from here to there

I'll end September with an endorsement of my TomTom portable GPS. We ended up going from Ft. Myer to X's work this afternoon after a doctor's appointment and she swung us around a beautiful route into downtown D.C. From there I asked her the best way home to which she asked if I'd rather take a bit longer, geographically, route but save four minutes of travel time due to traffic avoidance. Hell yes, I typed with my pointy finger. I had my doubts but I ended up getting routed for a short run on the GW Parkway, a dump into Arlington, and then onto I-66. Simply perfect. That whole satellite, live traffic, and eleventy-billion maps and routes is sweet. I won't doubt her anymore. Of course, I was going to change the voice to Raul (Spanish) but H. told me that wasn't such a great idea. I think X is also duly impressed. If you've ever spent any time in the NoVa / D.C. area then you know the roads, signage, and travel can be an absolute nightmare - if she can make it here, she can make it anywhere.

The weather has turned to my favorite: cool for here autumn. Suppose to get down into the mid-40s tonight and our highs have struggled to get near 70 all week. Perfect.

Maybe I'll have more come October.

kick, drum, heart

I've read quite a bit about the Avett Brothers over the years but not enough to go and get the music. Big mistake. Their new album, I and Love and You, hits stores on Tuesday and here's a little vignette about a song called Kick Drum Heart. I've gone back and downloaded their stuff from emusic.com. They were here in D.C. early last summer but I hadn't been converted - they'll be in Baltimore next month but I'm holding out for a return D.C. date later in the album tour. Here's the tour page from the Web site so if they hit your area I'd highly recommend a night out - the shows are suppose to be excellent.

I didn't make it to Dallas over the weekend. I had the flu come on Thursday morning - stayed home from work - and it flared up worse Friday afternoon so I decided that two, 3 1/2 hour flights in three days and infecting the entire family wasn't the best idea. It wasn't as bad as I thought but I suspect it would have been horrid had I flown. I'm very disappointed to have missed my father's party - I had all my photos collected for the get together.

For those following along, my primary fantasy football team with my co-workers is absolutely horrid. Horrid.

My beloved spent all day building a new airing shelf for the bedroom. The classic wardrobe was unsat so she purchased an L-shaped set of shelves, got out the saw, drill, rachets, and curtain material to create a masterwork in the boudoir. I know it's seems like that would be man's work but man was cleaning the living room, kitchen, and cooking dinner for the hordes. That's manly, right?

Hockey season is upon us and I've found another single-seat holder in my row so we've agreed to marry up our seats - moving a few couples left and right - and I now have two seats for 21 games vice a single seat for 41. If nothing else, I'll save money on beer.

Back to work in the AM to wrap up a few projects.

I've I passed along that I'd rather be a student and a baker? Dreams.

t

white flag

"In the age of computers, I just tell the children, what if we are on an island and don't have electricity? One of the ways we communicate is through writing," she said.

Listen here, if I’m a deserted island then I have greater issues than handwriting. Really? If The Eleven is on the island together we'll just chat – no need to write. What? Am I going to mail her a card? If I’m by myself on the island who exactly am I leaving a sticky note for? That quote is funny on many levels.

The article, hat tip to Dan, does reveal a few things about society and our conservative desire to maintain our days of yore. Do you know why we wrote more when we were in school back in 1972? There wasn’t another option – amazing! Don’t get me wrong, kids need to know how to write, and read writing, in order to get through day-to-day operations but cursive is a joke. This actually came up last fall when G.’s grandmother sent him a very beautifully (hand)-written birthday card. I was standing in the kitchen cooking dinner and pointed out the hand-addressed envelope sitting on the counter (which he didn’t know was for him even though he’d already seen it – you’ll now why in a second). He tore it open reluctantly – can you tear and be reluctant? – threw the savings bond certificate on the floor in disgust (it’s not actual cash or a Pokemon card), looked at the card as if a pig staring at a stopwatch, and said to me, “What is this?” I told him a story about olden folks and how they all have this lovely handwriting skill – my mother has impeccable cursive – and that’s how they write notes to grandchildren. I told him to give it a go and we’d see how far along he could get in her message; this little test began and ended with him uttering “Ddddurrr Ssssssle….I can’t read any of this.” He handed me the card which I read directly to him as if he were blind and I his home aide; “Dear G., wishing you a Happy Birthday….etc.” – all perfectly formed and quite beautiful. Being that he was in fifth grade at the time, and in one of the better school districts in America, I assumed they weren’t teaching cursive anymore. (I actually think they do make the kids learn it but it’s not like my days with Ms. Ferrarini at Rockbrook in Omaha.) I realized at that moment that ‘knowledge’ of cursive in this day and age is only needed so you can read the words, not write them. In fact, I never stuck to cursive much after elementary school and have always done my writing via the man-loved method of printing. As we were wrapping up this little lesson I told him as much, as far as I am concerned: you need to be able to write legibly but whether that’s in cursive or print is up to you. I also told him that he might want to try to remember how to read cursive letters, just in case, but I don’t think either input stuck. There’s nothing left specifically for cursive. I’d like to see schools focus on legibility but even that might be too much to ask for these days.

This also ties into my (former) worry about mapreading skills. I happen to love maps and they’re quite useful for some grand overview needs – don’t even ask us about the geekfest that Dan and I had with maps last weekend. It helps to know where countries or cities are on a map but beyond that, actual map reading is about dead and gone. There won’t be any more trips where my Dad tells me to unfurl the map of the Vancouver city centre and sort out which one-way street northbound is nearest our location. It’s sad, really. I broke down this week and bought a TomTom Go 740 Live GPS for the rig. I’m probably a bit behind the curve on getting a portable for a few reasons: first, I like maps. Second, I felt that all these things were really accomplishing was turning everyone into mouthbreathers. (Oops.) I just feel like I’m pointing the arrow and turning the roundy-wheel thingy and the magic box will take me to my house or the nearest snack. No actual skills involved aside from typing. I know; I shouldn’t make fun of a club I’ve just joined. “I’m hungry, press some letters on the wizard box, find me sandwich, point my car…”

Of course, the problem with the portable GPS and our lack of map reading skills is, “what if we are on an island and don't have electricity?” How will we be able to read the map we happened to have brought along? How will we find the other side of the island?

I’ll stop.

T

p.s. I’m off to Dallas this evening for a quick weekend visit for my father’s 75th. Do they have the Internets in Texas?

chimes

“I take full responsibility for my own actions and for those of my administration. As angry as I may be about activities undertaken without my knowledge, I am still accountable for those activities. As disappointed as I may be in some who served me, I’m still the one who must answer to the American people for this behavior … A few months ago I told the American people I did not trade arms for hostages. My heart and my best intentions still tell me that’s true, but the facts and the evidence tell me it is not.”

Andrew Sullivan wrote an open letter to former President Bush in the new issue of The Atlantic. This extract of a Reagan speech comes up towards the end and can stand on it’s own as a mea culpa that many of us could use.

Having spent my 20 years in the military, and being trained in survival and prisoner situations, the torture we blindly allowed to happen tore into me deeply. From day one there was no excuse, there’s no excuse now, there’s no excuse ever. That’s my piece.

t

If you ain't cheatin', you ain't tryin'

Motorsport entry! Motorsport entry!

I don't get this. Another Formula 1 controversy (pronounced: khan-trah-vezy) has resolved itself this week. I love Formula 1 but it may be the most mafia-like sport in the World. Renault (Benetton as they will always be to me - home of four World Champions) was dynamited when former driver Nelson Piquet, Jr. revealed that he intentionally crashed during a race last year in order to sway the outcome towards his teammate, Fernando Alonso. What's even more interesting than the result for his teammate, who I think finished third or so, was that the rest of the field was jumbled and the eventual World Champion would not have won the title if it'd been a straight race. The details have to do with crashing on the track in a position and style that would warrant the safety car to come out thus screwing with everyone's fuel strategy; this is some pretty heinous racing stuff. When you're dealing with race fixing - which is what this was, especially intentional crashing - then the sport has some serious issues. When the story broke, all those primarily involved including team technical director Pat Symonds and owner / director (and all-World Playboy) Flavio Briatore denied everything. Of course, there's little chance they were telling the truth. (In fact, the telemetry alone from the car should have tipped off F1A to the cheating.) Eventually, both resigned and have been banned for something like five years to infinity. The team will continue to exist on a two-year probationary period. I felt the punishment was lame on all fronts. I would have suspended the team - across the board - from F1 for at least ten years and fined the ownership something near an assload of money.

To put things in perspective, McLaren-Mercedes was found guilty a few years ago of having confidential Ferrari tech manuals. They denied it, it went to the court of appeals, and they were found guilty. This is some Cold War-like espionage but I don't put it on the same level as actually fixing a race. Their punishment included some probation and a fine equal to $100 million. Pay up, baby! $100 million is absurd but it would certainly sends a message - or, one would think so. Apparently, Renault didn't get the memo. Then again, they didn't have to vacate any results and they still get constructor money.

The McLaren fine got us talking about the Patriots and SpyGate a few years back. I think the Pats were chastised and lost a first-round pick (which isn't nothing) and paid a million dollar fine ($500k from the team and $500k from Bill Belichick). Imagine if the NFL has been badass and fined a team a cool $100 million? That would have made news.

state your case

(map print graphic: chris yates)

G. is in the throes of learning the U.S. states in school. I remember writing reports on states when I was in fourth grade at Rockbrook elementary. My teacher, Ms. Reid (who also read us "Where the Red Fern Grows"), had each of us choose two states to research and report. I clearly remember choosing Delaware, our first state, but I’ll be damned if I can remember my second report. This was back in the days when you got some tracing paper, glue, colored pencils, and possibly a typewriter, in order to create the project (I also remember my mother taking mine to her work and spiral-binding it). A few trips to the library, or the encyclopedias if you had them, and you’d eventually have enough data to put together the standard 9- or 10-year-old’s highly plagiarized work. Seriously, who are we kidding? Aside from some pasting and coloring, every kid that age is just copying text verbatim from the source; we live with it because they’re kids and we aren’t looking for free thought or expression.

Where I grew up we didn’t hit the big state and state capital quiz/test until eighth grade: Valley View Junior High School and Mr. Roslowksi’s U.S. History class. What he used as learning tools were a screen, an overhead projector, and two light sabers. (Not actual light sabers but toy ones that whistled as you wiped them through the air – this was about a year after Star Wars came out.) Mr. R would simply project a blank map of America with state borders on the screen and have the first two kids head up, one on either side of the screen with light sabers at the ready. He’d call out either a state or a capital and the first knucklehead to point to, or whack at, the correct state would then spell both the state and the capital in order to claim victory. And don’t, for one moment, think you could get away with “l-i-n-c-o-l-n”. It had to be “capital L-i-n-c-o-l-n”; same rule for the states. Trebek had nothing on Mr. R. The winner stayed at the screen while the conquered returned to his or her seat. The next kid in the row then came up prepared for battle. We played this game for about 15 or 20 minutes every day for a few weeks while everyone studied at home and readied for the inevitable 100-question test that arrived two or three weeks into the school year.

I spent every weekend on I-80 between Omaha and Lincoln, from about fifth or sixth grade on, in transit with my dad. He’d come up to Omaha, pick me up on Friday afternoon, and we’d drive the 45-minutes back to Lincoln (repeat backwards on Sundays). I remember the first few miles out of Omaha were often filled with some news from NPR (as if I’d ever listen to that) or KEZO 92.3 back when it was easy listening. After about ten miles I’d no doubt begin to beg him to ask me stuff – trivial stuff – in order to pass the time. It was during these trips that I learned all manner of maths, history, and geography…including all the states and their capitals. (We also played a game where we’d try to guess, as close as possible, what mile marker number would be on the overpasses as we’d approach. I pretty quickly sorted out that there were 25 poles between each mile marker and the last three digits of the overpass would be some number that equated to the number of posts passed and some then some slop added on. If the overpass was between markers 415 and 416 – going eastbound – and we’d passed 13 poles, the overpass would be labeled something like 415053. Going westbound would require counting, multiplying, and then subtracting. Ah, the Eisenhower Interstate System. For those in Vermont, feel free to ignore this mile marker thing since there’s no functioning system up there.) Anyhow, by the time I got to eighth grade the states and capitals were second nature to me. I knew that unless I mucked up my spelling of Phoenix I’d easily get 100% with no studying required, but that wasn’t all there was to the story.

Our class, for some reason, wasn’t seated alphabetically; I think Mr. R just randomly drew names and put two random kids at each two-person desk/table. I ended up at the front-right corner of the class, table one, and so the first day of state / capital battle began with me and the poor kid next to me kicking off what I fondly remember as “Todd kicks everyone’s ass at states and capitals”, or something very close to that. I spent the entire first week at the screen and suspect I might have approached Lou Gehrig-like records; I’m sure the school maintained the stats until the day it closed, and the quarterly newspaper may have touted “Eighth-grader’s Streak Reaches 400”. Every record and every streak eventually ends. We all knew during those halcyon days exactly who would end my reign - we just didn’t know in which inning. Every run through the room meant I had to vanquish AO*. She sat somewhere in the middle of the room and as the warriors fell, one-by-one, the tension would grow as the class saw the looming showdown. Every pass through her got tougher and tougher and I probably won the first six or eight battles before the defeat. When the moment arrived we both knew what we had to do: keep track as best as we could what states and capitals had been called out over the last ten or twelve jousts and then sit on the curveball. In the moments it took for her to get to the screen we both knew what states we were sitting on. Maybe I was thinking Raleigh, Tennessee, and Columbus. Maybe she was on the western side of the map and working Olympia, Idaho, and Santa Fe – the speed at which we lashed out with the sabers meant there was no time for thinking: you had to bet ahead, sit on the pitch, and swing from the heels; hero or zero.

I don’t remember what state she beat me on that day. It was no doubt an honest go on both our parts, but she was the better woman that day. There was no luck involved, I had no injuries, I was focused – simply beaten. We had a few more days of the game after that classic set-to but the mystery was over and the king was dead. The other kids were all getting quicker and the distance between haves and have-nots closed rapidly. As we moved further into autumn the game became more pure review than a game – AO and I probably split our final 6 or 8 contests with little fanfare. The final test came and went and if I remember correctly everyone scored at least 95% and we moved on to other historical topics. Those days only slowly faded away.

I was telling G. about learning the states and capitals this morning while he was studying the first 25 and eating his breakfast. (Not the whole story, just about learning them in the car.) He said something along the lines that knowing the states and capitals when you didn’t have to know them seemed like some sort of craziness to him. He couldn’t understand why I’d memorized them. I told him it was similar to he and his brother memorizing every Pokemon or Magic card – a hobby…something you enjoy. And, no doubt, some bonding with my father. I think he thought that was an okay explanation in the end: He didn’t even know the part about my standing on the summit for those grand weeks back in 1978. I told him that if he misspelled Nebraska on his test he’d be grounded.

One other tip that I’d like to pass along to any eighth graders who are reading: Lusitania. You may not know it now but it’ll come up.

Love to all

t

*I’m using initials because it was funny, and strange, to have someone find their name in the blog whilst searching the Internet a few years ago. We ended up having a pretty funny conversation about it via e-mail but I’ve decided to limit names – protecting the innocent and all that jazz. Truth be told, I sort of had a crush on AO - maybe she was to me what the Katharines are to G.

pinks

After beginning the season - actually a bit early for new seasons, but our beginning anyway - with the Oresteia (Dizzy Miss Lizzies Roadside Revue) at the Keegan earlier this summer, I've now grabbed a few second row, center seats for Orestes at the Folger Shakespeare Theater next spring. It's a Friday night and I think I can drag the gal out as the weather will finally be warming. Instead of getting the S&M, rock n' roll version of the travails of Agamemnon, Cassandra, Electra, Clytemnestra, and gang we'll give it a real Shakesy go at the Globe Theatre-like venue in D.C. What's so funny is that as I was ordering the tickets online, and filling out the appropriate boxes, my initial 'order' click was revoked because I didn't select a salutation / title. I've done some ordering online and I've never entered, nor been rejected for failing to enter, my 'title'. That is some hardcore requirement; I was tempted to select Msr. if t'were available. Maybe they stock whisky and martinis for the guys and sherry for that gals...you never know.

Someone, who will remain nameless, sent me an e-mail today suggesting crab rangoons to go with the planned goat cheese enchiladas at her party...oops, I slipped. Who comes up with rangoons and enchiladas?

My life.

patty

You are probably better off to just go to hulu.com and search for Patty Griffin, plug in the the headphones, and listen to about 32 minutes that may well change your views on music. I saw her in D.C. a few years back, with this same band of bands, and she's brilliant.

Her guitar player, and band leader, is Doug Lancio, one of my two apostles of Doug. The second being Lucinda Williams' axe man, Doug Pettibone.

Enjoy.

t.

the gals

Here's the much desired Eva Solo freshly unpacked and then immediately secured in the Tower:

And here's the classic K-4b. Green up if you will....

xyzpdq

We were on the Metro last night and after a gentleman got off somewhere in NoVa, X turned to me and asked, “Should I have told that man that his fly was open?” An interesting question which I only pondered for a few seconds; and my answer is no. My theory is that pointing out an open fly is reserved for family (wife or girlfriend included), friends, or co-workers. It may seem a bit counterintuitive because you think you’re preventing embarrassment but the fact of the matter is that on a public train the pointing out only increases exposure. A man is hard-pressed to zip up, covertly, so just letting it slide is probably best. You also have to realize that you’re probably one of the few that might notice since we’re all standing – more than likely – and guy will be walking when he leaves the train; no one notices an open barn door when someone passed them. They’ll eventually sort out the situation with far fewer folks involved so I suggest letting it go.

Two exciting arrivals at the house yesterday: a new Eva Solo coffee carafe and a (new) classic KitchenAid K-4B mixer. This newborn Eva will represent the third in a line of Solos that I keep breaking (it truly is a lack of caring). I have new procedures in place that involve washing it while using three hands, drying immediately, and storing in a series of pillows and precious nothings. I know you’re thinking the Eva is pricey but it’s truly the best system we’ve had. The idea is simple in that the grounds don’t get crushed (French press) and they don’t actually sit on top of the water and slowly pass through, getting delayed, in the pile grounds. With the floating grounds you get full exposure, no packing, and you then pour the water out of the flask with very little coffee ground stall. Trust me, it’s the best handmade coffee and I have at least one sometimes grumpy, coffee-demanding-on-weekend girlfriend to back me up.

The KitchenAid is a different story. I’ve eyed the behemoths for years but never really convinced myself to drop $300 on one. I used Corey’s a few times when we lived on N. Park and they certainly make any number of things easier; but what I’m really talking about is pie crust and bread dough. I decided to shop around a bit on eBay and also ended up learning there’s an entire Web world of KitchenAid mixer whackjobs, and I use whackjob lovingly. Like anything else these days there are forums, question time, photos, and myriad opinions on every product ever made. The K-4B was introduced in 1944 to replace the K-4A and produced until 1962; as if I knew that off the top of my head. There are loads of people who swear by the older models, particularly the quality of the motors, to the exclusion of the newer, heavy-duty configurations; the K-4B is also a tilting head version mixer so it’ll remind my innocent youth. I finally yanked it out of it peanut packing cocoon this morning and fired it up to make sure everything was in working order. The tinned bowl, whisk, dough mixer (it’s not a hook) all seem in excellent shape and the motor sounds smooth and sweet, sort of like turning over an old, classic car. I’ll send along some photos later tonight. This entire mission reminded me of X buying a 1950s-era Singer sewing machine a few years back. I think it was $50 to haul away and then needed only a tune-up and new belt. That total cost came to something like $125 and the sewing machine repair shop guy showed great interest in either buying or stealing that warrior of a machine. The mixer ran me $48 plus shipping and it seems worth the effort.

Speaking of last night, the Eleven hit the Kennedy Center for the opera. The new season kicked off with The Barber of Seville which I place soundly at the top of my opera rankings. As I’ve mentioned before, I don’t have much technical ability to review the intricacies of opera but The Barber isn’t nearly as deep and dreary as others. I’m sure there’s an entire catalog of comedy operas of which I’m unfamiliar – you know, those where no one die – so maybe there’s others to consider. We like everyone in the show and agreed immediately, post-show, on performances of Rosina (Ketevan Kemoklidze) and Almaviva (Juan Francisco Gatell). As I’ve point out to my sig-other on many occasions, theatre, opera, and live music fill some powerful place for me. Whenever I’m there I always appreciate the fact that all they players are expending all their energy and love of the art just so I can be entertained for two or three hours. Always time well spent.

I have a birthday/dinner party to plan for this weekend; I have the center piece of the meal but having trouble with the peripheries.

T

sort of lightening it up

This was some great stuff. Neither of them are around anymore.

Patrick Swayze - Chippendale
by tressage

Who's the cooler at the Road House?

after withholding

I've simply left any number of disturbing rants in my edit box. Here's something that I wholly agree with, even if Andrew Sullivan doesn't. He lives in D.C. so I'm sure he also saw the piles of protesters this weekend. It's not just health care and a logical debate. That being said, at least this opinion settles down a bit of my racist ideas, but not a whole lot. Read if you please.

real-time reporter

Two things to pass along.

1. I haven't seen one non-white, non-middle aged (aside from their children brought along), tea-bagging, health care hating, gun-toting protester on the mall today. I'm pretty sure they all have insurance.

2. I'm cool with protesting and gathering but I'm not cool with the "patriot", "made in America", and "taxpayer" labels, stickers, and self-proclaimations. What you're intoning is that you are and anyone who doesn't agree with you, isn't.

and then you have this...

The Daily Show With Jon Stewart	Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c
Tea Party Tyranny
www.thedailyshow.com
Daily Show Full Episodes Political Humor Healthcare Protests

Love to all

t

p.s. I just saw a dude wearing a "Club Gitmo" t-shirt. Nice.

does that road end?

Sometime over the last few weeks there was some discussion of speed reading; I had flashbacks to infomercials from the 1970s touting Evelyn Woods' course meant to increase my speed and get me closer to the year 2000 and the floating cars; that comes from the mind of a ten year-old. I always thought, when sitting at home in front of the three-channel capable TV, that being able to speed read would make me well impressive. But when it came up at work I tried to think of a need for speed reading in my life. The only area that would be remotely suited to speed reading for me might be the Sunday paper and even that's a reach. Beyond that possibility I got nothing. It seems to me that you read for two reasons: academics and leisure. In either case, I think you're better off reading either for comprehension or enjoyment and not pure acceleration. It certainly isn't going to help me out to rip through any type of textbook or technical publication that requires some thinking and fairly deep comprehension. If I'm reading for leisure then I'm probably reading for enjoyment and there are few that posit pleasure being achieved in the quickest possible time (no jokes, please.) I don't want to be done with East of Eden quicker because I want to soak in the language and enjoy the story; it's the same with the history I read. I make my decisions about books, and whether I'll finish them, in the first 20 or 30 pages - the writing manner is key, not the subject matter. My method of speed reading is not read stuff I don't like or appreciate. One of the questions that came up when were talking was this: Do you have the ability was to put down a leisure reading project if it doesn't grab your attention pretty quickly? For me, yes; I simply stop reading but I don't think everyone is like that; there must be people who feel the need to slog through to the final page and notch up accomplishment. I'm not sure if using a library for your books or if buying them has any effect on that need but maybe I can look into a $1m government grant to conduct a formal study.

There was a link at (from?) Andrew Sullivan today that fell right into my thinking...and into some parallel universe so hold on tight. The premise of the post is, "How much stuff are you really going to get through in the grand scheme of things"? Are you missing something? What are your odds of getting through all the good stuff? It reminds me of Fermat's Last Theorem and the misread logic of us normal folk. This last theorem (last being the last we were able to prove) is an easily comprehended mathematical problem / statement for most us, unlike some other deep and disturbing theorems. What Fermat, a career math hobbyist, put forth was based on the well known Pythagorean theorem, A² + B² = C². He said, as a proven theorem, that this equation cannot be true for any positive whole number (the same whole number) greater than 2 in the exponential position. Unfortunatly, all Fermat left behind was his statement and not his notes. (Is this more than you want to know? Too bad, my blog, my typing.) As an example, he said that A³ + B³ = C³ will never be true. Of course, by "understandable" I meant you could comprehend what he was saying not how to prove the theorem to be correct. (By the way, if you want some good math reading here's the link to the book. Simon Singh's other book The Code Book is also very good.) Don't fret, I'm getting to the full circle part, at least in my mind. As one begins to try to prove this theorem you'd begin to think, as Singh describes, some methodology where if you could eliminate either all the even or all the odd whole integers then you'd be cutting your work by half. Funny that; it's just what I was thinking when I was reading the book. (Or course, I also thought the Caesar Role of encryption was uncrackable...I'm very gullible.) After you turn the page and keep reading Singh hits you with the more than obvious problem with this odd and even number tomfoolery: infinity is sort of infinite and your idea hasn't actually done anything to limit your work. Now, we circle. The speed reading thing ties into this idea in my little head. If all your speed reading, day and night, helped you get through 8/1000ths of 1% of all the books in the World (if I did my percent conversion to words correctly) have you really gotten anywhere? It doesn't seem like much to me and doesn't honestly add much to the art of reading for learning or reading for enjoyment.

I know, someone has some response about the need to read faster if you have to get through loads of coursework; but, my position on that is you do become a faster reader the more you read but it's not necessarily speed reading. I had to at least throw in that disclaimer.

Carry on with your weekend.

beep beep!

I think it was yesterday that Andrew Sullivan passed along his view of the Republican base – Wile E. Coyote. The implied second blade is that Obama is the Roadrunner; and nothing – but nothing – has made me smile like this in months. Of course, the newest reason to support this parable was the President’s speech yesterday to open the school year. It was announced and, as if on cue, the completely unhinged smooth brains ran to the hills crying wolf. Dear lord (no deep meaning intended), the President is going to speak to our children! What do we do? How will we survive? Blah blah blah blah. Anyone who fell for that pitched fit should be embarrassed. I read the text ahead of time and then watched the speech later: the nerve of the President to tell kids that they have a responsibility to work hard, stay in school, and make the country stronger. Quick, get me a damp compress! I’m recanting my vote. If you haven’t gone to the link above, the video above is the parable for tonight’s health care speech. (P.S. don’t order stuff from Acme, it doesn’t work.)

this and a bunch of that

The tomatoes were canned and I'm on the lookout for fresh figs (jam canning) but haven't had any luck. They were selling mission fig trees at the market and apparently they'll grow here but I haven't had any luck finding a pile; I fear the days are numbered. One more go this weekend for the elusive little bastards.

What I have decided - figs or no figs - is that I'm ready to give handmade mozzarella a college try. I'll have a few things on order over the next week and I'll need a load of fresh, raw milk but I think it may work out well - there may well enough to pass about the neighborhood when I'm done.

We've got a load on the agenda for the rest of month: someone turns 40, the Caps kick off the pre-season, X is going to see Helen Mirren on stage in Phedre, we've got opera (Barber of Seville) next week, visitors arrive in two weeks time, I'm trying to travel to Dallas the last weekend of the month, the National Book Festival is on the Mall (looking to get L. a signed copy of The Last Olympian), the Hilltop Block Party is upon us, and I think I have some time at the LOC and USO on the docket. Maybe if I do away with work there'll be more time.

That's a late night late night.

what's that? way off in the distance...

I remember thinking over the summer that maybe we’d be better off with smaller and more locally-managed schools; I mean much smaller. In particular, I was thinking about elementary schools and the idea that if they were broken down to far less than a quarter of their current size we might be better off. The idea was unwittingly supported last night when there was a quick search of the elementary school Web site to find out what class one of the boys would in this year: there were either five or six sixth grade classes with 20 or 25 students in each. I hadn’t realized the school was large enough to accommodate 120-150 sixth graders. I don’t think all the grades are so large – no reason why I would think this way – but we’re still looking at 700-800 kids in one elementary school. I know this sounds crazy but what if there were 6-8 smaller schools located throughout the catchment area? The position of principal, all the administration, and all the maintenance could still be performed from a much smaller ‘school HQ’ located in the area. Since there are already six teachers working with sixth graders we could simply disburse them – and the locally-grown students – to one of the smaller schools. Instead of having a single 800-kid structure we could have 7 or 8 100-kid schools that I think would function on a much stronger academic and community basis. If there were eight small schools throughout a current school catchment then you’d have to believe a good bit of the buses and associated costs could be vastly reduced, if not eliminated. I understand there would be issues as families stay put, kids grow up, and configuring students-to-schools might become harder but I don’t think it’s impossible. Part of what drove this was thinking over the summer was when I thought about H’s school which has something like 120 kids, grades 4-12, that manages to utilize a fairly small geographic footprint but still has plenty of room and resources to have classes (entire grades) of 8-12 students. There are so many of the problems that bother me about public schools that could be eliminated with smaller, concentrated, and more focused schools. His school doesn’t even have a cafeteria – something that I find untroubling; I have no faith in the crap that most schools are feeding kids anyway (imagine the cost saving with no kitchen or staff?). That would mean that parents send lunch to school with kids, and I know that might be an issue, but at least if you want to poison your kid with junk then feel free; no one else has to actively support that decision. Why do we feel the need to continue even further down the big school road?

Another contributor to this idea rising again today is an article on the health care system by David Goldhill at the Atlantic. What strikes me most, within my idea of schools, was his premise that huge hospitals aren’t necessarily the best solution: consolidating everything into one behemoth that handles both catastrophic care and a good bit of the non-catastrophic care dulls competition. (Maybe I’m sort of paraphrasing.) If you can configure the system to where small, specialized clinics can meet the basic preventive care and minor needs of a smaller community then we might be onto something. I’m well aware that schools and health care seem like two completely different issues, but are they? Both require all of us to provide funding – via premiums or taxes – yet we often don’t get the say of the consumer: is it working? Is it quality? How do I feel about it?

Imagine a community where the schools and doctors were smaller planets that orbited much close to your environment? What about an elementary school that had five or six teachers that all the kids and parents were familiar with? I think it would much harder for a kid to get lost in the mix, or bullied, or fall behind if he’s in a smaller pool. As with the piece on health care, it’s not like anything of this magnitude can or will happen overnight: maybe it would take twenty or twenty-five years to get fully online. Well, so what? The greatest mistake we all make – when talking politics or thinking about exercising – is that we don’t ever really sell the future self idea. It seems so far away that we can’t get up the good head of steam needed to start pushing. Everything slips even further down the road while we ponder what to do. As X told me the other day, and duly cited the source, “Twenty years is going to pass regardless of what you do. You might as well get started.”

Ah, the future self.

it was roiling but i turned it down

The ricotta gnocchi turned out quite well. I looked over at my beloved about halfway through dinner and realized that there would be no leftovers for lunch tomorrow. The boys had beef ribs after any number of poor pork rib purchases. I rounded up an actual butcher (Canales Quality Meats at Eastern Market) yesterday and got some proper meat. I'm floored by my search for a neighborhood butcher ending up in nil; I still believe there must be a good place over in SE where there are actual people, neighbors, and true butchers - if anyone in D.C. has a good tip, I'd love to hear it. Along with the ribs I finally decided to go the way of truth when making fries as home for the little people: you've got to double fry them with an hour in the fridge inbetwixt. They get the the middle cooked on the first go and then fried up deep-and-gold on the second run. There was some talk of they being the best fries ever.

The gnocchi, which take a bit of love, came out very well. I threw the first piece in for testing as I was getting everything in line and it came out well enough but not cooked through; the cheese wasn't quite smooth; disaster. Another go and the second (more like 5 minutes after rising) was just perfect; that's when you know the goods are the goods. The warm bowls were complimented with some stewed wild mushrooms and lightly wilted sage, arugula, and spinach. I don't think there were any real worries aside from the gnocchi and they played along quite well; sauteed in some butter (and a dash of water) after rising. Regardless of what I think, they were gobbled up with abandon. I give it all a B+ because there's always an opening for more fluffy and creamy results. Practice makes perfect - you don't even want to know how many eggs I sacrificed in order to sort out the free-poaching of those bastards. Of course, I can now do it with my eyes closed. Now, if only, I could master hollandaise and/or bernaise. Fucking French.

Those pictures above? That's what my cat was doing all day while I was slaving over the kitchen (and scrubbing and cleaning the house). She's an ingrate.

I'd like to recommend The Rural Alberta Advantage to those that love music. They'll be here next month and I'll be right up front. Reminds me of Omaha.

Love to all.

t

not peckish

"I took Emma Hawkins, the great taxidermy and curio impresario, and she rather liked her nuggety bisque." - AA Gill

Gill's review in the Sunday Times isn't great, isn't horrible, sort of just middling for him. For some reason the above sentence got me to wondering just how I could become a great taxidermist and/or curio impresario. I'm half-tempted to start looking about for some community college or university program to begin working on next term. Since my 'business' cards already declare executive chef and chief correspondent the addition of any type of impresario or stuffer would only further impress.

I was preparing an Italian plum crumbcake and X looked and me and queried, "Who do you think is going to eat that?" You see, she's not much of a cake gal (though she does love this cake) so the idea of entire cake sitting about the place is confusing. I told her I'd eat the whole damn thing myself; after all, I also bought some vanilla bean ice cream this afternoon. Maybe when her children return tomorrow they'll scream aloud for plum crumbcake - happens all the time.

I've got ricotta gnocchi on the agenda for tomorrow afternoon. It's a first go for me and the ricotta is hanging dry overnight. I think there's an 89% chance of success. Film at ten.

T

just jump over the fence

(photos by Todd)

I feel better and maybe there'll be a few days off from tirades. The trigger to it all was that I finally felt the need to step in and refute the bullshit, one person at a time. Whether it was someone I work with, some former co-worker on Facebook, or dude on the street - I'm not will to stand about any longer. There. Done. Much more relaxed.

One of my favorite bands, the Waco Bros., stopped in for a layover in Arlington this afternoon (they played in Rehoboth Beach, DE last night and in Philly tomorrow) after calling ahead, getting some rental sound kit, and hopping our out of the Jeep at near 4pm. They ripped through about 90 minutes of all the greats and even mixed in some Neil Young, Clash, George Jones, and the Undertones. I've been waiting to see the Wacos for years and even though they pitched their gear on the small stage, quickly changed from driving shorts to long, fancy pants, and hopped on stage for a 10-minute soundcheck with 100 folks watching, they killed it today. If I were to compare these guys to the Hold Steady from last weekend (and I like the Hold Steady) there's no comparison; the pure rock of the Wacos may be incomparable. Every one of the guys is engaging, they have a huge catalog to work from, they go from off to on so very quickly and they never stop, and then they're off in the Jeep and headed for Philadelphia to continue the Bloodshot Records Anniversary tour. I couldn't be happier that they swung in, made some cash, and had me smiling the rest of the day. They're the kind that might knock on your garden gate, give it push, throw out some amps, and play loud enough to make the deck shake and the neighbors peep through the curtains and wonder. Well done. (I'm half-tempted to head back tonight to see their label mates, the Bottle Rockets, tear up the joint.) Sometimes a bit of loud will soothe the soul.

my follow on...

It’s with the heath care debate, for now. But I want to walk it back about ten months, maybe seven if January is the starting line, before jumping into what we’re seeing right now. It wasn’t too long ago that the phrase “that’s not the kind of world I want to live in,” stuck in my craw. When we decide that we are unable to either move the inclusive line, or move it only further in our direction, then we’ve really lost something. What the last election began was a solidifying of the position held by the shrinking majority in this country; particularly those left standing on what they consider the ‘right’ or ‘safe’ side of the line because they were, and are, unwilling to even consider anything other than their own self-interests. Even if we were to sprinkle fairy dust over the issue of money and access – money’s no problem and access was for all – the right side of the center line would still not agree to participate in any kind of world that I want to live in. It’s easier to stand slack-jawed and against everything then it is to remove yourself from your position in life and even – for just one second – imagine that you aren’t you and you don’t have everything you have right now. Deep down the fear isn’t that anything will be taken away from you, it’s a fear that others might get some ‘stuff’ that you don’t feel they deserve; or some stuff that you believe is your God-given right. The fear digs real deep when things don’t appear to be going your way and about right now it’s ground into your bedrock, The idea that someone (or 70 million voters) is pushing for a tide that lifts all boats, not just yours, is terrifying. It’s so terrifying that any success, in any arena, is untenable and undeserved. Even if you personally gained from an Administration initiative you would consider it unacceptable if another gained along the way; and that’s the greatest issue of our day. Those that stand over on what they think is the safe side of the line are more willing to completely burn down this country than even consider the possibility that health care, the wars, the economy, regulation, Wall St., or any other bastion of white dominance to be under threat. Burn it down…to the ground. It’s truly mind-numbing. That we as a country will stand around pushing back against someone trying to gain civil rights; we’ll scream against people having access to insurance; we wring our hands because a Latina might sit on the Supreme Court; and we sit around lighting matches and throwing them on the tinder. Look at the health care debate and try, for those few seconds, to really look – with your eyes. Who’s screaming at those town hall meeting? Who’s attending those meetings? Where do they come from and what do they want? If you could really be objective for a little while you’d find it disconcerting. Then again, maybe not; just bring along your semi-automatic assault weapon and stand around threateningly. I can smell the sulfur.

I honestly don’t know what to say.

“I’ve lived at the very end of what must have been a wonderful country.”
- Merle Haggard

a think

And I lit a fire that wouldn't go out.
Until it consumed the walls and roof of this house.
Until all I remember was burning away.

- Gaslight Anthem

Give it a ponder. Maybe I'll get back in the next day or two with a tirade.

Fair warning.

is that a salt lick?

Hot damn! Or, cool damn! We’ve had a breakthrough in the weather and I can’t imagine getting hit with an Indian summer re-hash now that it’s September 1st. I could be horribly wrong but hope springs (falls?) eternal. The A/C was switched off on Sunday and has been off for a few days. The temperature dropped into the upper 50s last night, the windows were open, and the sleeping was perfect: felt like sleeping in the mountains during our short summer vacation up in Truckee a few years back. Needless to say, I’m happy.

The little lady is off to BWI this afternoon/eve to retrieve her two children, one WonderTwin, and two more children. I’m not sure how all the people and bags will fit into the big gold ride but I’m sure they’ll figure something out or leave one kid behind. I’ll be sitting at home on the couch and thinking nothing of it.

Here’s another in my series of articles that seem stupid and actually are stupid…and deal with food. I hope no one actually gets their health ideas from Yahoo! (or CNN or MSNBC, or Ask Jeeves?...) so I’m always of two minds when linking to them: I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. This one is about the best and worst pizzas (primarily worst) at American food chains. I certainly have some favorite pizzas out there that I like but I’m under no illusion that any pizza I buy from anyone is actually good for me. In fact, the default position is that every single one of them is something you shouldn’t be eating. Pizza, in particular, has climbed way up my food chain since I make it one night a week at home and if those others aren’t making it like me then it’s not anything I want to eat. Two things: I’m not saying my pizza is the best in the World but it’s close; second, being that they don’t make it like me it’s disqualified from any food category aside from “I’m so hungry while stuck in this airport that I’ll eat anything.” As with anything it’s all about moderation and eating out is pretty moderate with us (Farrah Olivia, Sunflower Café…that’s about it). Of everything that I cook the pizza is the easiest and I’m going to learn you a bit. To make two crusts you do this:

Preheat oven to 420º

Mix 1 cup lukewarm (just barely warm to the touch: maybe 90-100º) water with one package (2 ¼ tsp) of yeast in a biggish bowl and let sit for a few minutes under a towel.

Add 1 ½ cup whole wheat flour and 1 cup white flour (you need some white to get that gluten-y stuff happening),
1 Tbs olive oil,
1 Tbs raw-like sugar,
A good pinch of kosher salt.

Mix it up until it’s just sticking together – don’t overdo it – and let that sit for about ten minutes.

(Now you can get your toppings in order…)

Pull the dough out, give it three or four kneads on the floured counter just to get it stuck together and roll it out one half at-a-time into two round pizza shapes. I lighten spray my pans with some olive oil, add the crusts, poke holes with a fork, and bake (sans toppings) for about 5 minutes. I’ve sort of learned that my topping mix can be a little moist and the pre-baking sets the crust and keeps it crisp for the final bake.

For the Eleven’s pizza I’ll start with either just olive oil on the base or some type of pesto, sliced farmers market mozzarella, and then move on to strange combos of stuff from this list (I’m going to just throw out as many as I can think of that I’ve used over the last six months): roasted corn, mushrooms, all types of olives, capers, roasted red or yellow peppers, sun-dried tomatoes, sliced romas (or any other tomato), spinach, arugula, garlic, green onions, red onions, Vidalia onions, romesco, zucchini, smoked salmon, anchovies, asparagus, roasted potatoes, jalapenos, roasted parsnips, pinenuts, eggplant, cilantro, or black beans. I’ll generally add loads of dried oregano (order all your herbs and whatnot from Penzey’s*), dried red chili flakes, and micro-grated parmesan, a pinch of salt, and freshly ground pepper over the top of the finished load. Back into the oven for about 20 minutes (check at about 15) and your gold, solid gold. There’s no reason to eat any pie but what comes from your oven. Nothing to it and you’ll be much happier; you don’t feel loaded down with grease and shit that will kill you. What’s in there that bad for you? A whole lot of nothing, that’s what

Well, that turned out much longer than I expected. I was just going to link to the piece, cuss them out, and move along. Before I knew it I was teaching some fool class on pizza; it happens.

t

* for the usual readers: there are Penzey’s stores in Omaha, Minneapolis (where I lost my virginity, spice-wise), NYC, D.C. (Northern Virgina and Rockville), Philly, Dallas, Menlo Park, West Hartford, and Phoenix. Trust me, if you haven’t been then you’ll thank me…or not.