sneaky sneaky quiet monkey

The week's weather has be stunning; if only it would never get hotter than about 70 degrees with a cool breeze whistling through the courtyard. We've taken to sitting in the lawnchairs in the courtyard every evening and watching Q. run up and down the sidewalk chasing balls. I'd say there's some retriever in him but I'm not sure he's mastered either the getting or retrieving - he chases. Reminds me of my old labrador Gus that used to chase cars; getting and retrieving didn't cross his mind, either. Here's a video of the lil' shortsop going to the hole, knocking down a screaming line drive, and making the throw to first base. Nevermind...score it as E6. Maybe the Cubs should sign him up.



The boys have spring break next week so they brought home the school's guinea pig. Ginny will be well-loved (I think), taken for long walks, and provide hours of entertainment to the a-dults. She was in her cage outside yeterday and Q. spent a long time either trying to see her or trying to plot her escape. Those bars don't look so tough.

We have the spring Slavic festival down at 21st and H St. this afternoon; pics to follow.

T.

it’s a wrap!

Communism - an ideology that seeks to establish a classless, stateless social organization based on common ownership of the means of production. [wikipedia.org]

I’ll take this opportunity to further break down the components of this definition:

ideology – the set of beliefs characteristic of a social group or individual. [Concise OED]

Let me say that this ‘set’ and the social group runs between about 5’8” and 5’10” and occupies #1 and #2 on North Park Drive.

stateless (adj.) – not recognized as a citizen of any country. [Concise OED]

social (adj.) – relating to or designed for activities in which people meet each other for pleasure. [Concise OED]

organization (n.) – a systematic approach to tasks. [Concise OED]

If I mash these all together I get something that says I’m not really a citizen, I’m designed to make pleasurable things, and I’m somehow tasked from the group.

means of production - are the combination of the means of labor and the subject of labor used by workers to make products [wikipedia.org]

I think I’m pretty well pigeonholed as the ‘combo’ when it comes to getting the wraps ready for early morning launch. It’s a skill like anything else…but sometimes the labor gets all confused and forgets the ideology; the power of three!

I made three wraps this morning so X didn’t have to split her wrap with the other twin...as was the case on Tuesday; talk about a communal thing. Not only did I manage to increase the means of production but I snuck chocolate in their snacks in a preemptive strike against revolt.

Long live the masses!

TTodd.

lone rider

No need to gather a whole posse when Kyle Sampson is getting the job done in committee. Apparently he won't fall on any sword.

T.

warning: spoiler alert

Last night the Eleven finished our weekend’s Dance Dance Revolution© 2007 cram session – at the end of both Footloose and Flashdance there are uplifting choreographed dance numbers that send our spirits soaring! Alex apparently earns a place at The Dance Conservatory of Pittsburgh; Ariel and Ren end up sponsoring the forbidden dance across the county line somewhere out West. These were X’s first viewing for both films and I’ll leave her to her personal reviews whenever she decides to update her blog; I can say that she doesn’t think much of Lori Singer. I was more than happy to hear Kenny Loggins squawking out another great 80s title song for a movie (Footloose, Caddyshack, Top Gun) in his inimitable way – “I gotta get loose, footloose!” I'm not sure that using footloose with loose says much about the writing, but back then we took what we could get at the local cineplex. Looking at Loggins' lyrics from all three movies makes one wince for what the youth of that decade had to endure. A sample from Danger Zone (Top Gun):

Out along the edges
Always where I burn to be
The further on the edge
The hotter the intensity

and from I’m Alright (Caddyshack)

You wanna listen to the man?
Pay attention to the magistrate
And while I got you in the mood
Listen to your
Own heart beatin’
Own heart beatin’
Own heart beatin’
Own heart beatin’

He may be the only singer to ever use magistrate in a song. He’s not even rhyming it with anything, why magistrate? And the 'to be' with 'inten-si-ty'? Wow. I can see how one would be out along the edges but I don’t get the ‘further on the edge’ reference. If I'm along the edge, there is no further; that's and abyss. For an answer to that I’ll ask X to query her fellow Owl, Keith (F-14 Tomcat RIO – think Goose), he might be able to let us know if he ever went further on the edge.

I leave you.

T.

with this ring I

I was sitting in the courtyard finishing up my Sunday NYTimes assignment and found myself stumbling through the wedding announcements. What a goldmine of entertainment to get me through the early Arlington evening. I’ve marked up way more than I can possibly retype (and retype I will…) so I’ll stick to the best of the weds. (I consider all names and events to be public record. It’s in the NYTimes – sorry if anyone finds their name within.) All wedding text is copyright of the New Yorks Times...I guess.

His mother is a director of 3 Stars Cinema, a Jewish film series in Dallas, and was also a producer of “Salsa Caliente,” a 2001 documentary film about Latin dance aficionados.

Nothing says Jewish film cinema like “Salsa Caliente”. I’m so confused by how this actually imparts any additional information that a guy in Arlington, Va, needs to have about the blissfully wedded couple…Salsa Caliente? Was that an opening night entry in the Jewish film series or something that played at one of the indie theaters off the main Dallas drag?

Mr. Wilkie’s great-great grandfather Thomas Fortune Ryan was a financier and philanthropist, whose business interests included tobacco, New York City streetcars and subways and diamonds in the Congo.

Those interests sound much better within this context, “Todd’s favorite Friday night activities included tobacco, New York city streetcars and subways and diamonds in the Congo.” Note that it’s not diamonds FROM the Congo but diamonds IN the Congo. The great-great grandfather could have been interested in tall, lanky redheads, Kool menthols, and single malt Whisky...but I don’t need to know about it.

Now, one of my favorites. Imagine we’ve already read the basics of the couple and their families: he went to school, she went to school, the parents are blah blah blah. Suddenly we get these dramatic community theater interpretations included in the wedding announcement:

The bridegroom’s previous marriage ended in divorce.

The couple were introduced in November 2004 by Lisa Elson, the wife of the bridegroom’s best friend. She was receiving physical therapy from Ms. Stodola [the bride] at the Nicholas Institute.

Ms. Elson, confident that the couple’s engaging personalities and mutual love of skiing would be the basis for a strong relationship, suggested a blind date. But Ms. Stodola wasn’t keen on the idea.

“I actually didn’t want to date him,” she said. “It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with him, but I would have rather met someone on my own than to be introduced.”

But the couple hit it off, and two weeks after their first date, they ventured off to Alta, Utah, for a weekend of skiing.

“Lisa had said that Andrew was an amazing skier who loved the outdoors,” Ms. Stodola said, “and I thought to myself, ‘He can’t possibly be a better skier than me.’ I was a ski-racer in high school and in better shape, and he grew up in New York.”

She was wrong.

“I soon found out that he was so much better than me,” she said. “I was shocked.”

Mr. Kramer [the bridegroom] said he had taken her skiing to prove himself to her. From then on, he added, they were “in perfect sync,” on and off the slopes.

First of all, how did Lisa Elson work her way into the announcement? The wife of the bridegroom’s best friend? The equivalent of that person in my relationship with X would be…someone I don’t even freaking know. I’m glad to see that Ms. Stodola is impressed by skiing…if only the first intro had been, “I met Bode Miller yesterday and he wants to make out with you," we all could have saved the cost of a trip to Alta, Utah, for an apparently out-of-shape and no doubt skiing-ability lying fool. Clearly Ms. Stodola wasn't impressed with Mr. Out-of-Shape.

And my favorite motherly smackdown…

The bride graduated magna cum laude from Syracuse, where she met the bridegroom and where each received a law degree, he cum laude.

I SO want to have dinner with dear mother.

There is also a very interesting timbre to the announcements and I’m not sure where it originates. As an example I’ll use the Eleven:

“X, daughter of Adam and Eve, was married to…”

or

“X and T were married…”

I sense a serious difference of opinion on the side of the parents of the bride.

Geez.

T.

fine leaders

The House Resolution (H.R. 1591) and paired Senate Resolution 965 (S. 965) that are crashing down the halls of the capitol represent a excellent look into just how much hasn’t changed when considering the incompetency of our elected officials. The titles of the two resolutions, respectively, are: Making emergency supplemental appropriations for the fiscal year ending September 30, 2007, and for other purposes and; An original bill making emergency supplemental appropriations for the fiscal year ending September 30, 2007, and for other purposes. Such straight-forward titles for what should be a straight-forward bits of legislation. Both bills are allegedly supplemental spending allocations for Iraq (military and reconstruction funds) that were requested by the President. The total that came from the White House was just under $100 billion dollars – remember, this is supplemental spending, not part of any budget (gotta keep the money on the down low…). The house, led by Speaker Nancy Pelosi, added $40 billion dollars in spending to the resolution along with a deadline for U.S. troop withdrawal from Iraq; two sides of the same dirty political coin. The deadline will obviously force the President to veto the bill and the money (on the other, dirtier side) is simply to bribe Dems and ‘Pubs to at least initially support the bill…deadline and all. What may happen down the road when the President finds his “VETO” stamp (psst...it’s in the bottom drawer under the Christmas party pictures with Rove playing Santa) is a whole seperate issue. I don’t know if either the House or Senate has the votes to override a veto but we’ll certainly be in for some crappy political theatre. Here are a few things that will no doubt be said by the politicos across the river:

“The President vetoed the bill for more spending to support our troops in Iraq…hater!”

“The House, and the Democrat majority, submarined spending and support for our troops in Iraq by appending a deadline to withdrawal…traitors!”

Of course, support for the troops and the money needed to get that done is not the real issue; it’s the spending and bribing that gets done under the auspices of being patriotic. The spending amendments are merely buying off anyone needed to support the bill: for $50 million dollars to your state you’ll apparently vote for anything. If you look at the Senate resolution and the amendments that are proposed you’ll see the following sponsors:

Sen. Robert Byrd (D-WV)
Sen. Mary Landrieu (D-LA)
Sen. Harry Reid (D-NV) x 2
Sen. Kay Hutchison (R-TX)
Sen. Jeff Sessions (R-AL)
Sen. Thad Cochran (R-MS)

You can read at CNN or MSNBC or Fox to get details of some of these amendments: insect research? Katrina relief? Tree saving? Milk? All a bunch of garbage that doesn’t belong in the bill. At least Sen. Cochran showed some onions – I can read the text of his amendment at the Library of Congress website prior to the vote: he wants to strike the deadline from the bill. Good for him. The other amendments are tagged as “Purpose will be available when the amendment is proposed for consideration. See Congressional Record for text.” Of course it will be…but I’ll have to dig through mountains of text to see just how much you’ve spent and just how much I despise your actions. And just so we can fully enjoy these ideals set forth by our representatives in Washington, bear in mind that each of these spending amendments ($283,000,000 for Milk Income Loss, $74,000,000 for Peanut Storage Costs, and Sen. Reid’s $20,000,000 for insect research, etc.) in the Senate resolution can be cited, under emergency designation, by using the bill’s title: U.S. Troop Readiness, Veterans' Care, Katrina Recovery, and Iraq Accountability Appropriations Act, 2007. Nice.

I’ll bet that Hutchinson and Sessions will fall in line with Senate Democrats on the resolution vote…you think? The Dems will play it as Republicans breaking from the party in order to show solidarity with the Iraq withdrawal deadline. But what we really know is that Sens. Sessions and Hutchinson just want to get paid. Reid, Byrd, and Landrieu look worse on the day - they are simply taking money because they can.

No more politics.

T.

if...then

I can’t stay away from the non-fiction forever. I’ve slowed in my progress through Harafish because I had reserved The Enemy at Home at the Arlington library and it popped to the top of my queue faster than expected – I had no choice. Dinesh D’Souza authors this tirade at the liberal left and places blame for the September 11th attacks squarely at the feet of those that espouse and export pornography, homosexual acts, divorce, Britney Spears, and atheism to the Islamic world. There are a bunch of impressive quotes and verbiage thrown about, but according to D'Souza there is no other reason for the flames of hate beyond our exporting of liberal culturalism…none. I had no idea that I supported and exported such causes, or that my ‘membership’ in this vast political grouping could cause fury on such a level. D’Souza is a sitting fellow at Stanford University so I’d expect more from him than what appears to be a wholly illogical argument. It’s not his opinion that frustrates but his complete lack of any ability to support his opinion without turning back onto himself and contradicting everything he already claimed. I’d never suppose that I could understand how radical Islam sees America (I don’t think he can either) and I can’t fathom what drives anyone so deeply into religion, but I do know that I could at least frame and support a thesis much better than D’Souza. His pontificating doesn’t bother me, he’s just another ‘thinker’ that falls into that group on the commentary playground that does nothing but point at and blame others. His position would be irrelevant on any issue because no matter where D’Souza found himself standing he’d be blaming everyone else for all the woes of the world. His fame reminds me of the time during the build-up to the Iraq war when people confused brain power with smartness or common sense. I remember when people were questioning the run-up to war, mostly famous people whose voices were heard above the fray, and we ended up with those email chain letters showing up in inboxes spewing vile at anyone questioning the war. They tried to subtly point out that George Clooney didn’t go to college so how could he possibly know anything? Condi Rice DID…so she’s smart as a whip. D’Souza holds sway for the same reason – book smart, well-educated, professor at Stanford – but he couldn’t figure out how to get from Foggy Bottom to DuPont Circle on the Metro because that would require the ability to actually analyze something and come to a logical conclusion based on that analysis. I’m sure when he ended up lost he’d blame the train drivers, station managers, and his inability to figure out how to use a SmartTrip card.

big mo'

Mo', in the sports world, means momentum - once set in motion it continues in motion. Maybe you remember a team that got the mo' and ran away with a championship; maybe you were running for a Red Line train at Metro Center and the woman in front of you lost mo'...and got trampled. I know it's only Sunday and I shouldn't be so frenzied about catching a train because I'm not really late for anything - but the trains only run every 15 minutes on the weekend. It's a gorgeous day here in the Capital and I didn't want to spend another fifteen minutes in the subterrean warren. Tourists. I was headed up the stairs from the inbound Orange Line train and could hear the Glenmont rumbling into the station - I was on my way to the DuPont Circle farmer's market and a whirl through Melody Music CD shop just off the circle. About once a month I manage to sneak in early enough to pick-and-choose from a lovely selection of locally grown organic goods: veg, fruit, dairy, flowers, etc. Back to the story. As I'm running towards the train, let's say I'm about thirty feet out, behind a woman running for the same door who seems to be on my wavelength and we are both set for success. The red light comes on above the doors, the beeping starts to sound and the doors are nearing closure - we'll make it but it's going to be close. As she nears the door, and realizes she'll make it through, she slows to a walk at the door threshold and decides to amble...remember...mo'! I almost ran her down as my bigger mo' is nearly unstoppable. Since I'm light of foot (and could cut a rug if I decided to) I managed to side-step the speed bump and sneak onboard while my mind is screaming "MOVE!". When I got home later in the morning I relayed my distress at silly, mindless people that inhabit my world and X informs me that the WonderTwins routinely physically assault other passengers as they board the carriages. I guess that's how Justice is served in D.C. these days.

If one wonders about what you eat this time of year when you're trying to buy local and seasonal produce - you eat greens. I think Spring time is that period when all the really filling grub is gone and you've got weeds and greens. Along with that you've got the sure thing of quality cheese and the awesome mushroom lady - I'll get a snap of the mushroom lady and her wares next time I go. I grabbed the Sunday NYTimes, a cup of coffee, The Clash's Sandinista, and headed home about 11a.

The picture above is our table. This is what is looks like when the girlfriend is studying Con Law II for finals and the boyfriend is a floral obsessed nutjob. She actual says this to me, "baby, I think we have enough flowers." What kind of girl...

Peace.

T.

jinx. pinch poke you owe me...

Just a quick link to Lithwick's story that she clearly aced from my 'more/less/extreme' babble earlier this week. I'm getting so very tired of trendsetting; if only the guys would get onboard with the sideburn idea I'd get less grief at home. No more slate.com links until next Friday - I'm giving them too much business as it is...

T.

post-war post

Andrew Sullivan posts an interesting reply on his blog to Christopher Hitchens’ non-mea culpa at slate.com. When I first read Mr. Hitchens’ post on Monday I was uncomfortable with most of the rearview mirror speculation he used when determining exactly which train station platform the supporters of the war should have disembarked from their ride; he determined there were none – apparently it was a one-way ticket to this destiny. I never thought the question was whether or not there were “actual or latent” WMD programs. I wasn’t one to debate the quality of the intelligence, and certainly not one to sit on my couch and parse anything about the details of intrigue swirling in the White House. What I wanted to decide was whether or not I was willing to follow this president into a war of choice – and I wasn’t: good intelligence or not. I had zero faith in this administration. It was hard to believe that the jingoistic remnants of September 11th were clouding our view of what the President was asking of the country. In many ways what bothered me then is what bothers Mr. Sullivan now:

The real question is: if we knew then what we know now about the caliber, ethics, competence and integrity of the president and his aides, would we have entrusted them to wage this war?

If the actual, unrigged intelligence data had been presented at the UN, if the statements of president, vice-president, defense secretary et al had been carefully parsed to ensure that we knew exactly the knowable risks of action and of inaction, then a ramped-up inspections regime might well have been preferable to war.

Would we have trusted their presentation of pre-war intelligence? And the answer to that, I venture to guess for my friend as well, is: no. If we had known that war meant sending Iraq into a vortex of uncontrollable violence…

Yes, I am glad Saddam is gone. Yes, I believe my own intentions before the war were honorable, if mistaken. Yes, I believe Hitch's were as well - and those of many others. But we were fools not to see the true nature of the people we were trusting; and too enraptured by our own sense of righteousness to realize that we could have been wrong. And wrong we were.

As for Mr. Hitchens’ assertion that some of us feel a need to crow for vindication for our opinions before war; I have no such need. All I ever wanted was for everyone to open their eyes and decide the degree of trust they held in this Administration. There’s an interesting opening essay in one of Hitchins’ books that speaks of England and Churchill in WWII – the blind admiration for a leader that may or may not have been warranted. I’ll go back and read that one tonight.

Peace.

T.

bong hits 4 dahlia

I’ve been following this story over the last few weeks as it has sidled up to its Supreme Court crossroad. I think I fall on the side of the student in this case, even a goofball like this kid, since I don’t know how disruptive the behavior really was and I think the principal overreacted. As with any case, the justices can reach to almost any scenario to suggest that an action, or free speech event, would clearly be out-of-bounds. Either side of the bench (and even though the seating arrangements are by longevity on the court, there are clear sides) can use what I call the “torturing the nuke hider” attack plan against any argument or law placed before them. This plan, or line of logic, is loosely based on the argument for torture that invokes the “we’ve got a terrorist, he has a nuclear bomb set to explode in NYC in 30 minutes, and we need to know where it’s located” basis for saying that torture is okay. If decisions are made solely on absolute extremes, any possible extreme that can be considered inflammatory, then I consider it invalid. I think Scalia is treading down this path a bit when he asks about the rape button during arguments. I wouldn’t answer that question any differently than most…it is unacceptable, but that question isn’t valid law in my mind.

Now that I’ve pawned off my lack of legal training on everyone I’ll give you Dahlia Lithwicks’s much better, and hilarious, summary of yesterday’s session.

T.

bostone

If you won't fess up to peccadillos on your blog, where will you? So, as a matter of full disclosure I'll let everyone know that I stopped by my local used CD seller-cum-headshop (CD Cellar) and pilfered Boston's self-titled and their second masterwork, Don't Look Back. Imagine my embarassment when Brad Delp (lead singer) died last week and I had no Boston to crank-up on either my home stereo (read iMac and remote speakers), or my Trans Am's 8-track. My wicked cool friend Buzz was down in Texas mourning the loss of Brad by working the upright arcade games that line his living room, pawing as his girlfriend's designer jean pockets (read: ass), and despairing the end of Boston. If I could've, I'd have strapped on the rollerskates, headed over to Skateland, found the stone-cold fox that could skate backwards (own skates and pom-poms on the laces required), and we would have skated through the moonlight dance with the disco ball ablazin'. Afterwards, over to the Foosball table for a game against Skip and Todd (the other Todd), a plate of nachos, a huge Mt. Dew, and some commiserating about the untimely passing.

I know what your saying, his musical tastes must be much more refined in his 40s than they were in high school - but it's not true - Boston will make you get on the Interstate and take a good long roadtrip across America. A compilation of Slobberbone (90s-00s) will do the same thing. In fact, that is the test of the music I love...can I drive to it? The debut album was so great, the follow-up nearly as good, and then the fates sealed their immortality. I doubt we listened to any band more than Boston during those three intense years of high school that developed us as people. Add in the ping-pong, Foosball, air guitar, and chasing of drawers, and you've nailed the early 1980s. I think that even today the four of us would fall right back into place once the first chords of Peace of Mind blazed through the JCPenney stereo speakers as I line up the quarter on the sweet spot of that crap round table in Skip's basement...and make someone drink.

Here's to Bodycast Johnson.

I am cleansed.

RIP Brad.

Peace.

T.

sixteen tons

The boys' economic model has undergone a change that follows closely on the heels of the failed first attempt at a fledging system. It doesn't appear to be any type of a collapse due to protest, or a march on the capitalists, as much as a house of cards falling like the Italian government swooning on a seaonal calender. The original gPts. system fell into disrepair and disuse simply because it wasn't functioning on any level: no income, no expenses, no quarterly balance sheet. In fact, it had become so passe that goods and services were secretly being traded on a black market that I wasn't fully aware of so I'd removed/erased the gPts. balance sheet from the dry erase board just this weekend; it was old and tattered and needed to be removed from circulation. I'll dubbed myself 'The Mint': I can make and destroy points but the running of the model is of no interest to me. When I got home yesterday, and the boys were back from their visit with their father, Gabe asked me what had happened to the gPts. ledger, had I erased it? I repeated my whole Italian government dissertation which he found exceedingly boring since all he really wanted to do was explain the new currency. He asked me if I could please not erase the "B"s that they had added to the bottom of each square on the dry erase calender. These now represent the only remaining currency in the new market: one B on each day to represent Henry playing Bionicles with Gabe. If I had to come up with a representative description for the new plan I'd say it was a cross between a company store and the old Eastern Bloc: there's no actual currency and there's only one thing to purchase. It takes me back to the days of the East Berlin storefront that had a somewhat limited use...the vignette is funnier when you use the same heavy Slavic accent that I was hearing in my head:

(scene opens in a very dusty, vacant communist bloc store in East Berlin)
East German: "Excuse me Sir. I'd like a birthday gift for my daughter."
Ivan the Clerk: "I will play Bionicles with her."
EG: "Hmm. I don't know that she much likes Bionicles."
Ivan: "We have Bionicles."
EG: "Well, okay then. I also need gift for my great aunt who fought in the war."
Ivan: "I will play Bionicles with her."
EG: "Don't you have anything else? She's in her eighties you know."
Ivan: "We have Bionicles."
EG: "Well. I guess I can't take this 'money' anywhere else. Maybe I'll earn some more next year."
Ivan: "There is no more money. There is Bionicles."

From Gabe's overview description I think Henry is free to erase the B on a given day, maybe even in advance, if he deems Gabe warrants loss of 'currency'. I don't think Gabe can actually earn any Bs since today through the end of the month is already paid in advance: he's on salary, there is no overtime. He's got was he's got, he can't get no more, he can only trade a B for the allotted service, and he can lose them at the discretion of the company store. This won't go over well. Another day older and deeper in debt.

The Eleven headed to Maryland with a dish of enchiladas and pot of black bean soup Saturday night. Only one wrong turn enroute to the hostess' townhouse in Gaithersburg, MD. Sue has a lot of space for a reasonable amount of money and I was tempted to see if we could move that townhouse to Arlington and keep the price the same - maybe a big ol' tow truck would do the trick. We had some dinner and drinks before we decided to head back to our house (in caravan), drop off our car, and carpool in Sue's to the bar in D.C. Seemed the easiest execution since we could Metro home and she could pop up north to her house afterward. Our impeccable timing brought us upon the bar's block just as the Wizards game was disgorging from the Verizon Center just across the street from the bar...Hibachi! This might not seem like a huge problem if you're not all NBA like us, but the D.C. police for some reason block off a four or five block area around the area and we kept getting shuttled down some random and crappy one-way street; oh wait...that could be describing the entire D.C. traffic pattern. We finally I-spied a curbside space a few blocks from our destination, the RNR club* on 6th St. NW. I don't know if I'm too old to judge clubs/bars anymore, at least this kind of bar, but that certainly won't stop me. It was a decent enough place overall: live band playing on the first level (we thought it would be an Irish band but these guys turned out to be the openers), DJs on the second and third floors. The bar staff was horrible - the only one who had any gumption was fully lit by 10pm, and uselessly sobbing to herself after that, after doing shooters with the crowd and dancing on her bar. The 'staff' (of one) at the third floor bar was fully challenged to fill an order every five minutes. I'm going to venture a guess and say that the 'pretty' and 'stacked' boxes were checked on her application for employment. We hung around the third foor for a while so we could listen to the combination of 80s music and Justin Timberlake re-mixes, watch the crowd dance, and take in the "skirt". Our later return to the first floor (sans the drunk and crying bartender) was much better than the opening tour. The Irish band set-up and the evening got progressively better once they started bashing, fiddling, and fluting aways. Funny that the place was much emptier by 11:30 when they started with the Irish stuff...I guess all the cool folks went somewhere else.

Patrons? I like people watching, I used to like dancing more than I do now, but the two things that stood out are these:

1. Too many people apparently go to jam-packed bars on weekends, especially on a holidays it seems, and pay with credit cards. Here are my recommendations: cash. money. GO TO THE ATM. The bartender who's attempting to sling drinks rapidly does not need to deal with you flashing your free-in-the-mail Gold Card whilst paying for $20 worth of drinks. Not only do they surely hate you...I hate you because I'm waiting for you put your John Hancock on a slip of paper to cover the three Miller Lites and one Bud Lite that you and your 'buds' are drinking before I can get my order in. A-T-M.

2. I don't think much of people that drink any combination of Red Bull and Jagermeister. I can't believe Jagermeister is still made. Awful.

We Metro'd home after Sue dropped us near Metro Center in D.C. and finally tumbled into bed about 1am. What am I doing out at 1am? My question exactly.

Everything went swimmingly.

T.

* I can't vouch for the second review and the "picking up of girls" bit. I was already with two girls...and one of them was a sure thing.

emperors II

I can’t help but open this week’s salvo by not only dismissing Senator Brownback from class, but linking to one of the most ludicrous presentations ever made on the floor of the U.S. Senate. Brownback is a politician so he gets to play the judgment game on a more open field than General Pace. In the continuing line of inept and paper-doll CJCSs, Pace fits perfectly behind long-forgotten and meaningless General Myers. If it were only his opinion that were irritating, like Brownback’s, I’d dismiss him as a blowhard. As it is, any military member let alone a CJCS that has gotten this far in a career and doesn’t know or understand what can and cannot be done in uniform, and in an official capacity, is beyond foolish – I’d question his ability to lead. I’m sending General Pace along with Senator Brownback to the dean’s office…see if he can figure them out.

Not much has changed since last week. The biggest shell game for the Republicans is Senator Hagel’s announcement to postpone his decision. The more I thought about it this week the more I think he’ll watch very closely how the Romney / McCain / Giuliani “battle for the base” evolves. If the three manage to split the group into equal parts by the Fall then I think Hagel will give it a go. He just might be able to grab the other 15-20% of the Republicans who aren’t hardcore conservatives, and with that, grab the nomination. The beauty for him would be a general election as the nominee. He’d get the Republican vote, he’d get most for centrists from both parties, and he’d poach a number of Democrats. This whole ‘base’ idea is different for the Republicans because that group of base voters will not, under any circumstances, vote for Hillary. They probably won’t vote for any Democrat. It’s not like the Dem liberal base that has the inkling to wander on occasion and would certainly jump the Hillary-ship for someone like Hagel. I’m keeping him out of the numbers for now because he’s not running as of today.

The Democrats were simply boring this week. All the flash and crashing of the ramparts are gone for now. Clinton and Obama have a chance to wow us now that we’ve gotten over the initial flurry and aren’t much interested. I think they’ll realize around Memorial Day just how stupid an idea it was to jump in, guns a-blazing, this far out. If something is to be said for the week, it’s this: Obama closed the gap during the whole Selma get together. Clinton is NOT good at the humble southerner thing…she should leave that to Bill. In the long run, that singular event isn’t going to make much difference. Governor Richardson is staying quiet but I suspect we’ll hear more from him during this slower portion of the season. He’s in no hurry.

The numbers, with very slight adjustments:

Democrats	My Vote	The Nation
Clinton	20	43
Obama	25	33
Richardson	40	10
Edwards	10	14
Dodd	1	0
Biden	3	0
Kucinich	1	0

'Publicans	My Vote	The Nation
McCain	90	60
Giuliani	5	20
Romney	5	15
Brownback	0	5
Hunter	0	0

Reports from St. Pats forthwith.

T.

wine and roses and shamrocks

On Saturday X and I (I call us the eleven) are heading up into Maryland for a visit with Sue and one St. Patrick. The boys will be off on a visit and you know the first thing two 30-somethings (shhh…) would plan on doing; that’s right, flee across the state line and drink green beer, sleep on someone’s floor, and eventually wend our way back to Virginia. I believe there will be an Irish band and a bar involved.

The last time I planned to drive to another state, sleep in someone else’s house, and a see a band on a calendar holiday, was New Year’s Eve 1983 / 1984. It may well have been events like this that contributed to ending my attempt at college in 1985.

The cast of characters: two of my best friends from high school, Skip (aka CitiesSkip) and Jeff; Jeff’s friend Ben (who was at Cornell College with him), and me.

The trip: Omaha to Bloomington, Illinois.

The rig(s): At first it was a sweet Dodge Omni* that only managed to get us about 45 miles to Avoca, Iowa. At that point we called Skip’s mom (on a pay phone!) and she ferried the family’s Ford LTD station wagon to us at the crappy truck stop in Avoca, gave us the one working vehicle, and STAYED in Avoca until the Omni was either fixed and back on the road or she had it towed back to Omaha. She was a gem.

It was only Skip, Jeff, and I for the first 300-mile leg of the journey across Iowa on I-80 – we were scheduled to pick up Ben in the Quad Cities (Moline, Davenport, Rock Island, and East Moline…if you must know the quads). We set out on such a mission on long December 31st because we were trailing a once great 1980s ska bank, The Uptown Rulers, of whom Skip still has a nearly 25 year-old two tape, live recording that he’s burned to CD. They hailed from the Bloomington-Normal area and were gigging that night in their hometown for the New Year’s Eve bash. We must have seen them dozens of times between 1983 an 1985 when they toured the Big Ten college circuit and stopped in Iowa City five or six times a year.

As was expected during our lives of 1983 the car was stocked with the accoutrements of our days: a cooler full of Mt. Dew, No-Doz, the beat-up stuffed Odie that served as our mascot, tons of Wonder Bread and bologna and cheese, all the Maxell UD-XLII cassette tapes filled with the great bands** of the day, and just enough money to get us there and back…hopefully.

We managed to find Ben in the Quad Cities that afternoon and headed onto Bloomington for the show. Our planning was such that we believed we’d surely come across some other Rulers fans who’d put us up on their floor for the night, and if not, surely four college guys could find somewhere to sleep in a college town. That didn’t happen…and we tried. After the show we decided to drive the 200 miles back to Iowa City where Skip and I had our dorm room at the U. This decision represents that listener eye-rolling moment that happens all too often when we relive questionable, long ago decisions. Don’t fret, nothing really bad happened.

We got in the car in the dark of night, fairly heavy snow had started to fall, but it didn’t look too threatening. Of course, we didn’t put our heads together and think out the whole west to east travel of weather before we started driving west into the storm. We were no more than 20 miles out of Bloomington when we realized our error: this was a big ol’ blizzard and the only way to make it anywhere on the interstate was to get behind the only semi on the road and stay in its wheels tracks. The interstate was basically a whiteout and the snow was blasting down. There were a sum total of two vehicles on the road tha long and lonely two: the LTD wagon and the J.B. Hunt semi. Turning back didn’t seem an option so we simply chugged Dew and popped No Doz. It took five or six hours to just make it back to the Quad Cities where Jeff and Ben were dumped since they were heading back to school from there. The state line had proven the end of the snowstorm; the roads were clear, the sky was sunny (it was already morning), and Skip and I decided to push on the last 60 miles to Iowa City. Skip drove while I rode shotgun trying to keep both of us awake over that final hurdle. We had the windows cracked to allow winter's blast to keep us awake, we had the music turned up loud (no doubt The Tubes taking us home), and everything seemed fine. About 30 miles into this final leg Skip started talking – but not to me...and he certainly wasn’t singing along to Sushi Girl. As one would, I said “Dude. Who are you talking to?”, to which he replies “Jeff.” At this point the 24 hours of no sleep, the Dew, and No Doz had clearly screwed up his neurons. I reminded him that we dropped Jeff off 40 miles ago and his reply was “No. I can see him in the mirror. He's sitting in the back seat.” This is the point where everyone gets to think I’m really smart for having him pull over, giving me the keys, and putting him to sleep in the back of the wagon. He saw him in the mirror? Yikes. This was the very point in our young lives when we swore off the 'Doz.

I got us Iowa City and our dorm where we fell head long into our bunk beds and slept for about 12 hours. We eventually pulled ourselves out of bed for some sandwiches at the Hamburg Inn and a very gentle evening on the Iowa City town before heading back to Omaha the next day.

Why anyone needs to hear this story is beyond me. I was just wondering how it will go this weekend.

I think Sue’ll let us stay, she's like that.

T.


*The very same Dodge Omni that took Skip and I on our first road trip to Iowa City in the fall of 1981 (that was a ‘dear diary’ trip). The same Omni whose front axle was snapped when I slid into a curb on an icy street in Milford, Iowa (Christmas break 1982?) when we were on our way to ‘visit’ Thelma and her friends. As an aside, we (Skip, Jeff, the other Todd, and I) ended up spending the night on the living room floor with MTV playing endlessly until morning. I still get wierded out when I hear that “duh duh-duh duh duh duh-duh” that coming back from a commercial jingle that MTV used to play between actual videos – the astronaut holding the MTV flag on the moon. If you were a teen back then you know EXACTLY what I mean.

**The Tubes, The Cars, REO Speedwagon, maybe some Police, Wang Chung, Culture Club, Thompson Twins, Rick Springfield…you know what I’m talking about.

mind the...

The Park Drive Sopranos gathered around the table last night for garlic bread and heaping bowls of something like pasta primavera. There was veg aplenty (including a steamed artichoke with lemon butter) to signal what appears to be the first baby steps of Spring, some Pinot Noir splashing about, and seared scallops standing by as ala carte accessories. Tasty. As we were wrapping the episode, WonderTwin Segundo popped over to ravish the remaining tidbits and I ended up in a Gap fashion discussion with Primo and Segundo (I could not hold my own when they started on about ‘twin sets’). It all started because X stretched her reading of the Gap’s financial statements for her accounting class into wondering just why the company was struggling financially. They both put forth the idea that the Gap quit doing what they had been so successful doing: basics. Jeans and quality t-shirts. Apparently, the prices were always right, they used to sell nice ‘twin sets’ (I know!), and now they’ve lost their way by trying to be something they aren’t, or never were. There was much guffawing about the Gap introducing Chinos for this season….as if! My theory is more established in the fall of the mall and the rise of competition. I think brick-and-mortar places are too expensive to maintain compared to online selling. It’s not that they’re not viable, they just have to be managed and placed properly. As an example, Tyson’s Corner Center has a Banana Republic, Gap, and Old Navy within 100 meters of each other and they are all owned by the same company – and, malls aren’t even being built anymore so why hitch the wagon to mall culture? I also don’t think that opening all the Old Navys in (somewhat) direct competition with Gap buyers was such a brilliant idea. If you add to that all the online sellers that have blossomed over the last five years, the growth of Target, Kohl’s, the mass consolidation at Macy’s, and any number of other sellers, I can see how that middle market that Gap used to fill has vanished. So, here's a Cliffs Note version of the hearing:

Me = Logic
WonderTwins = Twin Sets

The strangest part about this life of mine? Slate ran this article today that probably supports the Wonder-Twin Sets. Damn, foiled again.

T.

density

I put two and two together and came up with four. Smart boy. There’s a lot of complaining, and rightly so, that this presidential electioneering is getting out of hand. With a November 2008 election, and primaries still ten months away, we are already getting our faces filled with candidate decoupage projects. The Hagel announcement, and the fact that he’s waiting, brought a gust of wind over the file folders labeled primary dates that had been gathering dust in my often wandering mind. A quick tally from 2004, and a look to the changes set for 2008, shows that the primary season will be very short. The infighting and longer nomination roads of the past are gone – there will be no time to recover and hope to fight another week. Here is the reality, in 2004 there were two primaries completed by February 5th, Iowa and New Hampshire. As the weeks rolled by and March 2nd appeared on the calendar, 25 state primaries were complete. Super Tuesday in mid-February has always been a landmark day for candidates trying to recover from poor Iowa or New Hampshire outings, looking for traction and hope to make it to March 2nd and the California / New York set of primaries. With the changes in the primary calendar we will see 20 states in the books by February 5th, including California, Michigan, Florida, South Carolina, Georgia, Illinois, Iowa, and New Hampshire. Both parties will have their candidate by the night of February 5th – no one should be planning on waking up February 6th and launching the comeback plan for the next 30 states: there won’t be any comebacks.

There are two ways to think about this: spend tons of moolah now and get your name on the top line as early as possible (where you can wait to be jumped by everyone else), or wait awhile and stock up enough money to push hard from late Fall through February 1st. Being a senator and all helps – you’re on the news all the time, you’ve got committee hearings, you can be a part of partisan ranting. I believe a candidate can make a very short, intense run over three months and win a nomination. The war chest for the general election is irrelevant at this point. If you get the party nomination the powers that be will make sure you have the money to run that campaign, after all, you’re the only horse left.

There’s nothing like instant feedback and we’ll get it come February.

Peace.

T.

another derby entry?

It appears that Senator Chuck Hagel of Nebraska will throw his hat into the Presidential battle this morning. We’ll know for sure in a few hours when he makes a formal announcement from the center of America, Omaha. Hagel has been a very strong voice in the Senate over the last few years and will cause serious problems for McCain (here's a link to an excellent story about McCain / Hagel) . I still don’t believe that either Romney or Giuliani are viable candidates – and without a governor running on the Republican side, his position as a Senator won’t be a huge issue. I’m not sure how effective Hagel is as a fund-raiser, he may be jumping in the race too soon, but I’d like to see him introduce his candidacy slowly to the American public. I’ve read some commentary that indicates Hagel might consider running as and independent. All very interesting…

T.




Hagel has quite wisely decided to stay on the Presidential sidelines for now. I think it's a brilliant combination of two ideals: first, he feels there is serious work to be done in the Senate and he doesn't want, or need, the distraction of spending six or eight additional months campaigning. Second, there is absolutely no hurry to jump into the fray - he said he believes his options will still be open come summer or fall - and I agree with him. It'll be very interesting to watch Republican activities as they encounter Hagel between now and his next announcement. I couldn't be happier with his decision. Having said that; I think the odds of him entering are no better than 50/50 at this point.

get a haircut and get a real job

I was getting the coif done on Friday at the Wilson Blvd. Barber Shop and I realized that even though I like the work of both barbers - they are different in their approaches to my pate needs. Faraj (owner-operator) has taken the admirable stance of deciding that if I'm actually going to man-up and grow my hair out than he'll perform nothing but a light trim. I'd think the term might be a dusting...maybe a waving of the implements of barberdom near my head. He does a fantastic job around the edges but he's fully commited to letting me suffer the wrath of my thick hair. Habib (ambassador-operator), on the other hand, is a little more consoling in my search for hair utopia. He spends the requisite amount of time working the equipment around the sides and back: trimming, brushing, trimming some more, cleaning up the the details, trimming some more, and then...the thinning shears. That is what saves me from looking more like a goofball than I already do. I told Kt today that what signals an overdue haircut is when I start to notice the exploding, animated blockhead formed by my shadow - something must done. The hilarity of my shadow as I walked from Metro to bus Friday morning was a real kneeslapper. Kids ran screaming, chicks thought I was a creature from Arlington, the bus driver let me ride for free!

As Habib finished up with the 'do he went to great pains to let me know, and show me, that I need to use hair product to keep everything in order. Hair product? The last time my hair sported product was in the early 80s.

T.

you don't say

I'm gobsmacked by this tidbit of wisdom. I wonder exactly what type of company masthead takes this long to realize what has been so blatantly obvious for years. Starbucks? Lost its soul? Whaaaat? These are all the same reaons I swore off the 'Buck years ago, this guy just riddle it out? On his own? Their coffee had become mediocre on most days and just plain undrinkable on others. The omnipresence and in my face mentality irritated me, I found the crowds useless, and the prices were outrageous. Let me expand on outrageous part; the prices are comparable to other coffee places but the product isn't...and the artistry (that screams of my arrogance, doesn't it?) is long gone with those automatic machines doing the work. I don't even know why they have barristas anymore; isn't technology available that would let me walk in, push a button that says "grande latte", and it magically appears at the end of the counter? The whole yelling of my order to the knob working the buttons is just silly. In my search for greater coffee I can only offer two options these days: Bebo Coffee in Reno, Nevada (a bit out yonder) and Murky Coffee here in Arlington. At Murky they actually make the coffee, watch the water temperature and end it all with a lovely swirl of steamed milk on top. It may take a little longer but you get to enjoy the process, and man, it's fantastic coffee. They make the joe like they would if they stopped over by my house on a Sunday morning and conjured up a brew for my smoking hot girlfriend (oops). That little bit of care and personality makes a much better cup of dohack.

Speaking of Murky, and Arlington, and Clarendon, I was driving out to Olsson's Books and Whole Foods yesterday afternoon and it came upon my brain on the way home that the drive out on Clarendon Blvd. and back on Wilson is a video game of sorts. The best parallel I can think of is Frogger - that game where you jumped your little frog across highway lanes full of fast moving cars. The drive from here to there requires dedication to the cause; primarily, you've got to stay in the right lane come hell or high water. If you think for even a second that getting over in the left lane further out than 200 feet before your turn is a good idea - you've lost. You need to know the tricks, like this little nugget: When approaching Whole Foods you might find yourself swerving to the left lane, momentarily!, to avoid the fauxorganic hippies loading Crate and Barrel kitsch into the Land Rover; but you must get back to right lane before you come upon the Whole Foods parking lot entrance mosh-pit. (Is there a Whole Foods anywhere in the world that has decent parking?) Of course, just as you're moving back to the right lane you encounter the caravan of VW Bugs that suddenly stop, dashboard daisies flying into their windscreesns, while they ponder the great Buddhist debate of whether or not the Bug wants to enter the parking garage that's on the right side of the street. Keep your wits! Then it's all the way down towards Olsson's you go (staying right) until that moment of ectasy when Wilson and Clarendon meet and you whip a u-turn across traffic and slide into one of the three street-side parking spaces. You don't even want to know about the trip home. You can't handle it.

Starbucks lost its soul? Gobsmacked.

Love.

T

sending word

As I sat on a bus bench in the 1900 block of Gallows Road in Vienna, Virginia, I was text messaging My Love who was, at that moment, sitting in Patisserie Valerie in Sloane Square, London SW3. My text messages contained nothing but profane curses upon her vacationing in London without me. Apparently she felt the need to tell me she was sitting in Valerie while texting me...Valerie! My place. I introduced her to the joint and first chance she gets she's off two-timing me with the could-care-less wait staff and a polenta-gorgonzola salad. Tramp.

As I sat on the bench, overcoming my despair, I thought of the magic of texting on a wee phone in Virginia, pushing the send button, thinking nothing of it, and suddenly getting a message back from the beyond. Really - that's amazing. I have a little understanding on how these things work just like I have a little understanding of gravity or chemisty - it's no less amazing. Ones and zeroes flying off into the air (yes, I looked up as I thought of this), hitting some metal, going through lines and satellites, right to her waiting hand. Capital.

This little scene then made me laugh out loud when I remembered Phil's take on great explorers and world travelers that were always out on the very edge of the world as we know it: risking life and limb, hauling all their crap around for months, hundreds of miles from any known civilization....yet, they always 'sent word' back home or to the Queen. I've started to think that they were no more than two miles from the last developed bit of suburbia and simply stopped in at the local Mailboxes, Etc. and sent off a post.

I'm off to Blockbuster to get the boys some movies.

I'll send word.

T

love and peace....guaranteed

What I wanted to say earlier, or at least link to, was a bit in the movie Tommy Boy where Chris Farley's character goes on about guarantees. He's trying to sell his company's brake pads to a wholesaler and the scene goes like this (I couldn't find it on YouTube):

Farley: Our brake pads are the best, you know that...never failed.
Customer: But they don't come with a guarantee - a guarantee written on the box.
Farley: You know, I could put a piece of shit in a box and write "Guaranteed" on it if that that'll make you feel better.
Customer: (confused look)
Farley: You know whatcha got? A guaranteed piece of shit.

This scene carried over from my earlier entry on alternative music; I can call it whatever I want, hell, I can even WRITE it on the box, or say it over the airwaves. You know what you got?

What brought it up again this afternoon was a sign at a garage down in Clarendon. It says "guaranteed used tires" in big, bold letters. Of course, I rolled that little nugget around in my head for three or four blocks.

Me: Will you guarantee me that these are, in fact, used tires?
They: Yes sir. Worn and all.
Me: Good. I don't want no damn new tires.

I think the edited motto should be, "Used tires. Guaranteed."

Maybe I'm just simple.

Love to all.

T

emperors I

Clear the gun decks! I’ve decided to use a 100-point scale to track the candidates careening along the Presidential trail. The current grades will be in two columns: the first being who I would vote for, the second being who I think the public is leaning towards in each party. It’s like those Oscar previews that have the “will win” and “should win” predictions. I catch the polling data (not habitually, but enough to know the current's movement) but I’m going to try to use my own magic divining noodle to pulse the nation. Here are the opening numbers:

Democrats	My Vote	The Nation
Clinton	21	50
Obama	22	30
Richardson	40	8
Edwards	10	10
Dodd	1	0
Biden	5	2
Kucinich	1	0

'Publicans	My Vote	The Nation
McCain	90	60
Giuliani	5	20
Romney	4	10
Brownback	0	5
Hunter	1	5

As for the Democrats, Richardson is by far the most favorable in my book. He’s served seven-terms as congressman, is a former U.S. ambassador to the U.N, a former Secretary of Energy, chairman of the 2004 Democratic National Convention, and a two-term governor of New Mexico. The Cato Institute rated him the sixth most fiscally responsible (or leader in fiscal policy) governor in America in their 2004 biennial report (the highest rated Democratic governor)… and he has degree in law and diplomacy from Tufts University. As he reveals more and more of his positions over the coming months I’ll have a better idea if I still consider him the best candidate. Neither Clinton nor Obama has the depth of experience and Hillary, based solely on her six years as a Senator, has shown very little. Obama’s lead over her is negligible because I see more integrity (or maybe it’s less scripting) in him. I think that Democratic voters right now are set on either Clinton or Obama so Richardson has a ton of work to do. Hopefully he fares better than Vilsack.

The Republicans? Giuliani is a non-starter for me and obviously Romney is even less a player in my book. Neither candidate has ANY chance of beating McCain regardless of the posing and preening. NO CHANCE. I think the country counts it a closer race than I do but if I were a Republican, McCain is the only viable candidate. The fact that I consider Brownback further down the list than Duncan Hunter says something. Brownback now has two name drops in consecutive entries…he’ll get no more.

Weekly predictions: Biden, Dodd, and Hunter will drop out of the race by April 15th. Brownback will shut it down by May 1st.

T

alternate universe

There was a rather lively debate on Minnesota Public Radio’s February 27th Musicheads show (I just listened to the podcast a few days ago) concerning not only new music, but the “band hitting it big” debate that’s raged for decades. In the days since the early 1980s when alternative (or alt rock and its derivatives like alt.country) came to the fore as an umbrella term for indie, goth, punk, ska, Brit-pop, etc., there have been war-like attacks and counter-attacks on what the term means – and what bands fall under the club’s moniker. I think long diatribes on the genealogy of the term are for for times (preferably when I’m not around) since I’ve jumped onboard with Musichead Mark Wheat’s resolution to stop labeling music (with my amendment of still being able to use good music and/or crappy music as descriptive terms). What made the show so interesting was Wheat’s statement that he didn’t want to see the Irish band The Frames become popular because he didn’t think their music was worth the popularity, or in fact, that they were alternative, since he felt they were catering to the masses and simply toting the alternative name along with them. This is the opposite of the ideal held by alt music fans from the 80s who didn’t want his or her band to become popular because he didn’t want to lose that bit of hip/cool/love that had been mated to that band. By my reckoning this is a wholly new idea…and one that I embrace. The equations, comparatively, look something like this:

Alternative band > becomes famous > I lose something I love
“Alternative band” > becomes famous > I get something I hate

The importance? The quotes I’ve put around the second equation is indicative of a band taking advantage of the alternative label in order to highjack the grass roots movement that follows alternative music. Believe it or not, even in this day and age, there are tons of bands hammering the pavement, trying to survive, making very little money, and selling small numbers of CDs – bands and artists that are exponentially better than 99% of what is mainstream – and this was never a problem. It was easy to hate the Britneys, N*Syncs, Mariahs, and Shanias of the world because they were bad, we knew they were bad, and we just ignored them. This new idea lays bare a claim that there is an ark of bands from the last 10 years that have played the alternative name (see Coldplay) while producing something that isn’t cutting edge, isn’t alternative, and quite honestly, isn’t very good. Unfortunately, it lumps a lot of bad music in with scads of really good artists and brings down the entire level of quality. What we end up with is a battle for a limited number of music listeners, buyers, concert goers, and promoters through a spectrum full of mostly crappy artists. The greater the promotion (paid for and crammed down our throats by bigger record companies), the greater the chance of success. The labeling of music as alternative intrigues lots of spenders into thinking they can go to a nice, big venue and live on the edge while listening to some artist labeled 'alternative' instead of heading over to Iota or Jammin’ Java where they could save a ton of money, enjoy themselves, and contribute to the cause.

Maybe I fold this into some pertinent to the issues of today...

Sam Brownback can call himself a liberal all day if he wants – that doesn’t make it so.

Peace,

T.D. "Leader of the Conservative Movement" (did it work?)

juliette

I did take my camera to the chocolatier class this evening; I forgot the memory stick. I wonder about me.

We made loads of chocolates: ganache filled, chocolate bark, chocolate-covered toffee...and all were very tasty. One of the most obvious questions that pops into the head, when hanging out with a chocolatier, is some variation of "How much chocolate do you eat?" Perfectly valid, yet the answer is always something like "Not so much." It's obvious to me now just how easy it would be to fall right into that answer - only two hours of playing with, and barely tasting the goods, is more than enough. When the smell is all around, when you're surrounded by the sweets, when you're working towards finishing a product - the ingredients and endgame don't hold much sway. I'd very quickly get tired of chocolate, but I'd love creating things that people love - a bit of a trade off.

Even though we were in a small strip mall in Arlington I kept thinking of Vianne Rocher plying her wiles in a small French village. I always like Juliette.

Evening.

T

open up and say...

There are so many things wrong with this idea. I’m going to step way out on a limb and say that I don’t think McDonald’s needs a bigger burger; people don’t need bigger burgers. This slab of meat ranges from 720 – 860 calories and that’s just the ticket for adding a few more pounds to the American gut. What’s even more ludicrous is that McDonald’s has someone who’s title is Executive Chef? Not only that, this guy ‘developed’ a bigger burger? I can already see the recipe popping up on RecipeZaar:

Prep time: same as any other burger
Level of difficulty: low

1. Take your mixture of fresh 84% lean , 91% lean, or angus beef.
2. Add more meat to make it BIGGER.
3. Shape like a burger.
4. Cook.

Recipe submitted by Dan Coudreaut

I was once on a tour of the Olympia / Hamm’s brewery in Olympia, Washington when the tour guide mentioned the company’s Brewmaster. I chuckled at that just as I chuckled at the McDonald’s Executive Chef.

I’ve just found out that Dan Coudreaut’s title is actually Director of Culinary Innovation at McDonald’s USA. I don’t even have the heart to attempt an excerpt of the jackassery in this bio. Sorry Dan.

I’m off to a chocolatier class tonight here in Arlington. Report to follow.

T

peace, out.

I couldn't help taking this picture. I fought the urge...punch, dance, jab, left hook, dodge, dance. I think you'll find I'm in a horribly jaded and sarcastic mood this week; don't worry, it'll soon be over. This was on the rear window of a GMC Yukon in a parking lot in Florida. I've got no idea how this fits into the realm of a 'memory'; I'm used to the vans parked here in W. Arlington that have inspirational toasts to the various churches and Christ, but I'm absolutely at a loss about the Yukon props.

It's not wrong, it's just confusing: a Yukon and 'loving memory of..."?

T

ann and andy, raggedy

I've been tempted to say something but it's pointless. Andrew Sullivan has a very incisive commentary on Ms. Coulter's genius. (Here's a link to the source of the commentary.)

Peace. Really.

T

jean-X

A few weeks ago there was an important discovery made down at the Pentagon City FashionPlex: The Denim Bar (DB). (click here for a great WaPo review)

The long, tall, lovely one decided on Saturday morning that she needed some new jeans…nice, new jeans. How does one find somewhere that sells such pants? How? g-o-o-g-l-e. Before another fray occurred we were off down Hhighway 50, over to Highway 27, lost by the ugly Air Force Memorial flying sculpture (that was Google Maps’ fault…the directions part, not the ugly sculpture part), and finally parallel parking in front of the DB…and the Sur La Table. Based on the known list of my manly traits you couldn’t mistake the matching-the-destination game: X looking for jeans, me to the cooking shop. The DB turns out to be this devilishly hip storegasm that has everything a girl or boy could want in denim…or a bar. The jeanista that helped that first day understood jeans like Crick understood chemistry and he had X in and out of a dozen pair of high-end dungarees. He had her in stilettos! (I missed that because I foolishly went to Sur La Table and the Discount Shoe Warehouse, unawares of the impending fashion show.) When I returned the three of us chatted for awhile, talked about his band, and laughed (?) about how I had missed the show, before X and I headed out with her newest, cutest duds. That pair has been duly broken in over the last ten days, she couldn’t be happier with the fit, and I suddenly offered to take her back and buy her another pair. I know...it was a moment of weakness, but I do love her. We popped over last night and somehow managed to find another pair that she can sport this weekend while she carouses across London and East Anglia. The same jeanista was working last night (along with a dama that had a very similar jean-build to X) and I decided this time to hang around, listen to good music, and sip the free beer. I'm pretty sure all shopping experiences, if they can't necessarily be avoided, should revolve around being the only customer in the store with everyone relaxed and bringing you more stuff to try on. I’m think you can ask her…she’ll agree.

Love to all.

T

that guy jack

I was in the elevator heading down to our building’s lobby café for a little nosh when I overheard this conversation:

Guy #1: “…then Jack broke into the embassy in Los Angeles.”
Guy #2: “Really?”
Guy #1: “Yeah, he did. Got the hostage out.”

I’m thinking that it’s a story about the high jinks that always took place when a few American Beer Drinking Team (ABDT) buddies were back in college. The hostage portion made me realize that this was something much more interesting. At this point we’re stepping off the elevator: I’m heading around the corner, they are heading to the set of elevators ten feet away that actually go the additional one floor down to the parking garage. (I don’t even want to get started on that little building trick…since the one flight of stairs is right there.) I finally suss out that “Jack” is Kiefer Sutherland’s character “Jack Bauer” on 24. As I take a few steps and round the corner I hear the follow-on:

Guy #1: “You can’t actually break into an embassy. That’s illegal.”
Guy #2: “Really?”
Guy #1: “Yeah. Embassies are territories of the countries they represent…”
(fades out)

Suspend disbelief? Whaa? This guy is happy enough to watch a show that involves Mr. Bauer saving the world from destruction over the course of 24 hours; in fact, Big Jack has apparently done it almost six times, and this guy is concerned about him breaking into an embassy in LA? The rule of law? This wedge is just the kind of party guest I want to have around some weekend for dinner.

T.

in a flash

It’s only right that I relate a few vignettes about my oration (diatribe?) on running for the bus that I made after my move to D.C. last summer. That entry put forth my belief that running towards any public transportation conveyance should be an indication that IF you don’t run, and run FAST, you’ll miss your ride. It shouldn’t appear as if you’re ‘running’ (or giving it the old ‘jog’) because you are so indecisive as to be unable to determine the time-space continuum involved in your movement and its chance of intersecting with the riding thing you desire. What brought this to mind were two steppers I’ve encounter over the last two days. The first I saw at the Ballston bus hub as I was heading to my Metro train yesterday morning. The WMATA 25B bus had departed the bus stall and was slowing at the intersection waiting for an opening to turn left onto Fairfax Blvd. Our contestant, a youngish gentleman, started a good sprint to catch it but just as it appeared he might get a fist on the door the bus slipped left between cars and headed down Fairfax. There was a short letup in the man’s pursuit – a pause just long enough for his inner voice (and commuting experience) to remind him of the fact that the bus would no doubt get held up at one of the next two intersections. Like a bullet he was off, across Stuart St., and blasting down the sidewalk hell bent for leather. I almost starting running just to see the outcome but, alas, I simply stood and gawked in commuter amazement; brilliant. My second harrier I encountered at the other end of my Metro ride (Dunn Loring-Merrifield) this morning. There wasn’t nearly as much target intercept missile plotting as was required yesterday but it was a no less impressive event. A business-casual guy bolted off a WMATA bus and ran something close to an 11-second 100 meters in order to catch an almost departing Fairfax Connector bus heading south; no pause, no thoughts of looking silly, just an opening gun (or door) and fast-and-furious headlong throttle. Both have been enshrined in my commuter hall of fame.

I don't always bitch.

T.

name brand

Before I get to my reflections of days to, from, and in Florida, it’s important to note that I’ve added the Bill Richardson 2008 link to my “where am I” box of junk. I should have added him before but my linking 'to do' list fell a little behind my actual doing. I’ll be adding a few more links later this week – along with my opening salvo on the candidates that I favor. (I was doing the gang / peace-sign / pointing up to Heaven motion for Vilsack 08 as you read that.)

Speaking of Heaven. We were passing through a layer of soft, fluffy, sun-ladened clouds on our approach into Orlando International last Thursday afternoon – at about 5000 feet – when a 6-year old behind me asked his mother “Are we in Heaven?” I could take this one of two ways: first, maybe I missed something and we WERE in Heaven! So I felt my head, checkeds my arms, and decided that this probably wasn’t the case. Or, there way too many kids in this world who see fluffy clouds and think of Heaven. I’m not sure exactly what that statement means but it was surreal. Of course, I find Orlando and the Disney-fication very much like purgatory (or someplace further south) – some families’ vacation spot is another man’s vision of the undead. That is one soulless city.

As I was walking through the airport I noticed a guy (father of two with his wife and two children, no doubt off to Disney) wearing a ‘jersey’ with his name printed on the back. I was behind him all the way to the baggage claim and here’s what I came up with as my rules for having your own name across the back of your shirt:

1. You’re Derek Jeter or ‘Melo and are taking the field for a professional athletic endeavor.
2. You’re under 12-years old and I’ll allow it because you’re proud of your Pony League baseball team in Poughkeepsie, New York.

Those are the rules. If you are on vacation and you’re sporting your softball team t-shirt or jersey from the class D Rec-league in Tulsa, Oklahoma, you need some help and a new wardrobe. I’m sure if I’d been able to get around the front of “Stevens #69” the team name across his chest would have been something along the lines of “Nads” or the “Beerhunters”. Nothing says undead...

So I’m waiting for my bag at the US Airways carousal in Purgatory International and listening to the airport's TSA announcements playing on loop:

“The Transportation Security Agency’s threat condition is currently Orange. Passengers are reminded that liquids and gels are only permitted through security checkpoints if they are in containers of 3 ounces or less and fit comfortably in a 1-quart bag” (italics added)

Just what does the comfortably mean? Has anyone been stopped and denied access because their 3-oz travel bottle of hair gel didn’t appear comfortable to the Einstein masquerading as a TSA agent? I’d love to see the secret video of that encounter.

Good things? The men’s restrooms down south are always placarded (see? I listen to the safety announcements) as “Men / Caballeros”. I love the word caballeros. That may be the only good to come from the Orlando experience.

My mother got through her surgery and is doing her best to recover while trying to not to kill the healthcare workers at the hospital. They try their best but they can’t handle any significant number of patients…not enough folks to get the job done. She’s transferring to a recovery facility this morning and should get much better care.

The flight back was uneventful aside from the normal delays and baggage-claim jackassery.

I have nicer things to write about. I’ll get after them soon enough.

T.