the new year

It's over.

I don't tell people quite enough how much I care about them.

I don't tell people around here how great a life I have.

Both apply...

Happy New Year and best to all.

Love.

Cloud Cult - Love You All (Live on KEXP) from Jim Beckmann on Vimeo.

time and debate

It's time.

I'm a ways into Steven Pinker's The Better Angels of Our Nature and confusion is settling into my thoughts. It appears his proclamation is that we are living in a safer world than our long-ago ancestors.  It's clearly true, and not much of a voila! moment, when you crunch the raw numbers, or rate of deaths per 100,000, in various gatherer societies versus the Leviathan-controlled peoples of civilization, but that's not really the point, is it? I certainly don't measure the safety or security of my life and family against the hunter/gatherer's historical numbers. It's measured against my neighborhood and my society. What does this matter? Well, if our goal is too simply be safer from violence than those that wandered the Serengeti then we could probably kicked up the violence and still be winning. But, that isn't what we want, is it?

Guns have long been an issue: as tools of directed violence, accidental harbingers of death, purveyors of death crossed (inter- and intra-) families and lovers, and the most efficient of suicide options. They have also, in ways we generally care less about, provided safety to neighborhoods, countries, and peoples. What they have never been is a remedy for crime or violence. Not once; not ever. The love of, and number of guns, won't change - and why that's important to me is because I have to begin to look at this issue the same way I force the illegal immigrant / anti-immigration crowd to start at the point we are at: 11-20 million people in our country. We won't ever 'round them up' and remove them from the country, so holding that as any serious starting position is not even a reasonable option. Rounding up 295 million of 300 million guns in America isn't a serious position, either. Laws and regulation have done nothing so touting the passage of such laws (by the anti-gun folks), or talking about laws in place (gun folks), is neither here nor there. What does change things in America is the mounting desire of people to do away with (often) what we at one time see as normal or sane, but eventually decide fails to represent the society we choose to live in. Laws and screaming about guns won't change anything, your neighbor and my neighbor will change everything

When X was in a bar exam review course there was an issue reviewed concerning domesticated animals vs. non-domesticated animals and how the law applied to each. What was your responsibility when it came to securing your animals (either type) against damage they might do if set loose in a town or village, or if Jimmy McBobbin from next door stuck his arm in the cage? The debate partially held forth by the students, instead of simply determining your liability if your herd of goats (domesticated) ran roughshod, was exactly how one draws a line between domesticated and non-domesticated. Law students attempting to perfect their study were filled with questions such as: "What about if I owned a tiger?" Is that domesticated if it's in a cage", or "What if I'm keeping javalinas in my backyard?" The instructor had to go to great lengths to point out that within the confines of the bar exam you won't be debating with yourself if the animal is domesticated or non-domesticated, because it will be painfully obvious. You would simply be asked to determine the law based on whether the animals got loose, the dumb kid next door stuck his arm in your hyena cage, or if you needed to build a fence or cage. The domestication issue would be clear, such as: "You own five Bengal tigers and are keeping them in your garage at your apartment complex...", or "You own three laying hens and have them fenced in in your backyard." Right - Bengal tigers not domesticated: Hens domesticated. Don't get too crazy on assessing which is which, it'll be obvious.

What does this mean? When you look at guns you can divide them into those that are 'domesticated' and those that aren't. For people that want guns for self defense in the home, fine. For those that want guns for sport/hunting, fine. I'm like to start there. When the question is asked on our societal bar exam we'll know the answer. A pistol in your home? Self defense. A shotgun in your home? Self defense or hunting. A rifle? Sport (not great for self defense, but good under the sport heading).*** An AR-15 with a 50-bullet clip? Not. (See Bengal tiger above.) We know the answer when someone says they want a semi-automatic weapon with the ability to lay down 100 rounds in 100 second. The answer is no. Our goal should be to make owning and buying those types of weapons something that we don't accept as a society, law or not. I don't want the guy living next door to me to have that type of weapon anywhere near me. I honestly don't want it anywhere near him. The amount of killing that can be done in a limited amount of time is a problem. How about we try to fix that first?

I've come a ways on guns over the years. I once preferred them to be outlawed completely, but I can see how people feel the need for self defense in the home even if I can't understand it, nor see how something that is as likely as getting struck by lightning, gets into people's head. I can't argue them out of that position. What I can offer are options that allow both of us to live in a world where your choices are the tools of violence, and mine aren't - I think I should get a head start.

*** And, keep them in your house. Truth be told, the kind of person who feels the need to carry a pistol around, strapped to his ankle, hip, or thigh is generally, based on most of my 'acquintances', is struggling with dick envy. Sorry, I had to say it. I don't need you out patrolling the streets to protect me and mine. Thanks.

in summation

The cat door was finished over the Holidays. Herewith is the finished product designed by X, constructed by her and her father in the Yankee Workshop:

The beauty of this gem is that it's a double-door contraption that's essentially a vapor/temperature locked compartment that the cats, the damn cats, can move from door-to-door with both doors never open. We'll decorate it and pass along updates as the knuckleheads figure it out. We fear that at least one will eventually decide that napping mid-entrance/exit might be enjoyable.

We made another evening/night through NYC last night - no issues aside from the need to make a run westbound through Danbury, CT before attacking from the north. Nothing significant to report aside from no traffic and the crazy-8 entrance to the GW Bridge when approaching along the Henry Hudson. Who created that mess?

Let's crack some numbers. Our total drive up, 435 miles in 440 minutes (including stops), worked out to a tidy 59.32 mph avg/traveled. The return, with Danbury included, worked out to 452 miles in 473 minutes, again with stops, totaling 57.34 mph avg/traveled. You find these numbers interesting, don't you? My interest is that the NYC overnight route commits to fewer stops and gives one a chance at a 60 mph avg travel time. You can't really do the Falls Church driveway to the Great North driveway in less than 7 hours and change (435 minutes) unless you limit stops to a total of 11 minutes. Truth be told, we only had 16 minutes of stops on the way up; something more like 40 minutes on the return; drive time on the return was less. I'll offer up my other thoughts if you feel like giving me a call on the the road-math hotline.

union labor; made in america (also known as yankee workshop)

Around 3p this afternoon, at a homestead on a rocky Vermont ledge, father and daughter headed out to the heated workshoppe to begin a tussle with a newly-designed, double-door, vapor-lock cat entry/exit point for our house in Virginia. The design is meant to allow access through the house window for our two furballs, whilst keeping wind and weather-related gusts from either entering or leaving the house. Imagine, if you will, a door far too extravagant for simple suburbanites: carpeted, alternating door locations, ledges on both sides, and (probably) a hot tub.

As they ambled across the snow-dusted driveway to the shoppe there was nothing but intent in their strides: band-sawing, lumbering, measuring, shots of whiskey, dove joints, measuring (twice), re-cutting, and Holley double pumper carbs. After an eternity, or ten minutes, they return to the warmth of the main house declaring that a run to the lumberyard is necessary - as oft quoted, the plan did not meet the first obstacle well. Off they drive with dreams of plywood, 2 x 4s, joists, drywall nails, and sandblasters. As I'm holding down the house - cooking, as I do - I receive the dreaded call about an hour later. They've called to report that they've ended up at a local hangout and are having snacks and tea. Snacks and tea?

They return an hour later, alleged lumberyard items in the van, and enter the homestead to great cheers. Cheers of tea and snacks.

What more of life?

another year, bound for glory

We've wandered up to Vermont for the week: a fairly easy drive with just three of us (the 61). The boys departed on Saturday for the U.P. so they are ensconced in the cold and surrounded by trigger happy potheads* of near Canada. We pulled the all night drive up Saturday (departed at 8:38p) through NYC (hit the GW Bridge at 12:39), and reached the house in Vermont at 3:58a. Absolutely zero traffic. The total, in case you might wonder, was 735 miles in 740 minutes. I almost made the 'Joe DiMaggio' trip. That time include our two short stops - clearly the 735 minute drive is the ultimate goal.

On Friday night the 61 once again journeyed into D.C. for a show at the Redrum Theater - we must be the only people to have spent two evenings there. This was for The Santaland Diaries (Sedaris) staged for the fourth year by a Joe Brack; great stuff, highly entertaining, and something you can watch and simply hear the voice of Sedaris coming straight from Brack's mouth. He has another play from last summer's FringeFestival that he's taking on tour after the new year, My Princess Bride, which is a one-man version of the movie. When he announced that at the end of the show, L and X just about screamed with delight. I, for one, have never even watch The Princess Bride in its entirety, but I'll no doubt book tickets when he brings it back to D.C some time next year. We used this opportunity to venture to Ping Pong Dim Sum for dinner, which yielded some very good dim sum, drinks, and atmosphere for a reasonable (D.C.) price.

I was planning on doing some type of year-end music roundabout, but I don't think I have the time or willpower to get too deep into it. It's been a nice year for music, and even though I wasn't particularly high on Mumford and Sons sophomore release, it's grown on me over the year. In particular, Below My Feet toward the end of the CD sort of brought me back around to the entire disc. It's a great song, and so my offering is this live version:



Oh, wait. If you don't like that one, I'll incorporate them into this ten minutes of bliss:



* citation: H. reported once from the cabin in the U.P. that he was bored because everyone in the house was watching football (Packers' fans), and screaming at the TV. Henry has zero interest in football. And, he reported, he couldn't go wander around outside because it was dark and the land was roamed by "trigger happy potheads."

hope and situations

As I was babbling about hope, situations, and how we might react a few weeks ago, I couldn't bend the words to my will - that's my problem A week after the shootings I offer you a parallel ideal posted by TNC at The Atlantic. In his words at the bottom of the post he answers a lot of what was calling me, and these two in particular stand out:

"But I would not insist that I was the same person armed, with the power to take a life, that I was without it."

and,

"These are compacts I have made with myself and with my family. There are other compact we make with our country and society. I tend to think those compacts work best when we do not flatter ourselves, when we are fully aware of the animal in us."

The first statement rings so true for me - I cannot insist that I would or would not behave a certain way in a different situation. I do believe that if you are holding a gun in your hand that you aren't the same person you are without it. I don't even think it's a debate, and it follows my general rule, no doubt heisted from somewhere else, that if you pull out a gun you better be ready to use it. For any person to assume that they know what will happen tomorrow, next week, or next year in their life is fooling themselves. Proof of that, in the current situation is that Ms. Lanza never imagined what her son was capable of doing. She had guns in her house legally. She never expected her son to kill her then drive five miles and mow down 26 innocents. When you remove the anchor we all have, the one that allows us to imagine that we are the perfect ones, it's much easier to see the problems that exist. When you put that gun in your hand, when you release that anchor, you are a different person: one probably for the worse, one for the better.

As for the compact it's the same thing, and tied to same instinct that we are so often wrong about - we aren't necessarily who we think we are and my day-to-day life is so different than the pact I have with society. Any assumptions I have about how my life is to be led should always be measured in tandem with the compact of which I am a party.

you just don't know it

I have no idea if the phrase was uttered, but if it were:

"Take the deal," Obama said to Republicans, referring to the broader proposal, adding that it would "reduce the deficit more than any other deficit reduction package" and would represent an achievement.

This immediately reminded of the final scene of Searching for Bobby Fischer, one of my all-time favorite movies. The only set-up you need is that this is the championship match between two masters-level, chess-playing kids - you can figure out the movie good and bad. I sense we may be at this point...



Brilliant.
 

the return

As the 51 was perusing DC this evening - Pulp for card stock, and the Downtown Holiday Market for gifts - we swung into the Cowgirl Creamery, because that's what you do - and viola! The return of Sofia cheese from Capriole in Indiana. It's been a few years and from I'd heard (correctly?) there was a flood that affected the farm. (I could be wrong - correct me, please.) Sofia is probably the best goat cheese I've ever had, and I missed it dearly. I almost bought an entire brick; I contained myself and went  with the already opened, remaining 3/4 lb. slab. Oh, baby.

There was an earlier run today to Sur La Table for a few items - just the Eleven - to finish a few ideas: in particular, lime squeezers. As we were fondling the squeezers one of the store patriots pointed out that they also sold a 'geared version of the squeezer that required 20% less work', and then something about injury and whatnot. Exactly how many limes do you have to be working to be worrying about injury? Are there loads of claims from the key lime pie-making industry? And, how does this guy really know that the number is 20%? During a staff meeting did the crew drop 1000 key limes on the counter and go at it?

"Whoa, hold up squeezers! I just rocked out (cooking related folk often use terms like 'rock' and 'on point') 1000 keys and it feels like I only did 800 keys I can squeeze enough for another 10 or 12 pies."

I'm calling bullshit.

"Hey, this geared knife is so sharp I feel like I've only julianne'd 350 Vidalia onions for the 175 quiche lorraines that I'm rocking out tonight..."

where have you gone....?

While X cavorted with others in her field last night, I watched a 30 for 30 about Bo Jackson.

A few thoughts to consider about sport and legend. Bo Jackson is only a year older than I am, so his peak of greatness – from Auburn (1982-1985) through about 1991 – corresponds to the strongest portion of my sports following life. I can’t believe it’s been 20 years. Anyway, one of the commentators said during his piece that Jackson was a “what could have been” story, and that we’ll never know how great he could have been in both baseball and football. I understand the question / concern that we never saw the longevity that we’d hoped for back then, and may wish to have film of it now, but I never felt that Jackson’s stamp on the American landscape was ever compromised by his short careers. If anything, the feats of legend are sustained even more by the fact that we think we have precious few when we actually have hundreds. No one of my age will argue that Jackson wasn’t the single greatest athlete of our lifetimes. Do we wish we had more memories? Probably. I guess my only wish is that he could have played longer for the sake of himself. He gave me everything I ever needed to see.

Additionally, long ago we had some debates about Halls of Fame and what defines who is worthy and who isn’t. We seemed to agree that some combination of statistical dominance, championships, superiority at your trade as measured against your peers, and fame, all play a role. It’s simply a matter of determining what combination of each ingredient you find most impressive. We seem to overlook the fame part as we argue whether or not Player X should get in over Player Y.  Prime examples might be Kirk Gibson or Jack Morris. Their fame, and great moments that built that fame, are far more impressive than the actual numbers. It’s not an exclusion of numbers, David Tyree, it’s fame along with very good, if not great numbers. What of Bo Jackson?

no no starbuck

L. brought to our attention last night that she needed to be introduced to coffee. Can a parent dream?

After a quarter of often falling asleep in her first mod class, Political Theory, she decided it best to begin an early path to addiction. We thought about it over dinner and discussed some other possibilities: going to bed earlier (she's often up past 11), a bit more of a morning meal (she eats small in the AM), or possibly a snack upon arrival at school (she does walk about 1.5 miles in the morning). All seemed reasonable options in place of caffeine. Then again, X did came up with the idea of a cappuccino with loads of frothy milk - made by stove top each morning as she nibbled on her toast. Not a bad plan; caffeine and some protein. Tonight we went through the process of getting out the moka pot, running the checklist and prepping for day one. You know what? One sip and she says, "I think I'll just go to bed earlier."

Learning.

let's clarify

I've been told that yesterday's explanation of rock n' roll / coolness was confusing. Admittedly, she only read it once and wasn't paying attention. I decided to vaguely steal a graphic from 'someone' and represent the idea thusly:

If you study the starting position for each, bottom left for the keys tinkler and mid-center for the HS footballer, then the climb is related to the upward-and-right distance from each starting point. I know, it's rudimentary.

On our way to work last week X looked down the Potomac as we were crossing into the city and said, "Hey, there's a train. Where is that train going? Where is it coming from? Train!" I calmly pointed out, whilst merging, that the train departs/passes through L'Enfant and then heads across the 14th St. bridge. She sipped her coffee and pondered my man skills. About an hour later she sent me this picture that she'd created to officially sort out exactly what it was she'd seen. Two things: I rest my case (as if that were an issue), and this is the greatest scatch drawing I've ever seen: plain, simple.

six degrees of dorkdom to stardom

I was at the Mates of State show at the Rock n' Roll Hotel last night and was struck once again by the lives and times of musicians. While watching the duo run through a strong (and flagrantly pop-y) 70 minute set I realized that the degrees of coolness that can be climbed by (possibly) high school bandies are immense. In particular, watching Kori work the keyboards, sing, and dance about was proof to me that if you play as a child - or maybe are forced to play as a child - the path to rock n' roll stardom* is possible. Think about it: if you played sports then you could play pro sports. That's interesting, but getting to a point where people come and watch you play is not only too distant for most, but not even a significant change in stature You're smart at math and become some Sports Illustrated-featured geek who rules the regressive world? Sort of interesting, but not rock n' roll. Play keyboards in the school band, or take piano lessons for years as a kid, and then end up playing in front of hundreds of bouncing fans on a Friday night? Very cool. In the end everyone wants to be a rock star. Everyone.

The RnR Hotel gets a B+ as a venue. A perfect size, pretty good drinks, and an above average sound system. Add to those the additional bars on the second floor and the roof garden and it's well worth visiting for shows. In particular, with a warm room last night (it was 50 degrees in D.C.), the roof garden with some heaters was a perfect late-night hangout. The minor downgrades are location (not near a Metro, though the H. St NW area is quite nice), and the bar location within the showroom - totally blocked during the sets.
 
* My definition of rock n' roll stardom is making a living while playing even moderate-sized venues with adoring fans. Preferably, adoring fans with beers in their hands - bar fans. You know what I mean. Also, I shouldn't sell Jason short, but the degrees that launch a drummer from cool to cooler are far easier to overcome, right? What do I know.

think about it

There are endless threads about the place taking about the subway killing in NYC – a man was pushed onto the tracks and died when he was unable to get out of the way of an oncoming train. No one helped him. Not a single person on that platform.  (If you want to follow a number inputs at andrewsullivan.com you can go here and sort of work your way back.) The whole thing is fucking gruesome, but after a week or so of reading stories it becomes more clear to me that when judging  how we approach decisions made by others we can only assess what they did in that situation, not any ‘what ifs’. By this I mean that we often hear things like, “Well, if I were there I would have...,” or “You don’t know what you’d have done in that situation.” The former is complete bullshit; the latter is true. At the same time, the former will hang you; the latter will not. Let me explain.

If you’ve actually been presented with a real-world decision, I’ll call it the “I AM there” (IAT) decision point, then we know what you did. Is there any possible way for me to determine what I would have done? Nope. I can preach all day long that I’d jump on the tracks to save another person, or that I’d have yanked Mr. Sandusky off that kid, pummeled him, and called the police. The fact is that there is absolutely no way to know what I’d do in the IAT. It’s impossible. The other side of the coin is the “you don’t know what you’d have done” (YDK) accusation; I call it an accusation because those who are being judged on their actions in the IAT tend to immediately throw the YDK back in your face. As alluded to above, in an YDK situation…you don’t know. Here’s the painful rub: we never really get to the YDK unless a person has been accused of fucking up within the IAT matrix: the someone (or someones) who don’t help another human. You were there, you were at a decision point – the IAT – and we can see exactly how you reacted. There’s nowhere to hide, and posing the YDK to others is asking us to give you our hopes, or disprove some falsehood; it’s like you saying, “Well, you would have done (or not done) the same thing.” And therein is the bullshit.

Those that run toward the trouble, or the assistance of others, are pretty amazing. Those that run away may well be like most of us. We want to believe we are better beings. We hope we are better. We never know. If you want a test try this: the next time you walk by a homeless person begging on the street see if you look them in the eye. I’m not suggesting you give them anything or say anything – do you recognize him/her as a person?

the key is...

We swung through the pet store last night to stock up on our overly high-end cat food for our high-end cats and I noticed that the cat food aisle was divided and label thusly: cat food and natural cat food. The way I see it is that you should always feed your cat natural cat food. What is cat food that isn’t natural cat food? I guess a purely natural cat food would be a bunch of live mice that I drop about the house and let my solid gold cats kill.

There was a great story on WAMU last week (read and listen here) about the final stages of ‘delivering’ the new organ to the Kennedy Center. (Here’s a WaPo story and gallery.) This is exactly the kind of event that occurs often enough in the world to be off interest when you hear about it, but generally slips passed most of us. “Don’t you just plug the organ in and start playing?” “There are two guys who hang around all night for six weeks tuning and vocalizing it?” “I wonder if at 3am on night 26 one of the guys yells ‘Freebird!’ back to his co-worker at the keyboard?” I got nothing more; just a cool story.

what are we asking of ourselves?

There is a relentless idea amongst the talkers that football is on its way out of vogue. The current lead story is the murder, and follow-on debate, of Kasandra Perkins over the weekend. I’m not going to get into that crime because, as has been stated by many more sane folks, I have no idea what may or may not have caused Jovan Belcher to kill her. A lot of the assumptions are that this is part-and-parcel to hits to the head and brain damage from playing football.  Someday science will answer those questions.

As for sport and violence – there is only one factor that could hold a long-term effect on professional football: parents deciding that they don’t want their children to play the sport and the game withers on the vine.  Fans has shown zero inkling that they are overly concerned with the maiming and health issues related to sport. As for me, I’ve slowly backed off from watching much sport at all, but I’ll still turn on the game and watch for a quarter or half on Saturday or Sunday. I have no idea why. Considering that I’m not fanatical about sport any more, and yet I’m still not willing to go cold turkey, says quite a bit about the American audience. Even though my desire to watch less came from a different point-of-view than the health issue, I have fully taken onboard the scientific support of severe damage being done, but don't fully withhold support. Fans won’t leave the game. Only the disappearance of football – actual erasure from existence – would end player destruction. The purest violence of our sport has grown to a point where we are willing to watch two dudes get in an octagon and literally try to kill each other. (I don’t need any letters to the editor on the violence of MMA or boxing: they are both pretty grotesque. There is no debate on the violence, only a debate on whether or not you’re okay with it.) Our attraction to sport is purely a competitive / standings watching mentality – there is nothing inherent in sport that requires actual human destruction. The Olympics don’t (generally) require it. Loads of non-American- focused sport don’t require it. I have no idea where this will all end up. If we are simply looking for entertainment, and that’s all that sport really is, there are better options. We’ve seen this type of uproar take years to ignite: smoking, the AIDS epidemic, as examples. As Coates so poignantly puts it: “I'm just not up for it.”

song and dance

Friday night was a bewitching for the 51 at  hit the grilled cheese and musical path. (Don't confuse this with the grilled cheese and hats party, which does involve at least a common denominator, Cheesetique.) There's a stage vibe about town driven by one Nova Y. Payton, who's starring in the role of Effie White in Dreamgirls. I hear you; I know what you're asking - tell me more. Well, she's a local that the Signature Theatre has been featuring almost non-stop over the last year: Hairspray, Best Little Whorehouse, and Dreamgirls. It seems as if she won't be working the DC scene forever with the talent she carries. I'd been focusing on musicals for L. this year (she loves them, but might vaguely report that to be untrue) and Signature Theatre is the heart of musicals in this area. With that background covered for our readers, we headed down to Shirlington for the aforementioned grilled cheeses at Cheestique's Arlington location; well, I did the pimento grilled and she decided on their baked mac-and-cheese. Great service around with our waiter, at my request, scurrying us through dinner with an 8p curtain looming. Post dinner we ambled down to the theatre, settled into the sold-out house, and sharpened our critic's pencils.

Here's the short deal: amazing. Signature is much smaller than one might imagine from its fascade; it's only about 250 seats in 10 steep rows. For Dreamgirls the stage is at its full width with a very cool set that works not only the width, but the entire height of the room. I don't know nothing from theatre, even as I attend loads of shows, but this was the most efficient and sweet stage design I've ever seen. With a full band vaguely hidden at the back of the main level and perfectly mixed sound it was a show and sound to behold. Of course, post-declaration on my theatre knowledge, I'm perfectly happy to report that Payton is all she's cracked up to be - huge voice, great presence, I'll give her an award. As Effie really starts to wind up during the show, after about 30 minutes of development, there's a scene where she leaves the group, breaks-up with her brother, and for the first time in the show really cuts loose. I'm not kidding when I tell you that the row behind us actually broke into tears as her voice blasted through the theatre. Great stuff. Along with Payton, it's Cedric Neal as Jimmy Early helps bring it all home with his impassioned, deep, hilarious, and stunning performance. To have even an inch of the talent of either of those two would be so cool - if I could pull some Jimmy Early moves and songs then I'd be gold, solid gold. As far as pure enjoyment - best I've seen.

Our next outing is again to the Rudrum Theater to see the Santaland Diaries (Sedaris) the week before Christmas.

i can't make anything of this...

I confess

I’m reading a story about the Central Park Five and their overturned convictions from the 1989 rape in Central Park. I remember vividly the entire story about kids out “wilding” in the parks and streets in NYC. I didn’t know that all five were exonerated and released in 2002; my immediate excuse might be that I was living in England but that’s probably lame.

What this has got my mind working on is the intersection of “the times” and “techniques” modes. For criminal proceedings the easiest events to look at are the exonerations driven by the passage of time, exonerations combined with advanced scientific techniques like DNA testing. What we want to believe is that wrongful convictions are simply a poor application of a mathematical formula: The reason that a conviction was wrong was because the techniques we had at the time weren’t advanced enough to convict or not. But that never seems to be the case – when people are exonerated through DNA testing what is exposed in the underbelly is always horrible or biased police work. I never read about someone being released who was convicted through efficient, unbiased, or unprejudiced police work. Maybe a murderer is released and we hear a backstory about how at the time of conviction the preponderance of evidence, or whatever legal term fits here, showed that the suspect was the murderer. No false confessions and no violations of rights and no crappy witnesses. No guesswork or assumptions that led to a failure to disclose evidence or the like. Is this because it’s nearly impossible to mistakenly convict without some of law enforcement insider trading?  Are we as humans preconditioned to convict based on bias? Or, does our system’s “beyond a reasonable doubt” ideal force our hand? There must be convictions are would stand up to any test of technique or time, right?

In a lot of human endeavors we can agree that “the times” we the basic underpinning of human behavior – times when no technique would ever trump or sway the truth. Nearly all civil rights issues wear this anchor: It was the times we lived in; we didn’t know or believe that X was equal to us. We eventually outgrow that and move forward, but we recognize somehow that there was a contribution from time and place within our granting of civil rights. We can understand it. With police/court work the techniques reveal the truth, not the passage the time.

Right. I’m stopping. My head is spinning. I haven’t even fully addressed the ins-and-out of The Life of Pi.

Lemon was taken to the doctor/parole board this morning at 7a and even though he was wishy washy on releasing her, she will roam free this evening. All hail...

struck

Whilst enjoying corn chowder this evening the entire clan (well, some of the clan) enjoyed Moonstruck. It's hard to believe it's 25 years old; then again, it was in the days when Nick Cage was good, and when Cher was temporarily ruling the actress landscape. Part of my interest in X's favorite movie is that my favorite, Big Night, both vaguely revolve around food, love, and crazy people. Another part of my interest is in completely out of nowhere lines in movies that somehow convey a mystery that only each watcher can decipher. In Moonstruck, as Johnny is picking up Loretta and taking her to his bed his declaration is "Son of a Bitch!". Not in a bad way, in a love way. Even with that love understanding, the line seems to come from nowhere yet somehow perfectly narrates the scene. My perfectly shouted line, seemingly from nowhere, is Han Solo in the beginning of The Empire Strikes Back screaming at some poor NCO who questions his going back out in the storm, "Then I'll see you in Hell!" How is that an appropriate response to some safety officer who is simply trying to make sure you don't think your aircraft is falling backwards off the carrier? Trust me, if in a meeting you drop the "Then I'll see you in Hell" line when asked by Human Capital Resources whether or not you've finished your proposal, hilarity will ensue.

I'm giving you some music today. The first is ZZ Ward doing Put the Gun Down - I'm debating seeing her in Baltimore on a weekend in March 2013 because I can see her exploding and going venue grandstanding by next summer. The second is Maia Sharp doing Me After You. I'm new to Maia and apparently I've missed a load of talent. Great song. What's arbitrarily weird, they both talk about guns.

princes and the challenged

 Prince’s career kicked off in earnest about the same time I entered high school. It was in full flight by my senior year and throughout my freshman year in college. He’s sold somewhere between 60 and 100 million records, changed his name, done a gazillion tours, made legendary videos, and generally been the coolest cat on the planet. I’ve followed him through the years even if I haven’t bought any of his records – though I did totally ace his discussion about the internet being dead a few years ago and built it into my own ideas of the online world and death of social activity. That’s a discussion for another day. This is about a return in 2012 of the man: a new song (online even!), wonders about a new record, and the still way too cool bass lines and voice that define him. I’m amazed that after 30 years there has never been another artist that can produce this kind of music. Pretenders to the throne – I could listen to this all day.

My dearest Lindsey, Saxby, John, and Peter,

     I’d like to take a little time to address the grand and heroic gesture you believe you are making in possibly deciding to act against the wishes of Grover Norquist. To make something very clear up front: I don’t give a shit whether you do or not; your wisdom, and self-important sacrifice, is not needed. The country move forward and you’ll forever find yourselves on the wrong side of history, as usual.

     Here’s how compromise works: I give something, you give me something. Simple, right? I was going to type out the OED definition of compromise, but I don’t have the patience. You can look it up, let me help, c-o-m-p…. If I start at position A on the alphabetical compromise scale, and you start at Z (both acceptable starting points), then compromise means meeting at ANY point in the middle. I may come all the way to Y in order to remedy a problem, but if you insist on sitting on Z at all costs then you are a fuckstick. You can claim that it’s some sort of integrity when, in fact, it exposes you for what you are: a petulant child. Do you really believe that if someone is willing to move further towards your desired outcome it means nothing? In the scenario that considers the US Government budgets, deficits, and debt think about this idea: the solution to our current problems lie somewhere between less spending and more revenue. Somewhere. Anywhere. Let’s say I’m a tax-and-spend Liberal and you’re a Crayola-using-contract-promising-going-to-love-you-forever,-Grover-is-the-best dipshit Conservative: how’s about I start at A, you start at Z, and we work from there? Oh, did calling you a dipshit hurt your feelings? Sorry. What if I came over U, V, W, X, or Y? Any interest? Didn’t think so. Feel free to read the first few sentences of this paragraph again. It might be best, in the end, to take your box of crayons, your third-grade math polling numbers, and go color in the corner. Let me know when you’ve learned to draw hands with all five digits.

      Graham, Chambliss, King, and McCain believe in their hearts that if they try to unfuck something that they fucked up to start with then they must be heroes. They aren’t. I will give them this: they are at least the first of their kind to recognize the writing on the wall and they are hoping to save their own skins.

      And, in case you wonder where I stand, I’ll tell you. My first offer would be to make up 50% of the shortall with spending reductions; and, 50% with revenue increases. I, unlike these four that I can only consider as wedges, might even further discuss the numbers and compromise.

     Good riddance, jackasses, your days are numbered.

Best,

Todd

pumpkin pi

A very nice Thanksgiving weekend wrapped up. We managed a full (classic) meal on Thursday with the guests from the north before they back up yonder on the day. The Vermonters were here most of the week and managed to touch base with kids and grandkids.

Friday was cat day: one in for oral surgery, the other in for a set shots. All went well with the surgery and Lemon has now been sentenced to 14 days of house arrest in order to heal. I'd like to explain a few things: she is as close to a wild cat as you can have and, she's already been given nine days off by the house court of appeals for good behavior and time served. She'll be released Tuesday afternoon. I know what you're thinking, "you must follow the doctor's orders", and to that I say bullshit. I fully understand the need to let her heal, but her mouth is looking good, she is aware of the surgery, she won't do anything to harm herself. Also, if you'd spent the last three days in a house with a caged panther, you'd agree. Truth be told, I understand the doctor and liability. What I also believe is that the 14-day sentence is based on non-supercats; you know, babies. We'll finish her painkiller meds on Tuesday and then cut her loose.

L. and I finished the weekend with some entertainment  - Life of Pi on Saturday, and You For Me For You at Woolly this afternoon.  As for Pi, what I find most interesting are the reviews. The reviews seem to break the movie into three parts (I assume the book might fit that division) and somehow discuss the parts as if independent. The flagship portion seems to be the boat part, and it surely is the longest part of the movie (and wonderfully shot), but without the before and after, it's nothing. In fact, the idea that the movie is somehow a kids' movie - oh, animals! - is a mistake. Sure, some well read youth will enjoy it, but the ins-and-outs of the storyline are so much greater than a tiger on a boat. I haven't fully absorbed the layers but the film is extraordinary.

The boys are back from California. None the worse for the wear.

they died of TB

Talk about an amble. The 61 enjoyed a night in town on Saturday with dinner at Clyde's in Chinatown followed by our third Dizzy Miss Lizzie show, The Brontes. I now know so much about the Bronte family - learned through rock n' roll visionaries - that I can answer just about any type of Bronte trivia.  The minstrels had rented the Redrum theater space in NW to ply their trade over the last three weekends. You'd missed the Redrum's door on the 6th St. block of L if you weren't literally staring at the walls of the shuttered warehouses and old distro centers. The space is quite good for theater of this size and the 35-40 fans in attendance enjoyed the evening's entertainment. As usual, the music, lyrics, and performance was a blast - I'll go see anything that DMLRR decides to stage.

I managed to see Lincoln on Saturday morning (at 10a) with the senior crowd. Afterwards, we went and had some creamed corn and took a nap. The film is well worth your attendance if only to see D. Day-Lewis appear to have reincarnated exactly what we all probably expect Lincoln be like in real life.

Cooking has been slim of late. With visitors in town we've been out much more than usual; last night was a return visit to the Peking Gourmet Inn for ducks and whatnot.

I'm seem boring, don't I?

cat's game

In a world...

One of our cats, Pumpkin, has been a bit out of sorts for a few weeks; with cats that means puking. It doesn't seem too serious, but both cats are certainly due for a vet visit so this seemed an opportune time to gather the furballs and take advantage of Obamacare. (All pets are covered under the 2012 initiative within the Affordable Care Act.) Destiny was for 1p today - X was alone, cats were loaded.

Over the weekend we grabbed a newish pet kennel/carrier specifically for this first of many future trips. X's plan, alone and unafraid, was thought out: gather Pumpkin around 12:30 (since he's never far away) and then hope that Lemon wasn't out on a death run. X found and locked Pumpkin in the kennel before heading out to scour the landscape for Killer - a whistle, a cluck, and along came the most beautiful cat in the World. How simple. She brought Lemon to the kennel, opened the door a dash, and was immediately in the midst of a Royal Rumble: Pumpkin blasting out, Lemon fighting (nicely), X hoping. In the frayed aftermath Lemon slipped out the cat door while X managed to squeeze ol' thickneck back into the kennel. Once more into the breech...outside to see if there was any hope that Lemon might have at least remained in the zip code. A quick gander about the place and sure enough she's just sitting on the table outside the cat door. How easy is this?

Back into the house with Lemon in hand and wondering exactly what to make of the 'man' situation. X being smarter than the average bear has headed into stage two with the cat door locked to prevent escape; with the house secured, where could the little demons possibly go? Here's what you do: open the kennel, put the second cat in, gently close the door, and if they escape - no worries, they can't get away. Let's cover what happened: open the kennel (check), put in the second cat/Lemon (sort of), easily close the door (trying), and if they escape - what? In the midst of this second round of battle it's Super Pumpkin who escapes while Lemon decides to take a nap in the perfectly acceptable pet carrier. Not only does Pumpky (Super) escape, he simply uses his Maori Warrior-like head to just bust through the locked cat door - THROUGH THE DOOR, leaving nothing but shards of humanity in his wake. There's no need to head outside to see of he's nearby, dude is gone daddy gone. So, X and Lemon head to the vet, sans SuperP.

Lemon is now fully inoculated. Unfortunately, she has a broken back tooth which is a serious concern. It's going to cause her lower jaw some long-term problems; it has to be removed, but there is serious risk to her lower jaw. We have a contact for a pet dentist in Vienna who can hopefully give us some good news - I'm pretty worried. I'm not willing to have her life limited if the jaw becomes a problem; she can't be locked in a house. I'm hoping. We'll see.

rum, clean.

On Friday afternoon I offered an early Saturday morning (6a) departure to the gals of The Round Table. I wanted to drive down to Warrenton, VA for a visit to the Red Truck Bakery - a well-regarded joint that does cakes, pies, desserts, croissants, etc. They open at 7a on Saturdays and I, as a father of Americana, wanted to brew some coffee, drive an hour in the early morning sun, and visit before the weekend crowds. I loved the early morning view of the two bakers on duty; it's hard to believe there wasn't at least one other who had hours a bit earlier - bakers are a rare breed. We got coffee, a few croissants, a rum cake, and pumpkin pie to bring back to the confines of Fairfax county. The croissants got good grades, I love the rum cake, and word is that the pumpkin pie is excellent.

We were back at the house by a little after 8a and I headed out to the farmers' market - the calendar is moving. Today was easily the most amazing day at the market: mushrooms, red beets, black beets, parsnips, eggs, cheese, Swiss chard, watercress, the last of the garlic, bread, ghost peppers, carrots (I left my greens behind for someone's rabbit), and loads of apples. I was unprepared with just a single bag that was immediately overrun; hands providing the only backstop to the food onslaught. A stunning display.

Because I wasn't busy enough the 51 went to see the new Bond movie at Angelika this afternoon. I quickly remembered why I don't have for the blockbuster (action) movies - there's nothing to them. I give it a C-.

More later.

express line

A new conglomo-market area opened down the road from our house: a somewhat urban version of the outdoor malls you've seen pop up about America in the last decade. This one, The Mosaic, is anchored by an elevated Target, but surrounded by more high-end stores, restaurants, boutiques, a killer independent movie palace, and a MOM market. I'm here to talk about MOM.

There's a MOM down in Alexandria that we used to hit every few weeks for the really good stash of quality foods and whatnot. Unfortunately, after moving to The Hilltop the drive became too long and MOM became nothing but a distant memory, until now. The new store is bigger, with wider aisles, and (for now) far fewer customers. Word of mouth will eventually bring the hordes to the better store with its great parking. And, since you're wondering about my list of greatest grocery stores/markets of all time, I feel I'd be delinquent in not at least giving you a passing glance at my list. You can thank me later.

MOM - the new store is fantastic. I shop there, I'm happy....while shopping.

Central Market - I've only been once to a single location somewhere in Dallas (University Dr.?), and it's stunning. I remember walking in and thinking I'd found paradise.

Waitrose - All about England. For some reason this fairly benign English endeavor always felt comfortable and holds great memories, for a few reasons. This is where I shopped when I first started to actually cook - real life cooking. I also used to always stop by X's house for a coffee on the way home.

Trader Joe's - Yeah, pretty obvious, but I hold them in high esteem for this specific list of quality items: nuts, cheese, wine, and some frozen stuff. It can be a tough shop, but they are worth inclusion.

Wegman's - Right, I used to laugh at the Wegman's prosetlytizers, even after I'd done half the store on my first visit. (They are really only located outside the Beltway here so it's a special trip - and a special $400+.)  This place is spectacular - from their own brands to high-end product. Loads of ready-to-eat stuff, great deli, great bakery...great around.

Byerly's - The upper Mid-west doppelganger to Wegmen's. Well, not quite, but close. Once again, a great selection and a place where you won't have to leave and stop at some other store for that last ingredient.

Wild Oats - I was pretty sweet on them before they were sucked up by the Whole Foods empire. In particular, the store in Reno served as my base while I continued to learn how to cook during my three-year cooking internship out West. I really love hitting the Wild Oats, TJs, and the International Market on South Virginia St.

I'll skip my specialty shops for now. For now.

The 51 drove up to Baltimore (Towson) today to visit Goucher College. I was hugely impressed; Laurel was stoic. Go figure. We decided at 9p last night to not do NYC this weekend - too much stress for the residents, and a Nor'easter to boot. We'll give it another shot in December.

the uncomfortable situation room

During my final tour in Nevada I was present for a number of Air Wing debriefs led by a senior Commander who, about halfway through my tour, headed back to sea to lead an Air Wing. What was most impressive about his ‘precise’ and hilarious debriefs was his ability to distill to the younger pilots exactly how it was the world of aviation and strike execution actually worked. His most important lesson, and something I’d long ago learned but never quite got into words, was the idea of situational awareness (SA). SA is a military term that applies to the world around your little bubble or weapon system. As he so simply stated, often, “There are three types of SA: good SA, bad SA, and no SA.” He’d then go on to quiz most of the new pilots, and the new(er) strike leads, throughout the debrief – Where are you? What are you thinking? What do you know? Where, exactly, is your SA needle at this point? The kid would look up at the dry-erase board, peer down at his kneeboard, look up, and mumble something like, “Well, I thought…”, and then proceed to ramble just long enough to fully realize that his cockpit was stuffed with bad SA. Here’s a quick rendition of the gas gauge the Commander would draw on the board (he refused to use the required debrief PowerPoint):

His training point was this: If you are going to base your decisions on what someone has told you, or data that someone has provided, you better know where you are on the SA meter. Measured against the ground-truth you are gold if your SA is good. Bad SA will kill you – you think you know what’s going on, you trust what’s been said, and you then make the appropriately bad decision. You are far better off to have No SA then to have bad SA – if there’s no SA then at least you are aware of having nothing, and everything you do is then driven by keeping focus on the develop the situation; at least you aren’t sitting around fat, dumb, and happy with a big pile of bad data.

I bring this up as the background to my only post about the election. The disservice done by the GOP/Conservative bloggers and political commentators would, if I were one of the followers, make me homicidal. The final three weeks of the campaign was full of endless diatribes from the right against pollsters in general, and Nate Silver in particular.  Even if you hate the NYTimes, don’t like Silver’s methodology (or his political leanings), attacking the messenger was such a reach that I think it fully dysfunctional. Silver has explained his methods and they make sense to anyone who listens. As an example, if there are 12 polls out of Ohio that show the President leading by between .5 and 1.5 points, while one outlier (see how I use words?) show Romney leading by 6 points, then he assesses the polls and comes out with something that balances out the differences. But, even his methods aren’t important and you don’t need a higher math degree to see that 12 v. 1 means the 1 is most likely out of whack. Numbers don’t lie, but if you willfully choose to ignore basic math to the extent that you are misleading your own ‘party’ then you shouldn’t be allowed to ‘commentate’.

Back to SA. As the talking heads spent weeks trying to get the voters out they decided to attack math, disregard some stable poll reporting, and simply chose to tell the posse that the (wildly vague and incorrect) Rasmussen poll was right - Mitt Romney was 5% up in Ohio! They told people that he was leading the national polls (which he never was), and that Romney would most likely take 300+ of the Electoral College votes. To the followers, that’s bad SA – believing you know what’s going on when, in fact, you have shitty data. You know what’s better? Nothing, no SA. At least the minions can then decide for themselves. You know what’s even better? Good SA. Here’s how I would use the 538.com math:

“All right folks. Here are the numbers: we are losing by about 2 point in Ohio and Colorado. We are down less than a point in Florida, a point in Virginia, and 3 points in New Hampshire. These are the facts. In order to win we need turnout – thousands of voters to get out and make up the difference. Believe the numbers.”

As opposed to Peggy Noonan saying something like, “No worries folks. I did the point-and-click mappy thing at TPM.com and Mitt should easily win this election. Rasmussen shows our guy winning. Also, I think Nate Silver is effeminate.” You know what this might lead to? People not showing up to vote because it’s in the bag. Well done, Peggy. I thank you and your ilk.

Hey, Fox News, where’s your needle pointing?

eek!

As we sat at the table last night enjoying dinner (risotto with a beet-and-pear salad) my beloved Lemon returned via the cat door from her early evening activities. She came quickly over to the table area, wound her away around G.’s chair, and allowed only him to hear a subtle squeak squeak from nearby. It was in that pre-apocalypse moment that he called out, “Lemon’s got a mouse!”

But, dear readers, before we continue let’s take a quick break from our story to review what we know about Lemon: she’s a killer, she will occasionally bring a kill home for our viewing, she will sometimes bring it home still alive – I think she and Pump like to take a little foray into the catch-and-release mentality before fulfilling the soon-to-be-gone-from-this-World appointment of said small animal. I have exactly zero problem with her killing ways; I’m not too cool with the dead and/or teasing in the house situation, but hey, she’s a cat. Back to the story.

Post-exclamation we all scoot quickly away from the table and glance under to see what was what. What was what was this: Lemon had dropped the mouse in order to begin her party-of-death game and mouse decided he wanted exactly zero to do with the Death Cat. And how did mouse avoid the fate of thousands – by scurrying directly up G.’s pants. Oh yes, you read that right – before we could prepare ourselves fully for the hilarity, the young man is up and doing the MousePants dance in the middle of dining room: “I got a mouse in my pants! The mouse is in my pants!” Now, I didn’t have film of said event, and I certainly didn’t have any clock recording data, but I will be honest and say that the elapsed time it took to pass from “mouse in pants” to concern to raucous laughter was surely less than one second. He was still in the midst of the shaky-leg-varmit-in-my-pants jig when the other four of us bypassed concern and fell into laughter. Is that wrong? As Lemon scurried about trying to find her damn mouse (G.’s lucky she didn’t see the mouse go up the sweatpants, because he would have been dancing with two furry things in his pants) I managed to yell the only thing a mature adult yells in this exact situation: get the fuck out the front door. Honestly, I don’t want the mouse paroled from his pants straight back on to the dining room floor. Yep, I’m a quick thinker. Nearly heroic. G. in his moment of distress did manage to hop, bounce, and dance outside with his brother in tow; where, it must be said, he continued the dance until mousy mouse fell to the grass and apparently made haste into the night.

Ah, life at the Round Table.

standing back up

Sure, it’s been a few months, but you knew a music thing would bring me back.

Last night I saw JD McPherson just down the road from the Round Table at the State Theatre. It was a bit criminal that the house wasn’t packed to overflowing – he’s shortly to play the big room at First Avenue so that’s indicative of where he’s at, popularity-wise, on the Todd music spectrum. He’s difficult to classify because you immediately take the easy route and say he’s a new wave Brian Setzer, but the fact is that he’s more rock n’ roll than rockabilly and I think his draw will be much broader. I have an inkling that he’s the next big Americana-alt-rock artist to hit the big time, most likely within the next year; it doesn’t take long. As an example, Mumford & Sons went from being the most accessible of the string band artists within a small chunk of the musical spectrum to being about the biggest band in the world. JD probably won’t get to that level, but huge exposure is on the immediate horizon. The show was stunning on all levels – crowd, music, atmosphere. Unfortunately, one of the issues with tickets was the State’s mediocre recognition amongst the D.C. area venues – I don’t think they often pull from beyond the greater Falls Church area. JD will be back in a bigger D.C. room at some point early next year. He, and his band, is better live but here’s a quick shot. (P.S. Jimmy Sutton is easily the best and coolest bass player to ever walk the land.)

L. did a number of college visits last week: Mary Washington, U. of Richmond, and UVa. We are also doing Goucher (Baltimore) and the New School (NYC) this weekend. She was also up and at ‘em early on Saturday morning to take her SAT at Yorktown High. I dropped her off at 7:30am and can safely report that I’ve never seen so many slack-eyed teens wandering about on a Saturday morning. Not a single one looked like some hard-charging Tracy Flick. I think half of them still were in their pajamas.

We are set for election blackout tomorrow night: a special pizza and double feature night (Princess Bride and MP and the Holy Grail). We’ll awake Wednesday AM and get on with life.

It’s been a few months, but I’m back in the saddle.

door bells

Two things to add to your wisdom ledger - one a receivable and one a payable. Actally, I have no idea which is which but when I typed the word ledger I immediately transformed into accounting man, circa 1981.

X brought back a wonderful set of chimes from Vermont and they've been hanging in our front yard tree for a few weeks. They're quite subtle and well-tuned (that sounds of a restaurant review) and can't actually be heard from any great distance. In fact, L. told me she can't hear them from her side of the house. Last night they seemed loudish to me whilst vaguely keeping me up around 3a; I worried that they might be bothering our neighbor so I decided to hop up, head outside, remove them from the tree, and put them on the ground for the rest of the night. Right. If you ever come upon the urge to 'gently take down some chimes in the middle of the night', rest assured that there is no way it won't sound the equivalent of strangling a cat in the middle of the night. Feel free to glance at the chimes, ponder the chimes, attempt to come up with the calculus that allows you to gently free them from their own noise - just know that it won't be quiet or pretty. There's a lot of clanging that essentially could be mistaken as a chime thief running rampant through the neighborhood.

On to doors. Our gym has one set of double doors. Every time I visit I end up waiting for X to finish yoga and I'm sitting by the doors and watching 70% of the people pull the one door that is locked. Why is the door locked? It's always the same door. Is it broken? Is there an issue with people using that door? Why even have the door? I know that somewhere within the blog is another similar story about a half-broken door in Barcelona. Who writes twice about doors in a single lifetime?

collections of things

I try to get out as often as possible - there aren't many  venues in D.C. that I haven't seen/done/did. Last weekend the 61 headed to the Philips Collection for an amble and coffee. I've certainly been missing quite a bit: it's a fantastic collection that fits nicely into my top list of doable-sized museums. As X pointed out after about 75 minutes, the eyes and mind begin to glaze. We ejected to the courtyard cafe and drank coffee on a coolish (by August standards) D.C. morning. Truth be told, joining the Collection would be well worth it to simply have free access to what is a very nice cafe in the midst of DuPont Circle. I'll be checking the cost.

As a last DuPont aside, the single CD store in the greater D.C. area that I routinely 'clacked clacked' music in has finally shuttered. I've bitched about this before so I won't get too deep, but it's horribly depressing. I do have an exchange in my area that stocks mostly used with the occasional new release hidden amongst the gems. I always feel a little more complete when I wonder into the dusty bins.

After the Philips we wandered a few bookstores in search of who knows what - I bought a 1932 edition of a 'Games' book that covers more than one person needs to know. What we immediately learned that night is that what we play as Charades is officially called Burlesque. I'm fairly sure the adults will be much more interested in gaming if the rascals are screaming about a Burlesque in the living room.



As we plan for the next bit of time off I'm gathering information for NYC - we going to be in the city for four days/three nights in early November. We are staying at an Army base hotel in the southern portion of Brooklyn (Bensonhurst) and will train into Manhattan in the AMs. We've already booked a journey to north (?) Brooklyn to visit some legendary bar owned by one of X's boss' family; it looks stunning in the bar (and grill) tapestry of America. I think, speaking of tapestry, we are planning on a shot up to The Cloisters during the weekend; together with a visit to the New School for L., that's the current agenda. Input appreciated and desired on other hot spots. (I'm already deep into checking on music venues....)

Lastly, prior to our collection visit and bookstore journey we stopped at the beloved Litteri's for a sandwich and fixings for pizza night - pepperoni, great cheese, etc. The crew knows L. at the deli counter and as she headed from the deli to find some more balsamic, the king of the deli looks at me and says, "She knows her stuff. Never gets anything cheap," I created this, don't I know it...

just a bunch of pussies

I was shopping yesterday and noted a woman studying the ingredients on a loaf of WonderBread; there’s no need for that kind of behavior. You will read exactly zero on the WonderBread bag that will entice you buy the product.

Okay, let’s talk cats. There was a study a few weeks ago that outlined (via mounted cat-cams) how many small animals and birds cats generally kill. There’s some follow-on talk about it at Andrew Sullivan today.  (The video is pretty creepy so watch at your own risk, you don’t need it to understand the questions I have.) Is there some environmental issue with the number of birds and bunnies that cats kill every year? I’m not being cheeky, I honestly want to know – even as a somewhat environmental liberal you’d have to show me some serious facts. I’m sure Lemon kills two or three living creatures every single day – she’s like that. Do I care? No. I do wonder about a few comments in the post: first, what is an “outdoor cat apologist” exactly? My generally pet- having rule is that I don’t want any pet that is locked in a house or cage-like venue, ever. I’m much more likely to hassle people who keep their cats locked up as if they are living on the Serengeti and they fear the dingoes (I have no idea if there are dingoes on the Serengeti…). Second, what does “Still, the bird death toll could be even more seriously reduced if people stopped letting their cats roam about unsupervised,” mean? Does this person think there are cat parks out there? Or that anyone can actually supervise their roaming cat? “Hey, Henry, get your cat supervision kit on. I need you to follow Pumpkin around this afternoon for four hour and make sure he isn’t doing any, well, cat stuff.” Lastly, anyone whose advice – or solution to this massive dead bird ‘problem’ – is to keep cats locked up in a house is a moron.

“…We found that house cats will kill a wide variety of animals, including: lizards, voles, chipmunks, birds, frogs, and small snakes.” Yep. Yep. Yep. And Yep. What is a vole?

Okay, I read some of the study outline/presser and the implication is that “one in three American bird species are in decline,” because of cats. I’d like to see some more data on that fact. The University of Nebraska punditry added that feral cats were responsible for the “extinction of 33 bird species worldwide.”  Once again, there are no other factors involved in declining/extinct bird population aside from my cats? I’m not buying it.

mysterious

As an opening, The Eleven is engaged. Very happy. I don't know a better way to write that news - now you have it.

We are on our way back from a week in Vermont; in Danbury, CT, to be exact. I think nearly all of my readers were actually in Stowe with us so my update might wander a bit from the norm. The weather was clear and hot for most of the week. P., L., and I drove up to Craftsbury Common one lovely afternoon and if you'd like to find me five-to-seven years from now then you'll have to drive a ways into the Northeast Kingdom. We can get X working at the high school and I'll finagle my way into work as an in-house cook/chef at the college. I'm not kidding.

Sam Johnson. I don't know if that's his real name, but based on vague internet work he's the man we call the 'slack wire king', of Burlington, VT. I saw him on Church St. in the summer of 2006 - a consummate professional entertainer. Apparently, he's worked of late in Washington State and New Zealand. He has no internet presence, except for a few youtube clips, and we'd hoped to see him at this weekend's Festival of Fools in town. It wasn't to be - his mystery life and, in fact, actual presence on Earth is standing on shaky ground.

G. won the second Ducketta on the river last night. My entry, Nut 3 (heir to defending champion, Nut 1) drown at the first challenge. Needless to say, he was unable to keep the syndicate's winning ways intact. I managed to defend my Stowe Invitational Golf in Miniature title via an absolutely lucky 18th hole hole-in-one; a move that took me from two strokes down to the trophy. Wholly unfair, but what can you do? The three teens all spend a morning ziplining out at Smuggler's Notch, and gabbed for a few hours afterwards about the seven zips - one that ran for 1,000 feet. One of their tour partners was filming a bit for the resort and if you look quickly you can spot all three in the video.

X has a new job - it was a busy week - that should commence in about a month. Updates as the time nears.

Fantastic dinners at both A Single Pebble and Cafe Shelbourne.

Lastly, I hate the New Yorker's new e-reader format. Consider yourselves lucky to only have to hear about it for one sentence.

onward!

Our A/C has died. It's only about 95 today. How did Laura Ingalls survive? Fortunately, we are heading to cooler climes this weekend and then there are plans to have the HVAC / AC / Furnace redone (it's an all-in-one thing). We were warned on the age of the unit so this isn't a surprise, but we'd hoped to get through at least a full year. Updates as things cool off.

I stopped at the sandwich shop on the way home because after running the oven/stove the last two evenings I've decided that we can do three days of food created with no heat by me. As I was waiting for my sandwiches another family came in, 2-plus-3, to order ice cream. As as aside, this place makes their own ice cream and the entire joint is a complete flashback to Goodrich Dairy in Omaha. Anyway, they walk up to the counter to order and Mr. Man says, "Do you have a list of ice cream flavors?" Teen boy manning the cash very instructively points to all the signs that have been hand-drawn and reflect each type of ice cream - about 20 flavors. "Oh, I see," the gentleman says. Now I'm wondering how this will end. As his three kids (ages 4-8) are standing there he then drops this bomb on order guy, "What flavors do the kids like?" What? What flavors do the the kids like? How would dude at shop know what your kids like? It's not even a fair question. Listen buddy, you've got vanilla, chocolate, fruit flavored, cookie stuff, mixes, coffee flavored, mint flavored, etc. This isn't like asking a waiter "What's good?" on a menu - we are adults and know our own tastes. "Hey, what flavor do you think my 7 year-old would like?" Gee, I don't know. And if you ask me that question again you're barred from this store. As Pops finally orders the three cones he pointed to each kid as he order, "Chocolate for this one {point}. Strawberry for this one {point}, and cookies n' cream for {point} her." Thanks JP Sousa. Why don't you hold the pointing and I'll just hand you some finished cones.

About midnight last night we heard the telltale sounds of cat prepping to puke. If you have pets you know the sound. Pumpkin on on full heave at the foot of the bed and X tries to literally kick him through the wall in time to avoid damage. Not accomplished. What we did get was some on the bed and some on the floor. X then picked up Pumpkin, who was done, and threw him outside. The look on his face was priceless - why am I being thrown outside now, I'm done. What this did get me thinking about was how hilarious it would be if people were the same as pets, who simply puke where they stand/lie (not counting drunks.) You're at work, mid-conversation, and you start heaving a bit, "Hold on conference call, just a second..." Blahhhhh, all over the place. Step one foot to the side and continue. Animals have it made, you never see them running for the toilet, "I'm fine, I'll just chuck right here. Really, no problem..."

I think I've revealed too much.