one bullet at a time

One bullet at a time. Someone I work with piped up last night with the near legendary “Obamacare made Tricare cancel my son’s coverage!” Yeah, it did. This is someone who retired from the AF and I would expect to know better. I said something along the lines of, “you’re fucking crazy. You are the only one that this happened to…” Nope, he tells me, his not-yet 21 year-old son had his Tricare Prime cancelled because of Obamacare – he got a LETTER in the mail. Two to three minutes after I get online I discovered that the Tricare contract insurance companies (there are three) have been moving this way since…2007! They want to simply move people from Prime to Standard if they are more than 50 miles from a military facility. Or, you can waive the driving requirement and keep your Prime, or get Standard. Of course, I’m told his letter came just after October 1st (when Obamacare started!) so it must be so. The Tricare (and Government fiscal year) also happens to start on October 1st. What? After I send the link to the Tricare site he suddenly recalls that he got this letter like a year ago and completed the waived requirement for himself – just never did it for his covered child. These are the engagements I live for…

One bullet. At. A. Time.

 P.S. For those policies that are getting cancelled? The President seriously lied when he messaged over and over about keeping policies. But, the individual insurance market, which is about 15 million people, has a lousy record on continuing policies. All of them are sold on a one-year basis, and only about 17% of those buyers maintain their policy for at least two years. By my math, that means that 83% of policies are generally cancelled by the companies, or the insured, every two years. That’s about 12.5 million folks changing policies over a rolling two-year period. If even half of those are cancelled by the insurers (and it’s probably much higher than half), then we should normally see about 6.25 million cancelled. I think the reported number right now (per the endless Fox News at my work) is about 5.9 million. Seems about right for normal insurance operations.

now. cook.

I saw this while doing some research on my other entries – interesting. I can do 28 of them from memory, but I might question the Ratatouille and beef bourguignon being on the list of essentials. Listen kids, instead of this many recipes, what you need to know are more basic ideas that will get you to most of these. (For those who aren’t my wife, if you are a guy and you can cook even the most basic stuff…well, you know what that means with the ladies.) Soups/Stews: know mirepoix. Love mirepoix. Once you learn to go carrots, celery, onions (I add garlic), and have some stock, you are gold. If you want it creamy, roux it up after the mirepoix base cooks, and you are in then in open soup. Know the basics and you can do about a dozen soups with little help. Oh, buy a nice loaf to go with dinner; don’t be cheap – find a real bakery and get some solid bread. Don’t by crap at Food Lion or Safeway. Breakfast: know how to cook basic egg stuff (over easy, scrambled, omelette). If you add in learning to make a romesco sauce then you are gold. Waffles, pancakes, and French toast are all variants on the same theme. Keeping French toast in your hip pocket is the best option (milk, eggs, vanilla, bit of salt, nice sugar, flour, Challah!). Roasting: primarily vegetables. Don’t underdo them. 400 degrees for 40-ish minutes: olive oil, rosemary, ginger, salt and pepper. Don’t get fancy. Squash: easy money. Half, scrape, face down in bout 1/4 in of water. Oven. 400 degress, 40-ish minutes. Then you can stuff them with any combo of sautéed goodness and rice (hey, buy a rice maker…don’t kill yourself.) Chicken: full roasted bird with lemon and sage. Chicken tenders. X’s big platter of French-y chicken lusciousness. Yard bird. Mashed potatoes: Boil. Rice. Mash. Milk. Butter. Salt. If you can’t, or won’t do this, you aren’t worthy. Greek food: as a last item, focus on a basic area. Learn some basics from the cuisine and pull it out when you need to – spanakopita, tzatziki, gigantes, bread. Some day I’ll be 55 and teaching home-ec somewhere. Everyone will be able to cook and survive.

raising arizona

The Eleven did the long weekend in Tucson for Sean and Sarah’s nuptials; a success all around. The wedding was outdoors at a small ranch with the reception following in a lodge-y/multi-purpose building mere steps from the scene of the “I do’s”. We flew down on Thursday, with a day to spare, so we could take the kids out for a nice dinner before the final onslaught of a rehearsal dinner on Friday, and the crazed actions of the Saturday marriage (by ‘crazed’ I mean busy, not the marriage part). They appreciated the time away, and meeting Sean for the first time was quite nice. Saturday went off without a hitch – lovely weather – and by 8pm everyone was happy and more relaxed with the open bar nearby. The happy couple headed to NYC on Monday for a weeklong (wintry) honeymoon.

I was worried about my tour planning abilities and Tucson: none of my research on places to eat and things to do seemed to completely pique my interest. I had my list in hand, but was quite tentative on success. The best of the best ended up being Café Poca Casa for dinner on Friday night with Anne and my hold high school pal, Todd (who drove down from Flagstaff for 24 hours of visiting). This place is amazing: Fantastic service, inspired food, and a perfect atmosphere for a celebratory-like dinner. (The picture on the Web site doesn’t do justice to the ambiance in the evening.) Easily one of the best meals ever. Afterwards, we wandered across the street to a speakeasy of sorts, Scott & Co.  where X, Anne, and Wags enjoyed some high-end fancy-pants cocktails (I was the adult!).

Good recommendations on breakfast/lunch/brunch at Blue Willow and Ghini’s French Café. The best breakfast we had (twice) was at the Café ala c’ART located behind the Tucson Museum of Art. Excellent fritattas and they make a nice, strong decaf Latte, and that’s no mean feat.

We stayed at the Wyndham Westward Look resort hotel in northwest Tucson. It was nice enough, and plenty roomy in our junior suite, but it has some issues: the furniture is aged, the clock couldn’t be set (?), the TV/cable was mediocre, and they charged $3.50 for a bottle of water (we used tap). The goods? The beds are new and very nice. The hot tub was a few steps from our room. The views and layout of resort are quite nice. For the money, I’d go back – there’s nothing that would lead me to give it a “do not go!” review.

Weather was lovely. The skies over Tucson are high, blue, and clear. About 65 during the days, down to the 40s at night. And, we had a convertible Mustang. Legend.

american rolling

Post-Labor Day and the summer hiatus is over – whether it was planned or not. We spent the long weekend visiting family in Ohio. There’s a lovely bed-and-breakfast with a stunning native garden that hosted a few rooms of visitors. Heather came down from Seattle for the weekend, Jen, Dave, and family live nearby; and Connie played hostess. It was such a great three days of relaxing, farmers marketing, high school soccer watching, and catching up. More on the Ohio-specific stuff to come.

The Eleven headed out Friday afternoon from D.C. and immediately (though not surprisingly) moved into our place in the massive exodus from the nation’s capital on the last holiday weekend of the summer. No worries though, we were clear of traffic about ten miles west of Hagerstown, MD (feel free to locate Hagerstown on a map). Our plan was to stop in Frostburg, MD for dinner – it worked out timing wise for the trip, plus X’s grandparents and uncle lived / grew up there so we had a chance to flashback to her youth. Our enquiries to the internet and familynet as we approached the Metropolis indicated that Frostburg isn’t much known for anything to eat, so X pointed her finger to Dante’s, a bar / restaurant, right downtown. The restaurant part, The Red Giant, has been there for a few years and the food is served in the bar area so you have a very pleasant experience of the bar itself – full of character – while stuffing your face with amazing Red Giant food. We were awed by the food and between us we had the watermelon gazpacho; goat cheese, apple, green onion, bleu cheese crostini; Caesar salad with grilled cheese croutons; and white bean Panini. It was so good that X was unwilling to leave behind (or wrap up) the huge plate of crostini…eat eat eat. The vibe in the place is cool and laid back so if you find yourself on I-68 in western Maryland, swing on in – with our high recommendation in hand.

We traced nearly the same route home on Monday, but stopped in Clarksburg, WV for a bite to eat. Once again, based on some crazy reviews we decided venture into what can only be described as the old, dark, and uninhabited former industrial area of town. We are talking an old, beat-up, hard on its luck, former mining town. Our destination was Tomaro’s ItalianBakery and their customer-declared, badass pepperoni rolls. I didn’t even know what a pepperoni roll was until yesterday – at about 1:15pm. I don’t eat meat any more, but there was no way I wasn’t eating what they handed us in exchange for our measly six dollars: four piping hot pepperoni rolls. What you have here is a freshly baked, Italian bread roll with hunks of pepperoni in the middle – unbelievable. We kept two for the boys (they were lucky) and I gobbled down two while they were still steaming their wondrous aroma all over the car. It’s sort of true that once you have a Tomaro’s pepperoni roll you can die happy. If you are rolling out the way, stop in and get a bag load. STOP. GET ROLLS!

X didn’t get a chance to eat rolls – hey, it’s her choice – so we made once more stop at…wait for it….Panera. Where, as expected, they fucked up her order. I have no idea what to say.

The journey both ways was pretty straightforward. The food was a discovery.

turn up my monitor

Yesterday I once again came back to a blog entry that was forwarded to me by a friend last year. At work we were talking about some movement in positions at - one is promoted, another steps up to fill that vacancy - and I realized that once again, How to Play in Someone Else's Band became a nice touchstone. I always appreciated that the lesson runs both ways if you think of the statuses of both leader and the member alike. What brought it up was my recommendation that the one filling the vacancy is now in a position of leadership, not just rocking the bass, and needs to change, for lack of
a better work, appearances. I've often thought about the discussion about how the worker becomes the manager, or how the businessman becomes the enforcer (Joe Kennedy?), and our misguided interpretation of both sides of the equation. The fact of the matter is that regardless of how you work or behave when you are in the band is always going to be different than when you lead the band - and noone should expect anything different: you shouldn't be chastised for becoming more directive and controlling in nature when you take charge. But, with that acquittal of change, you can't not change - I consider it a necessity. Government/military-related work is driven by a 7:30a to 4:30p workday with a good bit of flexibility included. In this area traffic can dictate how painful your day is based on when you drive in and out of the city. Lots of the bandmembers work a 7a-3:30p (or 6:30a-3p) schedule in order to avoid the brunt of hellish traffic: perfectly acceptable in the band. One you become a manager/leader you need to change that frame and move to a more "present" 7a-5p workday - you need to be here earlyish and leave later. Trust me, nothing massively important, or on a deadline, ever happens before 3p in government work. Taking the position includes changing your workday to align with all of the other bandmembers who will still get the benefit of early arrivals and early departures. Leading, and the monetary bonus, is what you've taken on by accepting the job. (Of course, I've always advocated to new bandmembers that being here until 5p is always better; if you can never be found post-3pm it will show in reviews and critiques, fair or not.)

Hey, we got married ten days ago, in case you didn't know. We had a hearty crew of 17 join us for the ceremony and reception in Stowe - hard to imagine a better mix of people. For those that made it, thanks; for those that couldn't, we thought of you and wished you could have been there.

I'd like to get into some music, but since one reader is nitpicky about that I'll hold off until the next entry.

my cupp runneth...

I watched last Friday’s Real Time last night on the DVR, and listening to SE Cupp was such a perfect moment of hearing the call of ignorance in its natural habitat. Her attempt to put forth a position on civil rights and gun ownership was so pathetic that I had to sit down and tap some keys. Even with someone (Michael Moore, in this case) sitting right next to her saying, “You can have all the guns you want, we just want background checks,” she was still too shallow in the thinking pool to realize her diatribe on her second amendment rights was pathetic. Her position, and I’ll paraphrase here, is that “us law-abiding citizens who want to buy guns should not have to wait – even a second – for a background check to be completed. We are law-abiding citizens. That is violating my rights.” (They like to repeat that law-abiding bullshit quite often.)

Let’s breakdown the gun owner talking points that Cupp parrots so wonderfully. First, it’s clear she supports the idea the guns aren’t the problem; our mental health system is the problem. Second, if we could only have a list of those “mentally ill” people, and the rights that we will suspend, then we could fix the problem. (We don’t need to get into the issue of mental health right now; nor do the sudden mental health supporters ever offer any answers to myriad issues with this pipe dream.)

Hopefully Ms. Cupp can follow along – I’ll go very slowly. Imagine we have shaken fairy dust over all Americans and now have lists of those we don’t want to have guns – or as Ms. Cupp might put forth in private: blacks and swarthy fuckers, but not mental problems because she can’t identify them with her eyes. We have a list of felons who can’t own guns (she’d agree with this), another list of those on the terrorist watchlist (she’d wrinkle her nose and say “that’s great!”), and the mentally ill. So, Ms. Cupp walks into Joe’s Guns and Crepes, strolls over to the counter and says, “I need a .38 immediately.” Her position, funny enough, is that in her head, and correctly I’m guessing, she’s a “law abiding citizen,” so therefore everyone must also know what is in SE’s head. I’m the gunshop owner and I’m supposed to do what? In her world what I’d do is this: look at this pretty white woman wrinkling her nose. Clearly she’s not a criminal, crazy, or a terrorist. That is how Cupp sees the world – do not interfere with the white folk. How about his: a 25 year-old black man walks into a gunshop, let’s say he’s a student at Howard U. here in D.C., and he wants to buy a gun because he lives in a neighborhood that leads him to believe a gun is necessary. He says to me “I need a .38 immediately.” In Cupp’s lonely mind it would be perfectly fine for me to run a background check on him because he’s black. How exactly does she think we can apply the fantasy mental health list to gun purchasers if we can’t actually use the list…for everyone. Does she think there is special training we will provide to gun shop owners? Does she think that by saying, “I need a gun,” we’ve passed along information that is the universal signal for “I’m a law-abiding citizen”? Her position is so untenable there’s no way she could even see through the bullshit she’s spouting.

And, one last thing Ms. Cupp: your declaration that you’ve been “living this” with guns for a decade is comical. Living it? What exactly is living it? Owning a gun?

Well, at least she’s pretty.

have you got a penny?

A few weeks ago, while driving about town, H asked X why we eat like peasants if she and I make ‘so much’ money. Peasants? Have you eaten at my house? Regardless, I think the question was driven by the fact that I do soup and bread once a week – usually it’s a heavier soup with some veg, beans, potatoes, served with the mandatory massive hunk of bread. I like soup; I have an awesome soup tureen and ladle. H likes soup primarily because as a teenager he can put it in his mouth. Apparently, the discussion evolved into jesting about using potatoes for food, and how it must be the only food if we are eating like peasants. What if the King shows up and requires his payment from the peoples? Since we only have potatoes (see how this is coming around?), we must have to save at least one potato to pay our tax. The great tax potato: “Oh no, we’ve eaten the tax potato!” When the two knuckleheads got home and relayed this monkey-chatter story to L, the entire house broke out into the snark you’ve come to expect from this crew: the great Tax Potato Laff Fest of 2013. You should have to live in my shoes.

I did my last Open House at the New School over the weekend – they have four or five a year where potential students and their parents visit for a look about the place. I’ve always enjoyed taking families around and giving them a tour of the classrooms and introducing them to the teachers. As has been put out there over the years, I don’t think I could create a place better than the New School. It’s not perfect, but it’s close. L’s time there has been wonderful – even though stress in high school is unavoidable – and I don’t know that she’d be where she is without the school. I’ll miss it when she finishes.

This is what passed as a critique of pizza night. The zucchini blossoms and ramps are out at the market these days; or, at least for another week or so. L and I stuffed the blossoms with ramps, a bit more garlic, salt/pepper, and goat cheese. I then did a quick egg wash and pan frying to sort of seal them up nicely into a shape that would hold in the oven. The pizza was a red sauce, smoked mozzarella, a stuffed blossom on each piece (our big rectangular pans end up in eight large pieces), salt and pepper, and finished with grated Manchego. It was damn good. “I would like more blossoms on my pizza,” she says while drinking her New Zealand Cab-Sauv and eating handmade pizza from her couch. We have quiz up tonight – our consistent position seems to be three of four weeks in the top 3 or 4, and one week in 4 down around 9th or 10th. We are coming off a tough one last week so hopefully we’ll respond to the challenge. As a learning (rabbit) experience for all, when a question begins, “What New York City skyscraper…” the answer, regardless of what comes next, is The Empire State Building.

X has gotten one of the raised gardens in and full of the first plants of the Spring – four more to get through this week. Then, sitting near the garden and watching I don’t think

I've relayed the kids’ story and query about our eating habits and the “tax potato”. I will do so tomorrow.

life chugs along

A month? I’m lazy. Here’s what needs to be known about the last two months: L is sorted out after college visits and will be attending the University of Mary Washington next year. It’s about an hour down the road in Fredricksburg, VA and has a very strong creative writing concentration in the English department. She visited Goucher (near Baltimore) twice, Mary Washington (twice), and The New School in New York after acceptance letters arrived. In the end, a great battle of the minds came down to Goucher and Mary Washington. Both schools are very good, and both offer the concentration in writing that she desires; but, Mary Washington offers a bit broader catalog of classes and a few more options than Goucher. It’s about 4,440 students, as well as a Virginia state school which saves all involved a nice chunk of change over the private fees at Goucher. I loved both places, but with so little separating them it didn’t make sense to spend the extra money. She’ll be very happy at UMW. Hard to believe that I’m involved in any of this – she used to be so small. She’ll graduate on June 8^th and shortly thereafter head to Vienna for a weeklong vacation of eating schnitzel and pastries;  that’s immediately followed by our week up in Vermont at the end of June. She’ll no doubt disappear out to Victoria, BC for a good part of July, and eventually return to get ready for her life at college. (The picture above was drawn by one of her classmates and will serve as part of her page in the school’s yearbook). We have settled into a strange run of Spring weather, but the garden is looking fine and the veg garden is going in – from X’s seeds – this weekend. She spent last weekend on the driveway building five raised garden frames that were promptly soaked by two-and-a-half days of rain. I think she wants to paint them blue so here’s hoping for a few more days of drying weather. I’ll catch up on other doings shortly.

All are alive. All is well.

chisolm, like the trail

Much like our journey to Buffalo years ago, our trip to Baltimore on Saturday/Sunday was quite charming, unexpected some (beyond our realm might say). It was only 24 hours, but we managed to luck into the sort of stuff that happens when we travel. Saturday’s drive up was smooth and we checked in at the 1840s Carrollton Inn at about 4pm before heading down to the Fells Point area for window shopping and coffee – and people watching as loads of Baltimore people (Baltimoreans?) were  well on their way through what appeared to be an annual bunny-ear-pre/easter-drunkfest all about the place. We hit the dress shops (her) and record shop (me). This is what a record shop looks like – from way back in the 1990s. I was happy as a pig in shit; I restrained myself to six or seven CDs from my list.

Dinner involved more planning – we were right near Little Italy, but the classic Italian places serve classic Italian fare, and if you don’t eat meat you are pretty limited; maybe some Alfredo or ravioli. Instead I tabled us at Helmand, a well-regarded Afghan restaurant in the Mt. Vernon area –ends up being one the best meals we’ve ever eaten. Afghan food is very subtle, light on the spice, and loaded with great stuff like leeks, chickpeas, yoghurt, coriander/cilantro, and cardamom. From bread to dessert it was quite amazing, and dirt cheap by the standards of this area: two apps, two soups, two mains, two glasses of wine, two desserts, tea and coffee for $80 – he got a nice tip.

Yesterday we had the (expected) mediocre breakfast at the Inn (why do higher-end Inns always struggle with this?), which was the only down point for the weekend, followed by real coffee at the communist/power to the union bookshop in Mt. Vernon, another bookstore for actual shopping, and a few hours at the Baltimore Museum of Art. The BMA is the perfect size for my museum skills and desire: an hour gets me through most of what I want to see and then I’m ready for more coffee. They have some great Rodin and Matisse holdings to I didn’t have to spend too much time pondering annunciations and/or Virgin and Child. I know, it was Easter so maybe I should have been a bit more Giotto.

We have quiz tonight – we’ve struggled the last few weeks. Maybe the vacation will shake loose some trivia,

Opening day in D.C. at 1p – as if that won’t mess with the already horrible rush hour in town. I’m starting a petition: No days games unless it’s a weekend or Holiday.

zooming by

 It's been quite a bit longer than I expected to be away. I imagined a normal day or two before once again typing away. Life intervenes, doesn't it?

I'm sure I should probably go on at length, but I won't; not right now. My father passed away about two weeks ago so I haven't been much in the mood to write about the little things in life. I spent last weekend in Dallas with his wife, Caroline, and the largest gathering of the clan that I've attending in many a decade. There were tears, but there were an equal number of laughs and stories - a celebration as much as mourning. I'll leave the rest of my wandering thoughts for another time.

My youngest got her first college acceptance letter - with a chunk of scholarship money attached - in the mail today. It was a nice package from Goucher College and it sort of makes me feel like my work here is done (it's not, not by a long shot!). Regardless of how the other applications turn out, I'd be very happy for her to continue her education at a very small college nearby. She and visited back in November and I really like the academics, campus, and people. I think it's grown on her a bit since then so we'll probably make a return visit in the next month to have one more look about the place.

Bad news. Good news.

The easiest way back in, isn't it?

stay on target; stay on target

This Google Glass thing is pretty cool.

My first reaction, as with most technology, is laughter - I'm sort of built that way. What I realized about half-way through the ad is that we are essentially looking at applying the first-person shooter in video games (which I hate) to everyday life - and what we have is a world where video games have a beneficial effect on who we are, and what we do. (Video gamers claiming dexterity, computer skillz, and logic/reasoning abilities isn't anything I yet believe; okay, I'll change that - if your increased dexterity involves moving your fingers quickly within a five-inch space, then fine.)  What I do wonder about is the ability for people to essentially multi-task while doing whatever else they happen to need to focus on. Any type of HUD takes a considerable amount of training - older folks might struggle (see: mandolin playing, Todd), but yutes will no doubt adapt much quicker. I think back to trying to 'teach' multi-tasking in my AF career, and as often as not you can't teach it - they had it, or they didn't. Sort of like teaching 'speed' - can't be done. I shudder to think of people trying to use it while driving the car, walking, or even sitting in a chair. Also, I don't much care for the voice activation which will sound like hundreds of people talking to Sulu on from some distance planet.

"Glass, start recording. Stop recording. Crap, take a picture. Wait, turn left here? Glass, I'm lost..."

we are...

As not expected, we destroyed the 37-team pub quiz group of johnny-come-latelys last night. After our sterling performance three weeks ago (tied for 3rd), we stepped up and won for the first time last night: a four-point clearance over some of our archrivals (our archrivals; we are not their’s). It feels good. We feel strong. We’re just taking it one day at a time. Just like they say in South Bend: play like a champion today. Is this too much?

I must confess that I messed up three questions in the sports round, which ended up being our worst of the night – if we’d lost I would have hung my head in shame. (Who drafted Kobe Bryant? – Charlotte Hornets: I glitched and put the Memphis Grizzlies knowing full well they didn’t exist at the time, and I know it was Charlotte. Some 1990s darts champion was different than the rest because? Left handed: I wrote and then erased. What year was “the Catch” in the 49ers game: 1982 – my time was way off on that for some reason.) All easy enough questions…focus. Rabbit.

X was stellar all night: Kingfisher id’d, checked. Lena Horne, check. Sheryl Crow, check. Daniel Day-Lewis roles, check. Our third pulled Katie Couric and her colonoscopy out of, well, you know. Looking back, we had no right on at least 12 questions, but somehow managed to scrawl the right answers. I guess that’s how it works.

Here’s a new deal: playing C, D, and G on the mandolin is a piece of cake. Playing A or E is not. This might be an issue of old-man hands, but getting your pinkie and ring finger to cooperate isn’t so easy. I’ll have to contact my buddy, Buzz, and make sure he isn’t just rocking three chords on all his guitar songs. I question the reality behind his skills.

that's fine, scroll down

They say you only need one event to earn your fame; this is mine.

Imagine you have delivered this scroll (or roll) to your king. Suppose he mounts it on two barrels, one left and one right, and then decides to read it while you 'operate' the machinery. As he's reading the various requests from the kingdom next door, reading page on page, he says to you "scroll to the left". What does that mean? Did he just walk into your cubicle, look over your shoulder and say, "Scroll down. No. Down. Down, I mean up"? No, his kingship did not. You can easily see that regardless of the tool (or roll) you are using, the direction is clearly for you to move the paper/scroll to the left: scroll left. The scroll moves the direction he is telling you to move it. See? So, if you come into my cubicle and are reading the long article about the importance of blogging on my screen, please direct me to scroll up, not down, to get the comments section. The page is moving (scrolling) up. I know what you're thinking: what if I'm using the mouse wheel? What if I'm using the 'scroll' bar? You know what I'm thinking? Did you just read what I wrote? That's what I'm thinking. The document on the screen is still moving up. Scroll up. Just because the wheel is spinning down does not mean the action of the document is down. Moving the rectangle down on the 'scroll' bar isn't any different - the scrolling action is still up.

I rest.

Off with your head.

how'd it go?

A brief summary from our Pub Quiz on Monday evening. We were four once again and managed to hold our own for the evening. We weren't as sharp as two weeks ago when we finished a career-high 3rd place; this week was more an 8th place, or so. You might wonder what type of questions we see on the average Monday night so I'll give you a few. One of the rounds is a picture round - a separate sheet of paper with 10 color photos and questions. Here are three from the other night:

Name the Person _______________

Name the Player _______________

Name the Animal _______________

Do you feel caught up?

P.S. We did manage to get two of these three correct.

it's really nothing

X flew out to the great Northwest over the weekend to visit a dear friend and family. From what I gathered at the pick-up this morning (and our hookey playing for a long breakfast), everything went swimmingly.

I manned the fort for four days and no one seemed worse for wear. I did finally finish painting the living room ceiling - though I'd prefer a platfrom to lie down upon, like Michalangelo - but you can't have everything. The finished ceiling is also courtesy of Green Day, who kept me going through three full rounds of Uno!. You wouldn't imagine Billie Joe painting ceilings, but he's not a bad sidekick.

I decided on Saturday morning to make a big pot of Brunswick Stew for dinner - who doesn't want to shop for smoked ham hocks? If you don't know of The Stew, here's the background:

1. Came from Virginia
2. Or, came from South Carolina
3. Has a bunch of southern ingredents in it

You're welcome, I saved you this step.

Ham hocks, whole chicken, onions, corn, tomato sauce, tomatoes, okra, potatoes, chicken stock, Worchestshire, hot sauce, seasonings, and cooking.

What I really needed was a huge cast iron kettle/pot that I could hang from some sort of tripod over a fire in the front yard. As it was, I managed with soup pots on the stove. I should have done some cornbread, but we made due with fresh dinner rolls from Wegman's. The kids ate. They are ate-n again tonight as the adults (one very tired one) expose themselves to the (normal) failure of Quiz Night.

On Saturday I visited a therapeutic massage school near the house. They have a four-month, full-time program that my vet benefits will pay for (much like my culinary training). I think I might give it a go in September. I don't want to do it as a career, but X can get unlimited massages. What a deal, right?

I have nothing more to give...

t

one week

I suspected.

Listen, as I've often said to many, and for the few, that no kid has ever uttered the phrase, "I can't believe my parents made me learn to play music." Never. Of course, as a kid I wasn't aware of this wisdom; even if I were, I wouldn't have cared. Kids are kids - either you loved to play music or you didn't. It's been only a single week, I've practiced every day, I've learned my first scale, my first chords, my first song. There is nothing in this world that is so sweet as making music. So far, it's a grand idea, and I'm so very happy I took the step and discarded any embarrassment I might feel for learning something so 'late' in life.

Man, the Barenaked Ladies are about fun.

Love to all.

drifting

I've been sitting on this one for awhile. Well, not sitting so much as forgetting to ply my reader(s) with stories. This was in the NYTimes about a month ago and is easily the coolest story I've read in the last year. Any number of hooks get me: adventure, awe at how far they flew, the technology and skill involved, the freedom of the sky, and the final compeition unfolding before our eyes. The idea that one last 'lift' will get you there seems surreal. Great, great story. The Times also has a bunch of photos and interactive features that I didn't have as I read the newsprint version on my couch that Sunday morning.

smoke up, johnny

This is a short ramble, but I'm curious. It's been touted many a time that video games have been shown to have no effect on kids' headmeat. I'm going to play along for a bit, because I'm pretty sure that this:

actually had very little mental effect on my brain as I wasted my early-1980s youth playing quarters, Frogger, and chasing high school drawers.

What about now? Based on some minimal research on the Web, the first real first-person shooting (FPS) game that was fully functional was Wolfenstein (1992). From that point until about 2004, FPS games were almost exclusively PC or Apple OS based; in about 2004 (or so) the re-birth of the home gaming console came to pass and Halo (2004) and Call of Duty (2005) began the onslaught of FPS games. Also, remember that  in the 1990s and early 2000s the limitationson on computers in a house that Little Johnny could play shoot 'em up: Either by capability, or the fact that you weren't letting that little bastard on your $4,000 Pentium. Any studies from the past that cite the nil effect of video games on kids can be disguarded - for the simple reason that they don't take into account the FPS genre and ubiquity.

Let's do some math - if I assume that the kids we might be concerned with are those that are now 7 (like the kid so proudly describing his FPS shooter love and skills at the barbershop the other week, while his mother looked on proudly); and generally, those more likely to have been born between 1995 and 2005. All of them range in age from 7 - 18 and it's impossible to even comprehend how FPS games affect them. We can't possibly know, can we? It's all well and good to say that Missile Command, Tetris, and Galaga had no ill mental effects on me (even if they did make me delay my homework or chores), but to move that data forward and say that this current 7 - 18 crowd isn't being mangled at least a bit is crazy. The idea that kids can be the shooter, can see all the blood and gore, can have missions that never end, and the the fact that they never 'die' probably puts an illusionary tilt on their psychology. So, your kid claims they understand the difference? Are you sure? Probably. I suspect that around 2023 we'll see studies that show a massive, violent influence on the kids that grew up playing these games.

I knew the difference between reality and games when I was young. I knew I wasn't a frog. I never came upon a giant monkey rolling barrels at me. Those game weren't actual things that happen in life.

another brick

I've been doing some searching online for bricklayers' training and/or skills - anyone got anything? This goes back to the "I'm going to build a wood-burning brick oven in the backyard this summer" entry. I've found quite a few folks who have posted plans online for ovens that they've completed so I feel like I can parlay at least a few of those into an appropriate size and shape. I think the actual brick working is going to be the test. Does one build a mini-brickwall (like 4 x 2) to practice the skills? As I was blathering on about this a few weeks ago, X immediately piped up with, "You can't use my bricks!" My readers may wonder what kind of person would, first, get all dib-sy on bricks, and second, have 1,000 brick laying about the place. I can tell you - she lives here. Those above are her bricks, dammit. Fine, I'll get my own bricks. Better bricks; manly bricks.

The 51 went to down to the nearly abandoned Eastern Market on Sunday; the vendors tend to take the few cold months off after Christmas to recover, so it wasn’t unexpected. I did get some Peregrine coffee (I was out of my coffee at home), we stocked up on cheese at the monger for pizza night, and we visited one of our favorite used bookshops on Capitol Hill. I actually had a book in mind, Leviathan by Hobbes, for a book club (they don’t stock it at actual bookstores – who wants it?), so I figured the compact philosophy aisle might prove fruitful. It did. L. grabbed a copy of The Silmarillion on the way out: I think we win a prize for the two densest paperbacks bought at one time. A little light reading at the Court. We actually saw The Hobbit for a Saturday matinee, and L. is in a Tolkien class this term, so that purchase at least some sense. I haven’t yet seen the previews for the Leviathan movie. Is Brad Pitt going to play him?

I had my first mando lesson on Saturday, and confessed to my complete lack of instrumental knowledge – and shitty 12 year-old practice skills on the piano. The teacher is pretty cool and I’m now set-up with my opening pile of stuff needed to excel. I’m working my G-scales this week while focusing on the G, C, and D chords – my finger tips are sore, and my elbow is sore. What is the price to pay for learning a string instrument? As I was practicing yesterday Lemon was on the bed in the room and immediately strolled closer to me in my chair, laid down, stared at me, and seemed to enjoy the musical sounds. This is why she’s my cat…dedication

i've seen this trick before

The Lumineers show at DAR Constitution Hall last night was damn fine. The speed with which this band has moved from opener (over the summer they opened for OCMS here in D.C.) to headlining for a sold-out crowd of 3,700+ is amazing. As with most bands they’ve been around a lot longer than one might expect, and that’s clear when you watch the five-piece in action (three members are more original and played a few songs on their own). In particular, Wesley Schultz represents the face of the band, and his blazing light can carry this band a very long way. I know, it sounds like I don’t care about the rest of the band, but I do. What Shultz is to the Lumineers; Ketch Secor is to OCMS – the trick (not a bad trick) seen before. What this band has written is a nearly perfect album that mixes americana, folk, rock, strings, and harmonies that have been laid down by lots of bands over the last ten years. What the Lumineers managed to do is take all of that groundwork and build it up into ten songs that everyone can (and will) sing at every show, and that’s no mean feat. They had the (strangely diverse) crowd in a lather from the get-go and by about song four had cemented their place in the memories of the entire Hall. You won’t often see a band so tight in performance, playing to the crowd, and generally forcing you to be not only there, but to be a part of the show. (SPOILER ALERT for those who are randomly searching for reviews on Google – even though videos show it all.) The highest point of the show was when all five grabbed their instruments and marched through the crowd to the rear center platform above the boxes in the hall. From there they played a fully unplugged version of “Ho Hey” with everyone singing along; doesn’t get much better than that at any concert. If you’re headed to a show to see them, you won’t be disappointed. If you aren’t, figure out a way to go now – they won’t be in even 3,700-seat places any more.  My only nit to pick was that they did another version of “Ho Hey” toward the end of the show. I felt they might have overreached there – leave us wanting more. The unplugged version was more than enough. Where do they rank for shows? In the great category, but not the top – simply because my top shows all have more personal depth to me and my life. I say that as a way to justify not having their set at the top, and the other five are truly spectacular.

I was in one of DAR’s boxes last night – they seat five, pretty nice but no more expensive than other seats – and chatted with a couple between the opener and the Lumineers. We were talking about other bands on the rise out there (yes, dorky) and I told them about John Fullbright who is out on tour right now opening for G. Love and Special Sauce. She laughed about the G. Love reference because apparently she’d hung out with him after a show at her college any number of years ago. I told her that this was clearly her ‘brush with greatness’, but her boyfriend (husband?) disagreed. She looked a bit confused at his insistence until he pointed out to her that she’d been on the front page of newspapers worldwide in 1978. She’d been held as a child by the Pontiff, in Rome, on the first day of John Paul II’s tenure. Oh, yeah, that too. G. Love and Special Sauce or the Pope? Hmmm.

*for the man i've become / not the man that i was

I always wonder about how we judge people of influence who lead visible and affecting lives. I read the obituary of Harry Callico today: he served on the Virginia Supreme Court for 42 years and wrote the Loving v. Virginia decision in 1966 that was overturned by the US Supreme Court in 1967. I often use Loving v. Virginia to represent the recency of some of the last civil rights decisions in America. I was two. I was alive when the Supreme Court struck down laws against interracial marriage; I’m not old – I’m going to a concert tonight. The point is that it hasn’t been that long.

But, that’s not really the point of this entry. It was early-ish in Carrico’s career (he was seated on the court in 1961) that he wrote the Loving opinion, and he then served another 36 years. A number of interviewees say in the obit that he would not have ruled the way he did if he’d been faced with that choice in years, and that he’d changed. And, let’s say he did, it doesn’t matter so much right now. We can say he changed, we can say he was a product of his time, or any other reason, but it won’t answer my question. When influential people are involved in horrible decisions early in life are they are better off in our remembrances than those that do so at the end of life? Is that short timeline at the end of one’s life simply not enough time to defend an act (Joe Paterno)? Does it matter what exactly that you’ve done? Is it impossible for us to step back and see the entire package before resigning someone to the scrap heap of one act or one decision? Can one bad thing override everything that may have come before or after?

Of course, we could ask the same question of ourselves.

Okay. That’s more than one question.

(*Avett Brothers / The Perfect Space)

pay you tuesday for a hamburger today

Ah, the endless debate for children.

I'm sure this fits neatly into some game theory or delayed gratification subcategory: the weather:school matrix. The boys are off school for the next few days for the end of their semester; today there was 'weather' in the D.C. area so the government is operating a vaguely 10am or noon workday configuration. Knowing that the government determined a delay was in order it's a well known in these parts that the county would have delayed schools at least two hours, if not all day. (The math of delaying kids only two hours while their parents are delayed four hours doesn't make much sense.) Anyway, back to the game lab. Assuming there would have been a two-hour delay today there is moaning about the place that, "Man, we totally lost out on a delay." The theory in their world (and mine when I was young) is that they would trade a two-hour delay followed by five hours of school if only they didn't already have today off. The missing pieces in this grand theory are these: you have an entire day off (most important), and you off and you can't bank weather. There is no actual choice to be made, nor is there anything lost or gained. It's akin to getting a hamburger for free on free hamburger day, and then finding out that in the paper there was a 20% off coupon for hamburgers at some other place. In a single-day situation free always beats a discount; a day off always tops two hours.

Of course, it doesn't help that L. had Wednesday - Friday off last week at her school (for the semester break) and now gets another free day off today due to weather. That, by the way, is the Royal Flush of days off at the Great School Days Off Hold 'Em Championships. She can just drop her cards on the table and walk away....

hey, what's that?

I remember my first glimpse of the Grand Canyon. It's something everyone should see in a late-afternoon or early-morning light. It's a wonder that seems impossible on Earth. This video, and project, is only the second time I've ever felt that why - and I'm only watching on a computer. The process of pondering the science and technology behind this success is almost too much to comprehend. The idea that this could, or would, ever work must have seemed overwhelming. Fucking amazing. What must it have been like when Edith was called in to 'take a look at something'?

The full documentary is on Discovery on Sunday night. Do. Not. Disturb.

lords of the rings

The Eleven dropped an A4 at the Audi dealership this morning for some instandhaltung. Apparently, the headlights need to be calibrated so that if you’re zipping around Matterhorns and such, the lights anticipate your intentions and make sure you get to the Black Forest on time. That was all; the check-in mädchen stared at me with great interest as I waved my hands and said things like “aim”, “change angles”, “align”, “computer-based arithmatik configuration of headlights”, “make them point where I’m going”, and “there is an error that explains it on the dashboard”. Finally, she thinks and says, “you need the headlights recalibrated?” Yep, that’s it. A bit painful getting there, wasn’t it?

What we both immediately noticed upon pulling the car into the autohaus/maintenance/Begrüßung facility was that no one could possibly have created a more assembly line-like set of car owners. All of the people/men were about 30-32 years old, stubble, black hip-length jackets, black pants, boots, and scarf. Each carrying a blackish version of the European carry all. All having stepped from the six A4s created equally from the A4-rainbow spectrum of white, black, gray, and silver.

Dan? Any input?

Now we Sprocket!

two for thirteen

There was one thing I wanted to do this year: learn to play music. I meant to get at it last year, but I simply spent 2012 driving by the nearby music place and rereading the sign that read "Bring Music Into Your Life in 2012!" I don't know if they've changed the banner this year, but I'm staring mandolin lessons in a few weeks. There are loads of good reasons for me and my life: I do love music, I occasionally get asked if I play anything (to which I meekly reply, "Nope, I have zero talent."), and because as some point you have quit watching the years click by. Someone once said that another year will roll by whether or not you do anything - might as well.
I had piano lessons when was a kid, maybe for three years somewhere between the ages of 11-14, but I never practiced. We were the classic case of parents paying for lessons and kid not doing anything but hating lessons. I've often pointed out that never  has this phrase been uttered by a kid who actually took time to learn an instrument: "Man, I cannot believe my parents made me learn how to play saxophone!" Never will hear it. You do often hear those of my ilk saying, "I wish I'd put in just a bit of effort to learn music. Life would be better." Or, more likely, I could be up there with some middling band enjoying myself on weekends. Getting older certainly gives one pause when pondering opportunities offered and lost. The older part does also create obstacles, primarily wondering whether or not you will ever really acquire any skill - and to that I offer Ta-Nehisi Coates, discussing learning a new skill:

"One of the things I've noticed in my studies of French is how much it resembles my studies of athletics. Predictably, I struggle in both athletics and foreign language. But one of the great lessons of my childhood was that no one has the right to be naturally good at anything. More there's a particular pleasure that comes from becoming good at something which you kind of naturally sucked at. I played the djembe as a kid. I had a pretty good ear for rhythm, but no physical coordination. I could hear what I wanted to play, but my imagination exceeded my abilities. For the first year I did it, I sucked. 

But after a year of practice in my parents garage I came to suck a lot less, and by the time I gave up the instrument I had risen to the ranks of the "Merely OK." But I didn't feel "Merely OK." I felt like a king, because I knew from whence I came. I knew that great distance (and it is great) between "Utter Suckage" and "Merely OK." So while I believe in natural talent, I've never seen much point in talking about it. Generally if I decide I want to acquire a skill, I don't see much point in talking about "aptitude." I have chosen the road. Now it's time to walk."

I figure it's my time to walk.

My second item is either more crazy or less crazy. I'm not even sure how to sort out those possibilities, but I will open with this: I have zero actual construction skills. This started out as my desire to jump back into baking - breads, pizzas, lunas. What this has become is my desire to build a wood burning brick oven in the back yard. This is going to take some doing: I could just save some money and buy something to do the trick, but I really do want to take on another challenge and baking (though a challenge) doesn't quite fill my tank. I think I need to remember to pack my aggregate, right? Maybe like this:

to erin is human

I know…I always feel like everyone should be storming the castles for shows that I think are worthwhile. Seriously. Iota, in particular, seems so hit-and-miss: hardly anyone for a Blue Mountain show a few months back, literally ten of us for Jason Ringenberg a few years ago, massive crowd for The Drams. Hey, I love Brent Best and the Drams, but really? I was surprised by that one. It was nearly a decade ago that I first saw Erin McKeown. She opened for The Be Good Tanyas at London’s Royal Festival Hall in March 2003. I’d never heard of her so I didn’t know what to expect that night; what I got was one of only two opening artists that I’ve ever really loved, either from the get-go or upon later listening (the Tarbox Ramblers are the other). Actually, there was never an opener that I came to like a few weeks later. She played at Iota last night and I was stunned by a few things: First, she didn’t have to creep way back into the catalog from whence I first encountered her way back when (no Le Petit Mort, no Slung Low) simply because she has an amazing amount of material from the last five or six years, and two or three ‘styles’. To see someone so comfortable with new music (her CD just came out last week) while playing such a small venue is no mean feat. Second, who puts together a tour and says, “what I need is a drummer and…a…sax player”? That’s it: Erin (and what always seems a HUGE guitar), the drummer, and a horn man. I’ve never seen that combo before, and I doubt I ever will again. The three of them were just great – perfectly comfortable, appeared ready for anything, and the sound aligned masterfully for her musical stylings. The crowd was good, though way smaller than it should have been for her talent and local roots, and it was wonderful to be about ten feet away and center stage for the show (see above). Luckily there’s a big brick pillar in the middle of Iota (that I kept behind me) so I didn’t quite feel so stalker-y. Not that I am. Nevermind. Jenn Grant opened the show and easily convinced me to buy her newest CD out today (she was selling, in her words, the “sweet Canadian version” that was already released). She had a strong four-piece on stage and also did something I hadn’t seen before: two mics set up with different mixes (it appeared and sounded); a pretty cool little trick to allow for smooth transitions even within songs. I’ll give her CD some time to grow, but she seems to have at least a few things and styles working in her songs. Grant’s set was definitely worth my time. Or, my time was worth her set…

After the show I nabbed Erin’s playlist (^^^^^ up there) from the very small Iota stage – and felt a bit like a criminal doing so. I had a chance to talk with her a bit afterwards and admitted my misdeed, and our original London encounter. She didn’t care a bit about my thievery, and signed the playlist for me. Ah, brushes with greatness. Here’s her first ever video – and she played the song backwards for us last night; something she had to learn during the shooting.

ice ice baby

X treated us to a Holiday spa visit this weekend; we snuck out whilst the teens weren’t looking and did three hours at Spa World. As part of our visit we were booked in for a reflexology massage – better known as 30 minutes of dude attacking your feet and lower legs. Now, I’m not too much of a baby, but that guy was solid; while working on my left foot/leg he had to slap my foot a couple of times to indicate that I needed to relax. Sure, buddy, all over that. By the right foot I was well into the this-and-that of reflexology. No worries about X, she just sat there as if someone were lightly tapping her foot, not attempting to put their thumb and knuckles through the arch in your peds. I have to say that by the time he was done my feet felt damn fine and I was ready to stand around anywhere you’d want to stand around for at least eight hours. Give me some standing.

I did two rounds in the pools: one post-cardio workout, and once after our massages and hot rooms. They conveniently provide an ice sauna room for bears to enjoy in between bouts of clay stones, forest heats, amethyst heat, and various other lizard rooms. Nothing calls a bear quite like a big room of ice. Overall, you can see exactly how much happier the world would be with weekly visits to an overly relaxing spa. We wrapped the day with dueling Bibimbap in the spa restaurant. If you come visit we may drag from a stupor to spa…be warned.

all in one

On Friday X got an e-mail from a D.C. liquor store - some now near legendary joynt that provided the Singleton for Christmas - about a new release Spanish wine that Charles Parker rated a gazillion. She just happened to open her e-mail between 10:00am and 10:09am and decided to plop down an order for 2 bottles at $16.99. Done deal, hands dusted. We swung by after work to pick up her two bottles where upon she was treated as some legend who'd mastered wine greatness. Apparently, only 50 cases were delivered to the greater D.C. area and this shop managed 49 of them. Wth a limit of six bottles per customer, only 98 D.C-area customers tapped out the 588 bottles - well, 47 with 6 each, X with 2, and one person who called and could only get four, and now doubt wondered whole the hell would call on release day to only buy two? If you're getting in during the nine-minute selling period you'd surely buy six. I'm sure the talk around the nation's capital wine circles over the weekend involved determining just who busted up the six pack. Along with that discussion, they must have awoken a bit hungover, because we were. Breca packs a 15% alcohol content and it certainly knocked us around (during our rousing new geography game). It is very, very good.

This is a picture of one of the two matching handmade mugs I've gathered from an Eastern Market artist. I keep one at work, one that I've been using for coffee for about a year - everyone (most) know this is my mug; I have it at meetings nearly every morning. Anyway, about three weeks ago it went missing, and I quickly sorted that I must have left it on someone's desk whilst walking about pontificaing, as I'm wont to do. Well, nothing. After a number of weeks with no one saying, "Hey, Pontiff, you left you mug on my desk," or (walking to my desk an hour later) "Here's your mug old man. I hope you don't leave your kids alone in strange places." Finally, last Monday one of my closer confederates says this to me, "Hey, I think you your mug, the blue-and-white one, is on Beasley's desk. I think he's keeping pens and pencils in it." What the fuck? I remember going to Beasley's desk for something a few weeks back - a rare event - and the bell finally rings that I did leave my mug on or near his desk. Most likely with at least a quarter cup of coffee still in it. Let's break down this scenario a little more: you've discovered and unknown coffee cup on your desk. Hmm. Said cup is pretty distinctive in styling; you aren't looking at a styrofoam cup, or anything that looks as 'distinctive' as this:

I guess if it did look like that you might think something other than "this clearly belongs to someone", take it to the kitchen, rinse it out, and leave it in the drainer. Nope, not happening here. You have a handmade mug left on your desk, including some coffee undrinked, and you decide this: I'll just rinse this bitch out, give it a dry, and put my pens and pencils in it. Bingo. This is akin to seeing some kid wandering across your lawn, grabbing him, giving him a shower, and having him settle into your family. Look at my mug. How could you not figure that it belonged to someone? I'll never know. I did see him in the hall after data was received and nicely said, "Beasley, I hear my mug is on your desk holding your pens and pencils." To which he replied, "The ceramic blue one? I'll get my stuff out of it and bring it to your desk." Fade to black.

This is the final install of the cat door/vaporlock. As you see, it has space for a plant, a candle, and the cats' stockings come Christmas. For you non-local folk, the hand-built box has two doors: the one you see, and one on the opposite end, outside access. The cats can't have both doors open at the same time so the cold air (or heat in the summer) doesn't much affect our weather bill. (Yes, there's carpet inside the vaporlock - seriously?). There's the carpeted platform inside, a painted platform outside. Lemon figured it out in about half a day; Pumpkin took some coaxing and a few days of thought. All is fine now.

life

I sat in the car in our driveway on the Hilltop listening to the final Terry Gross interview with Maurice Sendak. I remember how powerful it was. I remember I might have had lots of dust fly into my eyes. It’s something special – his entire life was something special. You’ve been warned. A discussion has come up at the Dish, and continues.

bottle full of dirt

Let’s talk politics, but use the world of concert tickets as the narrative.

Back in 1994 when DoJ was investigating Ticketmaster for a variety of bullshit, Pearl Jam entered the fray (willingly) as they fought the company on another front: service charges. (Their issue was that tickets were to be sold at $20, but Ticketmaster was adding a hidden service fee and basically selling them for $25, and not revealing the fees to buyers.) For those around at the time, let’s put on our thinking caps and remember the amount of grief the band received for pushing back against the machine (I was not one of them, nor was I much of a PJ fan at the time). For lots of people the idea that Pearl Jam, then the biggest band in the world, was fighting for anything financial was generally frowned upon. Aside from service fees, Pearl Jam attempted to sue Ticketmaster for monopolistic practices because of their exclusive, long-term contracts with most major American venues – if you were going to play in arena X then you had to use Ticketmaster as the vendor. The band tried to tour venues not controlled by Ticketmaster, but failed to gain traction and cancelled the tour. Those that laughed at Pearl Jam back then, most because they didn’t understand the completely egregious crap that Ticketmaster was pulling, didn’t really care, “Look at those crazy fucks [grungy band] trying to make more money,” and “I can’t believe they have the audacity…” You know why you didn’t care back then? Because it didn’t have any effect on you all.

Fast forward nearly 20 years, and now you’re trying to buy your tickets for the Lumineers tour, and guess what? You can’t get a ticket at face value to save your live because the Ticketmaster beast is punching you repeatedly in the head, taking your lunch money, and telling the other kids that you’re just a big baby. What do we have now? A company that charges $8-$12 in services fees (usually close to a third of the cost) just so you can print your ticket at home. A company that sells tickets directly to the secondhand market – controlled by them – to maximize profits simply because they can: who could stop them? And, they still have exclusive contracts with most of the quality venues. Oftentimes, events that are ongoing seem like they have zero effect on your live. Sure, concert tickets seem like small potatoes, but it wasn’t like we didn’t see something in Ticketmaster all those years ago. It’s okay, laugh off the small stuff. Don’t worry, it will never come back around and cause you even the slightest ill will…

PS. I managed to get one Lumineers ticket.

welcome

Let’s start off the new year with some trending music. I don’t know if my age takes me to more rootsy music – more and more as the years pass – or there is just more of it out there. First you get The Lumineers, who are in town at the end of the month, thank you very much, doing Stubborn Love. Second, you have John Fullbright, brought to us by X, doing Gawd Above live. Both have been nominated for Americana album of the year so I guess the times of playing out in the woodshed are over. The Lumineers tickets for D.C. are nearly impossible to come by; Fullbright is opening for larger acts on the road in the new year. I hope he gets here to a smaller venue before, well, before...

song

There's new book about addressing the ubiquity of the Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah. I won't read the book because any discussion of the song should at least include input from the creator - also, there's probably not much in there that differs from my personal viewing of the song's growth. I never knew much about Cohen until at least 2003; I had come to the song via the Jeff Buckley version around the time of his death in 1997. Being an alt.country junkie from way back, Buckley was an iconic figure in the late 90s and I no doubt bought his CD based on write-ups in magazines like Q and No Depression. Buckley's version was on about a dozen mixtapes/mix-CDs that I used while driving, at the gym, and while sitting around the house. It wasn't until later that Cohen came into my life via X and I came to know the original nearly as well as the cover. ***

The (late) popular success of the song would be a mixed bag for the younger me - someone more interested in keeping songs and artists as my little secrets. I wanted success for them, but only in the sense that I could see them tour and play venues of the size that I liked. Now? I'm considerably different when it comes to music - I'm not as secretive, I have much greater respect for what other people like, and success for any musical artist is a good thing, even Justin Bieber (which thankfully is not yet auto-correctable on my computer). The 45s that I loved when I was young were just as poppy (and vaguely nausea inducing) as what the 'tweens listen to now. The stuff of my college days was as pretentious as everyone else's ("Oh man, the fucking Style Council rules!"), and my tastes now are as varied as the next guy. The point is this, whatever gets you going is good. Great songs - Hallelujah, not Boyfriend (I had to look that up) - being played as tributes and covers ain't a bad thing.

Interesting facts? Bieber and Cohen, both Canadians. The last time we heard Hallelujah? It was being played on a ukulele by a man dressed as an elf following the tabs on his iPhone. See?

*** As for covers, Buckley's version is great, but kd lang's live version is probably the best I've ever heard.