surreys and things....

A few months ago one on my all-time favorite podcasts changed format. Musicheads, at The Current, decided it would be best to go from a high-quality product with reviews of three new albums to a Blender-like pile of junk. I miss Musicheads, and for good reason: I probably got 10-12 new artists or CDs out of the reviews over the course of a year.

This got me thinking this morning as I was commuting to work. My commute is longish, but quite pleasant: walk, bus, train, train, bus, walk (it's an anagram!). Anyway, I rip through endless podcasts once again, and my list of greats has changed a bit. Much like great musical artists - it's hard to keep it going for years without losing freshness. So, aside from Musicheads, which was one of my all-time favorites, here's a good list: The Moth, WTF with Marc Maron (my new favorite), and Splendid Table. Truth be told, Splendid Table should wear much thinner than it does, but I'm a food junkie so it's forgiven. Great stuff every week. I still run through This American Life, Car Talk, and Wait Wait! every week (simply because of the vast time to fill), but I don't feel committed. As an aside, I'm quite comforted by Prairie Home Companion, but they don't podcast the entire show each week. I've been listening for about 25 years and I'd be happy enough to catch up each week - never happens. Also, a call out to Thistle and Shamrock - what? you can't put up a podcast? Are you living in the 1990s with Garrison? I digress.

I'm going to Oklahoma! tomorrow night with WonderTwin2. We've learned a few things over the last few months: neither WonderTwin1 nor Corey could give a shit about musicals. I, for one, love all theatre, and it appears that Kt loves musicals so we are on for theatre dates. I don't sing. I don't dance, but I love some live performances. I also prior to the '(hating musicals' revolution) grabbed her two tickets for the Billy Elliot musical at Kennedy later this year - a box so her and Angry Bear could go on a nice date - but now I suspect she might have to coax him out of the den with the promise of a nice dinner at Cedar. Food often will soothe beasts.

I have and entire post-and-a-half about X and the Missoni sale at Target from earlier this month. I need to gather the narrative before I expose the World.

Love to all.

t

stay on target

Another wedding weekend come and gone.

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

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

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

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

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

working for free

Well, I’ve had both bakeries that I was interested in for my externship fall by the wayside; a bit disappointing. But, I have a good chance of staging at some point next month with my dream chef – fingers crossed. I’m also set to hit a small European/French café this week with a goal of pushing for an externship there next quarter. If that falls through then I’ll just hold off until the summer term and try to work something then.

Just a single class left this term (Wednesday) and then I’m off until January 10th. I think there might be some plans between now and then, including a few Quiz Nights.

Just about the entire clutch Wonder Twin-inspired members headed to Woolly Mammoth on Saturday for Second City’s A Girl’s Guide to Washington Politics. Afterwards it was a fancy-ish dinner at Cedar (compliments of Corey). It was an impressive meal that topped, by everyone's account, our outing at the much higher-rated 2941 a few months back. I had a stunning squash soup, an excellent fluke, and a hazelnut chocolate dessert that was exceptional. The most important, and defining, aspect of a great restaurant for us is this: great bread to open and great coffee to finish. Cedar hit on all cylinders.

pulling us along

We had what can only be dubbed a clan over for pizza night. With H. back home for the week there were 10 in all and the oven racks were on task for maximum production. Everyone seemed happy enough by the time the food disappeared – or, at least reduced in size so that leftovers were available for the WonderTwins’ lunches.

After the N. Park Dr. folks headed home we played about an hour of Charades (how Americana, are we?) with the highlight being my giving H. the test of “Grandpa”. He began some crazy dance that was apparently intended to sync us all together via Pitch Penny but was wholly unable to herd the cats in any direction. After a few more minutes of gesticulating, his mother finally piped-up loud-and-proud with “someone who’s sort of in charge of something?” Truer words….

I only have one night in class this week so preparations can continue apace for hosting Thanksgiving at the house this week. X found four more high-quality chairs (see my previous) so we should be able to just about get everyone around the table for festivities. Of course, why the kids aren’t being sent to a card table masquerading as an eating table is beyond me.

In case you’re wondering, H. is about two inches taller and now sounds like Leon Redbone.

sebastian, what is it? i'm counting matches

Updates from the weekend; not necessarily timely.

It was absolutely perfect weather for a few outings. I stocked Galactica with well-fed minions (homemade biscuits and gravy) on Saturday morning for a swing by Litteri in D.C. for Italian stock – olive oil, tomatoes, espresso, pepperoni – and subs from the deli for the kids’ picnic. After that is was to the National Arboretum for a stroll around the Asian Collection set in a valley that runs down to the Anacostia River. The kids devoured lunch while we walked (somehow G. ate an entire 12” sandwich on his own) and The Eleven has brie and cranberry baguettes at the river to finish the walk. It was our first visit to that portion of the Arboretum and it certainly fulfilled the 'day out' plan that’d been rattling around in my head. We also swung back through downtown for frozen yogurt on the way home…a bit of overkill, don’t you think? By the time we got home it was simply of matter of getting the fire going and doing nothing for the rest of the evening.

Three of us headed to Eastern Market on Sunday morning to kick-off Holiday shopping, or at least the browsing preamble. We were early enough for crepes before the line got too long and managed to haul home what appears to be a 10-lb cabbage. I can see the question rolling around in your head, “Who needs a 10-lb cabbage?” That’s exactly the response I was looking for; it’s living on the front porch with the rest of the squash.

Consider yourselves summarized.

We did Quiz Night last night and it was pure horror. Easily the worst performance of all time. Ghastly. And other adjectives and adverbs.

The weather had turned to rain. I have school for three days. It’s not quite as nice.

I want to pass along a photo from the summer’s wedding in England that the WonderTwins attended. One of their dear friends got married in what appears to be a ceremony stripped from a period-piece English drama. I’m not sure I’ve seen a more storybook wedding, even as I giggle while trying to sport Helena Bonham Carter or Daniel Day-Lewis. Anyway, if you wonder how they look when cleaned up and as attendants, now you know.

Lovely.

(professional wedding photos: here)

shooting j's

Over the last few months I’ve been trying to chase down some logic books – logician books, the science, not logic puzzles. Of course, I don’t mind a good logic puzzle. My luck had been middling with a few smaller paperbacks that I enjoyed but the mother lode escaped me; my Moby Dick, if you will. The problem is that I believe the world to be littered with vast textbooks on the subject that are undoubtedly dry and miserable (don’t even start on your thought that all logic is already dry and miserable). What I wanted was a guide to walk me through the process all the while being exciting and readable. This logic problem folds in nicely with my previous post on history in that we aren’t actually taught these things in school…either back in the 70s and 80s, or now. I went to some high quality public schools and aside from about two weeks of proofs and theorems in Geometry – and I hated that block of instruction – none of the real theory is offered through primary or secondary school. They also never really explain that “begs the question” is a logical fallacy and not something spouted by talking heads to mean a completely different idea. Well, I’ve found my white whale and it’s a two volume primer written by Paul Teller. Teller, who I believe teaches (or taught) at UC-Davis, has converted his course material to books that were originally published by Pearson Education. At some point they ceased printing and returned all rights to Mr. Teller and he’s been awesome enough to allow us to access it for free. I’ve already printed the first volume and am slowly working my way, two steps forward-one step back, through the meat of it all. I’m sure L. can’t wait until a few years hence when I gracefully bequest hot her a copy of A Modern Logic Primer. If you’d like to add it to your wish list then you might just find a copy under the tree at Christmas; I can already see that smile on your face.

I’ve drafted up a short Omaha primer for WonderTwin 2’s impending jaunt to my homeland. Bearing in mind that the city has ‘changed’ and grown since my youth – and my three-year tour in the early, mid -90s, the fact of the matter is the Omaha never really changes. There will still be drivers heading east on I-80 who can’t figure out which lane will take them downtown and which will shoot them off to Council Bluffs (they only changed the layout about 20 years ago). You’ll still be able to find a steakhouse that’ll serve you a hunk of meat with a side of manicotti. And the basketball hoop in my old driveway is still there – it may survive any disaster ever laid upon the world. If you look real close, and squint just so, you can see the ghost of my youth working on my turnaround jump shots and free throws on a cool summer’s eve in 1978.

I’ll let you go.

choices choices

I meant to post this over the weekend but didn’t get around to it while in amongst my chores and airport transport duties. Both WonderTwins are back in a town; a bit tired but probably somewhat recovered by this morning.

This is a piece that came from my co-worker who enlightens me on game theory and probability on a twice-daily basis. I thought about it long and hard over the weekend and the premise is one of the best ideas about our future selves. I used to simply think of my future self as having gotten the bed ready for bed by about 5pm. In it’s entirely (p.s. his Web site on sport and probability can be found here.):

______

As I’ve mentioned before, I believe one simple way to model success in life is by how long one’s time horizon is.

The crack addict lives minute to minute.
The obese live meal to meal, snack to snack.
People on a credit card debt treadmill live paycheck to paycheck.
People saving up for a down payment on a car are thinking ahead in terms of months.
The more responsible among us are saving for our retirement and our kids’ education. They are thinking in terms of a lifetime.

Obviously, reality is not quite so simple. People need to have a mix, sometimes thinking about the next meal, sometimes thinking about saving for the future. It’s part of the general ability to delay gratification—the Marshmallow Test.

Getting metaphysical for a moment, you can think of your future-self as a different person from your present self. This sort of makes sense in terms of physics. If x, y, and z are dimensions of the universe, so is t—time. A person in a different t, say 3 months in the future, could be thought of as a separate entity just as if someone else were currently standing 3 feet to your right.

Okay, so we can play the Prisoners’ Dilemma game with other people in the present. I can cooperate and you can reciprocate, and we both benefit in this non-zero-sum world. Consider the same PD game, but instead of two different players in the present, think of it with the two players being yourself and your future self. (Bill and Ted allusion, anyone?) When I forgo the cheesecake after dinner, or when I put $500 in savings instead of buying an iPad, I am ‘cooperating’ with my future self.

The main difference between the conventional PD game and the future-self PD game is that your future-self cannot reciprocate. Time is uni-directional. He cannot respond with altruism of his own toward your present self, nor can he punish your present self for ‘defecting’ against him. As a result, we often tend to treat our (future) selves very poorly, perhaps worse than we would treat other people. In fact, I am procrastinating with my own work right now, but I’d be far more reluctant to pile extra work on someone else’s shoulders. As another example, there are moral taboos toward saddling other people with debt, but there is no moral prohibition on saddling yourself with debt. Or similarly, if I every time ate ice cream it made my daughter put on weight, I’d rarely do it. (And if she could reciprocate I’d be a blimp.)

I think if we think of our future selves as a separate person, someone who is a helpless victim of our present decisions, we might treat ourselves better. Just your random thought for a Friday.

“Listen to this dude Rufus, he knows what he's talking about. “
“Right. Oh, and Ted, give my love to the Princesses.”

...has no grade-point average

We adults snuck out last evening and left (now) five children to their own devices. Actually, L. was watching the N. Park clan sleep and the boys were doing what monkey boys do at home.

Last night was the final night of the D.C. area restaurant week where a great number of chefs open their places to set-price, fixed menus that usually include three courses and wine for about $30-$40 per person. I guess it’s a chance to control prices whilst luring folks out to new restaurants they’ve never tried. I made us a reservation at Kora in Crystal City which is the new place run by our favorite chef/owner from Farrah Olivia. We talked about the results of this foray on the way home last night and I’ve considered the meal even more throughout today, and it’s only getting worse.

I have no idea what was the genesis behind the new place aside from him needing to close FO when the rent apparently skyrocketed at his Alexandria location. Kora is allegedly an Italian place but the set-price menu didn’t seem to offer what I might consider Italian fare – aside from tiramisu. It’s a bigger venue then FO but the design isn’t anything to write home about; certainly nothing like his last room. The wait staff that we encountered was clearly of the hourly sort, and by that I mean non-professional waiters. FO was full of the kind of waiter that knew the food, understand the menu, and could do more than ‘take orders’ and (maybe) come back. Our group was pretty amateur (the dessert order was lost) across the board. The food was below mediocre and that’s a pretty harsh thing for me to say. I had a seasonal seafood soup (salmon being the season) with bacon bits on top, a mushroom polenta for mains, and tiramisu for dessert. The soup seriously could have come from a carton with some cooked bacon pitched on top. The polenta was a horribly overcooked square that was rockhard on the outside and bit cold in the middle – I imagine someone ‘grilled’ it, but it’s a mystery to me. The mushrooms were a poorly sauteed and poorly seasoned collection chucked on top with a few cherry tomatoes halved around the plate. Dessert may have worked its way up to mediocre but I have a theory that says tiramisu is probably going to always be okay but rarely stunning – they met my theory dead-on. Both the WonderTwins opened with beet salad which at least got “it was good” reviews, and Corey had a lamb shank that he said may have been dead-and-gone for a very long time. I didn’t hear much on the other two desserts around the table but it wouldn’t be enough credit to move everything up to the “we’d go again” grade.

I just don’t get it. If he was going to move (forced to move) why not just re-open FO at the new place? Italian? His style doesn’t seem to even consider Italian as an option and now he’s opened a place (in which there is no way he was at the helm last night) that will not survive until summer, in my opinion. Considering our awe of his fool at Farrah Olivia, the great staff, and the lovely atmosphere it’s hard to believe it’s come to this. Even though the total was a reasonable $190 (w/tip and two bottles of wine) for four adults, Kora is an utter failure in my book. I’m pretty devastated by the whole thing. Word is that he’s looking to open up in the District and if it Farrah O. then I’ll be there, posthaste. If not, he’d have a hard time getting me in the door. For all my readers (!) that loved Farrah Olivia, as of now, it's a goner...

Ah, life.

We are back on for quiz night at the pub this evening. I’ll pass along results.

t

the end is nigh

I’m on the theatre a bit of late and this piece in the NYTimes once again piqued my interest. The main article is all well-and-good but the three or so pages of comments are more interesting. We you read, even in the abbreviated encounters with the contributors, are the smallest of insight into people’s lives. I’ve always held the view that live performance, whether rock n’ roll or on the stage, is the purest form of bonding between people; not only between performers and audience but between the audience members themselves. Everyone leaves the theatre in discussion about what they just saw and how it may have injected some new tangle of life in them. The ‘performance’ is more grand than reading – something different and just as special – because when we’re sitting in our seats we see the same thing and our mind’s eye is no longer the prime motivator behind our visions of a story. Whether I’m watching opera, drama, comedy, improv, or a musical, I rarely forget that every moment of the performance is given as a personal gift to me. They are showing me the perfection of their art; and I get to take it home and let if wave in and out of my mind.

I don’t know that I can think back to a play that changed my life. I well remember my first big production was Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat back in the early 1980s in Chicago. My aunt and uncle had tickets and we all drove into the city for the show; I remember my prius and post feelings: first, I didn’t much want to be dragged to a theatre to watch a play. Second, I was amazed at how much I enjoy it. Maybe that’s a “change life” moment but I consider it more as exposure and not genesis, per se. I saw a few shows while living in England but the process work of picking dates, getting tickets, and heading to London was outweighed the enjoyment of the show. Moving to the D.C. area in 2006 would probably merit more consideration in ‘life changing’ theatre than the others. I hadn’t been here too long before WonderTwin 2 hooked us up with tickets to The Tempest at Keegan one Sunday afternoon. Once you live in a vibrant theatre city you realize, if you care much about it, that going to shows isn’t much different than heading to the movies: there are loads of companies and shows running year round. After The Tempest I started looking and organizing the scene in D.C. and subscribing to the Washington National Opera, Woolly Mammoth, and Keegan, while keeping an eye out for bigger shows and other theatre’s play lists. Of all those that we, or I, have attended a few stand out over the last three years (A Streetcar..., aside): The Hostage at the Keegan and Lost in Yonkers at the DCJCC Theatre J. The Hostage stands out because it moved effortlessly between comedy, drama, and musical with all the actors and actresses capable of each style. I find the idea of a multi-talented song-and-dance-and comedy trooper quite romantic. Lost in came to me as what I think of as a perfect ‘play’ (I guess Neil Simon knows his stuff), or what I’d imagine as a perfectly developed stage piece.

Just as with the comments in the Times’ article, I think that we don’t necessarily equate our most important event of any sort directly to quality; oftentimes, the timing in our lives is far more powerful. I can only imagine living in NYC as a child and going to see Annie of Oliver on Broadway when young. Even if you became a live-long lover of theatre there’d never be another that held as strong as a childhood event. I find it an interesting exercise to think back and not necessarily draft a list of best but to gather a group of most impressive.

See? I am staying away from lists.

Happy New Year.

t

bang bang

I’ve already hit on the Avett Brothers recently but I realized this morning, while listening to their live performance of Murder in the City from the Newport Jazz Festival, that they’ve created something very close to my perfect song. Not only is it powerful but what they’ve created for me falls into the exact same box that holds another three-minute wonder: the box with Guitar Town by Steve Earle. This little box o’ mine holds these specific examples because both are preciously simple, musically, and lyrically stunning. Both are short with no filler and the songs led me deeper into other offerings by the artist. (It didn’t hear Guitar Town until about 1989 or 1990 while I was in Athens; by then Earle already released Exit 0 and Copperhead Road.) I don’t know that I’d call either song my all-time favorite because I’d have to include Someday, Someway and Wagon Wheel, but both are in the top 10. The difference between Murder / Guitar and Someday / Wagon has more to do with the arc of the careers: both Crenshaw and the Old Crows had just given us their first albums. The true power of both is that they draw you into the story behind those that wrote them. If I haven’t posted Murder in the City before, here it is:



Last night as we were finishing up with The Daily Show, X told me had two questions she needed answered. “All right,” I said, “fire away, I’m ready.” Question number one was: “Should I have bangs or not?”; question number two, “How often do you think about death?” My answers were “no” and “twice a year.” She felt the twice a year was a bit specific; I thought the bangs question was weird because I told her I’d never really seen her with bangs so there’s no reason to think I’d desire change. She told me she’s wore bangs ever since she’s known me. I told her, in my head, that she’s a whack-a-doodle. Bangs? I don’t think so.

There’s been a rash of birthdays over the last week that are being sorted of being addressed over the coming weekend. We’ve invited WonderTwin 2 over for dinner so that’s kind of covered. As for G., well, he had a family-ish party on Tuesday night (I was working the election so I didn’t attend) and a friends-come-over party on Sunday. On Wednesday night, after he finished his dinner of perfectly prepared salmon steak, he stop spinning around mindlessly in the living room, turns to me, and asks, “Todd, did you get me something for my birthday?” Hmm, let’s see if I can parse that innocent little question.

t

todds against bothersome monkeys

For some reason, far beyond me since it's been going on forever, I've been taken aback of late at political car stickers that intone "all of my type for Jackass" (feel free to change jackass to whatever or whomever you choose). I've decided that in my own little World I'll eliminate nearly all plurals from support stickers. If you want to tout "Blonde woman for the Death Penalty" that's perfectly okay - you just can't be "Blonde women for the Death Penalty". Any more than I can proclaim "Veterans for Free Love"; "Veteran for Free Love" is a whole different ideal. So, all of those that have any of the following: Democrats for, Women for, Gun Lovers of, Veterans for, Folks on Hilltop Place for, Dog Lovers for, Drying Clothes by Hanging Them Outside People for...knock it off. Kindly go out to your vehicle and cross off the 's' from your support sticker; or, if need be, change a vowel. You're free to be what you want but you're not free to claim me or the other 52% of the population. Thanks.

As is my chore sometimes, I stopped by the library and picked up a book for X to read in the evenings; a copy of Tom Robbins' Still Life with Woodpecker. I don't know from fiction but I'll say that this opening from the blurb on the back makes me wonder: "...is a sort of love story that takes place inside a pack of Camel cigarettes." What sort of story is that? It sounds as if there are loads of stories that not only take place in cigarette packs but, specifically, stories that take place in the packs of different brands. I think I'm going to entitle my blog "blatherings of the sort that you hear whilst standing in a boiling pot of spaghetti."

Speaking of Todds (see title), one of the questions from the quiz on Monday night was: Give the letter of the alphabet which is the first letter of the most World capitals. Right. X actually came up with the right answer immediately, and clearly from the blue, to which I sort of it wrote off as some sort of blather before I said "Tehran, Tripoli, Tokyo...I think it's 't'." And my tiebreaker between my 't' and her (eventually) correct answer was this "My name starts with T!" For those that know the WonderTwins, and those that do are blessed while those who don't are blessed, I'll let you think for just a moment about how much grief I got for my "my name is Todd and it starts with T" input. You give one WonderTwin some Guinness and ply the second with two Cosmos and you get the idea of the drive home. Endless...

If you want to know my reading stack then you can; I'm slowly working on The Believers by Zoe Heller and The Lost City of Z by David Grann.

Of you go now...

t

adult SATs

We did the Pub Quiz on Monday night. I think we actually tied for fourth since there was the winning team and two tied for second (we were tied with another). Generally speaking, we did well for a rookie squad (The WonderTwins, one of X’s workmates, and I) scoring 79 (of 86) for the evening. The winners tallied 82 so we were close enough to sniff the lead and I think there were about 35 teams. X happens to think that her quiz experience tells her we’ll never win – there’s always two or three teams battling at the top, within a point or two of each other, and we’ll never get there…so she decrees. She’s so negative. If we’d gone with Alaska (state with the most national parks), Small Pox vaccine (which came first? the vaccine, X-rays, or penicillin), and known who the kid was in The Fast and Furious with Vin Diesel, then we’d have been right there. I may kick her off the team for malcontentness. Of course, the quiz has now become a must schedule event after this week’s outing. (Don’t let X know but I think her wanting to go every week sort of shoots down her quiz determinations. Who’d go every week if they thought there was no chance of winning? That’s what I thought. It’s not like she needs.)

I must tell this story. X stayed home today, relaxed on the couch, started a fire, and called report on both cats lazing about with her. She was also up last night around 3am and told me this morning that Lemon was aggressive in her desire for pets; she also told me that she felt my cat was overbearing. Her update on the cats this afternoon involved her telling me that she'd given my Lemon a warm plate of cream. What? That cat that you think hates you and would rather you didn't exist? And you think I treat Lemon as a princess? A plate of warm milk...her hard-hearted, self-proclaimed toughness is out the window. Warm cream.

t

crunch crunch

The boys had a couple of other boys – boys all about the place – to the house for a sleepover last night and we were once again floored by the eating habits of others. The two that came over were brothers, one of which is a classmate of H., and the four of them spent most of the day and evening speaking an unknown language whilst playing Magic (The Gathering) cards. I only give you the ‘the Gathering’ portion because the game is always given its full title when spoken by children. We decided to make a roasted whole chicken, homemade mashed potatoes and gravy, and peas; it’s a staple of the weekly menu and it seems like you couldn’t go wrong offering a classic, straight-forward dinner to kids you don’t know. If you believe that then you, and we, need to tuck that thought back into its mystery holding box. The younger brother didn’t even come to dinner because it was well-known to both of the visiting brothers that his eating habits are ‘picky’ and the chances of there being something on a table that he might eat was nil from the moment he left his house. The older boy did come to the table as H. and G. oohed-and-aahed as one of their favorite dinners arrived. The problem became that our guest began his input with “The only kind of chicken I’ve ever seen is…”, I’ll give you the same second or two that I had to imagine how this sentence might finish.

(waiting)

“The only kind of chicken I’ve ever seen is a McNugget.” Yikes. Not ‘in’ a McNugget but ‘a McNugget’.You may have been thinking the same closing was in store as I; something like “from KFC,” “in a Popeye’s bucket,” etc. Nope, nothing even in the shape of a chicken throughout his 13-year life. I really wanted to ask what they had at Thanksgiving – he was really only looking at a small turkey, after all – but I let that go when I saw the look of complete amazement when he first caught sight of a whole, non-nuggetized chicken. He wanted nothing to do with the potatoes, gravy, or peas but he did at least have two or three pieces of chicken. (I tried to convince him to give my ass-kicking mashed a try but there was no way it was going to happen.) As he was eating he did give us a little background on what his brother will eat: Cheerios, potato chips, white bread, Chee-tos, and some other junky fuel. I kept waiting for anything that would be doable: spaghetti, pizza…anything, but it wasn’t forthcoming. After dinner we offered the pickster a grilled-cheese sandwich which seemed to pique his interest. We told him we only had whole wheat bread which seemed okay to him until he saw that it had seeds on it; he manage to scrap his hand along the crust before deciding it might work. X sliced up some nice cheddar for him to make a sandwich while we went out for an evening walk. I knew immediately, before departing the house, that it wouldn’t fly in the end because the bread had presented problem #1; and, when he saw the cheese wasn’t a cheese food product wrapped in individual slices, and instead sliced from a block, he was aghast. He tried a small taste of it that X passed along and then slyly moved to the garbage can and spat it out. Needless to say, when we got back from our walk the bread and cheese were neatly deposited in the can. Over his 18 hours at the house he didn’t eat a nibble. The whole series of events was simply stunning. When a kid is allowed to work himself that far down the food eating chain then there’s little chance of recovery later in life. At least if a kid is limiting himself to meatloaf or pasta or anything of value he may eventually grow to try new things but I have no doubt this kid will end up eating nothing but frozen burritos and nachos, whilst sitting in his underwear, for the rest of his life. At 11, or so, his metabolism is high and he’s skinny but that’ll change in the future and I don’t think his parents cotton onto that fact. It reminds me so much of the problem of diet in America. I think we’ve gone so far down the slope away from good food that for loads of folk, urban or suburban, there’s no recovery. Maybe I’m crazy, maybe not.

I have a whole separate story from the WaPo over the weekend; transportation. Maybe tomorrow.

The Eleven, WonderTwin 2, and someone known only as “Poor Phil” are heading to the Irish Pub for Monday night Quiz Night. Results and impressions to follow.

is that a salt lick?

Hot damn! Or, cool damn! We’ve had a breakthrough in the weather and I can’t imagine getting hit with an Indian summer re-hash now that it’s September 1st. I could be horribly wrong but hope springs (falls?) eternal. The A/C was switched off on Sunday and has been off for a few days. The temperature dropped into the upper 50s last night, the windows were open, and the sleeping was perfect: felt like sleeping in the mountains during our short summer vacation up in Truckee a few years back. Needless to say, I’m happy.

The little lady is off to BWI this afternoon/eve to retrieve her two children, one WonderTwin, and two more children. I’m not sure how all the people and bags will fit into the big gold ride but I’m sure they’ll figure something out or leave one kid behind. I’ll be sitting at home on the couch and thinking nothing of it.

Here’s another in my series of articles that seem stupid and actually are stupid…and deal with food. I hope no one actually gets their health ideas from Yahoo! (or CNN or MSNBC, or Ask Jeeves?...) so I’m always of two minds when linking to them: I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. This one is about the best and worst pizzas (primarily worst) at American food chains. I certainly have some favorite pizzas out there that I like but I’m under no illusion that any pizza I buy from anyone is actually good for me. In fact, the default position is that every single one of them is something you shouldn’t be eating. Pizza, in particular, has climbed way up my food chain since I make it one night a week at home and if those others aren’t making it like me then it’s not anything I want to eat. Two things: I’m not saying my pizza is the best in the World but it’s close; second, being that they don’t make it like me it’s disqualified from any food category aside from “I’m so hungry while stuck in this airport that I’ll eat anything.” As with anything it’s all about moderation and eating out is pretty moderate with us (Farrah Olivia, Sunflower Café…that’s about it). Of everything that I cook the pizza is the easiest and I’m going to learn you a bit. To make two crusts you do this:

Preheat oven to 420º

Mix 1 cup lukewarm (just barely warm to the touch: maybe 90-100º) water with one package (2 ¼ tsp) of yeast in a biggish bowl and let sit for a few minutes under a towel.

Add 1 ½ cup whole wheat flour and 1 cup white flour (you need some white to get that gluten-y stuff happening),
1 Tbs olive oil,
1 Tbs raw-like sugar,
A good pinch of kosher salt.

Mix it up until it’s just sticking together – don’t overdo it – and let that sit for about ten minutes.

(Now you can get your toppings in order…)

Pull the dough out, give it three or four kneads on the floured counter just to get it stuck together and roll it out one half at-a-time into two round pizza shapes. I lighten spray my pans with some olive oil, add the crusts, poke holes with a fork, and bake (sans toppings) for about 5 minutes. I’ve sort of learned that my topping mix can be a little moist and the pre-baking sets the crust and keeps it crisp for the final bake.

For the Eleven’s pizza I’ll start with either just olive oil on the base or some type of pesto, sliced farmers market mozzarella, and then move on to strange combos of stuff from this list (I’m going to just throw out as many as I can think of that I’ve used over the last six months): roasted corn, mushrooms, all types of olives, capers, roasted red or yellow peppers, sun-dried tomatoes, sliced romas (or any other tomato), spinach, arugula, garlic, green onions, red onions, Vidalia onions, romesco, zucchini, smoked salmon, anchovies, asparagus, roasted potatoes, jalapenos, roasted parsnips, pinenuts, eggplant, cilantro, or black beans. I’ll generally add loads of dried oregano (order all your herbs and whatnot from Penzey’s*), dried red chili flakes, and micro-grated parmesan, a pinch of salt, and freshly ground pepper over the top of the finished load. Back into the oven for about 20 minutes (check at about 15) and your gold, solid gold. There’s no reason to eat any pie but what comes from your oven. Nothing to it and you’ll be much happier; you don’t feel loaded down with grease and shit that will kill you. What’s in there that bad for you? A whole lot of nothing, that’s what

Well, that turned out much longer than I expected. I was just going to link to the piece, cuss them out, and move along. Before I knew it I was teaching some fool class on pizza; it happens.

t

* for the usual readers: there are Penzey’s stores in Omaha, Minneapolis (where I lost my virginity, spice-wise), NYC, D.C. (Northern Virgina and Rockville), Philly, Dallas, Menlo Park, West Hartford, and Phoenix. Trust me, if you haven’t been then you’ll thank me…or not.

ah, shhhh, get out of here

As I was putting the final touches on a miniscule dinner party last evening - and, after fetching the WonderTwins and a co-worker from the Metro - there was monkey chatter all about as they tore into a package that had arrived at the house. There are a few things to know about when the monkeys are together; first, if they both know what's in a package then it's clearly a pre-planned event of great excitement. Second, if it somehow involves you then you know you've been dragged even further into the clan's clutches. This package included a print by Amber Alexander (shop her cool stuff here). There's long been the opinion that I'm more type / blog, and watch or listen quizzically at the loons who live in the canopy; believe me, you don't want much to do with those that live in the canopy. So, my reflective gift was this print which is truly a priceless rendition of me and my couch...and newspaper....and coffee. Not a monkey in sight.


I'll have a Laurel's week update later today. Maybe even a guest post.

planted seeds

Here’s a little insight into Justice Clarence Thomas. This may be the most I’ve ever heard uttered from him in any setting. I’ll leave my analysis to this: there is a difference between rights and the awe reserved for the dishwasher.

We had a pile of rain on Saturday (and I was working at the Library of Congress) so we didn’t get the square-foot garden* in order until yesterday. As the WonderTwins made a run to Baltimore to pick up children and mother I pulled out the tools and started getting the wood cut and ready for the frame. At one point I called X to see how she wanted the box configured – I knew it was to be 8’ x 4’, shush – and out of nowhere Corey showed up at the house with tools and tool belt in hand; sort of like a superhero. No real bother. I would have gotten there in the end but it’s much faster when the woodworker shows up on your doorstep. All the seeds have been planted and we’re hoping to take a weekly picture of the doings; if they’re interesting then maybe you’ll get a time lapse series of shots.

I flexed my manliness by sharpening all my kitchen knives and cleaning and restocking my spice and herb rack with a fresh batch of Penzey’s.

The NHL playoffs start this week – Wednesday for the Capitals – so the city is abuzz with anticipation. And, by “the cit”y, I mean the hockey weird-os.

It’s been awhile,

T

*As an aside, 600 lbs of top soil will give you about 6 inches deep over 32 square feet. I guess we could call that about 16 cu. yards of coverage. A train departs station A at 35mph at 1pm and a second train departs station B….

revision

The old North Park crew enjoyed a boutique dining experience (their phrase, not ours) at Farrah Olivia last night. The event was a set menu four-course dinner that included a passing session of instructional techniques by Morou, and assigned seating at larger tables – forced social interaction! Apparently, nothing brings out the social butterfly in Corey more than hanging around a bunch of strangers at dinner – he was a Chatty Cathy all evening. As far as the learning bit, Morou came out and did a demo on cured meats and smoking salmon (here’s a quick interview with Morou.) Since the menu included veal or duck breast as main options he was giving us a little background on how to give everything a twist – the twist is all chef’s are looking for in the long haul, according to him. He used tons of salt and sugar in the process and one of the most interesting notes was that meat will only absorb a finite amount of salt – you cannot over salt meat in the curing process…ever. You can over salt sauces, or the meat when cooking if you add too much, but not during the curing process; the excess salt will disappear into the grill or the pan. The sugar is used as transport for the various herbs and spices that will penetrate the meat. Seems simple, right? I never knew exactly how the process worked – it’s not magic? My claim to fame – in my own mind – is that I have the same smoker he used for salmon; a gas stove-top model that does great work. Dinner was superb, as always, and we still managed to get the cackling WonderTwins home by 10pm. The highlight of the great food was X’s tarragon gnudi (gnocchi) which may have been one of the four of five best dishes I’ve ever tasted. As a final note, Corey absorbed most of the Twins’ twee chatter on the ride home and I consider that a small victory.

The second review is of the documentary Man on Wire. It’s the story of Philippe Petit’s life as centered on his dream of walking a wire between the World Trade Center’s Twin Towers. The film turns to caper territory as you learn of the plan (involving about a half dozen helpers, archery, and business suits) to sneak into the newly constructed towers in 1974 with all the equipment needed for his attempt. The film is brilliant in giving you a combination of the fairy tale idea and the love he has for what he feels he needs to do. Through all the developing steps of the dream, and all the interviews with the participants, you never realize just how deep the fear of failure is for the supporting cast. Philippe seems resigned to what may come but the others were essentially standing on a sideline with little at risk, at least in the grander view and right up to the moment Philippe steps off the building. The emotion that overcomes them when finally talking about the walk – even 35 years later – is stunning. When they see Philippe’s face change as he recognizes that the wire is good, and what that meant to them at that moment so many years ago, is overwhelming. The black-and-white photos of that most grand of challenges will leave you breathless. In the end, he’s not so much heroic as he is mystical. It’s a near perfect film.

just the facts

This is clearly untenable. We need clowns and circus performers. When immigration offices get in the way of the circus then things have gone too far – we need circuses, especially in these hard times. Maybe I’ll start an organization.

I took WonderTwin 2 to another Caps game last night in hopes that we could break the curse. Not happening. Not only did the Caps lose their third straight at home, Ovechkin didn’t even play. He’d only missed one game due to injury in his career, and now he’s got to deal with her. The team is now 0-4 with her in attendance. She is not going to any playoff games this season.

The Eleven is heading the Kennedy Center on Monday night to get our Irish in order for the month via a show by The Chieftains. I’ve been waiting to see them for a number of years and a fancy pants venue can’t be the worst option in the world.

We had the big storm last Sunday night with about 4-5 inches hitting the D.C. area. Needless to say, they shut the joint down and most everyone stayed home. I did make my way into work at about 9am and it was pretty nasty on the streets. Everything held steady, weather wise, for about two days but the warmth has finally returned. I think we’re expecting mid-60s to low-70s this weekend.

On Tuesday night, while waiting for X at the Metro stop, I was parked next to a guy who’d gotten out of his Toyota Corolla to stand and watch out for his pick up target. I don’t know why I found it surreal but he was about 6’3’’, maybe 50 years old, glasses, bad mullet, smoking a cigarette, and wearing black boots and a calf-length mink coat. I half expected to see some cameras filming a reality show. I also thought that I can finally pull out my full-length mink coat and start rolling like that again.

Not much doing out here.

mummy

On Saturday night the kinfolk from North Park Dr. brought over lobster bisque, fresh bread, two pies (one key lime, one chocolate crème), and we provided a goddess salad for a quick feast. The quick part was driven by a 5pm sit down and a 6pm departure for the Eleven to head into the District for a Patton Oswalt comedy show. Oswalt has a new set of material that he was filming for a Comedy Central special and forthcoming CD. We both enjoyed the show and agreed that he really hit his stride about halfway through the set. I’ll pass along right now that the term “sky cake” will maintain a place our own little lexicon of inside jokes stolen from those we like. Well, it’ll actually be sky cake and “if that’s what you’re trying to do then I’ve seen better.” It was a long week and a few hours of comedy were a welcome break.

During dinner the two men were unwillingly brought into a discussion about the Wonder Twins and their elementary education in western Mass. It’s not like we weren’t forced into participating when they both took bites of the chocolate pie and commented that it had a nice pudding-like quality; something that reminded them of butterscotch pudding, and here’s how (please use a British and/or private school accent while reading):

Twin #1: “This lovely pudding harkens back to our days at Bement.”
Twin #2: “Ah, yes, the butterscotch pudding at our luncheons.”
#1: “Remember the hilarity as the headmaster scooped the pudding from the caldron at the head of the table and passed each china plate down to us?”
#2: “Ha ha ha. The lovely chatter of children; ponies, yoga, looming…”
#1: “Remember how we’d ensure the pudding was properly distributed before tea?”
#2: “Ha ha ha. I also remember being ravenous after a smashing field hockey match; we’d certainly keep a keen eye on the pudd!”
#1: “Ah, the days.”

Corey and I added that Thursday was hamburger day at our schools.

One of musical heroes, Buddy Miller, suffered a heart attack last week after a show in Baltimore. He checked into Johns Hopkins for bypass surgery and will apparently make a full recovery. He and his wife, Julie, have a new CD out tomorrow and I wish him a speedy recovery but I don’t imagine we’ll see him back on the road in the immediate future. Here’s a repeat of a snap from a great show in Reno where Buddy opened for – and then was the band for – Emmylou Harris.


Love to all,

t

sick and tired

Our cats are in the depths of two catuations: ailments and the new Windoor®. Lemon came down with a cold, and the associated fits of sneezing, a few weeks ago. She managed to shake it off with few ill effects but did succeed in passing it along to Pumpkin. It’s hit him a bit harder and I took him to the vet the other night because his breathing was a little labored. After a nice visit with the friendly doctor we came home with some medicine that’ll run its course twice-a-day for ten days. There’s little more interesting work in this world than giving medicine to an animal. They also gave us some medicinal spray to put on their food; allegedly, it’s a more preventive script that might keep the cold from spreading back to Lemon. I think we’d all like to have a little talk with the animal medicine engineers who continue to believe that putting any type of medication in a pet’s food will actually work. I have never had a pet of any ilk (dog, cat, rat) that isn’t fully aware of some crap that’s been “hidden” in their chow. Now, humans? That’s another case.

The Windoor (creative marketing, eh?) has been installed in our kitchen window for cat use. The previously jerry-rigged escape hatch was an old dog door with the door portion removed (too heavy for little cat heads) and towels and blankets acting as cover. It works well when the weather is a lovely, autumnal 75 degrees. Not so well when we’ve got 30 degrees, sleet, howling winds, and a mostly sans insulation house. We installed the new windoor over the weekend and I think we may be near the point of getting our blockhead cats using it. Maybe they’re just being difficult but it’s not such a hard to master. If nothing else, the fact that we pitch them out the windoor three times a day might be getting the point across. Last night, for the first time, we put both of them out as we were heading to bed around 10:30pm and, lo and behold, both critters were back in the house this morning mewling for breakfast.

The Caps game went well last night – we handled the conference-leading Bruins with aplomb. I’d like to claim that my mere presence over the last two seasons has vaulted the Caps to the upper echelons (they are 13-1-2 in games I’ve attended), but I think I merely walked in on a pretty good team shaping up. WonderTwin 2 can now come to games again after the Florida loss in which she was not present – I’ve validated now that it wasn’t her bad karma…or the gold scarfy-thing being worn over her Ovechkin shirt at a hockey game.

Enough.

t