lighthouse, leader...sheep wearing a bell

Lighthouse: an aid for navigation and pilotage at sea, a lighthouse is a tower building or framework sending out light from a system of lamps and lenses or, in older times, from a fire.

The nor’easter arrived two nights ago on N. Park Dr. It rained hard all Saturday night and slopped all the freshly laid mulch from the top of the courtyard to the bottom of the courtyard. The sidewalk full of mulch that ran to the parking lot displayed a quality of wave and water flow that could have been used by undergraduate engineering students; the mulch a perfectly aligned conduit for water. I spent a few minutes gawking at it, mouth agape, until I realized the rest of the tenants probably thought I’d gone mad. I subtly moved on attempting to act as if I’d merely lost my way. Who knows what they believe.

I was on my way to the DuPont Circle Farmer’s Market when the watery waveforms distracted me. The market was ongoing when I arrive, though smaller and quainter under the constant rain. I had my wide-brimmed rain hat and was full of dap. The sellers sort out the weather forecast the night before, being farmers and all, and bring only what they know they’ll sell during rainy market days. The dedicated buyers, primarily the well-heeled and young that populate that part of the city, get to enjoy a slower, less crowded market. Fewer people mean there’s a little time to talk with the sellers and less time spent working your way around the lost and confused ‘visitors’. My take for the day included lilies, two boxes of mushrooms, a smooth cow’s feta, big ol’ basket of greens, leeks, massive spring onions, a variety of chard, a package of basil egg pasta, and the Sunday NYTimes. The Times was not homegrown and organic – just the normal newsprint Times. (By the way, last week’s Sunday puzzle was finally broken last night at 9pm! After eight days. It was a son of a bitch. I’ll remember that puzzlemaker’s name…Barton something – bastard.)

In the midst of my Saturday night cook-fest of smoked tomato soup, battered-fried mozzarella sandwiches on skewers with an anchovy and caper sauce, and a big salad, X comes into the kitchen and puts in a request for homemade ravioli. I ask if she really has a preference for ravioli, or if tortellini is what she craves. She quickly answers with “anything stuffed” [pats me on the head and walks away]. She is smooth. The mushrooms and feta ended up in handmade ravioli covered with smoked red peppers, garlic, pine nuts, and basil for last night’s dinner. Somehow she managed to work her way through a bowl – dedicated girl. Heading into the weekend I was feeling like I hadn’t done enough real cooking, now I feel sated.

Back to the nor’easter. The walk to work this morning reminded me of the day after Thanksgiving when The Eleven drove out of Portland, Maine and walked along the beach for thirty minutes. If you’re not on the ocean you rarely get that powerful wind that feels and smells of big bodies of water. Maybe the rain that seems to be hanging in the air mingles with the gusts and it comes off as wet, heavy, and bone-chilling; I find it refreshing. Maybe I’ll head out this afternoon and cast my lobster traps in the parking lot (do you cast lobster traps?).

Tales of the 401 bus…again. Being of tall stature, and dedicated to the cause of what I’ll call ‘watching’, means that I’m the reliable indicator for the arrival of the northbound 401 bus at the Dunn-Loring Metro station. The carnies are either sitting in the bus shelter, milling about aimlessly, or leaning on posts waiting every morning for the bus. I’m a leaner (in the first shelter against the west wall, eyes against the distance), and a leaner is merely a single letter from leader; think about that. What this all means is that I’ve taken the time to figure out the direction of arrival, the color of the top of the bus (don’t confuse it with a Metro bus), and the timing of the lights out on Gallows Road. At the confluence of all three details I step out to the post marking the bus stop…and everyone immediately follows me into a neat, orderly queue. They don’t fall for some unknown rambler moving towards the post; they want a known entity, someone who doesn’t fail and never flinches when the southbound 401 pulls into the transit center. As if I’d trip up on the southbound 401 that clearly came from the wrong direction down Gallows Road. I’ve seen people queue when they see the (wrong) bus coming through the parking lot and it’s horribly embarrassing (just like me staring at the water) since it goes right by our stop to the southbound shelter. See? Now they’re standing in line and the bus flies right on by. Put away your transfers and pittance of coins and walk back to the shelter, heads hanging in shame. Me? I’m still leaning on the shelter looking cool. Bellwether.

Peace.

T.

do you have a date for the dance?

I’m going back to my overt slate.com campaign contributions. Dahlia Lithwick manages to align timely events (the Duke case and U.S. Attorney purge) into the one argument that clarifies just what pisses me off the most about the U.S. Attorney scandal. In fact, it sort of hits at what irritates me about the entire DoJ “HR” office. It’s not so much the fact that they ‘hire’ politically-connected people (that is always bothersome) but that they are hiring unqualified people. Not only that, the ones doing the hiring and firing are unqualified. The Attorney General is unqualified. The senior positions in DoJ and the U.S. Attorney offices are either being filled by political appointees, or filled by those hired by these appointees; we know that, we get it, and that is part and parcel to government so you can desist with the “pleasure of the President”, as if that’s code for incompetent. The idea that you can bring onboard people like Sampson and Goodling, and expect anything but jackassery, is comical. You know what? I don’t need to hear Goodling testify in this matter. As far as I’m concerned, she can stand on her Fifth Amendment right, or Sen. Leahy can take her testimony behind closed doors – I don’t need to see her fumble through testimony looking more and more like a lost high school senior trying to explain why she was home late from the Prom. Based on Sampson’s testimony, I think he must have been her date. These two ‘operatives’ are the poster children for the problems Lithwick addresses in her article: they are mirror images of the people they are installing in USA offices – neophytes who hold unbelievable power and who respond only to political will and pressure. (Without even knowing or seeing the newly appointed attorneys you simply need to take a look at these two dunderheads to understand what we’re in for.) These legal sophomores are replacing experienced prosecutors simply because they wouldn’t toe the Bush line, and I’ll take an experienced Bushie over a J.V. moot court team member any day. I don’t want anyone serving as one of our 93 USAs who can’t separate law from politics, or doesn’t have the ability to separate the two. I don’t think I want anyone who finished law school in the last decade. I most decidedly don’t want the new wave of attorneys to be racked-and-stacked by the Sampsons and Goodlings at DoJ. This new crop of ‘lawyers’ know exactly how and why they got the job and they’ll continue to act, and prosecute, in ways that will allow them to keep the job. They’re all young, inexperienced, weak, and unable to stand up to their kings…just what I want in my U.S. Attorney.

Peace. Right?

T.

snake eyes

More from the 401. I’m heading home on the bus yesterday and as we stop to pick up some more carnies I find myself looking out the window at a big banner hanging from the eaves of the Gallows Road 7-Eleven; a longer, narrower, representation of the current marketing campaign:

I’m in! I don’t know which part of the three-pronged advertising attack convinced me of the need to hit my neighborhood 7-Eleven as soon as possible: the Slurpee, the collector’s cup, or the Spiderman 3 tie-in. Maybe it was all three…the synergy! Of course, I can’t leave well enough alone and decided to hit the 7-Eleven webpage to see what other goodies I could score on my next pilgrimage. As I navigated the page I began to wonder why 7-Eleven would need a webpage – not from a corporate point-of-view, but from the consumer aspect. Let’s see, the main categories on the homepage are: store locator, careers, franchise opportunities, and convenience card. In addition, there are tabs that include: products and services, news room, real estate, and “about 7-Eleven”. Let’s take a look at a few of these and review some consumer needs.

Store Locator – There are over 30,000 7-Elevens worldwide and I know most patrons use the World Wide Web to accurately and quickly locate the nearest store. I can’t count the number of times The Eleven has tried to sort out shopping plans and used the 7-Eleven homepage to make sure we went to the nearest store, “Hey baby, can you print out the Google Map directions to the nearest Slurpee palace in the 22203 zip code? Oh, and while you’re at it, can you also print one for the Patuxent River area 7-Elevens ‘cause I’m heading down there on Thursday.” I defy anyone to tell me they use anything but their eyeballs to find a 7-Eleven.

“About 7-Eleven” – Here’s a random Fun Fact that I can use at the pub quiz next week:

Big Gulp lovers gulp over 30 million gallons of fountain soft drinks per year at 7-Eleven. That's enough to fill 59 Olympic-size swimming pools.

I don’t know what to do with that. No idea. Is that one store? I'm not sure I'd believe it. Is that all they drink, cumulatively, around the World? I think they’re fibbing…have you seen a Big Gulp? Yes, I just did the math and 30 million gallons actually equal 45.4 Olympic-size swimming pools, and 59 Olympic-size pools equal 38.9 million gallons; conspiracy! What is more interesting is that those 30 million gallons equal 96 million 40oz. Big Gulps. Now that’s a Fun Fact.

Careers – The physical requirements for applying as a sales associate include “…constant standing, bending and reaching with a moderate amount of manual dexterity.” If I can look beyond the manual dexterity requirement, I think my shift selling scratch cards, Slurpees, and a few 40oz. Big Gulps will not only be a job but also my daily yoga workout: it’s a two-for-one.

Convenience Card – This baby works like cash. You put cash on the card and then use the card like cash. It’s like cash, but it’s not cash. What you do is take your sawbucks and convenience card down to the nearest 7-Eleven (you can use the World Wide Web to get a map, see above), insert the card in the machine, insert the Hamiltons in the machine, get your card back, and start shopping. While you’re fumbling with the machine, your card, and your ratty bills, I’ll just grab my hot dog from the roller machine, my Slurpee, my NYTimes, and hang around outside for twenty minutes fighting off beggers until you get your act sorted. There’s even a way to manage your convenience card online: Hibachi! I just use cash; it's like a card but it works like cash.

News Room – I imagined that I’d get a ticker of CNN-like headlines running across my screen when I selected this tempting morsel. Maybe I could get an RSS feed, sign up for email updates, watch a few videos of the Senate discussing the U.S. Attorney scandal, or some clips of Jeanne Moos cracking open another entertainment scandal, but I was wrong. This News Room contains only streamlined 7-Eleven weekly and/or semi-weekly (bi-weekly? semi-monthly?) ‘news’ releases that includes these teasers:

7-Eleven To Franchise for First Time in Home State, Birthplace of Convenience Retailing 80 Years Ago.

What’s the Buzz?

Shopping In A 7-Eleven Wonderland.

7-Eleven To Purchase 10 McKee Oil Company Convenience Stores.

I should click on the first one just so I know the birthplace of convenience retailing for my next appearance on University Challenge, but I think I’ll just try to suss out the answer when it comes up. I’m certainly going to consider that this mystery birthplace is probably at the intersection of two main streets, near public transportion, and in an urban environment.

Real Estate – No, it’s not foreclosures at discount prices, it’s the normal gobbley-gook about converting your store to a 7-Eleven, or what type of properties are best in the hot-growth markets. But it does include this trivia that probably should not only be in the ‘about 7-Eleven’ category, but is also a bit questionable,

“Customers know 7-ELEVEN® stores are the destination for unique, ‘first, best, and only’ products, like Big Gulp® and Slurpee®, -- and they know they can rely on us 24/7.”

I’ll let them slide on the Slurpee because that is some seriously new product – an icy, tangy, fruity, slushy drink. But the Big Gulp? It’s a huge cup. I don’t consider a huge cup to be a ‘first, best, and only product’. This morning I made each boy a big pancake instead of three little pancakes and I’m now claiming copyright on what I’m calling the Big Pancake®.

Of course, I’m well aware of the pot and kettle tone of the posting. My blog certainly has less to offer than the 7-Eleven Web site. In fact, my perusal has only made me more thoughtful about what my consumers need; I’m considering adding a mapping function to allow everyone to get directions to me from anywhere in America…come one, come all. And just like 7-Eleven, I need start selling some t-shirts.

T.

girls on buses

Sometime early last week X chortled at me while relaying some psychological mumbo-jumbo that allegedly confirmed male species' behavior when encountering new folk (I think it’s any type of male: me, giraffe, rhesus monkey, ladybug, or my dog Gus). Apparently, we look quickly at the eyes, glance down to the ‘private’ area (very quickly and without regard to gender), and then return to the eyes and/or face. We have no concern for whether or not the other is speaking, commenting on our hair, eating a donut, or making kissy sounds with their mouth. Eyes – crotch –eyes. Repeat for everyone you meet at the cocktail party. I’ve never even thought of myself as one that would indulge in this behavior but for some reason it came up while we were doing our hair early one morning. Now that I think about it, maybe she said it wasn’t only upon initial meeting, just at the beginning of our daily interaction with each person in our life. I’ve been trying to avoid this male trap for the last ten days but I don’t know if I’ve been successful since I didn’t even know I was doing it.

I’ll tell you what I learned on the bus this morning; but first I’ll pass along the set-up. The #401 / Backlick Road / South Franconia-Tyson’s Corner bus passes the Dunn Loring Metro station and runs through the heart of the Tyson’s Corner business ‘casual’ district in Vienna (12th largest base of business casual employment in America!). The route is conducive for lots of folks heading to work from D.C. and Arlington (opposite the major crowds) that ride the Metro and then catch the bus the last few miles. You get the same busload of people just about every morning, it feels a little like a traveling circus, and you have some imaginary connection with the other carnies. I tend to sit in the first set of seats that face forward (more legroom) so I’m generally looking across the two elderly/handicap rows of seats that have their backs against the windows and face the center aisle. If you haven’t ridden a lot of public transport, or can’t visualize the layout, I can’t help you anymore. In front of me today there were three chicks sitting in those access seats, not as traveling companions, but they were very similar: late 20s/early 30s, nicely dressed, good hair, business casual. I’m in perfect position to watch what’s going in front of me and suddenly it becomes almost comical. At each stop heading up Gallows Road there is at least one other woman getting off the bus and heading to her office, and as she walks up the aisle to exit the front door, all three of the girls give her the look. It’s like watching a tennis match: all their heads follow her from left to right, glare at her legs, pants, jacket, hair, and physical attributes. Once she gets too far into their peripheral vision, and someone might notice them scoping the comp’, they snap their little bird heads back to the ‘neutral looking out the other window’ position. The bus moves, the bus stops, a competitor walks past, heads swivel, grade the goods, snap back to neutral. Without fail, every stop. If the timing is just right you just might catch one of them glancing out the window to see just how ‘she’ could possibly walk and switch in those heels. Now, I’m not saying that this is anything like guys checking out girls but it certainly falls somewhere in the same post code. We have our reasons, they have theirs, but I'm certain neither creature can physically override the mental power to do what seems ingrained in our genes. But, at least us guys do it when we’re looking for something important…like a mate. Girls do it because they’re trying to find new styles of jeans and shoes…and because they’re catty and judgmental. Heathenesses.

Ah, Monday.

T.

self-loading baggage

I’m officially marrying up the start of the D.C. Cherry Blossom Festival (March 31st) to the start of the tourist season. I’m not the first to come to this conclusion, I won’t be the last, but it must be said. The combination of spring break families with 2.5 children and the outer Virginia families that make their annual Metro ride in from the sticks can be too much for anyone with a commuter life. The festival attracts a lot of the locals to the big, sprawling, kind of scary city. Here are some tips to parse out the two groups.

Ohio tourists (accepting the award for everyone from beyond Virginia): Mom, Dad, 2.5 kids. They don’t dress mid-Atlantic and they apparently take their luggage with them everywhere they go. You see lots of Ohio St. Buckeye hats and shirts, khaki capri pants, white shorts, and well-groomed children. The entire family enjoys the wall-mounted Metro map! Pay particular attention when noting the kids: any self-respecting goth or punk rocker is not going to D.C. with the family to learn about history and stuff. The black-clad minion will figure out a way to stay home for the week and live with a friend, or better yet, how to have a keg party in the family split-level home.

Virginia/local tourist: The goth/punk kid presence is the first sign. Clearly, this family has driven from Richmond to the Vienna Metro and is riding into D.C. as a nuclear family. Angst riddled kids have a hard time convincing the parents that they can’t spend even one day with the family. I also don’t think many Ohio tourist stay in hotels out in the suburbs, which means most families on the Metro in Virginia I classify as locals. They don’t have the roller bags, there’s no look of real fear, and only the kids usually check the Metro map on the wall. The adults no doubt worked in the city at some point or another; they don’t find the mass transit map all that interesting.

I will be acting the tourist this weekend while Laurel and I visit some of the spots we missed in January, primarily the Washington Monument and Jefferson Memorial. How do I reconcile myself to this fate? Well, I’ll have my messenger bag (sure sign of the commuter), we’ll both have SmartTrip cards (the call of the commuter), and I always give Laurel the city brief on day one (teachings of the commuter). By the time we ride into the depths of Ballston Metro we’ll look tough, we’ll ignore the lost (unless they ask for help…we are actually nice), and we’ll push people out of the way if we have too. Questions?

Thought not.

T.

damned stairs

I had two run-ins with elevators this morning and that’s more than the required amount of zero. The Moving Stairs Workers Union (and they get a lot of work around these parts) were doing maintenance on the single-track lazy rider that runs from our skywalks to the Metro plaza so the Eleven had to walk down actual stairs. I find it unacceptable if for no other reason than it disrupts the perfect pace of those with 36” inseams. After a peck kiss and sobbing separation inside the Ballston station (she goes New Carrollton way; I go Vienna) I smoothly swipe my SmartTrip card, grab a bus transfer (click click print print), and head for the elevator down to the tracks. My sunglasses still on, looking cool, a good rhythm in my stride, and onto the escalator as always…stammer, stumble, what the hell? The escalator isn’t actually running (which happens often enough) - it’s imitating stairs - and I’m not expecting the surprise of a sudden slowdown; it’s the reverse feeling you get when stepping off the moving walkway and finding out you don’t have the correct rotation speed. You can’t help looking a bit idiotic. I really should pay more attention during my commute.

I’m grilling black bean burgers (for us) and hot dogs (for monkeys) this evening, if you feel like stopping over they’ll be ready about 6:30. I include this information only as exculpatory evidence that I indeed cook food to order for everyone living at, or visiting, the executive dining room on North Park Dr.; and, as an attempt to offset someone’s smirk this morning when I said I was abracadabra-ing salmon and magic potatoes for Laurel tomorrow evening. So there.

T.

the power of one

A few weeks back Sen. Hagel (I’m name dropping again) was asked something along the lines of “how easy will it be for you to run as an anti-war candidate?” He paused as he always seems to, and then answered thusly, “who said I’m anti-war? I’m not anti-war, but I don’t support the execution of this war.” And there it is.

What reminded me of the press conference was some talk in the car the other day as we were heading out to buy Easter Egg Hunt goodies for the kids (my idea; there will be four here on Sunday). And we don’t need to go into any discussion about holy days and candy; I honestly don’t think much about it…so there. Anyway, my stance when it comes to this point of war/anti-war classification is similar: I’m neither. In the case of Afghanistan – fire away, in the case of Iraq – I wasn’t onboard. Either way, the die was cast and we end up in Iraq…now what do we do? Well, as a jumping off point, we should have done what we did 15 years ago and sent in 400,000+ troops. The U.S. military is a machine and it's not too caught up in the politics of 'invade or stay home', or the worries of international support; it doesn’t care, nor does the enemy. The military does what it’s told to do, but the one thing you can't do is handcuff it by not supplying the overwhelming force needed for a given mission. The inability to manage the after-effects of the conventional combat mission (how did no one think beyond 5-10 days?) was criminal. Who plans for ten days when they decide to invade a country? This very first mistake laid the path to where we are right now. Four years later, innumerable opportunities to at least attempt to fix things, and what we get is 20,000 additional troops in Baghdad? Gen Petraeus, who’s now the commander of combat troops in Iraq, rewrote the Army’s counterinsurgency field manual in 2004, here’s basically what it says:

“The new field manual recommends a troop density of at least 20 combat troops to every 1,000 people in Iraq. There are 6 million people in Baghdad, which means the manual would suggest 120,000 combat troops to effectively secure the city. Right now, there are about 130,000 U.S. troops in all of Iraq, and of those 60,000 are support troops or personnel, American officials say.” (pbs.org)

My Nebraska math says that we had (pre-surge) about 70,000 combat troops in all of Iraq. That leaves a shortage of 50,000 troops IF we move all of them to Baghdad. Let’s say we do that, and we bring in 50,000 more; what do we do about Mosul, Tal Afar, the rest of the Sunni Triangle? We just ripped all those troops from the rest of the country so we’d need to backfill in order to continue to secure the country – in fact, based on the training manual we’d need a total of over 530,000 combat troops (July 2006 Iraq population estimate 26.7 million [www.cia.gov]) – so I’m at a total of nearly 450,000 additional troops if we really needed to secure the country, or a minimum of 120,000 if we were just securing Baghdad and backfilling in other areas. I’ll make this easier:

120,000 additional combat troops if you want to get off on the cheap
450,000 additional combat troops if you want to get the job done

Our answer: 20,000+.

Unfortunately, we’ve got a shortage of troops these days and somehow believe that we can only rotate x number in-country on yearly tours. But, if as it's claimed, this is the most important war since WWII, and if we must contain the region and secure Iraq, then you send in every troop you have, you tell them they’ll be there ‘for the duration’, and you finish the job. Would that suck? Yes. Did WWII suck? Yes. If the guys in suits running this war want to win then they have to flood the country in order to secure it. At that point, and only at that point, can we talk about the political solution that is buzzing around the big blue sky. How does anyone expect Iraqis to be happy (or even content) with the security situation when daily life is so shitty? Never mind what John McCain says about ‘walking around Baghdad’ as if all is peachy…he’s lost his train of thought. I’ve read somewhere that Baghdad averages about six hours of electrical power each day…six hours! My bathtub backs up and I'm thoroughly pissed off. Power. Water. Security. According to Pentagon spokespeople the cost of the war started at $4.4 billion/month in 2003 and is up to a forecasted $8.8 billion/month in 2008. More math for me, and I’ll be generous to the Administration, says that by the end of 2007 we’ll be in this thing for upwards of $360 billion – we can’t get the power on in Baghdad? I’m pretty sure that in Todd’s Top Ten Ways to Prevent Hatred and Insurgency, infrastructure is pretty high on the list. If you want your money to fight the war, Mr. Bush, then make some hard decisions.

Here’s my support for the situation in Iraq: send in everyone or get the hell out. Throwing an additional 20,000 troops into the situation is putting 20,000 more military members in harm’s way for no good tactical or strategic mission. None. You want my anti-war stance? More troops. There you have it.

Now the 29% of Americans who still support this Administration can go back to reading Us Magazine, debating about Britney Spears' breakdown, and watching Fox News.

I’m done.

T.

a time to golf

There’s a disc golf course just down Carlin Springs Road from our digs here in Arlington and the weather finally convinced me to order a new set of discs. I’ve had two previous careers in disc golf: the first was in the early 1980s when my high school friends and I used to play the 9-hole course at Elmwood Park in Omaha. Back in those days we played with regular frisbees and the holes were solid fiberglass, inverted cones, that kicked the discs down into small fiberglass buckets. My second career came in the mid-90s when I was living back in Omaha and I played quite a bit in leagues and tournaments in the Omaha and Lincoln area. Great leaps have been made in the sport and the holes are now much easier to finish since they’ve moved to using chains as deflectors for the basket. Sometime between my careers they built a nice 18-hole course in Omaha, with two sets of tee pads, in a lovely rolling park – many evenings were spent playing that course trying to perfect my approach shots. My alternate disc career during the 90s was while I was deploymented to Eskan village in Saudi Arabia. The massive 'camp' had thousands of villas with parks between seperate sectors, benchs, long alleys, open streets, and about a half-dozen object courses painted thoughout. Object courses are simply 18-hole sets that use paint to mark poles, or boxes painted on walls, or benches painted as the finish. Paint lines indicated hole number, tee areas and pars. We used 175 gram ultimate discs and played thousands of rounds on the differing courses; those nights may be the best memories of my time in the military. The huge difference in that set-up was that you routinely skipped discs off the ground, bounced them off walls, and tried to hooked long shots around two-story villas...it was a blast. Of course, we also had to scale walls to retrieve errant discs from the roofs of the unoccupied, and locked, villas. After arriving here I noticed a course in Bluemont Park and started thinking about getting back to the sport once this Spring rolled around…so here I go. This course is a 9-hole setup with three sets of tees and four pin placements on each hole; it also looks absolutely covered in trees so I’m guessing that accuracy will be much more important than distance. When you get to be in your 40s you understand you’re limited to ‘accuracy’ in most sporting endeavors – forget about distance and strength. (Let me correct; in my 40s everything is accuracy, not just sports. Got nothing left...) I’ll assume that the sport (and the courses here in northern Virginia) are still populated by semi-retired soccer players, liberals, hippies, former skateboarders, those that smell of weed, and all-around cool people. I should have my kit by early next week. Fore!

emperors III, etc.

The John and Elizabeth Edwards announcement / interview / declaration generated a lot of reflection not only on his campaign but what was apparently already known in politico circles; she is the stronger character in that partnership. Politically, I never cared much for Edwards as a candidate and I’m not sure how this will affect his campaign in the short term. In the final solution I don’t think he’ll continue his presidential campaign for much longer.

Bill Richardson was on Jon Stewart last week – bonus points for that (I should get his book). The rest of the Dems are keeping their heads down, even the Hillary / Obama Apple mash-up video didn’t much interest me. I remember the commercial in its first iteration and never thought it was as ground-breaking as everyone else believed. A few numbers change, particularly an increase in the Edwards numbers for everyone else, a drop in my Edwards numbers because I don’t think he’ll be running come summertime.

I find it hard to believe that Giuliani has a 20 point lead on McCain in ANY poll. I’m sticking to my guns on Giuliani not having a chance at the nomination but I’ll give him a few more points just ‘cause. I think the polls only reflect what most Americans know about Giuliani – being mayor of NYC on September 11th. Once his stance on the issues come to the fore the numbers will drop. The winds blowing around Fred Thompson thinking about entering the campaign have been interesting but I don’t know enough about him, politically, to make any kind of judgment. The most I can say about him is that he speaks well.

Democrats	My Vote	The Nation
Clinton	23	42
Obama	27	32
Richardson	40	4
Edwards	5	20
Dodd	1	0
Biden	3	0
Kucinich	1	0

'Publicans	My Vote	The Nation
McCain	85	55
Giuliani	10	25
Romney	5	15
Brownback	0	5
Hunter	0	0

Yes, I read the Supreme Court slip decision (at least the dissenting opinions) on the EPA case. I know! I can’t help it. I learned what parens patriae means and will work it into my converations as often as possible.

Nothing else for now. Warm this week, colder over the weekend. Feel free to quote me if required.

sneaky sneaky quiet monkey

The week's weather has be stunning; if only it would never get hotter than about 70 degrees with a cool breeze whistling through the courtyard. We've taken to sitting in the lawnchairs in the courtyard every evening and watching Q. run up and down the sidewalk chasing balls. I'd say there's some retriever in him but I'm not sure he's mastered either the getting or retrieving - he chases. Reminds me of my old labrador Gus that used to chase cars; getting and retrieving didn't cross his mind, either. Here's a video of the lil' shortsop going to the hole, knocking down a screaming line drive, and making the throw to first base. Nevermind...score it as E6. Maybe the Cubs should sign him up.



The boys have spring break next week so they brought home the school's guinea pig. Ginny will be well-loved (I think), taken for long walks, and provide hours of entertainment to the a-dults. She was in her cage outside yeterday and Q. spent a long time either trying to see her or trying to plot her escape. Those bars don't look so tough.

We have the spring Slavic festival down at 21st and H St. this afternoon; pics to follow.

T.

it’s a wrap!

Communism - an ideology that seeks to establish a classless, stateless social organization based on common ownership of the means of production. [wikipedia.org]

I’ll take this opportunity to further break down the components of this definition:

ideology – the set of beliefs characteristic of a social group or individual. [Concise OED]

Let me say that this ‘set’ and the social group runs between about 5’8” and 5’10” and occupies #1 and #2 on North Park Drive.

stateless (adj.) – not recognized as a citizen of any country. [Concise OED]

social (adj.) – relating to or designed for activities in which people meet each other for pleasure. [Concise OED]

organization (n.) – a systematic approach to tasks. [Concise OED]

If I mash these all together I get something that says I’m not really a citizen, I’m designed to make pleasurable things, and I’m somehow tasked from the group.

means of production - are the combination of the means of labor and the subject of labor used by workers to make products [wikipedia.org]

I think I’m pretty well pigeonholed as the ‘combo’ when it comes to getting the wraps ready for early morning launch. It’s a skill like anything else…but sometimes the labor gets all confused and forgets the ideology; the power of three!

I made three wraps this morning so X didn’t have to split her wrap with the other twin...as was the case on Tuesday; talk about a communal thing. Not only did I manage to increase the means of production but I snuck chocolate in their snacks in a preemptive strike against revolt.

Long live the masses!

TTodd.

lone rider

No need to gather a whole posse when Kyle Sampson is getting the job done in committee. Apparently he won't fall on any sword.

T.

warning: spoiler alert

Last night the Eleven finished our weekend’s Dance Dance Revolution© 2007 cram session – at the end of both Footloose and Flashdance there are uplifting choreographed dance numbers that send our spirits soaring! Alex apparently earns a place at The Dance Conservatory of Pittsburgh; Ariel and Ren end up sponsoring the forbidden dance across the county line somewhere out West. These were X’s first viewing for both films and I’ll leave her to her personal reviews whenever she decides to update her blog; I can say that she doesn’t think much of Lori Singer. I was more than happy to hear Kenny Loggins squawking out another great 80s title song for a movie (Footloose, Caddyshack, Top Gun) in his inimitable way – “I gotta get loose, footloose!” I'm not sure that using footloose with loose says much about the writing, but back then we took what we could get at the local cineplex. Looking at Loggins' lyrics from all three movies makes one wince for what the youth of that decade had to endure. A sample from Danger Zone (Top Gun):

Out along the edges
Always where I burn to be
The further on the edge
The hotter the intensity

and from I’m Alright (Caddyshack)

You wanna listen to the man?
Pay attention to the magistrate
And while I got you in the mood
Listen to your
Own heart beatin’
Own heart beatin’
Own heart beatin’
Own heart beatin’

He may be the only singer to ever use magistrate in a song. He’s not even rhyming it with anything, why magistrate? And the 'to be' with 'inten-si-ty'? Wow. I can see how one would be out along the edges but I don’t get the ‘further on the edge’ reference. If I'm along the edge, there is no further; that's and abyss. For an answer to that I’ll ask X to query her fellow Owl, Keith (F-14 Tomcat RIO – think Goose), he might be able to let us know if he ever went further on the edge.

I leave you.

T.

with this ring I

I was sitting in the courtyard finishing up my Sunday NYTimes assignment and found myself stumbling through the wedding announcements. What a goldmine of entertainment to get me through the early Arlington evening. I’ve marked up way more than I can possibly retype (and retype I will…) so I’ll stick to the best of the weds. (I consider all names and events to be public record. It’s in the NYTimes – sorry if anyone finds their name within.) All wedding text is copyright of the New Yorks Times...I guess.

His mother is a director of 3 Stars Cinema, a Jewish film series in Dallas, and was also a producer of “Salsa Caliente,” a 2001 documentary film about Latin dance aficionados.

Nothing says Jewish film cinema like “Salsa Caliente”. I’m so confused by how this actually imparts any additional information that a guy in Arlington, Va, needs to have about the blissfully wedded couple…Salsa Caliente? Was that an opening night entry in the Jewish film series or something that played at one of the indie theaters off the main Dallas drag?

Mr. Wilkie’s great-great grandfather Thomas Fortune Ryan was a financier and philanthropist, whose business interests included tobacco, New York City streetcars and subways and diamonds in the Congo.

Those interests sound much better within this context, “Todd’s favorite Friday night activities included tobacco, New York city streetcars and subways and diamonds in the Congo.” Note that it’s not diamonds FROM the Congo but diamonds IN the Congo. The great-great grandfather could have been interested in tall, lanky redheads, Kool menthols, and single malt Whisky...but I don’t need to know about it.

Now, one of my favorites. Imagine we’ve already read the basics of the couple and their families: he went to school, she went to school, the parents are blah blah blah. Suddenly we get these dramatic community theater interpretations included in the wedding announcement:

The bridegroom’s previous marriage ended in divorce.

The couple were introduced in November 2004 by Lisa Elson, the wife of the bridegroom’s best friend. She was receiving physical therapy from Ms. Stodola [the bride] at the Nicholas Institute.

Ms. Elson, confident that the couple’s engaging personalities and mutual love of skiing would be the basis for a strong relationship, suggested a blind date. But Ms. Stodola wasn’t keen on the idea.

“I actually didn’t want to date him,” she said. “It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with him, but I would have rather met someone on my own than to be introduced.”

But the couple hit it off, and two weeks after their first date, they ventured off to Alta, Utah, for a weekend of skiing.

“Lisa had said that Andrew was an amazing skier who loved the outdoors,” Ms. Stodola said, “and I thought to myself, ‘He can’t possibly be a better skier than me.’ I was a ski-racer in high school and in better shape, and he grew up in New York.”

She was wrong.

“I soon found out that he was so much better than me,” she said. “I was shocked.”

Mr. Kramer [the bridegroom] said he had taken her skiing to prove himself to her. From then on, he added, they were “in perfect sync,” on and off the slopes.

First of all, how did Lisa Elson work her way into the announcement? The wife of the bridegroom’s best friend? The equivalent of that person in my relationship with X would be…someone I don’t even freaking know. I’m glad to see that Ms. Stodola is impressed by skiing…if only the first intro had been, “I met Bode Miller yesterday and he wants to make out with you," we all could have saved the cost of a trip to Alta, Utah, for an apparently out-of-shape and no doubt skiing-ability lying fool. Clearly Ms. Stodola wasn't impressed with Mr. Out-of-Shape.

And my favorite motherly smackdown…

The bride graduated magna cum laude from Syracuse, where she met the bridegroom and where each received a law degree, he cum laude.

I SO want to have dinner with dear mother.

There is also a very interesting timbre to the announcements and I’m not sure where it originates. As an example I’ll use the Eleven:

“X, daughter of Adam and Eve, was married to…”

or

“X and T were married…”

I sense a serious difference of opinion on the side of the parents of the bride.

Geez.

T.

fine leaders

The House Resolution (H.R. 1591) and paired Senate Resolution 965 (S. 965) that are crashing down the halls of the capitol represent a excellent look into just how much hasn’t changed when considering the incompetency of our elected officials. The titles of the two resolutions, respectively, are: Making emergency supplemental appropriations for the fiscal year ending September 30, 2007, and for other purposes and; An original bill making emergency supplemental appropriations for the fiscal year ending September 30, 2007, and for other purposes. Such straight-forward titles for what should be a straight-forward bits of legislation. Both bills are allegedly supplemental spending allocations for Iraq (military and reconstruction funds) that were requested by the President. The total that came from the White House was just under $100 billion dollars – remember, this is supplemental spending, not part of any budget (gotta keep the money on the down low…). The house, led by Speaker Nancy Pelosi, added $40 billion dollars in spending to the resolution along with a deadline for U.S. troop withdrawal from Iraq; two sides of the same dirty political coin. The deadline will obviously force the President to veto the bill and the money (on the other, dirtier side) is simply to bribe Dems and ‘Pubs to at least initially support the bill…deadline and all. What may happen down the road when the President finds his “VETO” stamp (psst...it’s in the bottom drawer under the Christmas party pictures with Rove playing Santa) is a whole seperate issue. I don’t know if either the House or Senate has the votes to override a veto but we’ll certainly be in for some crappy political theatre. Here are a few things that will no doubt be said by the politicos across the river:

“The President vetoed the bill for more spending to support our troops in Iraq…hater!”

“The House, and the Democrat majority, submarined spending and support for our troops in Iraq by appending a deadline to withdrawal…traitors!”

Of course, support for the troops and the money needed to get that done is not the real issue; it’s the spending and bribing that gets done under the auspices of being patriotic. The spending amendments are merely buying off anyone needed to support the bill: for $50 million dollars to your state you’ll apparently vote for anything. If you look at the Senate resolution and the amendments that are proposed you’ll see the following sponsors:

Sen. Robert Byrd (D-WV)
Sen. Mary Landrieu (D-LA)
Sen. Harry Reid (D-NV) x 2
Sen. Kay Hutchison (R-TX)
Sen. Jeff Sessions (R-AL)
Sen. Thad Cochran (R-MS)

You can read at CNN or MSNBC or Fox to get details of some of these amendments: insect research? Katrina relief? Tree saving? Milk? All a bunch of garbage that doesn’t belong in the bill. At least Sen. Cochran showed some onions – I can read the text of his amendment at the Library of Congress website prior to the vote: he wants to strike the deadline from the bill. Good for him. The other amendments are tagged as “Purpose will be available when the amendment is proposed for consideration. See Congressional Record for text.” Of course it will be…but I’ll have to dig through mountains of text to see just how much you’ve spent and just how much I despise your actions. And just so we can fully enjoy these ideals set forth by our representatives in Washington, bear in mind that each of these spending amendments ($283,000,000 for Milk Income Loss, $74,000,000 for Peanut Storage Costs, and Sen. Reid’s $20,000,000 for insect research, etc.) in the Senate resolution can be cited, under emergency designation, by using the bill’s title: U.S. Troop Readiness, Veterans' Care, Katrina Recovery, and Iraq Accountability Appropriations Act, 2007. Nice.

I’ll bet that Hutchinson and Sessions will fall in line with Senate Democrats on the resolution vote…you think? The Dems will play it as Republicans breaking from the party in order to show solidarity with the Iraq withdrawal deadline. But what we really know is that Sens. Sessions and Hutchinson just want to get paid. Reid, Byrd, and Landrieu look worse on the day - they are simply taking money because they can.

No more politics.

T.

if...then

I can’t stay away from the non-fiction forever. I’ve slowed in my progress through Harafish because I had reserved The Enemy at Home at the Arlington library and it popped to the top of my queue faster than expected – I had no choice. Dinesh D’Souza authors this tirade at the liberal left and places blame for the September 11th attacks squarely at the feet of those that espouse and export pornography, homosexual acts, divorce, Britney Spears, and atheism to the Islamic world. There are a bunch of impressive quotes and verbiage thrown about, but according to D'Souza there is no other reason for the flames of hate beyond our exporting of liberal culturalism…none. I had no idea that I supported and exported such causes, or that my ‘membership’ in this vast political grouping could cause fury on such a level. D’Souza is a sitting fellow at Stanford University so I’d expect more from him than what appears to be a wholly illogical argument. It’s not his opinion that frustrates but his complete lack of any ability to support his opinion without turning back onto himself and contradicting everything he already claimed. I’d never suppose that I could understand how radical Islam sees America (I don’t think he can either) and I can’t fathom what drives anyone so deeply into religion, but I do know that I could at least frame and support a thesis much better than D’Souza. His pontificating doesn’t bother me, he’s just another ‘thinker’ that falls into that group on the commentary playground that does nothing but point at and blame others. His position would be irrelevant on any issue because no matter where D’Souza found himself standing he’d be blaming everyone else for all the woes of the world. His fame reminds me of the time during the build-up to the Iraq war when people confused brain power with smartness or common sense. I remember when people were questioning the run-up to war, mostly famous people whose voices were heard above the fray, and we ended up with those email chain letters showing up in inboxes spewing vile at anyone questioning the war. They tried to subtly point out that George Clooney didn’t go to college so how could he possibly know anything? Condi Rice DID…so she’s smart as a whip. D’Souza holds sway for the same reason – book smart, well-educated, professor at Stanford – but he couldn’t figure out how to get from Foggy Bottom to DuPont Circle on the Metro because that would require the ability to actually analyze something and come to a logical conclusion based on that analysis. I’m sure when he ended up lost he’d blame the train drivers, station managers, and his inability to figure out how to use a SmartTrip card.

big mo'

Mo', in the sports world, means momentum - once set in motion it continues in motion. Maybe you remember a team that got the mo' and ran away with a championship; maybe you were running for a Red Line train at Metro Center and the woman in front of you lost mo'...and got trampled. I know it's only Sunday and I shouldn't be so frenzied about catching a train because I'm not really late for anything - but the trains only run every 15 minutes on the weekend. It's a gorgeous day here in the Capital and I didn't want to spend another fifteen minutes in the subterrean warren. Tourists. I was headed up the stairs from the inbound Orange Line train and could hear the Glenmont rumbling into the station - I was on my way to the DuPont Circle farmer's market and a whirl through Melody Music CD shop just off the circle. About once a month I manage to sneak in early enough to pick-and-choose from a lovely selection of locally grown organic goods: veg, fruit, dairy, flowers, etc. Back to the story. As I'm running towards the train, let's say I'm about thirty feet out, behind a woman running for the same door who seems to be on my wavelength and we are both set for success. The red light comes on above the doors, the beeping starts to sound and the doors are nearing closure - we'll make it but it's going to be close. As she nears the door, and realizes she'll make it through, she slows to a walk at the door threshold and decides to amble...remember...mo'! I almost ran her down as my bigger mo' is nearly unstoppable. Since I'm light of foot (and could cut a rug if I decided to) I managed to side-step the speed bump and sneak onboard while my mind is screaming "MOVE!". When I got home later in the morning I relayed my distress at silly, mindless people that inhabit my world and X informs me that the WonderTwins routinely physically assault other passengers as they board the carriages. I guess that's how Justice is served in D.C. these days.

If one wonders about what you eat this time of year when you're trying to buy local and seasonal produce - you eat greens. I think Spring time is that period when all the really filling grub is gone and you've got weeds and greens. Along with that you've got the sure thing of quality cheese and the awesome mushroom lady - I'll get a snap of the mushroom lady and her wares next time I go. I grabbed the Sunday NYTimes, a cup of coffee, The Clash's Sandinista, and headed home about 11a.

The picture above is our table. This is what is looks like when the girlfriend is studying Con Law II for finals and the boyfriend is a floral obsessed nutjob. She actual says this to me, "baby, I think we have enough flowers." What kind of girl...

Peace.

T.

jinx. pinch poke you owe me...

Just a quick link to Lithwick's story that she clearly aced from my 'more/less/extreme' babble earlier this week. I'm getting so very tired of trendsetting; if only the guys would get onboard with the sideburn idea I'd get less grief at home. No more slate.com links until next Friday - I'm giving them too much business as it is...

T.

post-war post

Andrew Sullivan posts an interesting reply on his blog to Christopher Hitchens’ non-mea culpa at slate.com. When I first read Mr. Hitchens’ post on Monday I was uncomfortable with most of the rearview mirror speculation he used when determining exactly which train station platform the supporters of the war should have disembarked from their ride; he determined there were none – apparently it was a one-way ticket to this destiny. I never thought the question was whether or not there were “actual or latent” WMD programs. I wasn’t one to debate the quality of the intelligence, and certainly not one to sit on my couch and parse anything about the details of intrigue swirling in the White House. What I wanted to decide was whether or not I was willing to follow this president into a war of choice – and I wasn’t: good intelligence or not. I had zero faith in this administration. It was hard to believe that the jingoistic remnants of September 11th were clouding our view of what the President was asking of the country. In many ways what bothered me then is what bothers Mr. Sullivan now:

The real question is: if we knew then what we know now about the caliber, ethics, competence and integrity of the president and his aides, would we have entrusted them to wage this war?

If the actual, unrigged intelligence data had been presented at the UN, if the statements of president, vice-president, defense secretary et al had been carefully parsed to ensure that we knew exactly the knowable risks of action and of inaction, then a ramped-up inspections regime might well have been preferable to war.

Would we have trusted their presentation of pre-war intelligence? And the answer to that, I venture to guess for my friend as well, is: no. If we had known that war meant sending Iraq into a vortex of uncontrollable violence…

Yes, I am glad Saddam is gone. Yes, I believe my own intentions before the war were honorable, if mistaken. Yes, I believe Hitch's were as well - and those of many others. But we were fools not to see the true nature of the people we were trusting; and too enraptured by our own sense of righteousness to realize that we could have been wrong. And wrong we were.

As for Mr. Hitchens’ assertion that some of us feel a need to crow for vindication for our opinions before war; I have no such need. All I ever wanted was for everyone to open their eyes and decide the degree of trust they held in this Administration. There’s an interesting opening essay in one of Hitchins’ books that speaks of England and Churchill in WWII – the blind admiration for a leader that may or may not have been warranted. I’ll go back and read that one tonight.

Peace.

T.

bong hits 4 dahlia

I’ve been following this story over the last few weeks as it has sidled up to its Supreme Court crossroad. I think I fall on the side of the student in this case, even a goofball like this kid, since I don’t know how disruptive the behavior really was and I think the principal overreacted. As with any case, the justices can reach to almost any scenario to suggest that an action, or free speech event, would clearly be out-of-bounds. Either side of the bench (and even though the seating arrangements are by longevity on the court, there are clear sides) can use what I call the “torturing the nuke hider” attack plan against any argument or law placed before them. This plan, or line of logic, is loosely based on the argument for torture that invokes the “we’ve got a terrorist, he has a nuclear bomb set to explode in NYC in 30 minutes, and we need to know where it’s located” basis for saying that torture is okay. If decisions are made solely on absolute extremes, any possible extreme that can be considered inflammatory, then I consider it invalid. I think Scalia is treading down this path a bit when he asks about the rape button during arguments. I wouldn’t answer that question any differently than most…it is unacceptable, but that question isn’t valid law in my mind.

Now that I’ve pawned off my lack of legal training on everyone I’ll give you Dahlia Lithwicks’s much better, and hilarious, summary of yesterday’s session.

T.

bostone

If you won't fess up to peccadillos on your blog, where will you? So, as a matter of full disclosure I'll let everyone know that I stopped by my local used CD seller-cum-headshop (CD Cellar) and pilfered Boston's self-titled and their second masterwork, Don't Look Back. Imagine my embarassment when Brad Delp (lead singer) died last week and I had no Boston to crank-up on either my home stereo (read iMac and remote speakers), or my Trans Am's 8-track. My wicked cool friend Buzz was down in Texas mourning the loss of Brad by working the upright arcade games that line his living room, pawing as his girlfriend's designer jean pockets (read: ass), and despairing the end of Boston. If I could've, I'd have strapped on the rollerskates, headed over to Skateland, found the stone-cold fox that could skate backwards (own skates and pom-poms on the laces required), and we would have skated through the moonlight dance with the disco ball ablazin'. Afterwards, over to the Foosball table for a game against Skip and Todd (the other Todd), a plate of nachos, a huge Mt. Dew, and some commiserating about the untimely passing.

I know what your saying, his musical tastes must be much more refined in his 40s than they were in high school - but it's not true - Boston will make you get on the Interstate and take a good long roadtrip across America. A compilation of Slobberbone (90s-00s) will do the same thing. In fact, that is the test of the music I love...can I drive to it? The debut album was so great, the follow-up nearly as good, and then the fates sealed their immortality. I doubt we listened to any band more than Boston during those three intense years of high school that developed us as people. Add in the ping-pong, Foosball, air guitar, and chasing of drawers, and you've nailed the early 1980s. I think that even today the four of us would fall right back into place once the first chords of Peace of Mind blazed through the JCPenney stereo speakers as I line up the quarter on the sweet spot of that crap round table in Skip's basement...and make someone drink.

Here's to Bodycast Johnson.

I am cleansed.

RIP Brad.

Peace.

T.

sixteen tons

The boys' economic model has undergone a change that follows closely on the heels of the failed first attempt at a fledging system. It doesn't appear to be any type of a collapse due to protest, or a march on the capitalists, as much as a house of cards falling like the Italian government swooning on a seaonal calender. The original gPts. system fell into disrepair and disuse simply because it wasn't functioning on any level: no income, no expenses, no quarterly balance sheet. In fact, it had become so passe that goods and services were secretly being traded on a black market that I wasn't fully aware of so I'd removed/erased the gPts. balance sheet from the dry erase board just this weekend; it was old and tattered and needed to be removed from circulation. I'll dubbed myself 'The Mint': I can make and destroy points but the running of the model is of no interest to me. When I got home yesterday, and the boys were back from their visit with their father, Gabe asked me what had happened to the gPts. ledger, had I erased it? I repeated my whole Italian government dissertation which he found exceedingly boring since all he really wanted to do was explain the new currency. He asked me if I could please not erase the "B"s that they had added to the bottom of each square on the dry erase calender. These now represent the only remaining currency in the new market: one B on each day to represent Henry playing Bionicles with Gabe. If I had to come up with a representative description for the new plan I'd say it was a cross between a company store and the old Eastern Bloc: there's no actual currency and there's only one thing to purchase. It takes me back to the days of the East Berlin storefront that had a somewhat limited use...the vignette is funnier when you use the same heavy Slavic accent that I was hearing in my head:

(scene opens in a very dusty, vacant communist bloc store in East Berlin)
East German: "Excuse me Sir. I'd like a birthday gift for my daughter."
Ivan the Clerk: "I will play Bionicles with her."
EG: "Hmm. I don't know that she much likes Bionicles."
Ivan: "We have Bionicles."
EG: "Well, okay then. I also need gift for my great aunt who fought in the war."
Ivan: "I will play Bionicles with her."
EG: "Don't you have anything else? She's in her eighties you know."
Ivan: "We have Bionicles."
EG: "Well. I guess I can't take this 'money' anywhere else. Maybe I'll earn some more next year."
Ivan: "There is no more money. There is Bionicles."

From Gabe's overview description I think Henry is free to erase the B on a given day, maybe even in advance, if he deems Gabe warrants loss of 'currency'. I don't think Gabe can actually earn any Bs since today through the end of the month is already paid in advance: he's on salary, there is no overtime. He's got was he's got, he can't get no more, he can only trade a B for the allotted service, and he can lose them at the discretion of the company store. This won't go over well. Another day older and deeper in debt.

The Eleven headed to Maryland with a dish of enchiladas and pot of black bean soup Saturday night. Only one wrong turn enroute to the hostess' townhouse in Gaithersburg, MD. Sue has a lot of space for a reasonable amount of money and I was tempted to see if we could move that townhouse to Arlington and keep the price the same - maybe a big ol' tow truck would do the trick. We had some dinner and drinks before we decided to head back to our house (in caravan), drop off our car, and carpool in Sue's to the bar in D.C. Seemed the easiest execution since we could Metro home and she could pop up north to her house afterward. Our impeccable timing brought us upon the bar's block just as the Wizards game was disgorging from the Verizon Center just across the street from the bar...Hibachi! This might not seem like a huge problem if you're not all NBA like us, but the D.C. police for some reason block off a four or five block area around the area and we kept getting shuttled down some random and crappy one-way street; oh wait...that could be describing the entire D.C. traffic pattern. We finally I-spied a curbside space a few blocks from our destination, the RNR club* on 6th St. NW. I don't know if I'm too old to judge clubs/bars anymore, at least this kind of bar, but that certainly won't stop me. It was a decent enough place overall: live band playing on the first level (we thought it would be an Irish band but these guys turned out to be the openers), DJs on the second and third floors. The bar staff was horrible - the only one who had any gumption was fully lit by 10pm, and uselessly sobbing to herself after that, after doing shooters with the crowd and dancing on her bar. The 'staff' (of one) at the third floor bar was fully challenged to fill an order every five minutes. I'm going to venture a guess and say that the 'pretty' and 'stacked' boxes were checked on her application for employment. We hung around the third foor for a while so we could listen to the combination of 80s music and Justin Timberlake re-mixes, watch the crowd dance, and take in the "skirt". Our later return to the first floor (sans the drunk and crying bartender) was much better than the opening tour. The Irish band set-up and the evening got progressively better once they started bashing, fiddling, and fluting aways. Funny that the place was much emptier by 11:30 when they started with the Irish stuff...I guess all the cool folks went somewhere else.

Patrons? I like people watching, I used to like dancing more than I do now, but the two things that stood out are these:

1. Too many people apparently go to jam-packed bars on weekends, especially on a holidays it seems, and pay with credit cards. Here are my recommendations: cash. money. GO TO THE ATM. The bartender who's attempting to sling drinks rapidly does not need to deal with you flashing your free-in-the-mail Gold Card whilst paying for $20 worth of drinks. Not only do they surely hate you...I hate you because I'm waiting for you put your John Hancock on a slip of paper to cover the three Miller Lites and one Bud Lite that you and your 'buds' are drinking before I can get my order in. A-T-M.

2. I don't think much of people that drink any combination of Red Bull and Jagermeister. I can't believe Jagermeister is still made. Awful.

We Metro'd home after Sue dropped us near Metro Center in D.C. and finally tumbled into bed about 1am. What am I doing out at 1am? My question exactly.

Everything went swimmingly.

T.

* I can't vouch for the second review and the "picking up of girls" bit. I was already with two girls...and one of them was a sure thing.

emperors II

I can’t help but open this week’s salvo by not only dismissing Senator Brownback from class, but linking to one of the most ludicrous presentations ever made on the floor of the U.S. Senate. Brownback is a politician so he gets to play the judgment game on a more open field than General Pace. In the continuing line of inept and paper-doll CJCSs, Pace fits perfectly behind long-forgotten and meaningless General Myers. If it were only his opinion that were irritating, like Brownback’s, I’d dismiss him as a blowhard. As it is, any military member let alone a CJCS that has gotten this far in a career and doesn’t know or understand what can and cannot be done in uniform, and in an official capacity, is beyond foolish – I’d question his ability to lead. I’m sending General Pace along with Senator Brownback to the dean’s office…see if he can figure them out.

Not much has changed since last week. The biggest shell game for the Republicans is Senator Hagel’s announcement to postpone his decision. The more I thought about it this week the more I think he’ll watch very closely how the Romney / McCain / Giuliani “battle for the base” evolves. If the three manage to split the group into equal parts by the Fall then I think Hagel will give it a go. He just might be able to grab the other 15-20% of the Republicans who aren’t hardcore conservatives, and with that, grab the nomination. The beauty for him would be a general election as the nominee. He’d get the Republican vote, he’d get most for centrists from both parties, and he’d poach a number of Democrats. This whole ‘base’ idea is different for the Republicans because that group of base voters will not, under any circumstances, vote for Hillary. They probably won’t vote for any Democrat. It’s not like the Dem liberal base that has the inkling to wander on occasion and would certainly jump the Hillary-ship for someone like Hagel. I’m keeping him out of the numbers for now because he’s not running as of today.

The Democrats were simply boring this week. All the flash and crashing of the ramparts are gone for now. Clinton and Obama have a chance to wow us now that we’ve gotten over the initial flurry and aren’t much interested. I think they’ll realize around Memorial Day just how stupid an idea it was to jump in, guns a-blazing, this far out. If something is to be said for the week, it’s this: Obama closed the gap during the whole Selma get together. Clinton is NOT good at the humble southerner thing…she should leave that to Bill. In the long run, that singular event isn’t going to make much difference. Governor Richardson is staying quiet but I suspect we’ll hear more from him during this slower portion of the season. He’s in no hurry.

The numbers, with very slight adjustments:

Democrats	My Vote	The Nation
Clinton	20	43
Obama	25	33
Richardson	40	10
Edwards	10	14
Dodd	1	0
Biden	3	0
Kucinich	1	0

'Publicans	My Vote	The Nation
McCain	90	60
Giuliani	5	20
Romney	5	15
Brownback	0	5
Hunter	0	0

Reports from St. Pats forthwith.

T.

wine and roses and shamrocks

On Saturday X and I (I call us the eleven) are heading up into Maryland for a visit with Sue and one St. Patrick. The boys will be off on a visit and you know the first thing two 30-somethings (shhh…) would plan on doing; that’s right, flee across the state line and drink green beer, sleep on someone’s floor, and eventually wend our way back to Virginia. I believe there will be an Irish band and a bar involved.

The last time I planned to drive to another state, sleep in someone else’s house, and a see a band on a calendar holiday, was New Year’s Eve 1983 / 1984. It may well have been events like this that contributed to ending my attempt at college in 1985.

The cast of characters: two of my best friends from high school, Skip (aka CitiesSkip) and Jeff; Jeff’s friend Ben (who was at Cornell College with him), and me.

The trip: Omaha to Bloomington, Illinois.

The rig(s): At first it was a sweet Dodge Omni* that only managed to get us about 45 miles to Avoca, Iowa. At that point we called Skip’s mom (on a pay phone!) and she ferried the family’s Ford LTD station wagon to us at the crappy truck stop in Avoca, gave us the one working vehicle, and STAYED in Avoca until the Omni was either fixed and back on the road or she had it towed back to Omaha. She was a gem.

It was only Skip, Jeff, and I for the first 300-mile leg of the journey across Iowa on I-80 – we were scheduled to pick up Ben in the Quad Cities (Moline, Davenport, Rock Island, and East Moline…if you must know the quads). We set out on such a mission on long December 31st because we were trailing a once great 1980s ska bank, The Uptown Rulers, of whom Skip still has a nearly 25 year-old two tape, live recording that he’s burned to CD. They hailed from the Bloomington-Normal area and were gigging that night in their hometown for the New Year’s Eve bash. We must have seen them dozens of times between 1983 an 1985 when they toured the Big Ten college circuit and stopped in Iowa City five or six times a year.

As was expected during our lives of 1983 the car was stocked with the accoutrements of our days: a cooler full of Mt. Dew, No-Doz, the beat-up stuffed Odie that served as our mascot, tons of Wonder Bread and bologna and cheese, all the Maxell UD-XLII cassette tapes filled with the great bands** of the day, and just enough money to get us there and back…hopefully.

We managed to find Ben in the Quad Cities that afternoon and headed onto Bloomington for the show. Our planning was such that we believed we’d surely come across some other Rulers fans who’d put us up on their floor for the night, and if not, surely four college guys could find somewhere to sleep in a college town. That didn’t happen…and we tried. After the show we decided to drive the 200 miles back to Iowa City where Skip and I had our dorm room at the U. This decision represents that listener eye-rolling moment that happens all too often when we relive questionable, long ago decisions. Don’t fret, nothing really bad happened.

We got in the car in the dark of night, fairly heavy snow had started to fall, but it didn’t look too threatening. Of course, we didn’t put our heads together and think out the whole west to east travel of weather before we started driving west into the storm. We were no more than 20 miles out of Bloomington when we realized our error: this was a big ol’ blizzard and the only way to make it anywhere on the interstate was to get behind the only semi on the road and stay in its wheels tracks. The interstate was basically a whiteout and the snow was blasting down. There were a sum total of two vehicles on the road tha long and lonely two: the LTD wagon and the J.B. Hunt semi. Turning back didn’t seem an option so we simply chugged Dew and popped No Doz. It took five or six hours to just make it back to the Quad Cities where Jeff and Ben were dumped since they were heading back to school from there. The state line had proven the end of the snowstorm; the roads were clear, the sky was sunny (it was already morning), and Skip and I decided to push on the last 60 miles to Iowa City. Skip drove while I rode shotgun trying to keep both of us awake over that final hurdle. We had the windows cracked to allow winter's blast to keep us awake, we had the music turned up loud (no doubt The Tubes taking us home), and everything seemed fine. About 30 miles into this final leg Skip started talking – but not to me...and he certainly wasn’t singing along to Sushi Girl. As one would, I said “Dude. Who are you talking to?”, to which he replies “Jeff.” At this point the 24 hours of no sleep, the Dew, and No Doz had clearly screwed up his neurons. I reminded him that we dropped Jeff off 40 miles ago and his reply was “No. I can see him in the mirror. He's sitting in the back seat.” This is the point where everyone gets to think I’m really smart for having him pull over, giving me the keys, and putting him to sleep in the back of the wagon. He saw him in the mirror? Yikes. This was the very point in our young lives when we swore off the 'Doz.

I got us Iowa City and our dorm where we fell head long into our bunk beds and slept for about 12 hours. We eventually pulled ourselves out of bed for some sandwiches at the Hamburg Inn and a very gentle evening on the Iowa City town before heading back to Omaha the next day.

Why anyone needs to hear this story is beyond me. I was just wondering how it will go this weekend.

I think Sue’ll let us stay, she's like that.

T.


*The very same Dodge Omni that took Skip and I on our first road trip to Iowa City in the fall of 1981 (that was a ‘dear diary’ trip). The same Omni whose front axle was snapped when I slid into a curb on an icy street in Milford, Iowa (Christmas break 1982?) when we were on our way to ‘visit’ Thelma and her friends. As an aside, we (Skip, Jeff, the other Todd, and I) ended up spending the night on the living room floor with MTV playing endlessly until morning. I still get wierded out when I hear that “duh duh-duh duh duh duh-duh” that coming back from a commercial jingle that MTV used to play between actual videos – the astronaut holding the MTV flag on the moon. If you were a teen back then you know EXACTLY what I mean.

**The Tubes, The Cars, REO Speedwagon, maybe some Police, Wang Chung, Culture Club, Thompson Twins, Rick Springfield…you know what I’m talking about.

mind the...

The Park Drive Sopranos gathered around the table last night for garlic bread and heaping bowls of something like pasta primavera. There was veg aplenty (including a steamed artichoke with lemon butter) to signal what appears to be the first baby steps of Spring, some Pinot Noir splashing about, and seared scallops standing by as ala carte accessories. Tasty. As we were wrapping the episode, WonderTwin Segundo popped over to ravish the remaining tidbits and I ended up in a Gap fashion discussion with Primo and Segundo (I could not hold my own when they started on about ‘twin sets’). It all started because X stretched her reading of the Gap’s financial statements for her accounting class into wondering just why the company was struggling financially. They both put forth the idea that the Gap quit doing what they had been so successful doing: basics. Jeans and quality t-shirts. Apparently, the prices were always right, they used to sell nice ‘twin sets’ (I know!), and now they’ve lost their way by trying to be something they aren’t, or never were. There was much guffawing about the Gap introducing Chinos for this season….as if! My theory is more established in the fall of the mall and the rise of competition. I think brick-and-mortar places are too expensive to maintain compared to online selling. It’s not that they’re not viable, they just have to be managed and placed properly. As an example, Tyson’s Corner Center has a Banana Republic, Gap, and Old Navy within 100 meters of each other and they are all owned by the same company – and, malls aren’t even being built anymore so why hitch the wagon to mall culture? I also don’t think that opening all the Old Navys in (somewhat) direct competition with Gap buyers was such a brilliant idea. If you add to that all the online sellers that have blossomed over the last five years, the growth of Target, Kohl’s, the mass consolidation at Macy’s, and any number of other sellers, I can see how that middle market that Gap used to fill has vanished. So, here's a Cliffs Note version of the hearing:

Me = Logic
WonderTwins = Twin Sets

The strangest part about this life of mine? Slate ran this article today that probably supports the Wonder-Twin Sets. Damn, foiled again.

T.

density

I put two and two together and came up with four. Smart boy. There’s a lot of complaining, and rightly so, that this presidential electioneering is getting out of hand. With a November 2008 election, and primaries still ten months away, we are already getting our faces filled with candidate decoupage projects. The Hagel announcement, and the fact that he’s waiting, brought a gust of wind over the file folders labeled primary dates that had been gathering dust in my often wandering mind. A quick tally from 2004, and a look to the changes set for 2008, shows that the primary season will be very short. The infighting and longer nomination roads of the past are gone – there will be no time to recover and hope to fight another week. Here is the reality, in 2004 there were two primaries completed by February 5th, Iowa and New Hampshire. As the weeks rolled by and March 2nd appeared on the calendar, 25 state primaries were complete. Super Tuesday in mid-February has always been a landmark day for candidates trying to recover from poor Iowa or New Hampshire outings, looking for traction and hope to make it to March 2nd and the California / New York set of primaries. With the changes in the primary calendar we will see 20 states in the books by February 5th, including California, Michigan, Florida, South Carolina, Georgia, Illinois, Iowa, and New Hampshire. Both parties will have their candidate by the night of February 5th – no one should be planning on waking up February 6th and launching the comeback plan for the next 30 states: there won’t be any comebacks.

There are two ways to think about this: spend tons of moolah now and get your name on the top line as early as possible (where you can wait to be jumped by everyone else), or wait awhile and stock up enough money to push hard from late Fall through February 1st. Being a senator and all helps – you’re on the news all the time, you’ve got committee hearings, you can be a part of partisan ranting. I believe a candidate can make a very short, intense run over three months and win a nomination. The war chest for the general election is irrelevant at this point. If you get the party nomination the powers that be will make sure you have the money to run that campaign, after all, you’re the only horse left.

There’s nothing like instant feedback and we’ll get it come February.

Peace.

T.