Over the last few months we've taken to watching The Mary Tyler Moore Show on Hulu.com. I vividly remember watching it during its original run (1970-77) but it must have been the later seasons when I was 10- or 11-years-old. Having moved from the Cities down to Omaha in the summer of 1972, my family has some midwestern connection to Mary and her crew. I don't know if this was a strictly midwestern ideal but I suspect most flyover state families felt a pretty strong connection. What's so great about the show is that every character is perfectly cast. I'd forgotten just how great Ted Knight/Baxter was while melding the huge ego of an anchorman with his employment at the fifth-rated local news station. Mary and Lou Grant have the perfect chemistry between not only employee and boss but the '70s relationship between men and women. And Mary...she's seems much hotter than when I was eyeing her, pre-puberty. Great TV. (In the season we're watching Georgette and Ted aren't married yet and Cloris Leachman and Betty White hasn't even shown up yet.) The final piece of this TV puzzle was the opening theme for the show. It apparently changed three times over the years - same song, different styles - and the episodes we're watching have the second version (third season) which I couldn't find on YouTube. Regardless, if you're old enough to remember the show, this will strike a chord:
I headed into D.C. this morning to gather some more hip cards to send to L. each week. There's a great place, Pulp, that stocks a huge selection of cards created by anyone other than Hallmark or the other junky companies. It's a pretty hip 14th St. NW storefront that both she and I enjoy. It's also right next store to a cool kitchen store; as if I need that.
I'm about halfway through my second viewing of Band of Brothers. The first time I watched was also on DVD while living in a tent in Qatar. I didn't know much about it at the time - living overseas and all - but ended up watching the entire set in a 24-hour period. This viewing only confirms my opinion that it may be the best TV ever made.
Another week on the horizon. I'll be working the Virginia elections all day Tuesday so it'll be a long one.
One of my favorite rockers, Chuck Prophet, has a new album out this week: Let Freedom Ring! Chuck holds a special place in my heart after first seeing him hop up on stage at the Fillmore in San Francisco during my first Lucinda Williams show. Chuck joined the band, and guitarist Doug Pettibone in particular, on stage for an absolutely killer version of Joy. After the set I saw Chuck sitting on a bench in the upper lobby, all by himself, munching on an apple. After that, I found me some Chuck Prophet music. It wasn't long after that he came to Reno to play the Hacienda with his Mission Express - a simply stunning show. After that night he headed to Europe and I sent X to see him at the Borderline in what amounted to a virtual date (we each have pictures of us with Chuck at our respective shows.) The new CD was recorded in Mexico City and actually draws him away from the multi-layered stuff he's been doing for the last five years and deposits him right back into the heart of rock n' roll. Sweet stuff; he'll be here at Iota next month and we'll move our virtual date to a real date.
I was greeted at the mailbox today by both my acceptance letter to cooking school and my VA certification that will pay for the whole shebang - very good news.
The Eleven will do another Caps game tomorrow night - some sort of hockey date.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
(Picture from my seats)
H. is working on his science homework and as an eighth-grader he's doing the somewhat standardized science-y homework that entails the writing down of experimental details. I remember so very well my 9th grade biology teacher, Mr. Kelp, hammering away at our science notebooks and assignments. Back then, in Omaha, our methodology was strictly this: Purpose, Equipment, Procedure, Data, Conclusion. Nothing more, nothing less. If you forgot one area then you were in for a world of hurt. Purpose. Equipment. Procedure. Data. Conclusion. Bang.
Our quiz results were once again right at the tenth-place of about 45 teams. I think X, who I badmouthed in an earlier post, might be right on your position in the 'Quiz World'. You are what your record says and you'll never win if you aren't right there from the get-go. Of course, this comes from a woman who spent seven years in England winning every week; well, glomming onto an already established winning team by shaking her moneymaker - no shame.
I had a great time at the Verizon Center last night as the Caps came from behind and beat Philly, 4-2. They fell behind 2-0 and then roared back in the last 30 minutes to win. When they beat the badass stormtroopers it's much more exciting then a struggling win versus the non-rivals. I'd rather see last night's game than a 4-goal night by AO versus a less worrisome rival.
No further details on my school or L. ending up here in January...I'm withholding nothing.
I was watching the NFL pre-game show on ESPN and Chris Berman reported that the two former Bush presidents were going to be at the Houston game today and called them the "President Bushes", shouldn't it be the Presidents Bush? Sort of like Grands Prix? Just wondering. We're watching the dog down the street for a week so I'm spending the afternoon - post-dog walk - hanging around Daisy (dog) and her sweet HDTV; I have a new favorite thing.
We saw Lost in Yonkers in D.C. last night at Theater J. It's a pretty straight-forward Neil Simon play with wise-cracking dialogue interleaved with heavy family love issues. All the actors were very good but it only took a portion of the first act to realize that Bella, played wonderfully by D.C. legend Holly Twyford, was the holding center of the show. You'd be hard pressed to find a better cast across the board than what they've put together for this show. The theater, at the DCJCC, is a set-up perfectly (we saw Sandra Bernhard there last season). It's an eleven-row house, about 20 seats across, that was built steep so that every single seat has a full view of a beautifully designed stage. A very pleasing show all around.
We had dinner beforehand at Skewers on P St. NW. Even though the name is questionable, the food is excellent Middle Eastern fare. We split an appetizer plate and then both went with eggplant mains and red wines. Just perfect for a dinner before sitting for a 2+ hour show - until X decided she not only wanted dessert but then ordered the dessert with' supreme' in the name that included a lovely creme anglais, strawberries, and a dense cake. Needless to say, she then complained of being too full as we walked around the corner to the theater. I'm shocked...shocked! I think the most entertaining blurb from our dinner discussion was "We think the sumac is the most underrated of the autumnal colors."
She has biggish news and maybe I'll pass it along early in the week.
For some reason, far beyond me since it's been going on forever, I've been taken aback of late at political car stickers that intone "all of my type for Jackass" (feel free to change jackass to whatever or whomever you choose). I've decided that in my own little World I'll eliminate nearly all plurals from support stickers. If you want to tout "Blonde woman for the Death Penalty" that's perfectly okay - you just can't be "Blonde women for the Death Penalty". Any more than I can proclaim "Veterans for Free Love"; "Veteran for Free Love" is a whole different ideal. So, all of those that have any of the following: Democrats for, Women for, Gun Lovers of, Veterans for, Folks on Hilltop Place for, Dog Lovers for, Drying Clothes by Hanging Them Outside People for...knock it off. Kindly go out to your vehicle and cross off the 's' from your support sticker; or, if need be, change a vowel. You're free to be what you want but you're not free to claim me or the other 52% of the population. Thanks.
As is my chore sometimes, I stopped by the library and picked up a book for X to read in the evenings; a copy of Tom Robbins' Still Life with Woodpecker. I don't know from fiction but I'll say that this opening from the blurb on the back makes me wonder: "...is a sort of love story that takes place inside a pack of Camel cigarettes." What sort of story is that? It sounds as if there are loads of stories that not only take place in cigarette packs but, specifically, stories that take place in the packs of different brands. I think I'm going to entitle my blog "blatherings of the sort that you hear whilst standing in a boiling pot of spaghetti."
Speaking of Todds (see title), one of the questions from the quiz on Monday night was: Give the letter of the alphabet which is the first letter of the most World capitals. Right. X actually came up with the right answer immediately, and clearly from the blue, to which I sort of it wrote off as some sort of blather before I said "Tehran, Tripoli, Tokyo...I think it's 't'." And my tiebreaker between my 't' and her (eventually) correct answer was this "My name starts with T!" For those that know the WonderTwins, and those that do are blessed while those who don't are blessed, I'll let you think for just a moment about how much grief I got for my "my name is Todd and it starts with T" input. You give one WonderTwin some Guinness and ply the second with two Cosmos and you get the idea of the drive home. Endless...
If you want to know my reading stack then you can; I'm slowly working on The Believers by Zoe Heller and The Lost City of Z by David Grann.
I guess the quiz last night reminded me I hadn't posted for awhile; we didn't do as well as last week but it was a bit harder. I figure we finished about 10th out of 45, or so, teams. Who's going to remember walk current day animal most resembles the extinct quagga?
For some reason on Sunday night X decided she wanted to watch a Clara Bow movie. I agreed and then asked "who is Clara Bow?" We ended up streaming The Plastic Age via Netflix (and our Roku). For those not in the know, and who is?, Clara was a silent-age film 'star' from the teens and '20s. The Plastic Age (name for who know what) isn't really a Clara Bow vehicle as far as I'm concerned - she just played the hotsy-totsy gal who nearly ruins - no, she does ruin - the grand college life of one Hugh Carver, Track Star. You know her type: big eyes, little pursed mouth and too much lipstick. The cool thing about silent movies is that you can sit at home and talk or make fun of various bits in the film without much worry. In fact, you could wander off if you wanted and come back with a cup of coffee and be well caught up. The silents remind me of opera; lots of stuff supposedly happening but it's mostly just either singing or people moving about the place.
There's rumor about the L. may come here to live around the Holidays and stay through her next semester of high school. I'll keep folks updated on progress which is slow but gathering steam.
The Capitals' season is off to a bit of an uneven start but Mr. Ovechkin came ready to play this season - 9 goals, 8 games, leading the league in scoring. What I realized - again - while watching him at Verizon last week was that I'm very lucky to be in a city, and at games, with a sublime talent like him playing. If you want to swing by I have two seats for half the games; you'll be hooked. If you're interested, here's AO scoring both goals in regulation and the only goal in the shootout for the win - he does this stuff EVERY night.
We've got a little concert on Friday night (Tarbox Ramblers) and Lost in Yonkers at the JCC on Saturday. Conveniently, the boys will be out of town for the weekend so we can do as we please. Reviews to follow on both.
Our weather held nice for the last two days but I have no expectations that the depths of autumn isn't upon us.
We did the Pub Quiz on Monday night. I think we actually tied for fourth since there was the winning team and two tied for second (we were tied with another). Generally speaking, we did well for a rookie squad (The WonderTwins, one of X’s workmates, and I) scoring 79 (of 86) for the evening. The winners tallied 82 so we were close enough to sniff the lead and I think there were about 35 teams. X happens to think that her quiz experience tells her we’ll never win – there’s always two or three teams battling at the top, within a point or two of each other, and we’ll never get there…so she decrees. She’s so negative. If we’d gone with Alaska (state with the most national parks), Small Pox vaccine (which came first? the vaccine, X-rays, or penicillin), and known who the kid was in The Fast and Furious with Vin Diesel, then we’d have been right there. I may kick her off the team for malcontentness. Of course, the quiz has now become a must schedule event after this week’s outing. (Don’t let X know but I think her wanting to go every week sort of shoots down her quiz determinations. Who’d go every week if they thought there was no chance of winning? That’s what I thought. It’s not like she needs.)
I must tell this story. X stayed home today, relaxed on the couch, started a fire, and called report on both cats lazing about with her. She was also up last night around 3am and told me this morning that Lemon was aggressive in her desire for pets; she also told me that she felt my cat was overbearing. Her update on the cats this afternoon involved her telling me that she'd given my Lemon a warm plate of cream. What? That cat that you think hates you and would rather you didn't exist? And you think I treat Lemon as a princess? A plate of warm milk...her hard-hearted, self-proclaimed toughness is out the window. Warm cream.
The boys had a couple of other boys – boys all about the place – to the house for a sleepover last night and we were once again floored by the eating habits of others. The two that came over were brothers, one of which is a classmate of H., and the four of them spent most of the day and evening speaking an unknown language whilst playing Magic (The Gathering) cards. I only give you the ‘the Gathering’ portion because the game is always given its full title when spoken by children. We decided to make a roasted whole chicken, homemade mashed potatoes and gravy, and peas; it’s a staple of the weekly menu and it seems like you couldn’t go wrong offering a classic, straight-forward dinner to kids you don’t know. If you believe that then you, and we, need to tuck that thought back into its mystery holding box. The younger brother didn’t even come to dinner because it was well-known to both of the visiting brothers that his eating habits are ‘picky’ and the chances of there being something on a table that he might eat was nil from the moment he left his house. The older boy did come to the table as H. and G. oohed-and-aahed as one of their favorite dinners arrived. The problem became that our guest began his input with “The only kind of chicken I’ve ever seen is…”, I’ll give you the same second or two that I had to imagine how this sentence might finish.
(waiting)
“The only kind of chicken I’ve ever seen is a McNugget.” Yikes. Not ‘in’ a McNugget but ‘a McNugget’.You may have been thinking the same closing was in store as I; something like “from KFC,” “in a Popeye’s bucket,” etc. Nope, nothing even in the shape of a chicken throughout his 13-year life. I really wanted to ask what they had at Thanksgiving – he was really only looking at a small turkey, after all – but I let that go when I saw the look of complete amazement when he first caught sight of a whole, non-nuggetized chicken. He wanted nothing to do with the potatoes, gravy, or peas but he did at least have two or three pieces of chicken. (I tried to convince him to give my ass-kicking mashed a try but there was no way it was going to happen.) As he was eating he did give us a little background on what his brother will eat: Cheerios, potato chips, white bread, Chee-tos, and some other junky fuel. I kept waiting for anything that would be doable: spaghetti, pizza…anything, but it wasn’t forthcoming. After dinner we offered the pickster a grilled-cheese sandwich which seemed to pique his interest. We told him we only had whole wheat bread which seemed okay to him until he saw that it had seeds on it; he manage to scrap his hand along the crust before deciding it might work. X sliced up some nice cheddar for him to make a sandwich while we went out for an evening walk. I knew immediately, before departing the house, that it wouldn’t fly in the end because the bread had presented problem #1; and, when he saw the cheese wasn’t a cheese food product wrapped in individual slices, and instead sliced from a block, he was aghast. He tried a small taste of it that X passed along and then slyly moved to the garbage can and spat it out. Needless to say, when we got back from our walk the bread and cheese were neatly deposited in the can. Over his 18 hours at the house he didn’t eat a nibble. The whole series of events was simply stunning. When a kid is allowed to work himself that far down the food eating chain then there’s little chance of recovery later in life. At least if a kid is limiting himself to meatloaf or pasta or anything of value he may eventually grow to try new things but I have no doubt this kid will end up eating nothing but frozen burritos and nachos, whilst sitting in his underwear, for the rest of his life. At 11, or so, his metabolism is high and he’s skinny but that’ll change in the future and I don’t think his parents cotton onto that fact. It reminds me so much of the problem of diet in America. I think we’ve gone so far down the slope away from good food that for loads of folk, urban or suburban, there’s no recovery. Maybe I’m crazy, maybe not.
I have a whole separate story from the WaPo over the weekend; transportation. Maybe tomorrow.
The Eleven, WonderTwin 2, and someone known only as “Poor Phil” are heading to the Irish Pub for Monday night Quiz Night. Results and impressions to follow.
I’ve turned in all my paperwork to the Art Institute and now have a few weeks of waiting to see if all works out. Between them settling on my acceptance and getting the GI Bill stuff in order, it’ll take a bit of time; updates when available.
I remember way back in the early summer with the President said he was putting $12 billion toward community colleges. The Eleven looked at each other and did a little high-fiving since we both have CC experience and loved it; as did everyone we know that attended a CC. For some reason community colleges became the weaker option in the drive for secondary education back in the 70s or 80s. All the rankings of top colleges and universities, the money expended by families, and the growing financial input toward public and private universities seemed to confer a death knell on community colleges. From what I’ve seen, loads of community colleges seemed to recover and thrive at some point in the mid-90s. I’m guessing the resurgence was a counter-balance to all the factors above: state universities began to actively tie curricula to the regional CCs, the cost of spending two years at a CC and then transferring to a four-year program made much more sense, and the cache of major universities (especially when you consider the cost) probably waned a bit after the go-go 80s. Not only that, a four-year degree isn’t actually a requirement for what many people would like to do in life, at least not at first. Sarah sorted that out at ASU two years ago and moved back to CC to complete a vet tech degree, go to work, and then move to a four-year program if she chooses. Unfortunately, not a lot of kids (myself included) sort things out that quickly and it turns into wasteful spending, lost years, and some mediocre careers. Paul Krugman has an op-ed in the Times today that presents a lot of hard questions about our education system, its financial situation, and its future. I don’t want to sound too much like an old, cranky man but what the public schools are teaching, even in a well-regarded system like we live in here in Virginia, isn’t very impressive. They send homework out with the kids, stuff that is grades behind where the kids are academically, that gives the appearance of learning but it’s really just box checking for the school. In fact, I think what we are seeing at schools, at least here, is an academic year of holding serve followed by three weeks of drilling the kids for the standardized tests at the end of the year. I’ve ranted enough about education in other entries; I’ll just let it all hang for now.
Between my application process for the Art Institute, and reading Krugman’s piece, I’m again bewildered (surprised? finally remembered?) by just how much of your life you’ll always have to answered for. My life, for all its ups-and-downs, has been charmed; the complaints I may have all fall from the parts of my life over which I had total control but chose to half-step or ignore. The Art Institute, as with all secondary schools, wants your academic transcripts, and since they do quite a bit of trade and community college training they also want your high school transcript. I don’t even remember high school but my grades were good and aside from it being printed on parchment, I have no concerns. My college transcript is another story. Rolling that piece of junk into the light of day is embarrassing. When I was 18, 19, and 20 years old it just didn’t seem too important; I wasn’t interested in the pitched battle to make millions on Wall St. (it was 1983, after all and I was just about to vote for Reagen) so I justified not doing well by thinking that, in the end, I’d somehow sort things out. Hey, I had a girlfriend and someone else was paying for school…no worries. Well, thing did get sorted and turned out well but it was twenty years in the military that steadied things, not me. It was almost a lark that I joined in the first place but I ended up with a career, lots of benefits, and a good life. Now, yesterday, the fact that I’m telling the story of my 2 ½ years of poor college performance, which could easily have been stellar if I had made even an inch of effort, over a quarter-century later is a tough lesson in taking care of your business at every point in your life. Nothing disappears – you DO have permanent record – and you better know that you’ll never walk away and truly start over. While I was driving home from the admissions office and thinking about all of this it wasn’t so much under the guise of being a straight-A student, saving the world, being a saint, or anything along those lines. What it was, and what really grated on me, was that you can’t finish your life as you may choose when you’re 14 or 15 years old, but you can make that future significantly more difficult. If you take on any sense of responsibility and move through your youth as a B student then you’ll be fine; you won’t be explaining away how a B+/A- student in high school ended up with a 1.98 GPA after two years of college. It all seems so obvious, doesn’t it? I’m pretty sure that, as a community, we miss those chances to pass along this symmetry; we figure it will sort itself out in the end. Well, it may, as in my case; or it may not.
I think I need to give Laurel a call.
That was rambling. I’ve got nothing else….
Oh wait, I do. Here’s something brilliant to start your weekend.
I had a long interview at the Art Institute of Washington D.C. this afternoon - long enough to get a parking ticket - and the deed is as good as done. Someone, somewhere has said that two years will pass whether or not I choose it to do so; I'll do my two years learning to cook and having much more fun than I do now. Well, it's learning to cook beyond the "my girlfriend likes my food" cooking. There's a focus on baking and pastry which is fine with me since that's easily my weakest area. I can roll into a B.A if need be after I'm done; as if I want to be so into the business side. I'm an artiste. I kid. I suspect, based on the crew of artists, designers, and chef wannabes, that I may be referred to as "Pops". I love the kids. The school is right on the Metro on this side of the Potomac and I can easily work part-time and attend classes with the GI Bill. At some point, if I tough it out for six months I might be able to quit the contractor work and become a barrista somewhere. Who in this world goes to school in order to make less money? I feel very European. In a perfect world I can highjack my 'brother-in-law', the grand Christian, and Bryce when it's all done. Four for success or four for drinking; either is fine.
The institute has four brand new kitchens with all the great stuff I want in a school. They also run a restaurant on the top floor that lets you wait, cook, manage and run the joint. I'm not much for wearing uniforms so we'll see how this works out.
Go Kevin, Ketch, Willie, Morgan, Gill....and Critter! Finally, an Old Crow Medicine Show concert DVD. Here's Wagon Wheel, which I've linked to numerous times - I'll keep hitting that lever until I make them the most popular band in America. I feel I'm a pretty good judge of music - at least the stuff I like, yep - and this it the best song by the coolest band, ever. The Eleven's string band date in London way back in 2004 is the stuff of legend; pure. legend.
Actually, I can't release you for the day until you've got some mouth harp...man, I'm in heaven...
We did the Capitals home opener tonight at Verizon (a 6-4 win but really out-of-hand at 6-1 after two periods) and dinner at Rosa Mexicano. Maybe, at some point, X will relay all her "hockey arm candy" experiences - she says I can't, so there you go.
We went to the annual Crafty Bastards art fair in Adams Morgan (D.C.) this morning and her review of it was dead-on: Etsy.com with more people and heat. I'm more willing to dive into art fair crowds than she but it was a bit overbearing at times. We managed a lap through the goods and then headed out. As we exited onto 18th St. NW I noticed a sign on a post, one of those will the pre-cut pull tabs with the address and phone number, for someone selling all their plants due to an impending move West (S.F. as we found out). I hailed my gal - the plant 'thing' - and showed her the sign. It's only a block away and the plants on offer look quite nice so we wander over. You could not have shown me an apartment in the city that more perfectly matches my ideal. It was a narrowish one bedroom, one bath place across two small levels (the bedroom and bath being upstairs). The small back deck was totally set with growing bamboo shielding one side, lovely plants everywhere, and a longish view to the Washington Monument. A dining room table was at one end with the open living room and small kitchen as you moved back toward the door. Hardwood floors, dark colors everywhere...perfect. Of course, you couldn't put more than two in that layout so I began thinking of what to do with the boys. Considering it was in Adams Morgan, and within what I consider easy walking distance to DuPont Circle and various Metro stops, I was ready to move. We didn't end up with any plants but we had a nice conversation with the seller. As we left and walked down the tree-lined street I turned to X and told her that I'd found my place; she replied that it was because, like the current tenants, I have gay tendencies. Fine with me. Nice design, great plants, well-groomed...no issues there. I'm still working a plan to move to the city. Actually, we sort of agreed to move in when the boys move out after high school. I can wait seven years...
After the art fair - and plant mission - I swung by one of the few quality records shops left in the U.S.: Melody Records at DuPont Circle. I have to run in and grab the new Avett Brothers and Brother Ali; I'm not sure you could mix-and-match two more different artists.
She's had her bath, it's late, and I'm on waffle, apple compote, and coffee duty in the AM.
A whole bunch of theatres - live, singing, and drama theatres - nationwide are sponsoring a Free Night of Theatre deely-bob across the country on October 15th. All the metropolis(es) are participating and D.C. is contribuing loads of tickets. You already know that we try to get out and gawk at the singers, dancers, and actors as often as possible; I more often than the Eleven, but we do all right (X saw Helen Mirren last week in Phedre but she's too busy to give you a proper review). The Free Night allows people to get two free tickets to a load of shows around D.C. (I think 26 theatres in all) with just about every company participating from the Washington National Opera to my beloved Keegan Theatre crew. Tickets were available online yesterday from noon - with a warning that the nearly 4,000 would would go quickly - so I pulled- up the site at noon, in violation of my 'be at the site, locked-and-loaded' at least fifteen minutes early. I'd perused all the offerings and given X some options this morning based on available nights, Caps hockey games, rock n' roll shows, Gung Fu, and piano lessons. She put her finger on Lost in Yonkers at the D.C. JCC's Theater J. (We've been to Theater J before to see Sandra Bernhard's one-woman show last year.) I think she made the choice when measured against some of the heavier stuff I had on offer. Anyway, back to noon today. I'm good with tickets - the procuring of and quality seating therin - so I was confident I'd easily manage two for Yonkers. As a measure of ticket fights, I got two tickets for the Capitals v. Penguins Game 7 of the Eastern Conference Semis last season with less difficulty. I know it's mostly driven by the ones and zeros in the Internets but I was stonewalled at every turn - the freaky theatre goers in D.C. are hardcore. There's no way that site didn't crash at about 12:01pm yesterday. In fact, my building's power fluxed just after and I'm sure it was due to the bourgeois class trying to get free tickets to shows. (Since I pay for my season tickets to the Opera and Woolly Mammoth should I have stayed away and let others in? I pondered the moral hazard argument.) After nearly twenty minutes of hitting the 'site is overloaded and you can go to Hell' error message I did finally manage to get two for a Saturday night in D.C.
You never know when you might be foiled. Live with that motto.
