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.