stay on target

Another wedding weekend come and gone.

We left at about 11:30p Thursday night and zipped up I-95 with no traffic inhibiting our progress – we even took the GW Bridge through Manhattan at 4am. Although, even at that hour, you have to tighten up the game after getting through the toll booth, and blast across the island with trucks and locals hauling ass all around your personal escape module. It was just like shooting womp rats back home. We arrived at the Lodge in western Mass at about 7:30a, where I proceeded on a journey to napland for about three hours.

I dropped L. off in Brattleboro about noon – she’s a regular at Amy’s , the bead shop, and various bookstores - and then headed to Dummerston to get ready for the rehearsal and follow-on dinner. Everyone had a fine evening and it was quite nice to meet all the family and friends of the groom. The wedding was Saturday afternoon with the reception following just over the mountain in Dummerston proper. The weather fully cooperated for an outdoor event as clouds moved in to temper the heat, and the breeze kept everyone a bit cooler. The reception was a lovely, early evening affair that ran later as the Wonder Twins and bride kept everyone alive and kicking. After these few weeks, I’ve decided that weddings aren’t so bad, as long as no one makes further fun of my Virginia plantation hat and summer sport coat. You know who you are.

We drove back Sunday to beat the Holiday traffic and only had a slight delay in the Bronx as we tried to get onto the GW going west. Nothing significant, but certainly enlightening into how New Yorkers drive.

When we were leaving in the dark of night on Thursday, Lemon positioned herself at the bottom of the driveway, precisely in full view of my side view mirror. This was no accident. She knew we were leaving and she meant to make herself very clear in the unhappiness department. I’d never seen anything like it before, but I shouldn’t really be surprised. She also waited about 24 hours between our return home and her first appearance in the house. She can be a tad difficult.

We have three weeks and counting before a proper, weeklong, vacation at Old Orchard Beach in Maine. This is the second venture beyond the safe confines of Stowe (the first being Magog, Quebec) so the judges will be out in full force.

ramblin' man

I spent Friday and Saturday nights sleeping on couches: one at the groom’s place (the night before the wedding), the other at my sister’s. When you’re young, getting the couch is often like winning the lottery – usually, you and your friends are battling over one couch on offer and the rest of the apartment floor. Of course, it was only me involved so no winning ticket was require, but, in case you weren’t aware, couch sleeping isn’t quite as comfy when you’re older.

The entire wedding shindig was top drawer. From rehearsal to reception everything was beautifully planned and managed. As I told my friends, I’ll go a 1,000 miles for a couple of free dinners and four hours of open bar over two nights. Aside from the formal ceremony, the rehearsal dinner stood out as a chance to meet friends and family while enjoying a fantastic meal at Rainbow on Nicollet. For the first time in nearly 20 years, we all had a chance to spend time with each and see how our lives have changed.

About a dozen attendees ended up at the show on Friday night – including the bride/groom – which ended up being another great social event. I’m only guessing, but I suspect that both were ready for some mindless activity that didn’t involve checklists, planning, and worrying. I was pleased to see them get a chance to decompress before the big day. They managed a respectable bedtime while I ended up eating White Castle (not my plan or execution) and gabbing until 4:30am. Fortunately, by 9am everyone was up and about, and in good spirits, for a round of corn pancakes at (my) legendary Maria’s Café. A corn pancake with a few eggs over easy and a dash of cotija cheese can bring anyone back from the depths of the underslept.

After a bit of the reception on Saturday night, I bid farewell and headed over to Anne’s place for the evening and Sunday AM brunch/fast. We caught up over some wine and then hit the bed (or couch). By mid-morning we joined Anne’s comrades for at Whitey’s in NE Minneapolis before I hit the train for the airport.

How was transit, you ask? I did take light rail to and from the airport and the Hiawatha line is really nice: great trains, timely schedule, and the fare – for rush hour times – is a flat $2.25. On the way in I rode up to the Franklin St. station and caught the #2 bus west to the Van Dusen Mansion for the rehearsal. The MTA bus system is adequate, but not great. I never feel like you should have 30-minute bus waits, in the heart of a city, on a weekday. Even with that, the routes are strong and the cost (bus-wise) is about what we pay here in D.C. Anne was going to take me to the airport after breakfast on Sunday until I realized that dropping me off at Target Field (about three blocks from where we were) for the light rail was a much better option: 25 minutes later and I’m checking in at the airport. I’d love to see them expand service from downtown to the western suburbs, but I suspect that’s a pipe dream. (They are building a line between MSP and StP, and I see there’s talk of building a line SW to Eden Prairie.)

The flight back was fine – Delta, and all – and I feel like I’m nearly caught up on sleep; only to ready the entire clan for another wedding up in Vermont this weekend.

circle

I'm off to the Twin Cities tomorrow afternoon. A mere 30 years after meeting my best high school friend, I'm on a plane for his wedding. I don't remember the exact circumstance of our first meeting, but I vaguely recall being in Mr. Choate's Spanish class at Valley View Jr. High School. Eventually, we became four as Jeff, Todd (the other Todd), Soren (groom), and I became fast friends and thrived through high school. Those youthful days of studying hard, air guitar, Foos-ball, the Tubes, road trips, and dreaming of futures are very, very special to me. You never really get past those most powerful moments of relationships. It's easy to recall some of both the great and stupid things we did together. Amongst the four of us, the other three will always seem greater than I...in a good way. I got to take a little piece of each of them with me as I wandered far away and did different things. For the first time in 18 years (?), we'll all be together in one place - I'm a little nervous. Mostly for the worry of discussion and my attempts to tell what I've been up to over that very long period my life. In the end, it'll be a wonderful get together.

And with the celebration comes Slobberbone. To get more specific, Soren and I were college roommates for two years at Iowa. For two years he wandered the cut-out bins of the local records shops. For those years, and beyond, he was always the one who found the great music, brought it home, wrote up top ten lists, and passed on all the legwork that he so enjoyed. Back in the early 2000s he reported on Slobberbone. I can still remember reading his top ten list that year and wondering about this band with the unfortunate name. I've seen them a half-dozen times on two continents and every, single time I drink too many beers, yell at the band, and generally behave as you would at a show by the mighty Slobberbone. Every, single show (even with new friends and wives), made me think of Soren with his cut-out LPs in 1983.

Funny thing. Slobberbone disbanded in about 2005 (?) and I flew to Minneapolis to see the farewell show with Soren and his sister at the 400 Club. Wouldn't you guess, after six years they are back on the wagon and playing at the 7th St. Entry of First Avenue tomorrow night - before the hitchin' ceremony - odds? So, I'll disappear for the weekend - after just coming back. But, rest assured that at some point tomorrow night, maybe around 11p (CDT), we'll be listening to Brent Best and the boys belt out Engine Joe. And we'll be smiling until the clock rolls over.

I once read a set of liner notes about the Gear Daddies (another all-time favorite), that put forth this idea: there are better bands in this World. There are more talented bands in this World. But, I will never love another band quite like I love the Gear Daddies.

For me, that's Slobberbone.

Nothing. Better.

See you on the other side.

the other todd

On a hippy-er note.

I love some Todd Snider.

I have all his stuff – his bobblehead is on my desk – and he never ceases to please me. Way back when, when country music latched on to him, and tried to make him a star, he looked like this:

Even though Viva Satellite was a bit too country rock for me, something said there was more to the Snider story. There was. Since then, he’s moved to a musical neighborhood in which he’s more comfortable (neighbors with John Prine, Robert Earl Keen, and Ramblin’ Jack Elliot), and his songwriting has been stellar.

The first time I saw him live, in Reno (actually, The Nugget in next door Sparks), it was during the very short period of time every year that he gets together with his band, The Nervous Wrecks, plugs it in, and blows the doors of the place. It was one of the best shows I’ve ever seen. (Apparently, this is a strictly Nugget stop on the annual tour, I never see other dates with a band.) The Wrecks, at least the version I saw, included greats Will Kimbrough and Dave Zollo filling the sound. The second time I saw him was a solo show/date with X at the Birchmere in Alexandria. He couldn’t be more different in his two iterations – the solo, storyteller being more the norm – when it’s just him you get at least a half-dozen, between song stories that will make you laugh the rest of the night. He’s a truly engaging performer who everyone should experience at least once. Or not.

You’re not my brother’s hero. You’re mine.

used car salesman

George Will once wrote a book called Men At Work. It’s an amazing piece of work that viewed four aspects of Major League Baseball – hitting, fielding, pitching, managing – by following around four participants for an entire season: Hershiser, LaRussa, Ripken Jr., and Boggs. Maybe that was the starting point of his ‘genius’ fascade, and now, for some reason, loads of people think of Will as some savant of politics because he wears a bowtie, has glasses, and doesn’t seem to be much of a screamer. In reality, Will is comedic, at best, when it comes to politics. A prime example (another one?) of his blind worship is his commentary in today’s WaPo.

California is a big, hot financial mess. As they try to work their way through a $26B shortfall, Jerry Brown – not perfect, by any stretch – has made it clear that he will cut spending, and he has, but they will have to increase or extend some current taxes to find the center. What has happened so far? Brown and the legislature have cut spending by up to $14B, more than half way there, and now he needs to work the revenue side in order to get further down the path of remedy. But, will the Republicans consider it? No. Could George Will look honestly into the issue and come up with a balanced review? Not a chance. You can pop over and read Will’s position on prison guards, municipal employees, tax-loving liberals, and his left-short analysis on 1980 schools vs. prison spending. Holding Will up as any sort of deep thinker is reach. Anyone could figure out what movement there has been made on California’s economic issue by simply using the Internet (here and here). Will won’t do that; he’ll just ape the same weak positions that pervade the Republican party. If George would like to stop by the house, we can have dinner and talk. It won’t be a long conversation.

one more trot

I was only 10 when Harmon Killebrew retired. We moved to The Cities (Edina, home of the cake eaters) when I was very young (maybe 3 or 4), and then on to Omaha in the summer of 1972, when I was 7. The things I remember most about my time in Edina were: a kid starting to latch onto sports (the Vikings have stuck with me), Harmon Killebrew, mosquitos, the neighbors on our street, Southdale Mall, being a horrid ice skater, and breaking my arm. Oh, and Miss Mary’s afterschool care (macaroni-and-cheese and/or Spaghetti-ohs from a can for snacks, naps on quilts, etc.)

For some reason, the Twins never took with me even though Killebrew, Carew, and Oliva were there early in my sport-following life. Maybe it was due to my future disdain for the American League – it wasn’t long after 1972 that I became a Cubs’ fan, no doubt during some visiting to Chicago. But, I still remember Killebrew, as much for how that name would stick in a 7 year-old’s head as for the massive number of home runs he hit in his career. As with many players, in all sport back then, their personality was more tied to the city in which they played than it was to a national audience. I always feel like I’ve kept some connection to the Twin Cities, and I always sneak a peak at the Twins in the standings.

Killebrew died today after a long battle with cancer. That photo above? That looks like a baseball player.

no shit

I remember being in the “talented-and-gifted” program, it was called TAG, at Rockbrook elementary school back in my day. I’m not sure how it happened, but it primarily involved being able to go on field trips throughout the year with the other TAG kids: ice cream plants and potato chip factories – nothing Earth-shattering or academic. I vaguely suspect it was like being on fire patrol (red belts) or safety patrol (white belts): if you raised your hand, you were in. As far as I know, there wasn’t any testing involved and it certainly couldn’t have been based on academic achievement. I think the grading rubric (how did that word become so popular?) at my elementary school involved Pass, Fail, Tried, Trouble. There’s your No Child Left Behind testing spectrum from the early to mid-1970s.

What brings this up is an Andrew Sullivan post on the T-and-G crowd which I suspect is much larger these days, but still based roughly on the same hand-raising or self-selecting process. Clearly, there was no improvement in my academic future because I got little gift bags of potato chips at the end of my tour at Lay’s. Of course, this whole talent-and-gifted idea is wholly separate from actual academic achievement (Honors, AP, and etc.) I’m pretty amazed that anything like this still even exists in elementary and middle school – did I need a survey to tell me that a year-and-a-half of exposure to mindless field trips doesn’t equate to a student being better off?

I don’t even want to consider Megan McCardle’s issue with talented-and-gifted programs – which she has somehow conflated into a public v. private v. voucher school discussion. I will tip my hand on that issue and say that I think vouchers are a horrible idea. Details? To come. (Full disclosure: my high schooler is in private school, but not via a voucher program.)

p.s. While digging for a picture, I came up an Amazon review for potato chips. Who writes a review for potato chips?

pre-drinking

“I’ll just take her out to our favorite Thai place and then go home and we can watch a movie. I have The Hangover from Netflix.”

“The Hangover? You’re going to watch The Hangover for your anniversary? That’s not really anniversary material. Or, for that matter, material for any sane person over the age of 28.”

“Well, I have Patton, also.”

“Patton?”

“It won the Academy Award for Best Picture.”

“Yeah, it did.”

This is a snippet of a conversation involving the first anniversary of an unnamed work compatriot. I guess if Patton is your fallback for a romantic anniversary, I got nothing more to teach you, Daniel-san.

This was the first week that I was in the kitchen for my class/school restaurant. We don’t have a massive menu so getting everything straight isn’t horribly difficult. What takes time is sorting out priorities, prep, plating, and kitchen movements. We have a very small class so even when we are all there (five) we’re pretty busy. (The lunch/afternoon/restaurant class has something like 10 or 12 in the kitchen.) Last night – only our second – two didn’t show: one who is gone on a weekly basis with some sort of ailment (she missed two of three days this week), and one I wouldn’t have expected to miss, but who apparently had a ‘bad day’. Luckily, all the prep was mostly done the day before, so we survived. The real kicker, as far as time is concerned, is that we still produce an equal amount of dishes, and overall mess, whether we are 3 or 5. It takes a good, long piece to clean the entire place with only three of us there. I tell you this for no particular reason. Well, I tell you this so you’ll glean some idea of how much I hate people who don’t show. That’s all.

don't put that in your mouth!

I listened to Kojo oversee the airwaves today while his guests had a pitched battle about dollar bill vs. the dollar coin. If you’re wondering about my inclinations, I’m a dollar-coin guy and a rid-us-of-the-penny dude. There doesn’t appear, nor has there ever, to be any valid reason for disagreement. Not necessarily as an issue with me, but with commoncents (see how I did that? Sneaky). The point of this babbling isn’t to get into a deep discussion on currency and the Bureau of Engraving; the point is about polling and results.

One of the lobbyists for the dollar-coin industry (it exists) pointed out that survey results will always have a built-in percent, he claims 20%, who are opposed to anything you might ask. (As an aside, the lobbyist works for the numismatic folk. Not a word you get blogged at you on a daily basis.) Of course, I immediately started pondering all the polling numbers that no doubt include that 20% of disagreers. I’m probably one them for many questions. The kicker is that they know from the Canadian dollar-coin debate: those that ‘opposed’ the change wouldn’t even consider going back to a bill. They returned to those polled about two years after the change, and they were much than happier with new coins. Maybe there was a new 20% within that group who opposed the questioning…or something else floating out about the universe. I’ve decided that I’m immediately eliminating 20 points from all those polls that disagree with my position. Fair enough.

(P.S. I think I should remind everyone that the coin issue of “weight in my pocket” has zero effect on me – my man bag remedies that issue. I don’t carry anything in my pockets.)

what's what

All right. Trying again to get back into it.

This is a time of year where my quality sports unfold: the Champions League closing stages, the F1 season is in full swing, NHL playoffs, and the World Snooker Championship wraps the first weekend in May. John Higgins won his fourth title last week in a stunning final frame. For me, nothing gets better than the two-week run at the Crucible Theatre in Sheffield. Enjoy:



I think I’m prepared for the two weddings this month: one in Minneapolis and one in Vermont. I think shoes are the only item remaining on the list.

The Minneapolis event is for my best friend from high school (and two-year college roommate). All of the get- togethers look great; I’m flying in Friday and using mass transit (both light rail and bus) to get in and around The Cities. After years of using mass transit for travel, it’s second nature to pull up information, get timetables, order fare cards, and slip/slide around cities. I’m looking forward to my second experience on the rail in Minneapolis. If memory serves, the Hiawatha line from the airport into downtown is quite nice.

X gardened all weekend; I cooked and did some cleaning. Our new bookshelves appear to be on the verge of shelving books.

I have two stories from the weekend that I’m contemplating providing to my myriad readers. Most of the audience has heard them already, but it might be enlightening to others. One is funny; the other a bit sad. Give me another day or two to decide.
For L’s birthday dinner last night we continued with the normal pizza night, while she and I made a poor attempt (mostly my poor, her attempt) at a chocolate orange cake. Fortunately, Corey also brought over a massive chocolate pudding so we had strong back up. She went to Eastern Market during the day to walk her rabbit trail of happiness and came back with a new, handmade, t-shirt design. She was quite happy to pocket her loads of cash from across the Hilltop, and the country.

The Eleven joined the newlyweds for a garden walk and tea at Hillwood Estate in the afternoon: perfect weather for the gardens. We had alleged tea at the ‘tea room’, but they are in dire need of an actual chef doing actual cooking of tea –time treats. That portion of the visit, though enjoyable, left quite a bit to be desired in the food/tea arena.

You’ve been as updated as you can be…for now.