round of applause

I’m constantly awed by performance, even if I misunderstood it before this weekend. More precisely, on our drive back from Wilmington, as we were talking about the Carolina Chocolate Drops show, X used a turn of phrase that truly described what I couldn’t ever quite put my finger on.  It’s not a show , nor is it for us. There’s a massive difference in my mind between a show and a performance – a show is 5,000 people; a performance is far fewer in attendance. The connection between those on stage and those on the floor is lost once we cross a certain number. Think of a Lion King show in the West End – thousands crammed in attendance – to something like The Hostage in the 100-seat Keegan Theatre in DC. It’s not a matter that the performers in The Lion King aren’t immensely talented, it’s that I neither see nor feel the effort and skill that I should understand.  It’s all very distant and shallow. When you can see faces and really feel the flow of music and instruments washing over you, be it in a bar or club, then you are there. That’s performance.

We are there to not to take but to acknowledge the craft before us – we aren’t an audience in the sense of “give me something”, we are there to pass along our wonder and awe at what we witness. The best music shows have been small affairs, from a cramped 7^th Street Entry where Slobberbone blew off the doors, to something like our Saturday night in an historic theatre; feeling a musical history being duly recognized. Yes, they are up on the stage performing, but it’s our presence in cherishing the skill that is at the core of the emotion.

Okay, let that go for a minute.

On Sunday, as we were looking at a DuPont exhibit and awaiting entry to Downton Abbey stuff, X and I both looked at a few portraits of olden times women (I didn’t read the blurbs so I have no idea who there were – I’m like that at times) and wondered, aloud (museum aloud) to each other:

Me: “Did that artist only know how to paint George Washington’s face? Because it look looks like he just painted George’s face on that poor woman.”

X: “Yeah, he could have at least done her the favor of making her look a bit more attractive. As the ‘artist’ it seems like the best thing to do. Sort of and early airbrushing.”

We wandered a few more feet examining some silver, broad cloth, and other artifacts.

X: .” I just had a thought. Maybe that painting does make her look better. Yikes.”

See? She’s like that.

Weather was garbage today. And, our furnace is broken. You can’t have it all.

the first state

Sometimes you misfire. There are moments when JCD* doesn't quite get things right - not horribly wrong, but not quite right. The Eleven ended up having coffee at La Fia in Wilmington, Delaware early Saturday evening. We were killing time before our dinner reservation at 6p and while wandering North Market St., noted that La Fia was about the only option for time killing. Great lattes, excellent service, fresh and amazing gougeres. There was an inkling that we should maybe stay and eat there instead of the pub up the street, but with reservations in hand, we headed out for a middling dinner. We did return, post-dinner, for some nice cocktails at La Fia's bar before our show - we should have stayed if the lattes, pastries, and cocktails were any indication of the food quality. Based on watching the kitchen and checking out the plates while cocktailing, I'm pretty sure dinner there would have been much better. Sometimes you miss.

We were in Wilmington for the Carolina Chocolate Drops show on Saturday night at the Grand. Both the venue and the band lived up to expectations - part history, part musicology, all drop dead talent. More on them in another post.

I did mange all of our other meals and activities at my higher standard - if only I'd trusted La Fia. It eats at me. Well, it doesn't, but I like it all to be perfect. The brunch that stood out was at Fresh Thymes on Saturday morning - something that violated my normally strong desire to not eat in any place named after an herb or spice. This place is a very small, limited menu, three-employee joint that does natural, healthy foods - and breakfast/brunch seems to be the specialty. We both had massive stacks of banana buckwheat pancakes to go with the excellent coffee on tap. Not a lot of tables, we had to wait about 10 minutes, but it was worth it. When you're next in Wilmington...

Sunday we did the Winterthur House and Garden on the way out of town and it was an excellent visit all around. We actually walked from the visitor center to the house which gave us loads of quiet and empty gardens/lands to take in on the first really nice weekend of they year. There was a bit of a bite in the air so most visitors took the trams instead of walking. It's a bit early for any full bloom, but the March bank was blanketed:

We didn't do the proper house tour since you can't wander unattended and the crowd was a bit large, but we did (not by accident) visit the Downton Abbey exhibit. They've brought over about forty pieces of historical costume from the show and the exhibit was well thought out, with timed tickets that actually maintained some semblance of space within the exhibit. Hey, I only watch Downton to maintain continuity with Mr. Carson.

And, "Oh, there they are..."

Love and kisses, 

* Julie the Cruise Director

snookered tiger

Here's my theory on Tiger Woods and his golf game: kids.

It's not a bad thing, but there is some precedence for the idea. Let's draw a parallel to snooker's most decorated player, Stephen Hendry. Hendry dominated the game like no other in a spectacular career - winning seven World Championships and and 17 Majors (with 6 other finals) in an eleven-year run. The last of his major wins came with he was only 30. Hendry married in 1995 and his first child was born in 1996 - he won only a single major title after that point.

Woods had his eleven-year run (interesting?) where he won 13 of his 14 majors through the age of 33. He married in 2004 and his first child was born in 2007 - he won only a single major after 2007.

Neither Hendry nor Woods was particularly young when their first born arrived - certainly not of the sports they mastered. But these two sports require an unbelievable amount of practice time and and mental focus. I remember early stories of Hendry and the hours he spent mastering the baize of snooker - single. focus. When you are king of the World, turn 30-ish, and have children, that focus becomes blurry. That one single drive that defined you becomes less interesting. The hours of practice become more taxing.

I know what your thinking - what about Phil Mickelson? Phil didn't have the 'major' success of Woods. Yes, he has drive, but by the time he was 33 - at an age when Woods was wrapping up his 14th major - he hadyet to win his first major; he was chasing the elusive. Mickelson didn't even win his first major until after the birth of his third child. It's been a completely different process for him.

I can't actually explain Michael Jordan's drive.

button it up

There's quite a bit I remember from eighth grade, when Omaha kids took the required US History class, and my teacher was Mr. Roslowski. We know about state capitals, but what that great American hero who followed in the syllabus after capitals: Johnny Tremain. I don't think we spend enough time to think about, or take days off, to celebrate his contribution to American history. His contribution to my life is that every, single time I hear about internships or apprenticeships I think Johnny Tremain.

L is heading up to Vermont next weekend for what I'm calling her "Johnny Tremain" moment. It all started on our last journey in early March when she first visited the legendary fabric mecca; she met the Eleven there as I was choosing which stunning Indian fabric to collect. X was determining the best options for a new lining (and buttons) for her winter dress coat. The fine proprietor/purveyor was in the midst of a lake of buttons attempting to make some artistic sense of the waves. L noted the expanses of button puddles - what is on display is sorted and held in glass/crystal finger bowls - and immediately decided that this was her type of place, never mind the masses of beautiful fabrics and bits of unassembled creation. That day appeared to be a small step in the sorting, managing, and display of some portion of thousands of artisan, collectible, and finally curated buttons. This would not end without some kind of contribution on L.'s part. And so it is that she'll spend two weeks finger-to-finger with buttons, overhearing talk of fabric and art, touching and learning vicariously about fabrics, all while imagining how and where it all happened. Her chance to have such a wonderful guide on this tour of art is something she'll never forget. I've assigned her daily writings about what she's learned, loved, or wondered. As that happens (I not-so-subtly created her a blog), we can hopefully follow along.

Time will tell.

a union of none

I’ll come clean to start: I think all colleges and universities should do away with scholarships for athletes. I also despise the NCAA. 

The recent talk about the Northwestern football players unionizing is interesting on a number of levels. First, it appears that the adjudicating NLRB court for the Chicago area determined that since the players are paid (read: scholarships) they are considered employees and now have the right to unionize. That unionization leads to negotiating contracts, pay, and working conditions for players. Assuming this idea carries forward, where do both the players and universities end up? Well, if I’m a university I can simply withdraw all athletic scholarships – and the included training facilities, supplied food, provided housing, etc., and then enter into negotiations with the union. As a university overlord I can come to some pay structure and then the athletes can pay for each piece of football pie: training, food, housing, physio, travel, money to eat on the road, hotels, uniform rental, etc. As a player, what are you getting in the deal right now? You are getting the training required in order for you move forward in what is most likely your chosen profession (even if you are dreaming way too big…). In order to do that training the university is providing you with at least three years (football) of tuition (whether or not you attend), room, board (at BCS schools probably a private dining facility), travel expenses, per diem when travelling, private physio facilities and trainers, uniforms, etc. Excluding private BCS schools, my back-of-the-envelope calculations say that you’re getting (being paid) somewhere around 60k per year to be trained; over three years we’ll call it about $200,000. (This number assumes a BCS-level, state school, with players coming from outside the state.) Not bad, right? Go to the first half of this paragraph – I’ll pay you $65,000 per year to play here – and you then pay for the training, just like every other student at the university (barring academic studs).

Second, and I call this the “Reggie Bush” syndrome, is the idea that somehow a player is more than the university. Until very recently I couldn’t come up with an example of a player that made or created a big money NCAA football program – lately, Johnny Manziel made me think he may the one, but honestly, Texas A&M was a Big 12 program and had already moved to the SEC by the time he showed up, so even he doesn’t count. Reggie Bush felt that USC was making oodles of money from his likeness, or his jersey. This is a hollow argument – USC was a massive program before Bush showed up, it is a massive program after his departure. The horse is USC; Bush is a wagon. Nobody was knocking down the door for Reggie Bush jerseys prior to his star turn at USC.  Even for superstars, they aren’t making the university money, the university is the already created monster that they simply ride.

Last, and most importantly, athletic departments don’t make money. There are loads of sites that cover reported expenses and incomes, but beyond a small percentage of universities, athletics is a financial loser. Here’s a link to a shortish report from economists at Holy Cross that addresses the issue – even big-time football and basketball programs lose money. Sure, this is three years old, but the ideas haven’t changed.  

I don’t know where this will end up. The NCAA can go away for all I care. Universities can drop athletic scholarships. The can drop athletics for all I care. It’ll be fun to watch.

as if time doesn't pass

I'm re-posting this from a very good friend's storytelling on Facebook. The reason I'm doing so - and choosing it from amongst all his great stories - is because you realize, oftentimes while writing a post about a trip and/or kin - that even with goddamned cameras in our beloved phones we never take pictures. I'm horrible, truly. In the grand scheme of things a picture is fine within even a Snapchat realm - something only seen for a few seconds, but something that tells a nice story. And something that lets everyone say, "Oh, there they are." I think this story might be enough to straighten us all out..

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

After work last night, Diana attended a visitation for a colleague's husband, who, by all accounts, was a wonderful person and taken far too early, as so many seem to have been over the past few years. When she got home, she seemed subdued.

"You okay?"
"Yes. It was kind of sad and happy at the same time."
"How so?"
"Well, during the visitation they ran a montage of pictures of them on a screen. They were smiling and just looked so happy together. You can tell they really loved each other."
"Yeah."
"And then I got to thinking..."
(Oh, crap.)
"...You don't ever smile in our pictures."
"Sometimes I do."
"Rarely... and only after I nag you to do it. And even then, it's only a half-smile. And now I'm worried that I'll be standing there at your visitation, with all these frowny pictures of you scrolling on a screen in the background, and everyone will think you were miserable with me."

Now, after 31 years of marriage, I have learned that normally when Diana unburdens herself or brings some problem to my attention, she is not necessarily looking for a solution. Usually, she just wants to sound the problem out. My job is to nod and reassure her, but not try to fix it (because then I get irritated when she doesn't take my perfectly good advice). But her eyes were getting all teary, and I could tell, in this one instance, she was looking for a solution.

"Darling, I promise that will never, ever happen to you."
"Because you're going to start smiling in our pictures?"
"No, because I plan on outliving you by at least three years."

Well, that made her cry and laugh at the same time, which is better than just crying.

"Do you promise?"
"I promise."
"Wait a second..."
(Oh, crap).
"... If it's my visitation and people don't see your smile in our pictures, how will they know we were in love and happy together?"
"Because they'll see YOUR smile... and they'll know."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Oh, there they are....

reset

The Eleven spent last Saturday night in Baltimore. I know what your thinking about our tours of east coast blue-collar, hardworking, formerly (and future) great cities (more on that later). What with Pittsburgh in February and Wilmington, DE next weekend you might offer us a grander vacation on a beach or mountainside somewhere else; we’d decline that offer.

Baltimore is a city that appears on the edge of becoming quite alluring. (This is the later part, see above.) It went through a first re-invention in the early 1980s (?) when it redid the Inner Harbor area and anchored it with the National Aquarium. Just down the road a piece from the Inner Harbor sit Camden Yards, which spawned the entire retro-baseball park idea, and M&T Bank Stadium (the NFL’s Ravens’ home). These fairly specific areas draw lots of tourism and spending, but I feel the Inner Harbor, at over 30 years old, is fading a bit; and, this brings me to where the city seems to be now. With its various universities, neighborhoods, water access, I-95 access, and a lower cost of living than DC it may be poised to make some noise. The museums are great and I sense a hipster vibe just on the doorstep – hipsters ain’t bad – with places like the old Union Mill popping up. If played correctly, the attraction of areas like Mount Vernon could pull the city up quite a bit. We’ll see – revisit this post in five years’ time.

We did the normal thing for us and wandered around Fells Point for a bit with the weather throwing out a beautiful 70 degrees and sunshine. We bought G. what should be a highly cherished, actual top hat at Hats in the Belfry. I managed any number of CDs at Sound Garden, we did some coffee at Daily Grind, and patted some of the gazillion dogs out for the day before heading to our digs. Julie the Cruise Director booked us into the BlancNoir in Little Italy, and JCD will get a very nice comment card for said actions. We stayed in the New York room which was perfectly lovely – massive king bed with great linens, coffee, water (free; well, you know what I mean), great HDTV (we will watch trashy TV in hotels), slippers, robes, excellent temp control, and a massive bath with Jacuzzi and a two person, 12-head shower. Great place. Breakfast was almost over the top (we were the only visitors that night) with fresh everything: fruit, muesli (homemade), yoghurt, bread, cheeses, eggs to order, and veg sausage (they knew we were coming). As far as rooms and B&Bs go – about the best I’ve seen.

We then met up with my Baltimore-based cousin for dinner at Helmand in Mount Vernon - our second visit intended to verify just how great we find the food. With a near repeat on the selections we have confirmation that it’s fantastic. We had a long and wonderful conversation as we worked through the courses, wine, and dessert. I count it as a great success in my attempt this year of keeping touch with people in my life.

Sunday morning took us to coffee to Artifact Coffee in another part of town, and then back Mount Vernon for the Walker Art Center. I’m not sure how to summarize the Walker aside from saying it may be the best museum (layout, crowds [very small], admission [free], exhibitions, and tone) I’ve ever been to. We spent a nice chunk of time in the lower galleries and the 19th century collection before calling our normal hour-and-a-half eye candy limit. We will no doubt be back to cover the other 80% of the museum, including an entire Asian art building next door. With kids. Very pleasant, indeed. I think my next entry may address the lack of umph provided by the Pittsburgh Museum of Art…

Seven days to Wilmington.

Peace.

one bullet at a time

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

One bullet. At. A. Time.

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

now. cook.

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

raising arizona

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

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

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

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

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

american rolling

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

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

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

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

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

turn up my monitor

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

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

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

my cupp runneth...

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

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

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

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

Well, at least she’s pretty.

have you got a penny?

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

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

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

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

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

life chugs along

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

All are alive. All is well.

chisolm, like the trail

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

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

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

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

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

zooming by

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

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

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

Bad news. Good news.

The easiest way back in, isn't it?

stay on target; stay on target

This Google Glass thing is pretty cool.

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

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

we are...

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

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

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

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