spun gold.

"That's a damn good milkshake."

T.

stuff it

I don't think I've made the pitch yet but I'm making it now. Buy reusable grocery bags at your nearest store. I'm about five years into this and I have absolutely no idea why anyone would use either the plastic or paper for groceries. Depending on where you shop they'll give you a refund for bringing your own bags. Wholes Foods gives you some like $.03, which is horribly pathetic considering the cost of gnosh at WFoods. My Organic Market (MOM) here in Virginia gives you $.10 on each bag - considering they only run $.99 to purchase they will pay for themselves right quick. But...I'll let everyone off on the financial aspect because it's not even close the main reason why you should get on board; actually, there are two. The first is that all those plastic bags are an absolute waste. The second is that after the first time you use five or six heavy, good quality bags with handles you will never go back to using anything else - they are fantastic. You've got choices - I'm giving you choices - money, environment, awesomeness. You will love me for this.

My next goal, after tracking driving and destinations within our 5km ring (another story), is to cease and desist with plastic water bottles. Maybe I'm late to the party on this one but I'll get there in the end. Just think of me getting lost en route, a trunk full of beer, and the party already smoking....I'll get there.

love to all.

t

a question. a better answer for a friday

There are two prominent events that seem to be clogging up the political landscape this week. I’m not much of a supporter of either of the two involved candidates but I find both yards full of screaming banshees completely off balance.

First, the planted question at a Hillary Clinton town hall meeting that took place somewhere in Iowa. Clearly, she has campaign workers ‘placing’ questions with audience members at Clinton rallies and tea parties. I find the practice distasteful because it shows that candidates, and their focus group mentality, aren’t confident enough to answer real questions. But, I’m also fairly confident that every other campaign participates in the same sort of shenanigans along these lines – she just got caught. What bothers me more is who brought this to the fore and her punishment escaped. The student who let the secret ‘slip’ is as poor a reflection on the American voter as it is on the politicians. Exactly what was her role in this malfeasance? I suspect that her thought process involved some desire to be ‘the one’ to hold a microphone and address a real live famous person – her integrity certainly wasn’t involved in workings of her brain gearage. How moronic do you look when you tell everyone that you simply asked a question that a guy in a blue suit told you to ask? If I’m at a political gathering and I’m thinking of asking a question about the electoral college, I’m certainly not going to change my question because some grad-school campaign volunteer pulls me aside and sweet talks me with some crap question. I suspect I might tell him to sod off.

Second, we’ve got the McCain lunch counter stop where a supporter asked him “how are we going to beat that bitch?” The supporter (a woman) was speaking of Hillary Clinton and McCain didn’t seem to have any immediate response – he was blindsided by the freak eating lunch and cursing another candidate. Is McCain responsible for the behavior of his wack-job supporters? In this case, probably not. Those who work in his campaign? Certainly. The video is really a reflection of absolutely nothing to do with politics and a candidate – it’s something of nothing. Unless she was a plant… (cue conspiracy music)

On the lighter side, here’s a video that X showed the boys last night. After watching a few other short skits by them I came to two conclusions: they are just fantastic; and, they will end up overexposed in commercials and various other media outlets.



T.

a question. a better answer for a friday

There are two prominent events that seem to be clogging up the political landscape this week. I’m not much of a supporter of either of the two involved candidates but I find both yards full of screaming banshees completely off balance.

First, the planted question at a Hillary Clinton town hall meeting that took place somewhere in Iowa. Clearly, she has campaign workers ‘placing’ questions with audience members at Clinton rallies and tea parties. I find the practice distasteful because it shows that candidates, and their focus group mentality, aren’t confident enough to answer real questions. But, I’m also fairly confident that every other campaign participates in the same sort of shenanigans along these lines – she just got caught. What bothers me more is who brought this to the fore and her punishment escaped. The student who let the secret ‘slip’ is as poor a reflection on the American voter as it is on the politicians. Exactly what was her role in this malfeasance? I suspect that her thought process involved some desire to be ‘the one’ to hold a microphone and address a real live famous person – her integrity certainly wasn’t involved in workings of her brain gearage. How moronic do you look when you tell everyone that you simply asked a question that a guy in a blue suit told you to ask? If I’m at a political gathering and I’m thinking of asking a question about the electoral college, I’m certainly not going to change my question because some grad-school campaign volunteer pulls me aside and sweet talks me with some crap question. I suspect I might tell him to sod off.

Second, we’ve got the McCain lunch counter stop where a supporter asked him “how are we going to beat that bitch?” The supporter (a woman) was speaking of Hillary Clinton and McCain didn’t seem to have any immediate response – he was blindsided by the freak eating lunch and cursing another candidate. Is McCain responsible for the behavior of his wack-job supporters? In this case, probably not. Those who work in his campaign? Certainly. The video is really a reflection of absolutely nothing to do with politics and a candidate – it’s something of nothing. Unless she was a plant… (cue conspiracy music)

On the lighter side, here’s a video that X showed the boys last night. After watching a few other short skits by them I came to two conclusions: they are just fantastic; and, they will end up overexposed in commercials and various other media outlets.



T.

i'll have...

The café that fills the role of food purveyor in my business casual building sells a sandwich with the moniker of - The Napolean. The ingredients are as follows: roast beef, turkey, bacon, Swiss cheese, lettuce, tomato, cole slaw and Russian dressing. Any ideas on why we’d call this combination of stuff 'The Napolean'? Is it the Russian dressing? Anyone?

I’ll give you a little Nebraska history and a great sandwich right here.

That could be a campaign slogan.

gimme shelter

While standing at the 401 bus stop this morning I took account of people and their umbrellas. Even though there are still the standard types (of people and equipment), I sense a disturbing change in girth (of umbrellas) over the last few years. I first noticed it about a year ago when the Eleven came out into an evening rain after a Madeleine Peyroux show in D.C. Here’s a round-up of who you see on the umbrella catwalk on a rainy morning:

1. “Broken umbrella but saving money guy” – There is a reason that any person who commutes in the great outdoors carries a broken umbrella: he’s a tightwad…or he’s #2. Call it two reasons. In order to verify it’s this guy you need look for baggies over his shoes, threadbare sports coat, and a Patriots hat with the old crouching Patriot logo. Now you’ve pegged a man that’ll live with this half-clothed umbrella splaying three broken, eye-piercing spikes that attack passersby.

2. “Broken umbrella / Crap! I forgot to get a new one guy” – The easiest way to separate this guy taxonomically from #1 is that he’s pissed off. I’ve been this guy, I know. You pull the broken down contraption from your bag (forgetting it’s a broken down contraption), try to pop it open, and it immediately does one of two things: collapses back on your head or snaps over into the inverted position. This commuter is now forced to either hold up the canopy with one hand or, determine the proper holding angle to maintain the reversal problem. This angle, if you must know, is neither wind or gravitationally influenced, it’s merely some concoction of hope and experience. In any case, he’ll be cussing just loud enough for you to hear. The #1 guy above will simply be ambling along quietly while reading a two year-old copy of Time magazine naming “You” as person of the year….and stabbing every other person in the face.

3. “Guy with his wife / girlfriend’s umbrella” – I’ve been this guy…all too often. The first thing that crosses your mind when you see Bob with Debbie’s umbrella is this: “My, that’s a lovely pink toile pattern with lavender highlights.” The problem with this mean thought is that it cuts a little too close to home. Both of us know that he’s walking quickly to the Metro station fully aware that he’s been cursed by this device. He knows! It was a simple choice that morning: get wet or look silly. We know wherein lies his decider-ness.

4. “Guy with no umbrella” – He’s the decider who counters #3. He looked out the window, saw the rain, knew he forgot to buy a new umbrella and decided right then and there to go commando. He’ll walk purposefully (and man-ily) the two blocks from his car to the station looking like President Bush when he strikes that cowboy pose in Texas. (Also know as the “it’s only water guy”)

5. “Guy with no umbrella but nice clothing” – Same problem as #4 but - he doesn’t do patterned umbrellas - yet there’s no way he’s getting his cashmere jacket and Johnston and Murphy shoes too wet. You’ll know him because he’s running like a sonnofabitch towards the sanctity of the station. He’ll dab his shoes dry with a shining cloth pulled from this Hugo Boss leather eurobag.

6. “Guy with folded up Express newspaper over his head” – First, he’s already ridden the Metro because he actually has the Express in his hand. That being the case, you only see this rare species en route from the station to either work or a bus. He may be running, he may be walking, but he definitely is curious looking and wet. He should be grouped with those that jog to catch a train – it’s ineffective and has no value. Needs to get together with the “it’s only water guy” and have chat.

7. “Golfer” – Here’s the newest problem in our world: golfers who bring their golf umbrella to the commute. If you haven’t seen a golf umbrella, simply think of anything way too big for its assigned purpose and conflate those characteristics onto an umbrella. Think of a Hummer. It’s not simply the idea that you’ve got something big enough to cover a city block that bothers me – it’s the fact that no other human can actually pass on either side of your enormous pagoda without being crushed against a wall or pushed into the river. The reason it’s called a golf umbrella is because you use it on a golf course: big, open spaces. It’s even better when there are two polo-shirted, pleated khaki wearing, Nike-branded Tiger Woods wannabes walking together along a six-foot sidewalk commiserating about their inability to play long irons from a shallow lie.

That’s my morning.

T.

(whack whack)

It took a few weeks - not technologically, simply lazily - to put this little video up, but here it is. This is what happens when you hang a pinata from a tree at a birthday party and let the ooompah loompahs at it. Did I scream like that when I was young? The Eleven hung it up as the children were arriving and once they spied it across the courtyard they were on it like demons. They knew they'd have to wait but it was soooooo hard to simply paw and touch it....hard! Kids. Q. was a bit confused after it broke and all the loot came out; his desire was to beat something with a big stick. He's of an age, and psycho-state, where whacking things with a bat is much more chi inducing than picking a bunch of junkie toys from the grass. He's like that.



My one and only entry on Fantasy Football this season is two-fold. First, my team has battled into playoff position due to superior ownership and general managership. If you're wondering, I'm both. The team battled back from an 0-3 start and charged smartly to the upper echelons of the league. You may ask yourself this: if he's such a great owner/manager why did his team start 0-3? You'd be allowed that question but nevermind. The answer is clearly that I've overcome and adapted to the crazy evolution of this NFL season. Easy peasy. Seondly, MLB has filed suit to stop fantasy sites from using MLB names and statistics for fantasy baseball leagues unless MLB is renumerated. I don't know about the hot stove leagues but I will tell you that the NFL has become the behemoth that it is today because of fantasy sports. I think the NFL is more conducive to fantasy play, but MLB was the original product in the area. They are crazy if they cause an uproar in one of the areas that keep many a fan fully focused on the game. One man's opinion.

I'm off to look at my team. I need a great Seattle defensive and special teams performance tonight.

Love to all

t

i'll tell you a yarn

Right-o.

Via keen sense of observation I've learned that X's mother (we'll call her Amy) is making her lovely daughter a throw, by hand, because she loves her. I haven't ascertained whether it was on offer or a matter of strong-arming by the eldest child; either way, it's getting done. There's been a mish-mish of yarn and skein discussion that seems to revolve around type and color of material - it's all completely foreign to me. What isn't foreign is the little banter between generations. This is the form it's taken as they've decided which skeins to purchase after the color / diplomacy relations. The color listing on the left is what Amy delivered for order; the right column is my beloved's list of the same "color":

blue - blue
gray - steel blue
russet - rust
brown - dark barley
maroon - purple
green - green
beige - beige

As if one could confuse a russet for a rust or a dark barley for a brown. I won't even try to explain how we've convoluted the gray for a steel blue.

I had two movies on Friday night while X was dropping the boys at Dulles for their trip to the Midwest. The second movie, The Holiday, which was intended as nothing more than fluff, was horrible. I meant for the second to be fluff because the opener was the documentary, No End in Sight. I really didn’t need any further evidence against this administration, and I figured on trudging through this like every other review of events, but it just smacked me in the head…hard. No real historical review will be needed of this group of simpletons.

It was an easy and quiet weekend.

T.

surprise! trivia

What I didn’t know, but learned while idly listening to some Senate voting today, is that the Water Resources Development Act marked only the 107th time a presidential veto had been overridden. That number is for the entire history of the country – 107. There have been 2,555 presidential vetoes overall – with FDR (655) and Cleveland (414) leading the way – so the percentage of success is only about 4%. Consider keeping that nugget under your derby for some quiz night at the pub in Boston. I would never have guessed the number to be so low. What other numbers are staggering (to me) that you need to know about? Glad you asked.

MLB no-hitters: 255
MLB players hitting for the cycle (single, double, triple, HR in a game): 276
MLB unassisted triple plays: 13

African-Americans elected to the U.S. Senate, history: 5
Women elected to U.S. Senate, history: 35

Number of HRs in Joe DiMaggio’s career: 361
Number strikeouts in Joe DiMaggio’s career: 369
Most strikeouts by a hitter in one year: 199
Most strikeouts in a career: 2,597

I think that’s plenty.

T.

myth reality fantasy truly

Monday AM. X finally decided that in order to survive through Thanksgiving she had to do something dramatic with her laptop. All of her hoity-toity school work was inaccessible because the lil’ guy was having serious power issues. The battery has been inop for a quite awhile and the a/c power had become something of a fantasy over the last week or so. She hit the internet early and found a computer repair shop (or guy, as we discovered) here in Arlington that told her (very informatively at that) to bring it over because he knew just was it needed. The Sonys seem to have an issue with the solde near the power connection coming, as one would say, un-soldered. He e-mailed back that same afternoon, much to her dippity-dance happiness, and told her is was finished. We stopped over around 7:30p to pay-and-go with the newly repaired and cleaned computer. I like this guy: he runs the business out of his very neat office/basement, the bill was ready to go, the computer (with power cord) was on and running when we arrived, and he has a 30-day guarantee on any work he performs. I’d recommend him to anyone – and I better had. As I was waiting for the bill and details to be settled I took a little look around the outer office area and noted the only two pictures on display, and I am not making this up: a signed Patrick Stewart, and a signed Ghostsbusters cast 8 x 10. They call it a stereotype.

T.

poll position

Another 15 hours working the polls, this time for the Virginia State and Arlington County elections, has come and gone. The turnout in our precinct couldn’t have exceeded 15% - very disappointing for State Senate and House of Delegates elections. I know it’s not sexy but these chuckleheads have a much greater influence on people’s daily existence than most national elections. They control the state taxes, constitutional amendments, and voter districting. You only need to follow a little bit of Tom DeLay’s success in redrawing lines in Texas to understand the effects of state government. That’s my preaching for today.

Some keepers that floated by in the elementary school gym polling place is certainly in order. There was a very interactive father voting with his two children in tow. As he’s explaining the voting process and working the computerized voting machine, his about 7-year old son pipes up with “How about some Democrats!” How about some Democrats. I was assisting a gentleman who was legally blind and needed the ballot read to him. I started out at the top of the ballot with “for Virginia Senate district 31 you have: Mary Margaret Whipple, Democrat; Samuel…” He jumps in with “hit me with that Democrat!” He had no time for…things.

One gentleman was irate that the county board and school board nominees didn’t have party affiliations listed with each candidate, and he was more than willing to point out to me that it was clearly illegal. He filed a voter complaint/worry form to be forwarded to the Arlington voting ‘dictator’. I had noticed this party fact when I voted earlier in the day and determined that those positions are probably considered non-political and Virginia law no doubt covers the issue.

This was the second election I’d set the machine for a woman who completely mistrusts the electronic voting process. The county uses touch screen machines that maintain numbers of ballots cast per machine, votes for each candidate in each race, provides duplicate records that are forwarded to the county, the numbers are matched to the voter roll which is numbered by voter, by name, and verified with ID. The numbers accounting adds up. Of course, if the software is tampered with and every touch allegedly for Bob is being rung up as Joe, we’ve got problems. This particular voter tells me how distrustful she is of the electronic system – there’s no way it could really work – and my first thought is this, way are you voting if you believe the nuts-and-bolts of the system are dysfunctional?

From her we move to the paper trail woman who takes it to the next level. The paper trail isn’t completely clear to me. Do people want hardcopy of their vote to take home with them? A receipt from the machine? Their name associated with their vote? The machines have do a paper trail that takes a few hours to collate after the polls close. I think complaints often revolve around some lack of knowledge in how the machines work. There’s clearly no greater risk in electronic voting than there was in the days of ballot box stuffing in Daley’s Chicago. It’s the same fear that Bill O’Reilly carries for the ‘Internets’. Are there issue? Probably. Is it the evil that conspiracy theorists believe? Probably not. I like the idea of the paper ballot you can hold in your hand as a receipt when you leave the gym. If there are problems or questions after the election everyone can bring back their receipts and we can certainly recount from there…that’ll work.

The last memorable moment was when a woman standing in line for the M-Z last names leaned over to me (sitting at the empty A-L table) and said “where are your Republican voting cheat sheets?” The back story here is that the Northern Virginia area is a Democratic stronghold: immigrants, lower middle class, vibrant, exciting, interesting, and both young and old who see more than water boarding and overbearing administrations. Oops. The Democratic Party mans the outskirts of polling sites, legally, and passes out voting information and ‘cheat sheets’ for voters. If the young lady needed a Republican cheat sheet she’d need to head down way down state to find any. I didn’t say that to her…I merely pointed out that it was the party handing out literature, not the election officials.

I’m into Sacco and Vanzetti by Bruce Watson. Enlightening and frightening.

T.

advancement placement social studies

After the party on Saturday we all jumped the Metro and headed to the Corcoran Gallery for the Ansel Adams and Annie Liebowitz exhibits (it was a two-for-one ticket purchase.) I skipped the Adams exhibit due to time constraints and spent my time in the Liebowitz rooms. I’ve read varying reviews on the show, it’s been to a few galleries before D.C., and a good many of the lay folk focus almost exclusively on the rock n’ roll aspect of her photography. There’s no doubt that her time at Rolling Stone influenced her ability to snag the famous people but it’s not always the actor/actress/singer/rocker subject that end up catching my attention. It’s a bit unfair to justify her success simply to the subject – she does have a great ability to bring us shots that show something much deeper in the eyes of the subjects. Her travel and world event photography is stunning (Rwanda, the Balkans) and deserves as much attention as the portraiture. My favorites from the exhibit were the Cash family (Johnny, June Carter, grandson, and Roseanne) on the porch of Johnny’s house (I know it’s rock n’ roll!); and the formal portraits of the Queen. I’m sure about the falling out she had with Elizabeth II during the shoot but the photo of the Queen in full regalia under a rolling sky is amazing. Another portrait that's frightening to me is the shot in the Oval Office from December 2001: Bush, Rumsfield, Card, Rice, Powell, Cheney, and Tenet. There's no way she said "say cheese" for this shot. It was probably more like "look normal" or "give me your jerk look". They all played along.

After the museum we walked north towards the Orange Line and a hopeful dinner. When heading north up 17th St. from the Corcoran you pass the Old Executive Office Building – that’s a picture up top, if you’re wondering. After a few hundred meters X turned to me and said, “that guy behind us just asked someone if that Old Office Building thingy was Victorian architecture. Can you believe that? What a wacko.” I looked back towards the building over my right shoulder, the sun setting, and thought, I’ve got no idea what kind of architecture that might be. What I say to her is, “What kind of fool! It’s amazing he can put one foot in front of the other and walk without falling over. Geez.” She then let me know that it’s clearly a Georgian building. Georgian! On Sunday morning I readdressed the architecture issue while we stared at a Victorian/Georgian building near DuPont Circle. What I’ve learned from her is this: if it looks like this picture, and it’s eatable, it’s Victorian.


This will someday earn you college credit on some exam. Thank me later.

T.

ready. shuffle.

We managed to get G’s birthday in order on Saturday: cake, invites, balloons, helium, streamers, and pinata! Oh, and kids. I love piles of kids.

His haul of stuff from various folk consisted primarily of cash, gift cards, and Pokemon schwag. There has been resurgence (some might say a plague) of Pokemon in the commune over the last few weeks. The boys have gone wonky. H. picked out two massive, special packages of cards as a gift - they are apparently the Holy Grail containing lost cards of yore. I think I saw H. fighting off hordes near the collector card section of Target with nothing more than a whip and fedora. Who knows? The real question is this: what does a ready stash of money and a gift card really lead to? This: can we go to Target? Can we go now? How about now? Now? Target? Now? When can we go? I’ll get to that soon enough.

The Eleven rode our bikes to the Dupont Circle Farmers Market yesterday morning – blowing out the carb on her new, fancy bike. It’s about an hour-and-half roundtrip with flowers, veg, and other goodies as a break in the middle. We only end up riding on city streets for about a ¼ mile on either end of the bike path. Very nice. I toted home the goods in my trailer and managed to survive the double hills of death near the end our the ride. We’re planning on loading up the trailer with kit and riding out to the Maryland countryside for a camping experiment next weekend.

On to Target. After we get back from trying to revive X’s laptop yesterday I finally took the boys and their piles o’ loot to Target. It’s about a ten minute drive and the excitement in the backseat was beyond containment. I might as well have been toting around a couple of children speaking a foreign language; for some reason, they felt a burning desire to address me with plans, stories, and Pokemon history. Here’s a summary, see what you can do with it. Nevermind who’s actually speaking, it’s irrelevant…I didn’t even know.

“We need a Silcoon from the EX deck because his health in the Pearl series is the best. It’s wicked good to evolve into Cascoon. Oscar has a Wurmple, which we don’t have, but we’ve got a super deck that Henry built. I built it. Henry built it. It’s widely known that Oscar has the most powerful deck in all of Arlington. Mantyke, which we need evolves into a Mantine if we have Remoraid present in the trainer's party. Hey Todd. Do you know what we love about EX? Kadabra immediately evolves to a Fire Alakazam when traded, and Oscar will trade one. You know why I can get cards from Oscar? He pretends not to want something, like a Seadra, but he really does. Anyway. I pretend I don’t want it, either. My Dusclops can’t evolve to a Dusknoir during a trade unless I have the Reaper Cloth – I don’t have the Reaper Cloth. I always get the cards from Oscar in the end. We just got the Dubious Disc so we can trade the Porygon2 and get and evolved Porygon-Z tomorrow. I finally got my Bulbasaur to evolve…well it was Bulbasaur at level 16, now it’s Ivysaur….I evolved it finally, at level 32 to Venusaur. Are we there yet?”

Yes.

T

one more link

This an op-ed from a blog called Small Wars Journal. It's about torture and it eloquently addresses the issue and the answer. If you don't want to know, or don't care to read about it...no need to click. (Thanks to andrewsullivan.com)

Todd

mr. gill

A little tawdry but it is from the Sunday Times. This week's review was particularly good (the review, not the restaurant) and this was the best bit. I can't help a quick push my a favorite columnists:

"I’ve been told this is the place with the best burger in London. Hamburgers, like pizza, bloody marys and fellatio, are things that incite fierce argument about technique, authenticity and heresy. In fact, they’re all just simple constructions. The trick with burgers is not to make them posh, expensive or large...The further they get from their motorway origins, the worse they are." AA Gill.

fin

Backpedaling to my ticket sale at Saturday’s show. I sold them a few months ago during the great ticket panic of 2007. The show was actually sold-out before the 9:30 Club announced it via its website; I’ve got my tricks. My buyer was the first of about a dozen to contact me the day I threw up my ad and I told him I’d send an e-mail the week of the show in order to set-up the exchange. The final options I gave him were these: I’ll be there at 7pm to give you the tickets (they were at will call), or you can let me know when you’ll be arriving and we’ll coordinate our efforts. Normally I won’t be at a show an hour before doors – I’m not one to feel a need to stand right at the front of the stage, but I’m always willing to get there early if they happen to be the type that wants to pile in early and stand for five hours. As it was left, we were to meet at 7pm (see my cab ride…) and exchange the tickets. As I was in line (or on line for the easterners) at 7pm, with only about ten people in front of me, I called him to see if he was standing nearby. Come to find out he doesn’t really want to get there until after the first opening act so he’s anticipating about 9 or 9:30pm. Hmm. Right. Not much to do at this point but tell him to call me when he shows and I’ll come outside and exchange tix for dough. The problem this presents is that I’m in the club so early that I ace one of the eight barstools at the upper-level bar that holds the greatest view and comfort for a long show (yes, that’s right, eight make up the entire actual seating capacity of a 1000+ occupancy club.) The beauty is that nobody can block your view because the next bar row (VIP only) is eight feet below you, the bar is right there, and you have a seat…it’s perfect. Unfortunately, by the time my buyer is going to show the place will be almost full and there will be vultures cruising the area looking to poach my seat. I need a plan; I have a plan. There a two girls standing at the bar-table-rail who showed up shortly after the eight stools were commandeered and I’ve decided to trade one stool for the table-bar corner if they’re willing and able. I close the deal at a song break when I quickly offer them the terms of the contract and they readily agree – I lose my stool (though they were willing to hold it) and in return they spread out a bit and manage to hold the corner leaning area, currently occupied by one of them, for me when I return. We pinky shake and I now know that when my phone vibrates indicating “go” time I only need to pass them a “you’re on duty” look and scramble down the stairs. Upon my return the shuffle takes place and I get to spent the rest of the night perfectly poised for maximum enjoyment – love not war, I say. Love not War.

The Ticket Exhange, written by Monty Python
(see diagram below, it’s horribly self-explanatory)

Just as the first band is finishing their 30-minute set my cell phone vibrates and I see the ticket buyer’s name on caller ID. There’s no way to actually speak into the phone because the music is too loud; I hop up, give the duty look to the gals, and head down the stairs. I’m walking down the outside stairs to the sidewalk as I open up my phone and hit green button-green button to call back my “John”. A single ring and he picks up as I look about and see only a handful of people out front, maybe ten or twelve total:

“Hello? Is this Todd?”
“Yeah. I couldn’t talk when you called. Where are you at?”
“I’m by the tour bus?”
[I look around]
“I’m by the tour bus out front. There are two buses.
Are you around the corner? I’m by the stop sign.”
“No. I’m by the tour bus. By the stop sign.”
“I don’t see you. Can you see the tour bus by the stop sign?”
“Yeah. I’m right by the sign.”
“By the tour bus?”
[Clearly he’s lost. I look around, up at the sky.]
“Okay. I’m out front, by the bus, by the stop sign.”
“Me too.”
[This is stupid. I decide to actually turn around; he
decides to turn around.]

That is embarrassing. There was an entire stop sign post right between us…no wonder we couldn’t possibly see each other. We make the exchange, laugh the WonderTwins, and try to make our way inside while averting our gaze from the punked, pierced, and tattoo’d bouncers who no doubt witnessed the entire episode. What I immediately wished, upon returned to my bar area, was that it had been as easy as what I witnessed during my first year visit to the Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival in San Francisco. I was sitting near a couple at the Star Stage, waiting for the next act to start, when the cell phone of the couple ring-rings. She answers and begins to direct her friend to where they are sitting amongst the crowd. Picture about a thousand people laying about on blankets and sitting in low-backed chairs. Since it’s between acts you can actually see all the way to the stage with little visual interference.

“Hey. Debbie? Yeah, we’re about halfway up towards the stage.”
[She stands and looks around.]
“You’re by the mixing booth? Yeah, we’re halfway up.
We’re on a blanket. I’m standing.”
[Looks out toward the mixing table.]
“Yes! I can see you. Can you see me? Oh, we also brought the
macaw…he’s up on his perch.”

I look up and behind me to see that, in fact, they have brought the massive blue macaw to the show and he’s poised royally on a 10-foot high pole of a perch. Now there's an idea.

“Oh, you see him? That’s us.”

Really?

T.

saturday night II; the music

(photo by Marina Chavez)

There were two opening acts on Saturday night, which comes to either one or two too many opening acts. I know I’m grumpy about openers and that’s no doubt either ironic or hypocritical because one of my favorite bands, the Tarbox Ramblers, were discovered as an opening act. Hey, even the sun shines on a dog’s… The first openers Saturday night had somewhere between six and eight members which is huge number for the third-ranked band on a ticket, whatcha get paid for that? $500? At least they were local so not too much financial stake in traveling to the show.

I want to throw some ideas out on the second act, Emma Pollock. (I expect a vast number of hits from Pollock google-rs and supporters.) She was a founding member of a Scottish band, the Delgados, and is now touring in support of her first solo album. As written and performed, her music isn’t at all anything that interests me. It falls into the category of droning, “noir-ish”, some-kind-of-sound that I don’t much like – a lot like Interpol (more angry hits from their fans coming.) Anyway, after three or four songs she called out someone from the wings “to join us for some of his songs” – at least that’s what I think she said. Out bounds a guy who looks like a combo of Jack Black and Jeff Tweedy armed with only a tambourine and my favorite instrument – the shaky egg. The band, at this point, actually jumped to life and the next two or three songs were fantastic simply due to the addition of a tambourine, a shaky egg, and side-stage guy harmonies. After this all too brief probation from droning, he gathered up his sheet music (for a shaky egg?) and disappears. Cue a few more droning songs. Thankfully, our mystery side-stage genius pops out for a few more songs and essentially talks me down from the ledge. Come to find out that my savior is Kurt Dahle, New Pornographer drummer. That’s probably what it says on his business card.

The Pornographers were stellar. All nine or 10 on stage made amazing music and my admiration for A.C. Newman’s ability to write, produce, and get everyone on the road is only enhanced by the show. He’s the drive behind the group and they’ve been top-notch for all four albums. The two female members of the group warrant input. Neko Case (her again…) has been with the group as a vocalist since it’s inception and what I learned is that her voice is even more stunning when measured against the band and other singers. Obviously her vocal ability is legendary, but when performing as a solo artist you often forget just how good she is – there’s nothing to stack it up against when it’s just her. She’s staggering when blasting into a song, as the lead or harmony, when with the Pornographers. The other member that caught me eye was Kathryn Calder who plays keyboards and sings background vocals. She is also slowly stepping in to fill Neko’s role since there’s a general belief that this is Neko’s last run with the band. Calder is another great singer and instrumentalist who may be the most lively and enjoyable member to watch during the shows – great show duds and lots of dancing.

Did I just say “general belief” when discussing personnel in an indie band that few people even know? General belief makes it sound like some deep political debate; “there’s a general debate on the timing of the Iowa Caucus…” What a fool I am.