scurrilous george

I don’t really get George Tenet. Let’s see what I can make of the bits-and-pieces that have rolled into public view. Bear in mind that I don’t have TV so I haven’t seen any of the 60 Minutes interview he gave last night. The man was Director of the CIA in the build-up to the war, he was a part of the inner circle that’s either trying to convince Bush of the WMD or convince him of their absence, he uses a term like “slam dunk” in some conversation, and he finally walks away and/or resigns and/or is fired in 2004. That same year he’s awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom. See George start to write a book. See George not utter a peep about just how bad the planning or intelligence was prior to the war. See George take his medal. See George…blah blah blah. I never had much hope for George; I had hope for Colin Powell. Both of them, particularly George if we are now to believe him, tell us that they stood their ground, that they tried to do good, that their intentions were true. Neither one did anything. Nada. Zero. Suddenly we are supposed to jump on the bandwagon and realize that they were sheep led to slaughter by the wolf? Sorry George, I’m not buying. What makes it worse? It’s been three years, he’s said nothing…still…but now that his book is out he comes knocking on my door. Well done. Here are George’s “Tenet’s Tenets”:

Know who you are.
Good. I’m riding along with this one. Je suis Todd. (is that right?)

Honor the service and the sacrifice of the men and women who protect this country and our values.
Ooops. I think that you’re inability to take a stand way back in 2003, to plan for the meat grinder the troops live in, demolishes this pillar.

Follow your heart and dare to take risks.
Ooops. Missed again. If you wanted to take risks, you could have, you could have done it back then, you could have done it before you had a book to sell.

Fight hatred and prejudice wherever you see it.
The first one that I can’t quibble with…

Laugh as much as you can.
That sound George hears is my laughter.

Take care of the people around you.
Didn’t.

Pray.
If you did, it didn’t help.

Love and serve your country.
I believe he does, without question. He served a long term as DCI but he’ll always be remembered not for the ‘slam dunk’ debacle, but for his inability to stand-up for himself.

I vent. I'm going back to writing about haircuts.

T

caught in the net

About a month ago I got an email from Al Gore. This was a bulk / spam mail that he fired out to all who signed his online ‘save the overheating world’ campaign. I didn’t actually participate with my electronic signature, but X added me to the list when she was on about being so hot and soggy; global warning and all. While she was sitting at the table that afternoon, the day prior to her, H, and Cracker heading to the school-skipping protest at the Capitol, she asked if I wanted my name and address added in protest (not a protest from me about her using my email address; you know…the hot earth protest thing). I did, and in the end it was much easier than actually doing anything myself. So I get this newest thank-me email at my yahoo account, and it’s delivered to my inbox as opposed to my bulk / ‘this looks like crap’ box. I get email from family that ends up in the bulk box, but Al Gore firing off one email to over 500,000 people somehow sneaks through the filters? If there was ever a reason to believe the conservative accusation of the mainstream media being in the pocket of the liberals, this is it. Or, maybe it simply validates Al Gore’s assertion that he invented the internet – he’s got some serious skills.

Speaking of bulk emails. A few weeks back, I accidentally opened or clicked on some email about faux watches for sale. I immediately recognized my mistake and braced myself for an onslaught of crap email attempting to sell me stamps, hot young chicks, cars, payday loans, mortgages, or millions of dollars locked in African banks. You should see the inbox on my older yahoo address, it’s a literal strip mall of junk mail. As it is, it appears junk watch sellers refuse to share your email with others in the fine industry of email junkhoundary. I do get about five emails a day promising the best, fake watches ever manufactured – but no other junk. To be honest, I find watch retailers to be very discerning.

X stumbled on this blog yesterday. I can now consider myself well-rounded. I may laugh at Dave, but it was a blog just like his that taught me to make good French press coffee. The greatness of the Net, and blogs specifically, is that you can find people that are intimate with just about any subject you care to explore. Go Dave!

T.

follow the leader

I'm in like Flynn now that Andrew Sullivan (and his millions of weekly blog hits) is on-board. It's unlikely that I'd vote Republican because there's way too much baggage on that side of the aisle, but this candidacy could blow the whole campaign open - for both parties.

billy hicks and the hot licks

I will open with Mavis Staples. We’ll Never Turn Back is an album that immediately jumps to the fore of all recordings. I’ll admit that I’m not a Staples Sisters connoisseur…but I will be shortly. Over the last five years only two other albums immediately became classics for me: Buddy Miller’s Universal United House of Prayer, and Solomon Burke’s Nashville. This outing is produced by Ry Cooder and you can hear his influence throughout; the guitars, the rhythm, the very slow and grinding pace. The track "My Own Eyes" rivals the Buddy Miller version of Dylan’s "With God on Our Side" as one of the greatest performances I’ve ever heard. This is the kind of music that moves - that makes me wonder just what it was like in America all those years back as people fought for rights that we denied them. To hear a voice like Mavis Staples’ rolling through the graphic of the American novel is something beyond awe. I can safely say that this will be the best of 2007 – amazing.

The Eleven headed to La Tasca in D.C. last night for the big environmental journal shindig. X just completed her studies for the day before we started getting ready. (Ready for me is about 20 minutes from ‘go’ to done…shower and all. The hair is more problematic these days.) We walked to the Metro and she was so relaxed, the weight lifted, mission accomplished, a lovely smile to go with her new short hair. We were at ease throughout (aside from all the Nats and Wizards fans en route to games) and the Georgetown International Environmental Law Review crowd is quite sociable. As we were slurping unlimited sangria and chit-chatting, there were two things that struck me: St. Elmo’s Fire, and just how different G’town kids are in relation to the Harvard/Yale stooges. First, St. Elmo’s Fire. It’s impossible to be in D.C. and not immediately think of the Brat Pack screaming from bar to bar, motivated by the Reagan years, wanting to change the world. The Law Center crowd is a full reflection of that spirit that I’d love to see across our country. They’re vibrant, overly intrigued by the events of the day, worried about how they’ll make a real mark on lives, and full of the vigor that I remember once having - to change the world. Not only that, these dudes sport some serious sideburns! And that little discourse leads to the next bit, the part about Harvard and Yale. I suspect, particularly when I see marriage/engagement pictures in the Times (and think of Alberto Gonzales), that the Harvard/Yale crowd are dolts. The G’town crowd is much more internationally inclined, more rebellious, and full of punks, voyeurs, and rogues. I can honestly say that if we parsed all the junk in government and law, we’d find that the Hoya crowd always stood on the up-and-up; they love what they do and they seem as if you’d come across them them half-drunk, standing on a corner in NW Washington, giving the finger the world. They are excellent.

The NYTimes announcements weren’t great this week but I did find the one bit that clarifies everything us men have suspected:

Her reservations dissipated after a few dates, she said, and they became serious after a few months. “We were together for six years,” she said, “and now he is perfect.”

Serious after six months? Perfect after six years? That's like a really bad car payment loan from Sid down at AutoRow...six years! Bang! That’s apparently how long it took her to get that poor ass to marrying standard. Is that a whip I hear cracking?

Love to all.

T.

he said, she said

I found this link at the Daily Dish (Andrew Sullivan) over at the Atlantic. The design is by a couple of university types and is intended to predict the gender of a writer. I can’t help giving something like this a go so I loaded up four of my longer blog entries; four times it predicted male. Well, that’s too easy, isn’t it? I pasted six entries from the Wonder Twins (two from Twin 1 and four from Twin 2) into the machine and it came back predicting six of six were male writers. What? Clearly what I’d found was a design issue: maybe a few words that are tagged as male that shouldn’t be, could there be something wrong in the algorithm?, maybe it’s operator error. I was about to put pen to paper when I decided to give it one more shot. I loaded three entries from Wife in the North to see if her style of writing was more suited to forcing a female result. Sure enough, two out of three were female predictions and the third fell just a few words toward male. What have I learned? What did I already know? I know this, if the Twins are heading down the escalator, hurrying to catch a train, and you find yourself between point A (them) and point B (the train doors) you better being doing one of two things: either getting a move on, or getting ready for a beat down. It’s the guy in them coming out. The Wife would probably be a bit more gracious – she’s probably also get offered a seat. Aren’t they sweet?

really...it's okay

I’ve finally climbed the ladder to the plateau of accessory. I know the Eleven has a big-time gala on Saturday evening, and I’m fully cramming for the environmental discussion, but tonight's state-of-being is the apogee of relations: I’m the boyfriend. Yes! One of G’s schoolmates is coming over tomorrow evening to hangout and I’m the third rail of planning. I overhear X on the phone saying this, “I will be here studying, but my boyfriend Todd will be watching G and Z. They’ll probably get a movie, pizza, and pop some corn. I just wanted you to know.” Just thinking about the phrase, “my boyfriend…” (fill in the blank) is fun. I must say that she’s very upfront and honest but it also sort of sounds like “I'll be here, but Mr. Chimpy from next door will be watching your little bun…”

Maybe I’m stretching.

Love

T.

hey kids, don't do drugs

The idea that I would be checking grammar on any document (a driver’s license, an exit sign, a birthday car from my mother, or children’s homework) must be some sort of irony (X can explain the four types of irony; she’s like that). I vividly remember sitting in English classes taught by the likes of Ms. Wiltsie, Mr. Howe, Mrs. Chevalier, Mrs. Lorenzen, and Mr. Drickey, and ruing the day I was born and eventually mandated to fulfill public school English requirements. Those hours were, and I am not understating, the most tedious and horrific classroom times of my entire life. I hated them…every last second. I hated English like I hated Barry Switzer and the Oklahoma Sooners during the 70s and 80s. Hate. Is that clear enough? It wasn’t the teachers, it was the material, and it’s probably one of the reasons I never much liked fiction or novels - it seemed like too much work. Back to the story. X gave me a legally paper of some sort last night to proofread. Giving me anything like that is opening up the writer to ridicule and general laughter from my position on the couch. The reason I’m so difficult on papers these days is that I remember running away screaming from any type of writing, but I also reflect on the last ten years and know that I’m much better at some of the word stuff than I was throughout the 1980s and 1990s. By any account I’m self-taught, a very middle-of-the-road self-taught, and I find myself amazed that college graduates (and law school students) write formal dissertations at about my writing level. I’m always assuming that I’ll be duly impressed by their wordsmithing, yet I rarely am. (By the way, I had two New Yorkers, one Esquire, and the Onion laid before me, ready to enjoy some reading when the 30 pages covering “prior informed consent” were tossed at me.) I played along and made feeble attempts to only highlight subject-verb agreement errors, grievous misspellings, lack (or inclusion) of hyphenated adjectives, etc. I think these are the evenings spent together that represent the pillars of loving relationship. Actually, that’s not true. I think she’s been misguided by our daily discussions on slip decisions, politics, and ‘what’s for dinner’. It happens.

Not only that, but as I was scratching a few red marks, and making sure that I didn’t make her look stupid when she hands in the draft, we end up delving into some of her tax law studies. For instance, if you purchased a lottery ticket and gave it to your progeny as a gift, and those numbers hit three days later, what is the adjusted basis of said “gift” and when would you claim the income tax purposes?. I know what you’re thinking – who cares? I care, that’s who. I immediately piped up with a ‘scenario’ where I had sat down at a Caesar’s Palace blackjack table (non-smoking) and parlayed $100 into $1200 over the course of an hour. If this had ‘actually’ happened, the pit boss would have stopped over to not only complement my excellent play, but he would have wanted me to join the player’s club. You know…name, room number, address, driver’s license…just fill out this form, well played! You see, if I’m sitting at his table with 1G of earnings he’s going to report me to the IRS. The problem for him is that he’s got no idea whether or not I’ll cash in and walk away when I’m done; all he knows is that I just made $1,000 – so it’s time to pay up. The value of my black chips doesn’t change unless I’m stupid (see below), just like the value of the ticket doesn’t change regardless of when I cash in because it isn’t traded like a stock or bond. You pay taxes the moment it’s worth the winning amount and you claim it during the tax year it was awarded, not the year you cash it in. I’ll be open for tax consultation, and comedic interpretations of the tax code, through the extended deadline in October. Two shows on Sunday.

If you must know, my friend took his money and walked down to the MGM in a vainglorious attempt to get back the $300 he lost the previous night. That is never a good idea. I think everyone should use the story of my friend as a definitive lesson in gambling.

Peace and aces.

T.

what is he on about?

Right. Last Thursday presented a couple flying chips of grammar that got caught in my eye. The first was in Justice Ginsburg’s dissent in Gonzales v. Carhart where she uses the sentence “Revealing in this regard, the Court invokes an antiabortion shibboleth for which it concededly has no reliable evidence…” I immediately reached up and grabbed my Concise OED, hurdled over to Webster’s online, and checked with Wikipedia for enlightenment. I’ll just paraphrase a combo platter of what it means: customs, principles, or beliefs that distinguish groups of people. It also means a slogan, catchword, saying, or belief that has little meaning or truth. As if reading slip decisions isn’t difficult enough? I’ve got to deal with Ginsburg and Scalia chucking in words that I need to cross-reference? Even with my complaint lodged, I’ll be trying to sneak this into conversation at the big ‘do on Saturday night in Clarendon (X is the coordinator of this law journal spending spree, ask her. I think I’m supposed to be nice.)

The other turn of phrase that caught my attention was in Sen. Arlen Spector’s opening remarks during the Gonzales testimony last week (psst. Go to Spector’s Web site and tell me that picture of him is current). I love this one, “was replaced because she was hot on the trail of confederates of former Congressman Duke Cunningham…” Hot on the trail of confederates! If I weren’t so grammatically inept I’d more often take the time to ponder terms like confederate, and I’d correctly think of confederation as groups, joining of peoples, allies, etc. Instead, I’m just a dope that always associates the word with the Confederacy; my mind turns to thinking ‘bad guys’ as opposed to a grouping of like-minded folk. Allies and Axis in WWII seem to make sense, but Union and Confederacy in the Civil War are two words for the pretty much the same thing. Ah, who knows? What I like about confederates as allies, pals, all for one and one for all, is that I can stop referring to my 401 bus confederates as carnies. Confederates all.

On a lighter note, G asked me during bowling last Saturday what the term Turkey meant, and where it originated. What you might think is that it came from the big gobble-gobble birds we eat at the Holidays. Well…you’d be right. At the time, I had no good story to pass along from my years of keggling, but it seems to be quite a simple origination. In the early 20th Century it was much harder to get three strikes in a row, so during the holiday weeks proprietors would offer a live bird to the first player on each team to get three strikes in a row (also from Wikipedia). You’re not free of bowling terms yet, not by a long shot. Another bowling term’s history came to my attention as I was rooting around, “Brooklyn”. I know from a Brooklyn, because my Brooklyn ball is quite good, especially when it’s just peaking across the headpin. It seems to have originated from the days when people crossed over from Manhattan to Brooklyn, and is the term for right-handers hitting the 1-2 pocket. Fair enough, but confusing when I look at a map. A side term is apparently “Jersey side” which describes the same crossing over for left-handers (the 1-3 pocket); representing travel from Manhattan to Jersey. Now I’m really off on this whole thing. Seriously, look at a map and you’ve got Manhattan in the middle (say it’s the 1 pin), Brooklyn to the east (say it’s the 3 pin), and Jersey to the west (the 2 pin). If I’m right-handed and crossover the headpin and hit the 1-2 pocket, I’m so in Jersey. If I’m left-handed and crossover to the 1-3 pocket, I’m sitting in Mr. Kotter’s classroom getting hounded by Mr. Woodman – that’s Brooklyn! I think wikipedia is all messed up on this one. It seems that what they mean to say is that if you’re IN Brooklyn they call any cross over a Jersey, if you’re not in Brooklyn any cross over is a Brooklyn; so Manhattan is the center of the bowling universe? Jeez. Further research yields this: both terms represent the cross over pocket for both types of bowlers – it just depends where you happen to have learned your bowling terminology. The “Jersey Side” action committee doesn’t seem to have found a foothold in Middle America.

This is the most useless entry I’ve ever written, and I’ve written some useless ones…


T.

football, rubgy, cricket...snooker!

It’s that time of year again, the two-week run to England’s May Bank Holiday, and it means only one thing to a young man dreaming of sport – The World Snooker Championships at the Crucible Theatre in Sheffield, England. This marathon begins with sixteen players in the first round contesting best-of-19 frame matches, and builds to a four-session, two-day, best-of-37 frame championship final.

It was during my first tour in England (1990-1992) that I was introduced to snooker. When I finally sat down to watch the late-night wrap-ups from the major tournaments I couldn’t believe what I was watching. The 1992 Final between Stephen Hendry and Jimmy White was what really put me over the edge. I’d bet 20 pounds on Jimmy White winning it all, and he didn’t let me down as he jumped to 14-8 lead, was one ball away from 15-8, and kerrang...he missed. Hendry stepped up, claimed that frame, and then blasted through the next 9 to win it, 18-14. Hendry eventually won 7 of the 10 World Championships contested in the 1990s, is probably the most successful player ever, and is currently ranked #1 in the world.

Snooker is a devilish 3-D kind of chess. The huge table and straight pocket jaws make shots extremely refined. Players have more angles, screw (we call it english), speed, and cueing implements than you can imagine. The defensive ability (called ‘safety’) of some of the players is astonishing. My friend Buzz and I headed up to the Crucible for the 1998, 1999, and 2000 events, and I remember a frame in the 1998 Finals where Ken Doherty and Mark Williams played safety after safety until they finally agreed to re-rack the balls.

As if anyone cares, here are the (very) basics of the game.

- when you step to the table you must pocket a red ball first (they are left off the table)
- after a red, any other color must be pocketed (they are replaced on their spots)
- another red ball
- another (any) color, until you miss
- each red = 1 point
- the colors in point order (2,3,4,5,6,7): yellow, green, brown, blue, pink, black
- when your opponent misses, you’re up
- colored balls pocketed in order, lowest-to-highest value, to end frame
- most points wins the frame

Since every red ball that has been pocketed essentially removes a total of 8 points from the table (that red and the assumed follow-up 7-point black), the scores don't add up to the maximum amount on the table at the start of the frame. The highest possible total that can be achieved in a single visit, with all reds still on the table, is 147 points: 15 reds, followed by 15 blacks (alternating red-black), and all the colors in order at the end (36 consecutive shots). It’s rare in competition (it’s only happened five times at the Crucible) and takes some luck and a good run of balls. If Steve Davis were compiling a 147 it would take about three hours…he's very deliberate. On the other hand, if you’re Ronnie O’Sullivan in 1997 it takes about 5 minutes, which is diabolical. Here’s Ronnie making the legendary ‘maximum’ during an early round match that year. The video cuts in after he’s already potted a few reds and blacks during this visit to the table. Enjoy.

with this ring II

Another long meeting story in Sunday’s NYTimes wedding announcements

The couple met in 2004 at a Halloween party at a pub on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. Mr. Donohue was one of a half-dozen men who dressed as characters from Roger Hargreaves’s "Mr. Men and Little Miss" children’s book series. Mr. Donohue wore an orange suit, the signature color of his character, Mr. Tickle. He had stapled extra long sleeves to the suit so that he would have Mr. Tickle’s tentaclelike arms.

Ms. Cody knew one of the men in the group, Christopher Ahern, who was wearing a yellow suit, the signature color of Mr. Skinny. She asked him who had come up with the idea for the costumes, and he replied that it was his longtime friend Mr. Donahue.

“I thought the idea was extremely creative,” said Ms. Cody, who had improvised a doctor’s costume with the last-minute purchase of a lab coat, and scrubs and a stethoscope borrowed from her roommate, a nurse.

Ms. Cody struck up a conversation with Mr. Donahue and found the man in the orange suit to be “creative, confident in his skin, unpretentious.”

“She came right up and started talking,” Mr. Donohue remembered. “She was funny, honest.”

They spoke until the wee hours, when the party ended.

As I was typing the entry I thought I should have been calling him Mr. Tickle rather than Mr. Donohue; try it on your keyboard, it’s much easier to type. Not only would the finger stretches be easier, but if I know he’s Mr. Tickle based on the long-winded announcement, shouldn’t I just call him Mr. Tickle? Wasn’t that the point? Shouldn’t I call them Mr. and Mrs. Tickle? Or at least Mr. and Mrs. Cody-Tickle. And it's cool to work 'tentacle' into a wedding announcement...odds? I thought the 'when the party ended' was a bit much...as they do.

Mr. Redd, 45, is the founder and chief executive of the Project Management Resource Group, an engineering management consulting firm in New York. He is also a baritone whose appearances have included “Porgy and Bess” with the New York City Opera.

The thing that caught my eye was the baritone. I’m completely void of talent, and anyone who performs with the New York City Opera is amazing to me, but do I need to know this? “Hey X, we got an invitation to the wedding of that baritone guy from the ‘Porgy and Bess’ show. Are we going?” I imagine a response from across rooms declaring that unless it was the alto or harmony guy (I have NO musical terminology skills), we aren’t going. It strikes me that my wedding announcement should include the fact that I CAN’T sing. “Married today at the church, can’t carry a tune in a bucket…”

About half the announcements have photos of the happy couple, and I do wish them all the luck. Lord knows my marriage skills are questionable. But I can’t figure out the photo of just the bride. I’m thinking I should turn the page to see the “wasn’t present for school picture day” laid across the silhouette of some guy.

This week was the first announcements I’d seen that had same-sex marriages (I said it) of both sexes. Wait. Girls and boys. Wait. You know what I mean. I’ve noticed that the announcements with same-sex gals always seem to say “Ms. Debbie Jones (above left)”, but the same-sex guys don’t give the “above left” mapping. I tried to sort out who was who but came up empty.

And I love that Mr. William Mason’s father is “the national accounts manager at Tootsie Roll Industries of Chicago…” That is what life’s about, working at Tootsie Roll. Sweet.

T.

the influence of gonzales

It might not be fair to call it an influence so much as a realization that our Attorney General has the witnessin' ability of a ten-year old. (I’m averaging the ages of the boys.) Influence is defined as “the capacity to have an effect on the character or behavior of someone or something, or the effect itself.” (OED). I suspect that H is the influence and Alberto Gonzales the influencee. You may ask how I could possibly think that AG2’s testimony was a studied dramatic piece learned from child. Well, I’ll just present the facts and let you decide.

As the boys were sitting at the table on Saturday night eating soup and corn scones, H asked G to pass him the butter. You’d think this could have been a straight forward table transaction but you’d be horribly misguided. As G passes the butter (and eventually the jam) to his bro’, he asks him if he also needs a knife. As background, I generally try to put out the proper silver for the boys to use at meals but they never seem to see it with their eyes – without fail, H gets up and wanders into kitchen hunting a feasting tool to use as a shovel. As usual on this lovely spring eve, H has already gone to the kitchen for a knife. G, who is unaware of H’s movements and who is holding the only knife that I’ve put out with the butter, appropriately asks “do you need the knife?”. The inappropriate response he gets slapped with is “I’ve already got one. What are you, blind?”. Sound the bell and let the fractious child moot court begin! Before we cover Attorney General Henry’s testimony you need to know that, unlike White House desires these days, X and I have overheard the entire conversation and have a near-perfect mental recording of what just happened. In the following court reporter excerpt X plays the part of Senator Leahy, and H reprises his award-winning turn as Alberto Gonzales.

X: Henry, what did you just say to your brother?
H: Nothing. I don’t remember.
X: You just said it. What do you mean “I don’t remember”? What did you say when he asked you about the knife?
H: Nothing. Well, actually, I said “Thank you, but I already have a knife.”
X: Henry, you did not. I heard what you said.
H: What?
X: Henry!
H: Well, I don’t remember what I just said…but it wasn’t bad!

And…cut!

I’ve heard there’s an internal investigation going on at DoJ and the Attorney General has been quarantined to his office. He hasn’t been able to confer with his deputies or listen to any of the other testimony that’s taken place over the last month. His preparation has been somewhat isolated. In fact, I think H has been sneaking to Justice and hanging with AG2 all day - showing him the ropes of Testimony 101.

incongruous

Beginning with my walk home from the Metro on Friday afternoon a few things have struck me as out-of-sorts. Not a global warming out-of-sorts, more a feeling of seeing things in a big city and not registering that whatever you're seeing is just strange. What triggered this was an older gentleman crossing my path, walking with the help of a cane, and carrying a unicycle. What my mind does for the remainder of my 15-minute walk home is attempt to sort out whether or not a unicycle would be useful for transportation in a city. It is any faster than walking? It certainly isn't any faster than a dead run, so if you're planning on using it to flee a scene (any scene), you've come up with a bad plan. Can you put it on the bike rack on the front of the bus? Can you enter the center car doors on the Metro? Now that I think about it, I don't think it's faster than walking. So, what I have left is that the gentleman is either a long-time, and now retired, circus performer who carries around a unicyle in order that people know he was a circus performer; or, it was one of the things one grabs at an estate sale or flea market because you can't imagine why you wouldn't. "Hey, a unicycle - always wanted to give one of those a go." This, or course, reminded me of the weekend in Reno when I almost bought a huge set of beautiful oars that were for sale in the antique/flea market down on the river. I have no idea why I was so enthralled with them but I figured there might be a day when having a paddle (I know, it was an oar...stick with me) might come in handy. You know the old saying, up shit creek and all, so I envisioned them in some kind of cross mount on my red wall in Nevada. Some weird symbolism I imagined. That was back when I started the blog stuff and they led me tot he title of The Paddle because The Oar didn't have any kind of ring-a-ding to it. Any other ideas on the guy toting the unicyle would be appreciated.

The second thing I noticed this weekend was an old Red Barn or Dairy Queen structure here in Arlington that went under years ago and has been turned into a chicken place (food chicken, not chicken yard). It's called Super Pollo. I love that. I'll let everyone come up with their own version of Super Pollo.


The Eleven had Sue over for dinner last night and then we headed to Iota for the Tarbox Ramblers and Silos show. After our last aborted attempt to get into a Saturday night show I made sure we got there early enough to secure a place in the house. Yes, I fell back into my thinking that any show I was interested in would be a packed house by 8pm. Yes, we walked in and there were only three other people in the joint, one of whom was Walter Salas-Humera (singer, guitarist, writer, and producer of 20 years of Silos music). We got three stools at the bar and we (mostly me) spent a while discussing the music biz. My comments limited to completely inane and useless statements based on a wannabe bar band member. He's exactly the kind of laid-back guy I expected, and it's amazing to think about how many miles he's seen on the touring circuit of America. The Ramblers were great, as usual, and have apparently incorporated the drummer from These United States who filled in last visit after some 'incident' with the normal drummer. I don't know if he tours full time with them or just sits in when they visit the D.C. area. We stayed for a part of the Silos show but he's not writing the same kind of stuff that hooked me in the late 80s and early 90s. It's certainly louder, with a heavier rock sound, but it doesn't suit me quite as well. But, like any band that I have an attachment with, I'm glad they're still playing, still making a living, and still enjoying themselves; where and what my tastes might be doesn't matter so much in the end.

We hailed a cab to get home after X was shocked, SHOCKED!, that one would have to wait 20 minutes for the next Metro. I felt very cosmo taking a cab home.

Love to all.

T.

looking for the corner

Here’s some breaking news: that World Wide Web has tentacles running through everything. My review of the Patty Griffin show got more than a few people upset. My concert timelines (reinforced years ago by Lucinda Williams making us wait for two hours…and I love her) and disinterest in encores (I can’t honestly remember one in hundreds of theater shows that was memorable) rubbed people the wrong way. This came to light when I noticed that suddenly my measly site counter blasted up to a massive 44 hits in one day after I posted a link to the review at Patty Griffin’s Web site; imagine my surprise! The tracker took me to the Scott Miller message board and it was there that my preferences weren’t generally appreciated. It was all fair enough, my timeline is certainly silly and self-imposed and that was to be one of the points of the entry, a little self-deprecation. I generally leave the more in-depth reviews to others, I don’t do song lists as a rule because my listening style is to have all an artist’s songs in one play list…and then shuffled endlessly so I don’t have, or know, most song titles in my head. To me, bar and nightclub shows are different than theater shows – I’ll stay to the bitter end when Slobberbone / the Drams, Lucero, or the Gourds are rocking a packed bar. If Patty Griffin were blowing the house down at the Birchmere, I’d stay; I have strange habits. I also like to highlight band members that interest me (Doug Pettibone with Lucinda, et al) and try to push their skills along with the lead performer, hence the Bryn Davis link. Anyway, the folks over at the message board are much like me when it comes to music: it’s important, you are dedicated to the live music scene, and you are committed to a lot of various artists touring the country. I think we've made peace and I've got another place to get good links to the big world of musicians. I guess I could either tone down my sarcasm and peccadilloes, or not link to the rest of the Web. Hmmm…

Peace.

emperors IV

Hmm. Where to begin? They make it seem as if the 1st quarter fund-raising numbers are the most important thing since the idea of voting rights. Two nuggets to keep in mind, and they are all we need to know so we can stop listening or caring about the dollars: Mitt Romney raised something like $20+ million and is standing at single digits in the polling numbers for the nomination; Hillary led the money derby and is rapidly losing ground. Money does not equal success, especially with at least a million days before anything really matters. It will keep you running in the race but it won’t directly translate to success.

Fred Thompson is not in the race and he’s around 15% in a lot of the polls. The Republicans are just a wee bit dysfunctional right now.

Tommy Thompson is in the race. Did you know that? Maybe he’s banking on garnering the “Thompson” vote if people get confused – it could happen. His voter recognition is actually nil.

I’m very confused on what to do with the numbers. I still don’t think Giuliani can win the nomination regardless of what the polls say: he has absolutely nothing that the Republican base wants. McCain is slipping more each week. As far as his leadership is concerned, I’m very worried. In a front page article in the Sunday NYTimes he says that he has no “Plan B” for Iraq. What? If the current plan is all he can possibly envision, then he’s done. Romney is dead in the water even with all that dough. We’ve got one Thompson but not the other. I’m lowering my available poll points by half and only running the numbers to 50% total until someone steps up (or in) and takes charge.

The Dems are boring me. Hillary is clinging by her fingernails to Obama’s suit. It’s clear that the Dem voters never were on board with her and she’s got little chance of holding on much longer – though she’ll run through the primaries. I suspect the real mudslinging by her campaign will kickoff in full force by Memorial Day. Richardson had some press while he was in N. Korea a few weeks back but he’s still taking this campaign slow and steady. He’s still my guy. Edwards got some traction a few weeks ago but is spending more time with photo ops than actual campaigning. I still don’t see him going on much longer and my numbers reflect that.

There was a letter to Andrew Sullivan’s blog a few months back that outlined an idea (and it was very well put) that Jeb Bush might just hold out, let the candidates kill each other or implode, and step in late to scoop the nomination with very little long-term review of his politics. Name recognition and money – doesn’t sound so crazy right now.

Democrats	My Vote	The Nation
Clinton	25	30
Obama	33	30
Richardson	40	10
Edwards	2	15
Dodd	0	2
Biden	0	3
Kucinich	0	1

'Publicans	My Vote	The Nation
McCain	20	40
Giuliani	15	30
Romney	5	10
Brownback	0	0
Hunter	0	0
Thompson (either)	10	20

Unless something very intriguing happens in the next few weeks I'm dropping Kucinich, Dodd, Biden, Hunter, and Brownback from the numbers. I apologize (?) for never including Huckabee's candidacy; it wasn't that I didn't know, I just didn't care.

T.

quick hit review

The P. Griffin show last night was excellent. First and foremost, I do not give good reviews to performers and venues that don’t have good time management (this applies primarily to theater venues; bars / nightclubs are different animals). The details of that management are these: timely start, short opening act performance, headliner equipment up and ready to go, short break between acts, 90-100 minute performance by headliner, and preferably no encore. If you’re tipping your head like a confused dog when you read about my lack of interest in encores, I’ll tell you my feelings. If I’ve paid $40 to come see your show I don’t need to stand there and clap like an ass for five minutes before you come out to play two or three more songs. My ticket is my encore (call it a pre-core); play all your songs, hit me hard to finish the show, turn the lights up, and go home. There. Here was last night’s timing – 2 hours and 35 minutes of show, gate to finish.

8pm – Scott Miller steps on stage to open, right on time
8:35 – Scott Miller says thanks (he was good enough) and walks off stage
8:40 – I’m in the Warner lobby getting drinks
9:00 – Patty comes out and starts her set
10:35 – Patty and the band are done (not including encore; I didn’t stay)
11:05 – Home from the show, the walk, the Metro.

Patty Griffin may have the best voice going in music today. She also has a great band that reminds me of the two great backing bands I’ve seen in recent years: Madeleine Peyroux and Joan Baez. All three groups are cut from the same cloth: great band leadership (in this case the lead guitar player), and a thumping / hippy / head-bobbing / bass-loving rhythm section. The most interesting of last night’s backers was one Bryn Davis who plays stand-up bass, cello, keyboards, and sang back-up vocals (according to her myspace she plays with Grisham, Rowen and Rice, Bela Fleck, and Guy Clark; and she has bass tats on her back – very cool). That’s a Telluride picture of her above. When they all cut loose on a few of Patty’s rawkus songs the whole theater was on fire; they had so many layers of sound coming at you that it was impossible to not get drawn in. In addition to the show’s timeline and the quality performance, the mixing crew had everything just right. In particular, Patty’s vocals were set so you could hear every lyric and intonation of her voice. They get 4 cellos on my 5 cello scale.

(photo courtesy of Tim Benko's Fine Art Photography)

the week

Good music happening in the D.C. area this week. I'm off to see Patty Griffin at the Warner Theatre in D.C. tonight and there's a Silos / Tarbox Ramblers doublebill at Iota in Arlington on Saturday night.

Add to that a potential great late show a week from Friday at Jammin' Java in Vienna, VA, and everythings looking good indeed. That Friday show features two, three-piece jam bands that are poised to have very good years: the headliners are Rose Hill Drive, here's a live video...



with support from Earl Greyhound. As if everyone is eagerly awaiting reviews.

T.

scurrying through the penthouse

Finally. It’s taken almost a week-and-a-half, but the good news is that we have two additions to North Park Drive: Jefferson and Biscuit. Rats.

X visualized her youth and drew the schematics for the four-level condo that her hamsters populated in her Gill, Mass youth. The boys needed some pets and hamsters are apparently neat, tidy, and easy enough to manage. This led to two trips to Home Depot, one by X and one by me, that eventually harvested the needed wood and screen mesh. Since you asked, I’ll tell you: Home Depot in Arlington sucks the absolute life out of you. The service is horrible, the store is horrible, the parking lot is horrible, the street it’s located on is hell. Put all that together in a blender and figure just how much fun we had getting the pieces gathered. Everything was leaning against the dining room wall on Saturday morning when Laurel and I headed for the cherry blossoms and X headed to the Law Center to study. The boys stayed home with Corey and he put the whole pad together in about an hour; it was perfect. (The Zapruder situation that involves Henry's hand and a staple gun is forthcomeing.) Exactly how my girlfriend gets people to do things for her with such ease is an entire sociological study yet to be done. When everyone congregated back home in the afternoon we decided to set off to PetCo to browse the small animal department. We examined and asked about pygmy hamsters, hamsters, gerbils (not allowed per X), mice, guinea pigs, and rats. They had two males, one light brown (Biscuit) and one almost black (Jefferson). X convinced the boys and girl that rats are actually quite smart, very trainable, and much like dogs…and I generally agree at this point. They’re cute and clearly smart enough to learn tricks and rules so I think it will work out well in the end. I will say that they aren’t as neat and tidy as hamsters. You can think about that. Here’s the crowd watching the rats on day #1…just like Laura Ingalls and her first radio.



T.

AG2

Tomorrow will be some must-see TV on C-SPAN. Actually, it won’t be so much must-see as it will be must-listen. I’ll be out for the day so I’ll miss most of it; I’m sure I can get some clips and reviews when I get home tomorrow evening (before heading to the Patty Griffin concert in D.C.) I tried to take a read through AG2’s opening statement to the committee (it runs a compact 25 pages!) but stopped after five pages and began to simply scan. What he’s addressing tomorrow falls within that opening 20% of the statement. I’m sure they’ll let him ramble on for the entire thing, ‘day in court’ and all that, but the last 20 pages cover these items: national security (terrorism buzzwords), protection of children (sexual predators), civil rights (Jackie Robinson and Don Imus neatly tied-in), border security (illegal aliens), intellectual property (my blog! I couldn’t think of anything else to equate), state, local, and tribal assistance (native Americans), and responsiveness to Congressional requests (he is kidding, right?). A breakdown of the final 80% of his opening?

Terrorist
Child Molesters
African Americans
Illegal Aliens
Native Americans
His undying commitment to cooperate
my Blog (or not).

That is one list of catchy, inflammatory subject matter – none of it relevant in the least. Is it good DoJ is doing those things? Sure. Does he need to bring up all this when the questioning is about a specific set of events? No. He might as well let us know that he buys off-the-rack, went to law school, his children are honor students at some school (see his bumper sticker), his wife is attractive, and his golf handicap is 6. They have nothing to do with why he’s there either, but for some reason he forgot to include those in his opening montage. Politics.

T.

lighthouse, leader...sheep wearing a bell

Lighthouse: an aid for navigation and pilotage at sea, a lighthouse is a tower building or framework sending out light from a system of lamps and lenses or, in older times, from a fire.

The nor’easter arrived two nights ago on N. Park Dr. It rained hard all Saturday night and slopped all the freshly laid mulch from the top of the courtyard to the bottom of the courtyard. The sidewalk full of mulch that ran to the parking lot displayed a quality of wave and water flow that could have been used by undergraduate engineering students; the mulch a perfectly aligned conduit for water. I spent a few minutes gawking at it, mouth agape, until I realized the rest of the tenants probably thought I’d gone mad. I subtly moved on attempting to act as if I’d merely lost my way. Who knows what they believe.

I was on my way to the DuPont Circle Farmer’s Market when the watery waveforms distracted me. The market was ongoing when I arrive, though smaller and quainter under the constant rain. I had my wide-brimmed rain hat and was full of dap. The sellers sort out the weather forecast the night before, being farmers and all, and bring only what they know they’ll sell during rainy market days. The dedicated buyers, primarily the well-heeled and young that populate that part of the city, get to enjoy a slower, less crowded market. Fewer people mean there’s a little time to talk with the sellers and less time spent working your way around the lost and confused ‘visitors’. My take for the day included lilies, two boxes of mushrooms, a smooth cow’s feta, big ol’ basket of greens, leeks, massive spring onions, a variety of chard, a package of basil egg pasta, and the Sunday NYTimes. The Times was not homegrown and organic – just the normal newsprint Times. (By the way, last week’s Sunday puzzle was finally broken last night at 9pm! After eight days. It was a son of a bitch. I’ll remember that puzzlemaker’s name…Barton something – bastard.)

In the midst of my Saturday night cook-fest of smoked tomato soup, battered-fried mozzarella sandwiches on skewers with an anchovy and caper sauce, and a big salad, X comes into the kitchen and puts in a request for homemade ravioli. I ask if she really has a preference for ravioli, or if tortellini is what she craves. She quickly answers with “anything stuffed” [pats me on the head and walks away]. She is smooth. The mushrooms and feta ended up in handmade ravioli covered with smoked red peppers, garlic, pine nuts, and basil for last night’s dinner. Somehow she managed to work her way through a bowl – dedicated girl. Heading into the weekend I was feeling like I hadn’t done enough real cooking, now I feel sated.

Back to the nor’easter. The walk to work this morning reminded me of the day after Thanksgiving when The Eleven drove out of Portland, Maine and walked along the beach for thirty minutes. If you’re not on the ocean you rarely get that powerful wind that feels and smells of big bodies of water. Maybe the rain that seems to be hanging in the air mingles with the gusts and it comes off as wet, heavy, and bone-chilling; I find it refreshing. Maybe I’ll head out this afternoon and cast my lobster traps in the parking lot (do you cast lobster traps?).

Tales of the 401 bus…again. Being of tall stature, and dedicated to the cause of what I’ll call ‘watching’, means that I’m the reliable indicator for the arrival of the northbound 401 bus at the Dunn-Loring Metro station. The carnies are either sitting in the bus shelter, milling about aimlessly, or leaning on posts waiting every morning for the bus. I’m a leaner (in the first shelter against the west wall, eyes against the distance), and a leaner is merely a single letter from leader; think about that. What this all means is that I’ve taken the time to figure out the direction of arrival, the color of the top of the bus (don’t confuse it with a Metro bus), and the timing of the lights out on Gallows Road. At the confluence of all three details I step out to the post marking the bus stop…and everyone immediately follows me into a neat, orderly queue. They don’t fall for some unknown rambler moving towards the post; they want a known entity, someone who doesn’t fail and never flinches when the southbound 401 pulls into the transit center. As if I’d trip up on the southbound 401 that clearly came from the wrong direction down Gallows Road. I’ve seen people queue when they see the (wrong) bus coming through the parking lot and it’s horribly embarrassing (just like me staring at the water) since it goes right by our stop to the southbound shelter. See? Now they’re standing in line and the bus flies right on by. Put away your transfers and pittance of coins and walk back to the shelter, heads hanging in shame. Me? I’m still leaning on the shelter looking cool. Bellwether.

Peace.

T.

do you have a date for the dance?

I’m going back to my overt slate.com campaign contributions. Dahlia Lithwick manages to align timely events (the Duke case and U.S. Attorney purge) into the one argument that clarifies just what pisses me off the most about the U.S. Attorney scandal. In fact, it sort of hits at what irritates me about the entire DoJ “HR” office. It’s not so much the fact that they ‘hire’ politically-connected people (that is always bothersome) but that they are hiring unqualified people. Not only that, the ones doing the hiring and firing are unqualified. The Attorney General is unqualified. The senior positions in DoJ and the U.S. Attorney offices are either being filled by political appointees, or filled by those hired by these appointees; we know that, we get it, and that is part and parcel to government so you can desist with the “pleasure of the President”, as if that’s code for incompetent. The idea that you can bring onboard people like Sampson and Goodling, and expect anything but jackassery, is comical. You know what? I don’t need to hear Goodling testify in this matter. As far as I’m concerned, she can stand on her Fifth Amendment right, or Sen. Leahy can take her testimony behind closed doors – I don’t need to see her fumble through testimony looking more and more like a lost high school senior trying to explain why she was home late from the Prom. Based on Sampson’s testimony, I think he must have been her date. These two ‘operatives’ are the poster children for the problems Lithwick addresses in her article: they are mirror images of the people they are installing in USA offices – neophytes who hold unbelievable power and who respond only to political will and pressure. (Without even knowing or seeing the newly appointed attorneys you simply need to take a look at these two dunderheads to understand what we’re in for.) These legal sophomores are replacing experienced prosecutors simply because they wouldn’t toe the Bush line, and I’ll take an experienced Bushie over a J.V. moot court team member any day. I don’t want anyone serving as one of our 93 USAs who can’t separate law from politics, or doesn’t have the ability to separate the two. I don’t think I want anyone who finished law school in the last decade. I most decidedly don’t want the new wave of attorneys to be racked-and-stacked by the Sampsons and Goodlings at DoJ. This new crop of ‘lawyers’ know exactly how and why they got the job and they’ll continue to act, and prosecute, in ways that will allow them to keep the job. They’re all young, inexperienced, weak, and unable to stand up to their kings…just what I want in my U.S. Attorney.

Peace. Right?

T.

snake eyes

More from the 401. I’m heading home on the bus yesterday and as we stop to pick up some more carnies I find myself looking out the window at a big banner hanging from the eaves of the Gallows Road 7-Eleven; a longer, narrower, representation of the current marketing campaign:

I’m in! I don’t know which part of the three-pronged advertising attack convinced me of the need to hit my neighborhood 7-Eleven as soon as possible: the Slurpee, the collector’s cup, or the Spiderman 3 tie-in. Maybe it was all three…the synergy! Of course, I can’t leave well enough alone and decided to hit the 7-Eleven webpage to see what other goodies I could score on my next pilgrimage. As I navigated the page I began to wonder why 7-Eleven would need a webpage – not from a corporate point-of-view, but from the consumer aspect. Let’s see, the main categories on the homepage are: store locator, careers, franchise opportunities, and convenience card. In addition, there are tabs that include: products and services, news room, real estate, and “about 7-Eleven”. Let’s take a look at a few of these and review some consumer needs.

Store Locator – There are over 30,000 7-Elevens worldwide and I know most patrons use the World Wide Web to accurately and quickly locate the nearest store. I can’t count the number of times The Eleven has tried to sort out shopping plans and used the 7-Eleven homepage to make sure we went to the nearest store, “Hey baby, can you print out the Google Map directions to the nearest Slurpee palace in the 22203 zip code? Oh, and while you’re at it, can you also print one for the Patuxent River area 7-Elevens ‘cause I’m heading down there on Thursday.” I defy anyone to tell me they use anything but their eyeballs to find a 7-Eleven.

“About 7-Eleven” – Here’s a random Fun Fact that I can use at the pub quiz next week:

Big Gulp lovers gulp over 30 million gallons of fountain soft drinks per year at 7-Eleven. That's enough to fill 59 Olympic-size swimming pools.

I don’t know what to do with that. No idea. Is that one store? I'm not sure I'd believe it. Is that all they drink, cumulatively, around the World? I think they’re fibbing…have you seen a Big Gulp? Yes, I just did the math and 30 million gallons actually equal 45.4 Olympic-size swimming pools, and 59 Olympic-size pools equal 38.9 million gallons; conspiracy! What is more interesting is that those 30 million gallons equal 96 million 40oz. Big Gulps. Now that’s a Fun Fact.

Careers – The physical requirements for applying as a sales associate include “…constant standing, bending and reaching with a moderate amount of manual dexterity.” If I can look beyond the manual dexterity requirement, I think my shift selling scratch cards, Slurpees, and a few 40oz. Big Gulps will not only be a job but also my daily yoga workout: it’s a two-for-one.

Convenience Card – This baby works like cash. You put cash on the card and then use the card like cash. It’s like cash, but it’s not cash. What you do is take your sawbucks and convenience card down to the nearest 7-Eleven (you can use the World Wide Web to get a map, see above), insert the card in the machine, insert the Hamiltons in the machine, get your card back, and start shopping. While you’re fumbling with the machine, your card, and your ratty bills, I’ll just grab my hot dog from the roller machine, my Slurpee, my NYTimes, and hang around outside for twenty minutes fighting off beggers until you get your act sorted. There’s even a way to manage your convenience card online: Hibachi! I just use cash; it's like a card but it works like cash.

News Room – I imagined that I’d get a ticker of CNN-like headlines running across my screen when I selected this tempting morsel. Maybe I could get an RSS feed, sign up for email updates, watch a few videos of the Senate discussing the U.S. Attorney scandal, or some clips of Jeanne Moos cracking open another entertainment scandal, but I was wrong. This News Room contains only streamlined 7-Eleven weekly and/or semi-weekly (bi-weekly? semi-monthly?) ‘news’ releases that includes these teasers:

7-Eleven To Franchise for First Time in Home State, Birthplace of Convenience Retailing 80 Years Ago.

What’s the Buzz?

Shopping In A 7-Eleven Wonderland.

7-Eleven To Purchase 10 McKee Oil Company Convenience Stores.

I should click on the first one just so I know the birthplace of convenience retailing for my next appearance on University Challenge, but I think I’ll just try to suss out the answer when it comes up. I’m certainly going to consider that this mystery birthplace is probably at the intersection of two main streets, near public transportion, and in an urban environment.

Real Estate – No, it’s not foreclosures at discount prices, it’s the normal gobbley-gook about converting your store to a 7-Eleven, or what type of properties are best in the hot-growth markets. But it does include this trivia that probably should not only be in the ‘about 7-Eleven’ category, but is also a bit questionable,

“Customers know 7-ELEVEN® stores are the destination for unique, ‘first, best, and only’ products, like Big Gulp® and Slurpee®, -- and they know they can rely on us 24/7.”

I’ll let them slide on the Slurpee because that is some seriously new product – an icy, tangy, fruity, slushy drink. But the Big Gulp? It’s a huge cup. I don’t consider a huge cup to be a ‘first, best, and only product’. This morning I made each boy a big pancake instead of three little pancakes and I’m now claiming copyright on what I’m calling the Big Pancake®.

Of course, I’m well aware of the pot and kettle tone of the posting. My blog certainly has less to offer than the 7-Eleven Web site. In fact, my perusal has only made me more thoughtful about what my consumers need; I’m considering adding a mapping function to allow everyone to get directions to me from anywhere in America…come one, come all. And just like 7-Eleven, I need start selling some t-shirts.

T.

girls on buses

Sometime early last week X chortled at me while relaying some psychological mumbo-jumbo that allegedly confirmed male species' behavior when encountering new folk (I think it’s any type of male: me, giraffe, rhesus monkey, ladybug, or my dog Gus). Apparently, we look quickly at the eyes, glance down to the ‘private’ area (very quickly and without regard to gender), and then return to the eyes and/or face. We have no concern for whether or not the other is speaking, commenting on our hair, eating a donut, or making kissy sounds with their mouth. Eyes – crotch –eyes. Repeat for everyone you meet at the cocktail party. I’ve never even thought of myself as one that would indulge in this behavior but for some reason it came up while we were doing our hair early one morning. Now that I think about it, maybe she said it wasn’t only upon initial meeting, just at the beginning of our daily interaction with each person in our life. I’ve been trying to avoid this male trap for the last ten days but I don’t know if I’ve been successful since I didn’t even know I was doing it.

I’ll tell you what I learned on the bus this morning; but first I’ll pass along the set-up. The #401 / Backlick Road / South Franconia-Tyson’s Corner bus passes the Dunn Loring Metro station and runs through the heart of the Tyson’s Corner business ‘casual’ district in Vienna (12th largest base of business casual employment in America!). The route is conducive for lots of folks heading to work from D.C. and Arlington (opposite the major crowds) that ride the Metro and then catch the bus the last few miles. You get the same busload of people just about every morning, it feels a little like a traveling circus, and you have some imaginary connection with the other carnies. I tend to sit in the first set of seats that face forward (more legroom) so I’m generally looking across the two elderly/handicap rows of seats that have their backs against the windows and face the center aisle. If you haven’t ridden a lot of public transport, or can’t visualize the layout, I can’t help you anymore. In front of me today there were three chicks sitting in those access seats, not as traveling companions, but they were very similar: late 20s/early 30s, nicely dressed, good hair, business casual. I’m in perfect position to watch what’s going in front of me and suddenly it becomes almost comical. At each stop heading up Gallows Road there is at least one other woman getting off the bus and heading to her office, and as she walks up the aisle to exit the front door, all three of the girls give her the look. It’s like watching a tennis match: all their heads follow her from left to right, glare at her legs, pants, jacket, hair, and physical attributes. Once she gets too far into their peripheral vision, and someone might notice them scoping the comp’, they snap their little bird heads back to the ‘neutral looking out the other window’ position. The bus moves, the bus stops, a competitor walks past, heads swivel, grade the goods, snap back to neutral. Without fail, every stop. If the timing is just right you just might catch one of them glancing out the window to see just how ‘she’ could possibly walk and switch in those heels. Now, I’m not saying that this is anything like guys checking out girls but it certainly falls somewhere in the same post code. We have our reasons, they have theirs, but I'm certain neither creature can physically override the mental power to do what seems ingrained in our genes. But, at least us guys do it when we’re looking for something important…like a mate. Girls do it because they’re trying to find new styles of jeans and shoes…and because they’re catty and judgmental. Heathenesses.

Ah, Monday.

T.

self-loading baggage

I’m officially marrying up the start of the D.C. Cherry Blossom Festival (March 31st) to the start of the tourist season. I’m not the first to come to this conclusion, I won’t be the last, but it must be said. The combination of spring break families with 2.5 children and the outer Virginia families that make their annual Metro ride in from the sticks can be too much for anyone with a commuter life. The festival attracts a lot of the locals to the big, sprawling, kind of scary city. Here are some tips to parse out the two groups.

Ohio tourists (accepting the award for everyone from beyond Virginia): Mom, Dad, 2.5 kids. They don’t dress mid-Atlantic and they apparently take their luggage with them everywhere they go. You see lots of Ohio St. Buckeye hats and shirts, khaki capri pants, white shorts, and well-groomed children. The entire family enjoys the wall-mounted Metro map! Pay particular attention when noting the kids: any self-respecting goth or punk rocker is not going to D.C. with the family to learn about history and stuff. The black-clad minion will figure out a way to stay home for the week and live with a friend, or better yet, how to have a keg party in the family split-level home.

Virginia/local tourist: The goth/punk kid presence is the first sign. Clearly, this family has driven from Richmond to the Vienna Metro and is riding into D.C. as a nuclear family. Angst riddled kids have a hard time convincing the parents that they can’t spend even one day with the family. I also don’t think many Ohio tourist stay in hotels out in the suburbs, which means most families on the Metro in Virginia I classify as locals. They don’t have the roller bags, there’s no look of real fear, and only the kids usually check the Metro map on the wall. The adults no doubt worked in the city at some point or another; they don’t find the mass transit map all that interesting.

I will be acting the tourist this weekend while Laurel and I visit some of the spots we missed in January, primarily the Washington Monument and Jefferson Memorial. How do I reconcile myself to this fate? Well, I’ll have my messenger bag (sure sign of the commuter), we’ll both have SmartTrip cards (the call of the commuter), and I always give Laurel the city brief on day one (teachings of the commuter). By the time we ride into the depths of Ballston Metro we’ll look tough, we’ll ignore the lost (unless they ask for help…we are actually nice), and we’ll push people out of the way if we have too. Questions?

Thought not.

T.

damned stairs

I had two run-ins with elevators this morning and that’s more than the required amount of zero. The Moving Stairs Workers Union (and they get a lot of work around these parts) were doing maintenance on the single-track lazy rider that runs from our skywalks to the Metro plaza so the Eleven had to walk down actual stairs. I find it unacceptable if for no other reason than it disrupts the perfect pace of those with 36” inseams. After a peck kiss and sobbing separation inside the Ballston station (she goes New Carrollton way; I go Vienna) I smoothly swipe my SmartTrip card, grab a bus transfer (click click print print), and head for the elevator down to the tracks. My sunglasses still on, looking cool, a good rhythm in my stride, and onto the escalator as always…stammer, stumble, what the hell? The escalator isn’t actually running (which happens often enough) - it’s imitating stairs - and I’m not expecting the surprise of a sudden slowdown; it’s the reverse feeling you get when stepping off the moving walkway and finding out you don’t have the correct rotation speed. You can’t help looking a bit idiotic. I really should pay more attention during my commute.

I’m grilling black bean burgers (for us) and hot dogs (for monkeys) this evening, if you feel like stopping over they’ll be ready about 6:30. I include this information only as exculpatory evidence that I indeed cook food to order for everyone living at, or visiting, the executive dining room on North Park Dr.; and, as an attempt to offset someone’s smirk this morning when I said I was abracadabra-ing salmon and magic potatoes for Laurel tomorrow evening. So there.

T.

the power of one

A few weeks back Sen. Hagel (I’m name dropping again) was asked something along the lines of “how easy will it be for you to run as an anti-war candidate?” He paused as he always seems to, and then answered thusly, “who said I’m anti-war? I’m not anti-war, but I don’t support the execution of this war.” And there it is.

What reminded me of the press conference was some talk in the car the other day as we were heading out to buy Easter Egg Hunt goodies for the kids (my idea; there will be four here on Sunday). And we don’t need to go into any discussion about holy days and candy; I honestly don’t think much about it…so there. Anyway, my stance when it comes to this point of war/anti-war classification is similar: I’m neither. In the case of Afghanistan – fire away, in the case of Iraq – I wasn’t onboard. Either way, the die was cast and we end up in Iraq…now what do we do? Well, as a jumping off point, we should have done what we did 15 years ago and sent in 400,000+ troops. The U.S. military is a machine and it's not too caught up in the politics of 'invade or stay home', or the worries of international support; it doesn’t care, nor does the enemy. The military does what it’s told to do, but the one thing you can't do is handcuff it by not supplying the overwhelming force needed for a given mission. The inability to manage the after-effects of the conventional combat mission (how did no one think beyond 5-10 days?) was criminal. Who plans for ten days when they decide to invade a country? This very first mistake laid the path to where we are right now. Four years later, innumerable opportunities to at least attempt to fix things, and what we get is 20,000 additional troops in Baghdad? Gen Petraeus, who’s now the commander of combat troops in Iraq, rewrote the Army’s counterinsurgency field manual in 2004, here’s basically what it says:

“The new field manual recommends a troop density of at least 20 combat troops to every 1,000 people in Iraq. There are 6 million people in Baghdad, which means the manual would suggest 120,000 combat troops to effectively secure the city. Right now, there are about 130,000 U.S. troops in all of Iraq, and of those 60,000 are support troops or personnel, American officials say.” (pbs.org)

My Nebraska math says that we had (pre-surge) about 70,000 combat troops in all of Iraq. That leaves a shortage of 50,000 troops IF we move all of them to Baghdad. Let’s say we do that, and we bring in 50,000 more; what do we do about Mosul, Tal Afar, the rest of the Sunni Triangle? We just ripped all those troops from the rest of the country so we’d need to backfill in order to continue to secure the country – in fact, based on the training manual we’d need a total of over 530,000 combat troops (July 2006 Iraq population estimate 26.7 million [www.cia.gov]) – so I’m at a total of nearly 450,000 additional troops if we really needed to secure the country, or a minimum of 120,000 if we were just securing Baghdad and backfilling in other areas. I’ll make this easier:

120,000 additional combat troops if you want to get off on the cheap
450,000 additional combat troops if you want to get the job done

Our answer: 20,000+.

Unfortunately, we’ve got a shortage of troops these days and somehow believe that we can only rotate x number in-country on yearly tours. But, if as it's claimed, this is the most important war since WWII, and if we must contain the region and secure Iraq, then you send in every troop you have, you tell them they’ll be there ‘for the duration’, and you finish the job. Would that suck? Yes. Did WWII suck? Yes. If the guys in suits running this war want to win then they have to flood the country in order to secure it. At that point, and only at that point, can we talk about the political solution that is buzzing around the big blue sky. How does anyone expect Iraqis to be happy (or even content) with the security situation when daily life is so shitty? Never mind what John McCain says about ‘walking around Baghdad’ as if all is peachy…he’s lost his train of thought. I’ve read somewhere that Baghdad averages about six hours of electrical power each day…six hours! My bathtub backs up and I'm thoroughly pissed off. Power. Water. Security. According to Pentagon spokespeople the cost of the war started at $4.4 billion/month in 2003 and is up to a forecasted $8.8 billion/month in 2008. More math for me, and I’ll be generous to the Administration, says that by the end of 2007 we’ll be in this thing for upwards of $360 billion – we can’t get the power on in Baghdad? I’m pretty sure that in Todd’s Top Ten Ways to Prevent Hatred and Insurgency, infrastructure is pretty high on the list. If you want your money to fight the war, Mr. Bush, then make some hard decisions.

Here’s my support for the situation in Iraq: send in everyone or get the hell out. Throwing an additional 20,000 troops into the situation is putting 20,000 more military members in harm’s way for no good tactical or strategic mission. None. You want my anti-war stance? More troops. There you have it.

Now the 29% of Americans who still support this Administration can go back to reading Us Magazine, debating about Britney Spears' breakdown, and watching Fox News.

I’m done.

T.

a time to golf

There’s a disc golf course just down Carlin Springs Road from our digs here in Arlington and the weather finally convinced me to order a new set of discs. I’ve had two previous careers in disc golf: the first was in the early 1980s when my high school friends and I used to play the 9-hole course at Elmwood Park in Omaha. Back in those days we played with regular frisbees and the holes were solid fiberglass, inverted cones, that kicked the discs down into small fiberglass buckets. My second career came in the mid-90s when I was living back in Omaha and I played quite a bit in leagues and tournaments in the Omaha and Lincoln area. Great leaps have been made in the sport and the holes are now much easier to finish since they’ve moved to using chains as deflectors for the basket. Sometime between my careers they built a nice 18-hole course in Omaha, with two sets of tee pads, in a lovely rolling park – many evenings were spent playing that course trying to perfect my approach shots. My alternate disc career during the 90s was while I was deploymented to Eskan village in Saudi Arabia. The massive 'camp' had thousands of villas with parks between seperate sectors, benchs, long alleys, open streets, and about a half-dozen object courses painted thoughout. Object courses are simply 18-hole sets that use paint to mark poles, or boxes painted on walls, or benches painted as the finish. Paint lines indicated hole number, tee areas and pars. We used 175 gram ultimate discs and played thousands of rounds on the differing courses; those nights may be the best memories of my time in the military. The huge difference in that set-up was that you routinely skipped discs off the ground, bounced them off walls, and tried to hooked long shots around two-story villas...it was a blast. Of course, we also had to scale walls to retrieve errant discs from the roofs of the unoccupied, and locked, villas. After arriving here I noticed a course in Bluemont Park and started thinking about getting back to the sport once this Spring rolled around…so here I go. This course is a 9-hole setup with three sets of tees and four pin placements on each hole; it also looks absolutely covered in trees so I’m guessing that accuracy will be much more important than distance. When you get to be in your 40s you understand you’re limited to ‘accuracy’ in most sporting endeavors – forget about distance and strength. (Let me correct; in my 40s everything is accuracy, not just sports. Got nothing left...) I’ll assume that the sport (and the courses here in northern Virginia) are still populated by semi-retired soccer players, liberals, hippies, former skateboarders, those that smell of weed, and all-around cool people. I should have my kit by early next week. Fore!

emperors III, etc.

The John and Elizabeth Edwards announcement / interview / declaration generated a lot of reflection not only on his campaign but what was apparently already known in politico circles; she is the stronger character in that partnership. Politically, I never cared much for Edwards as a candidate and I’m not sure how this will affect his campaign in the short term. In the final solution I don’t think he’ll continue his presidential campaign for much longer.

Bill Richardson was on Jon Stewart last week – bonus points for that (I should get his book). The rest of the Dems are keeping their heads down, even the Hillary / Obama Apple mash-up video didn’t much interest me. I remember the commercial in its first iteration and never thought it was as ground-breaking as everyone else believed. A few numbers change, particularly an increase in the Edwards numbers for everyone else, a drop in my Edwards numbers because I don’t think he’ll be running come summertime.

I find it hard to believe that Giuliani has a 20 point lead on McCain in ANY poll. I’m sticking to my guns on Giuliani not having a chance at the nomination but I’ll give him a few more points just ‘cause. I think the polls only reflect what most Americans know about Giuliani – being mayor of NYC on September 11th. Once his stance on the issues come to the fore the numbers will drop. The winds blowing around Fred Thompson thinking about entering the campaign have been interesting but I don’t know enough about him, politically, to make any kind of judgment. The most I can say about him is that he speaks well.

Democrats	My Vote	The Nation
Clinton	23	42
Obama	27	32
Richardson	40	4
Edwards	5	20
Dodd	1	0
Biden	3	0
Kucinich	1	0

'Publicans	My Vote	The Nation
McCain	85	55
Giuliani	10	25
Romney	5	15
Brownback	0	5
Hunter	0	0

Yes, I read the Supreme Court slip decision (at least the dissenting opinions) on the EPA case. I know! I can’t help it. I learned what parens patriae means and will work it into my converations as often as possible.

Nothing else for now. Warm this week, colder over the weekend. Feel free to quote me if required.