life as a ballet dad

Banana's ballet recital is tomorrow. She is so excited for it that she was still still practicing bits of her routine as we finally arrived at home after the dress rehearsal. I should note that our return home was delayed by close to an hour because she wanted to see piece after piece of the rehearsal. It was, after all, the first chance to see all of the classes pieces put together as part of the whole production. Frankly, I would have let her stay through the whole thing had it not been 7:30 and past dinner time.

In any case... The performance, or rather the rehearsal, is worth noting. Rather than do a simple little recital where each class performs its rehearsed piece(s), Banana's school puts on a full production. The husband and wife who own the school write a story, rent costumes, and perform as part of the whole pageant. It's all a bit cheesy, and jogs my own memories of doing (a lot) of theater. Regardless, there is something truly fun about these kids from 4 to 14 genuinely enjoying themselves while also becoming serious about what they're doing.


This is a feeling I got from theater which I did for a few years in high school and college, but I never got the same feeling from music. No. For the years that I studied music from 7 to 17, I practiced as needed and I learned my "stuff." The reality, however, is that I never came home desperate to play. Practicing never appealed to me. I did it because it was part of what was expected and fostered.

This evening, I watched the kids and thought about these memories. Two daughters of the husband and wife (both former professional dancers) were integral parts of the show. At first, I wondered if they were doing it because they wanted to or because it was expected of them. After a while, though, I stopped wondering. They were both clearly talented. The older one seemed to crave the stage, and she kept practicing her moves. The younger one called out corrections to her mother's choreography. They clearly enjoyed what they were doing, just as Banana clearly enjoyed watching all of the other performances and practices. Just as she asked whether she would be doing these dances in a year or five.

From the get-go, I have resolved that I will not push Banana to do anything she does not want to do, and I will support her in anything she wants to do. Tonight brought home that resolve even more.

********

Sidenote: It is strange to be one of the few dads (and the only single dad) in a roomful of wealthy stay-at-hom moms. More on that later.

taking the brain down a notch

I just turned off Countdown with Keith Olberman and flipped to a DVR recording of Patty Griffin from Artists Den. The four-day week seems long and taxing, and frankly I'm sick of the chatter about Obama vs. Clinton and McLellan's take-down of the administration. After all, I don't think even hardcore Clinton supporters will be surprised at this point to see Obama win—rather than be handed—the nomination.

As for the former press secretary, well, that's a fresher, more interesting topic at the moment. I'm inclined to think that the administration misunderestimated Mr. McLellan as much as the rest of us did. His answers were so often ham-handed obfuscations or obvious smokescreens that it became easy to think he was just hung out as the fall guy. The doughy, mild fall guy. Worse for the administration, however, is the fact that they must have thought that his Texas-rooted loyalty would hold with him even after he'd been thrown under the bus.

Of course he hadn't developed any opinions in all of those meetings. Of course his all-access pass (rooted in his Texas history) hadn't afforded him the chance to speak the truth to power. Of course their very own press-bury dough boy would never turn on them and pull back the curtains the way others had. And if he did, no one would listen to him, right? Hell, even publishers didn't believe he would deliver any real dirt.

And, my oh my, they were all wrong. Instead, what we get is the boy pointing at the emperor with no clothes, Toto pulling down the curtain. We get an honest-to-god take down of the administration. It's not the first (nor is it likely to be the last) take down of this crew, but somehow this one stings more. They can't say—as they did with Clarke and others—that he wasn't privy to everything. They can't say that he was just an outsider—this man took it on the chin every day for his old friends. All they're left with are ad hominem attacks (also, not a first) on him as a disgruntled former employee.

As nice as it is to see the curtain pulled back, however, this book is just one in a series, a series that isn't likely to end any time soon. We've heard all of it before in different ways, from different perspectives. We will hear it again, the tale of the distastrous Bush years. Sadly, none of it will change the past eight years.

When I was in Ireland, Paris and elsewhere in 2001, people repeatedly asked me why we elected Bush. I said I'd voted for Gore, and that a majority had, in fact, voted for Gore. (How that translated to Bush becoming president was a more difficult explanation.) The Europeans saw then what 49% of Americans didn't see—that Bush was an ignorant play-cowboy. They saw what friends (including Brian and Amy over at Incertus) and I saw as we watched the tide turn in late 2000. We hoped that it wouldn't be as bad as we feared. And now, in the echo of Mclellan's voice and many other voices, it is clear that every fear we had has come true in spades.

**********

On a side note, I have a marketing suggestion for John McCain as he runs for Bush's third term. He should ask—over and over—whether we are better now than we were eight years ago. Building a platform on this should guarantee him the votes of the 27% who still support Bush.

Friday Fun - classic edition

Scatman Crothers... oh yeaaahhhh.

more food absurdity

I picked this up off Consumerist today. Apparently, big meat producers are fighting efforts by Creekstone Farms in Kansas to test all of its beef for mad cow disease. Or rather, the Bush administration has asked a Federal appeals court to prohibit Creekstone from testing its cows. The logic behind this is the same logic used in Monsanto's lawsuits against dairies in Maine, Pennsylvania, and elsewhere. The argument is rooted in the idea that saying their cows are free of mad cow (or that a farmer's milk is free of RBST or RGBH) implies that their "product" may not be as safe.

This kind of behavior is not without precedent in U.S. agribusiness. For instance, in the late 1890s and early 1900s, the USDA waged a trade war with several European countries over agricultural imports and exports. In one case, the U.S. trade representative went so far as to argue that our beef preserved with boric acid was healthier than German beef cured with salt. His logic? That every expert knew that the effects of salt were more dangerous.

In any case, at what point do we as a society—a political and commercial system—do we stop mortgaging our individual and societal good in favor of profit? At what point, do mass-producing corporations stop trying to shut down local producers and start trying to live up to their standards? Is it feasible to envision an agricultural system where the government protects the citizens rather than the corporations?

irony, or something

Yesterday afternoon, my neighbor Jack and I spent a couple hours enjoying the sun and drinking beer on the deck at a local brewpub. In the course of our conversation, we got into the question of the sorts of values parents teach their children. More specifically, I explained that I was trying to teach Banana the value of taking care of things—clothes and other possessions. Knowing when to put a smock on over a nice dress or use grubby clothes. Knowing when to put a bicycle away so it doesn't get rained upon. Caring for our house and the things in it. It is a habit I have worked to be better at in my thirties than I was in my twenties.

But then this happens: I left my pool cue at the bar where I played pool last evening. Completely forgot the case was on the back of my chair. When I got home and realized what had happened, I decided get the number and call the bar to have a friend put it in the office. Then I got distracted and forgot to call. I remembered again this morning and called. As you might expect, the guy who was opening couldn't find the case. The best I can hope at this point is that one of my friends saw it and put it in a safe place.

The cue? It's a custom-made cue that I bought the year before Banana was born. There isn't another like it in the world. And I left it without thinking.

I am an idiot.

Friday Fun

Bowie and the Conchords. Classics.

muppet revelations!

I've posted what I remember as the original Mahna Mahna before, but I was wrong. There was an earlier version in 1969. It doesn't have Kermit or the psychedelic pink creatures and the Mahna Mahna dude looks more beat than hippie. Still, there is no better way to start a day...



Thanks to DaddyTypes for pointing me to it.

jumping on the viral train

This little video love letter to the Mac is spreading all over the interwebs. Just thought I'd add to the delicious contagion. Enjoy.

toothiness

This weekend, Banana and I engaged in a bit of extreme consumerism. We each picked up a few new outfits and new shoes. Call it yet another foray into wearing both parenting hats. Anyway, she has been excitedly putting on new clothes each of the past few days — and lightly bemoaning her school's ban on sleeveless shirts. The most exciting part of the day was not, however, the shopping.

As the afternoon was wearing on and we had returned from the mall to take care of a few small fun things in Carytown — she got to buy a new doll outfit with the change we had saved — we stopped at Can Can for a snack. I eschewed Can Can when it first opened in 2005 because it seemed to be trying too hard to be a bit of Paris stuck in the middle of Richmond. Over the past few years, however, the place has grown on me. Their food and service are consistently excellent, and it is one of the few places I can sit at the bar with Banana. The bartenders are friendly and attentive, and there are rarely smokers in the times we might linger for a snack and a loaf of bread.

So that afternoon, we stopped to cool our heels for a bit. Banana got soda water and a bread basket, and I ordered an Oberon. We chatted happily with the bartender for a few minutes, then Banana said, "Daddy, my teeth hurt." "Which ones?" I asked. She pointed at the bottom front teeth. I reached down and wiggled one of the teeth, and my little girl's eyes got as wide and bright as the summer sun. She started giggling, then wiggled the tooth herself, then giggled some more. By the time we left, the bartenders and women sitting next to us had all heard about her loose tooth. I'm not sure I've ever seen her so genuinely excited about anything.

Friends have asked what the going rate for the tooth fairy is. It was a quarter when I was a kid, so I'm guessing a dollar is about right now. Inflation, y'know...

The Sunday Evening while-I'm-doing-laundry-and-watching-the-baseball-game-edition

There are some full posts I've wanted to do, but the weekend has sort of melted away in a flurry of consumer stupidity. That said, here's the abbreviated version...

• My last post on the new growers market in Forest Hill Park has been a fairly popular hit on the blog. It's not surprising if you are in Richmond and take the time to visit the market on Saturday morning—the crowds are impressive. The result has been an increase in the number of vendors, and an increasing sense that Richmond is catching up with cities that have established green market traditions (like New York, ahem...).
  
  
• Our market haul this week: 2 new varieties of lettuce, multi-colored swiss chard, pork chops (pastured), ground beef (pastured), snap peas, flowers, strawberries, pac choi, and asparagus. Cost (including snacks and coffee): $45. I've already fed Banana two amazing meals off this.
  
  
• Joining a CSA would ensure that we are guaranteed a certain haul, and yet I haven't bothered to get on the list for any. Why am I such a slacker?
  
  
• Broad Appetit—Richmond's new locavore festival in a city obsessed with festivals—came off today in spite of intermittent rain. There was a strong turnout and many restaurants began to run out of items within an hour. Sadly, I didn't get to enjoy it as much as I'd hoped... something about trying to do it with multiple almost-six year olds.
  
  
• Changing gears... Clinton needs to drop out. She cannot possibly be so tone-deaf as to miss the momentum in Obama's favor or blame it entirely on the media. Ultimately, though, she should drop out because of comments like the remarks about white, working-class voters and because she has been shot in the foot too often by stupid moves made by her handlers.
  

Back to laundry duty.

richmond eats - 2M Mediterranean Market

The northside of Richmond has never been an area I knew particularly well, but since beginning the new gig, I've been investigating the eating options up here. Fortunately there are a few that step beyond the usual chain fare. One in particular that popped up on my radar is 2M Mediterranean Market & Deli. It's a dive-y little place in a dive-y little strip mall. Richmonders will know it as the one on Staples Mill with the old Ukrops—in this town, the local Ukrops grocery store chain offers constant landmarks.

All dive-y character aside, the food that the Bosnian owner turns out is excellent. The kefta and lamb shawarma are excellent, served on long flatbread with excellent tahini, pickles and the usual lettuce and tomato. His gyro is a little smaller, though still a good portion. So far, only the falafel has been less than exceptional. I'm a fan of freshly made and fried falafel, like the crispy nuggets I used to gorge on in New York. Anyway, his falafel are made in the morning and reheated as needed. As a result, they're dried out a bit and don't quite sparkle with garlic and parsley the way they should His hummus and tabouleh, however, are stellar. the taboulleh is full of fresh parsley and lemon, and the hummus was so good Banana scarfed it down when I brought some home. Good stuff.

On the wall above the register are the usual series of glowing local reviews. One of which mentioned that the owner was planning to open a "real" restaurant soon. I asked him about it, and his answer was "not so soon. Too expensive, you know." Indeed. Thankfully, his current business is still doing well, and considering the amount of food for the money, it's definitely not too expensive.

Friday Fun - the "really?" edition

Fraggle Rock is being brought back. Really?

brand fascination

More times than I can count in my career in advertising and media I have been involved in conversations about branding and brands. As you might expect, the tenor of that conversation depends on the client-in-question. One common rule I think you can establish, though, is that most clients do not really understand the difference between brand and branding. The two are often confused for each other, and though they are part of the same overall picture, they are not the same thing.

Essentially, a brand is the identity you create. In visuals and copy, it is what becomes your identifying mark. Branding is different; it is the feeling evoked by your brand. And it is a great deal more complex.

You can always create a great, memorable visual identity. Think Target or L.L. Bean. The thing is a great visual identity doesn't create the brand identity. Or more to the point, the visual doesn't create people's feelings about the brand. The company, instead, needs to connect with people's experiences and emotions. For example, Target has done such a good job of building its branding that many people (including me) think of that big red bullseye whenever a question of essentials from socks to shampoo to toilet paper comes to mind, and the biggest consumerists may even make the leap from essentials to figuring out what else they need (or want) from the store.

While I've found this a difficult concept to communicate in the past, the WSJ pointed to a site today where you can see what people's perceptions of brands are. Considering the extent to which consumerism and branding shape our society, it's a pretty interesting little exercise.

teh stupids!

The tag on this post at Wonkette reads "Fiction Writing Rendered Useless." Yep. Pretty much. The callow stupidity of our president will never ever fail to boggle my mind.

monday fun

This morning, I was thinking about the Electric Company. And I was thinking about how I want to introduce Banana to the show. And then Gawker puts this up...



Must be something in the chill, damp air hugging the East coast.

more ad stupidity

Nobody ever said ads had to be true to their market, right? In fact, sometimes it's better if an ad creates an aspirational feeling rather than depicting reality, right? Right. As Exhibit A, I offer this page from this week's Target circular.

Beautiful girl? Check. Aspirational look on face encouraging shoppers to feel good about themselves? Check. Correlation between sale items and visuals? Um, not so much. Why? Take a look at the product just below the headline... the weight-loss product. Yeah, and the smoking cessation lozenges below it. Oh, and the prenatal vitamins at the top of that column. Yeah... the real target here doesn't look much like the model.

selling god

My buddy Jack and I hiked out to Short Pump Town Center this afternoon for a bit of retail roaming. Short Pump TC is one of the local examples of the reinvention of malls as "lifestyle centers" — an evolution that can inspire more than a few diatribes itself. Short Pump TC is also home to our local Apple store, and I'm in the market for a new MacBook Pro. (The Air calls, but I will not answer that call yet.)

Anyway, as we're roaming around and on our way to having a beer at one of the mall restaurants, or "concepts" in the lingo of mid- to high-end corporate chain restaurants, we stuble across a store that is having its grand opening. It takes nothing more than the words "Christian Fashion" to stop me.


The store is named Not Of This World—"NOTW" in rakish and grunge-cool typography. Very hip of them. The clothes from what I could see all followed the example of the mannequins in the window. The styles and look of the store fall somewhere between Hot Topic and Urban Outfitters. This is a long way from Thomas Kinkade and Zondervan Bookstores. This is hip, downtown cool like the church near my house which bills itself more as a worship lifestyle center than as a "traditional" church.

Leaving alone my belief that spirituality is should be quietly revered rather than crassly commercialized, this strikes me as one more effort to foist a brand—and it really is a brand in this case—of Christianity on society. The religion (specifically Christian) section at Barnes & Noble continues to expand while a whole subculture of films and music continues to build and creep in around the edges of popular culture. Our political discourse, international relations and military actions begin to take on the rhetoric of faith (again, a very specific faith). What I want to know is this: at what point do secularism and plurality begin to push back?

always look on the bright side

Heard this morning on NPR: "They were practically begging us to report on the positive aspects of polygamy."

It's half comic, half sad to watch as polygamists scramble to normalize their public image in the wake of the raid of the FLDS compound in Texas. Somehow, though, I don't think their efforts will do much to reshape public opinion--or more likely the media memes.

Friday Fun - old photo edition

Sail Wagon, Brooklyn (LOC)
Originally uploaded by The Library of Congress

Seriously, if you're as much of an old photo geek as I am, go check out the Library of Congress gallery. Seriously.

And foodies should go here.

Whitesnake on NPR

"Here I go Again" as interlude music on Morning Edition? Really? Really. Isn't that another sign of the apocalypse.

Forest Hill Farmers Market

Two new growers markets opened in Richmond this weekend: The Lakeside Market (which I will investigate on Wednesday, its other day) and the Forest Hill Farmers Market. The latter is being run by the same folks who launched the Byrd House Market in Oregon Hill last year. They are pulling in some excellent growers—Victory and Amy's Farms, among others—and excellent meat producers.

Perhaps the most notable aspect thing I was was the community involvement. This was the first day of a market that had received some publicity, but had hardly been plastered everywhere. Still, the place was packed before nine-thirty, and some of the vendors had begun to run out of the stocks they'd brought. As the guy at Amy's told me, "Who knew it'd be this big? I guess we'll have to bring more next time. Selling out by nine-thirty is just crazy." Crazy indeed, until you factor in how desperate many people in Richmond have been for the opening of an honest-to-god Saturday morning farmers market.

Frankly, there's no substitute for the sense of community you feel at such markets. Whether you're in Leyden or Fayetteville or New York or—now—Richmond, the connection to community and food source is irreplaceable. You run into neighbors and co-workers; you develop relationships with the people who produce your food; you make a moral decision that connects you directly to the soil and air within your region. After all, I would far rather pay a little more to purchase my meat from the people who actually raised the animals than to pay a supermarket for meat that came—even in the case of the low organic varieties—from some generic farm a few thousand miles away. I'd rather pay the same for carrots or lettuce that were raised a few dozen miles away rather than a few thousand.

As much as we live in and cannot truly escape a consumerist society, making decisions like choosing local production and connections mitigates some of the evils of the market by channeling our dollars into the local economy and small business grounded in nearby soil rather than the silk-lined purses of the agribusinesses.*




* My fear about the success of markets here is that the agribusiness lobby is very, very strong in Virginia. I do not trust that the corporations won't make an effort to co-opt or—at the very least—hinder the markets and locavore movement here.

a good kind of tired.

There must be some kind of divide you cross as an adult. A moment when you begin to care more about very domestic responsibilities and let other "younger" aspects of life go. This weekend was one of those crossing moments for me.

Banana and I helped clean the pool we'll be joining this summer, and then we hunkered down for a several hours—between Saturday and Sunday—of yardwork. The net result of these choices is that I am tired to my bones in a way I haven't been since last summer. Nonetheless, the basil, tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers, and parsley have all been planted. The dianthus and pansies have been planted. The brick walks in back have been cleared of weeds and overgrowth, branches have been trimmed, and the mulch has been spread. I am now shopping for new furniture to put in our backyard and planning to get the lettuce in within the next few days.

The end result is a satisfying kind of exhaustion, a sense that we have made our small corner of the world a better, more organized place. Why is this news? It's not, really. It's just one more small part of my effort to take better control of and responsibility for my life and Banana's world.

Friday Fun - New York edition

Another moment of "I miss New York." Enjoy.

how mornings start sometimes...

I made my coffee as usual this morning and set it to brew while I hopped in the shower. When I went to pour a cup, I found coffee everywhere. Somehow the pot never made it out of the drying rack.

I guess I've got a few things on my mind.

tired

I was planning on adding a post or two tonight. Then I fell asleep on the couch. Guess I'm a little tired and stressed out after the past few weeks.

The recession is real.

My friend Amy over at Incertus has a great post about all the things she should be concerned about—Reverend Wright, Miley Cyrus, the Florida Legislature, and more. Except she can't focus on them. She's too concerned about the dollar-a-day she has left until payday.

The same feeling hit me over the weekend. First, it was spending $30 on half a tank of gas for my Jetta, and realizing the same amount filled the tank a couple of years ago. Then it was the grocery run that was easily $20 higher than it had been a year ago. Then it was seeing the businesses that had put up "Going Out of Business" signs along Cary Street. Then it was doing the math and realizing that the "stimulus" check I am supposed to get from the government this week will no longer go toward a bunk bed for Banana and a new sofa for the living room. No. The so-called "stimulus" check when it arrives — and believe me, I am watching my bank account for its arrival — is already budgeted for a mix of daily and random expenses. Hell, I won't even be able to earmark any of it for debt payments.

But, hey, it's just "tough times" according to our esteemed leader. The same esteemed leader who thinks that the solutions are drilling for oil in Alaska and making permanent tax cuts for the richest few, solutions guaranteed to make corporations and billionaires richer while the rest of us look at our receipts and wonder how we're going to make ends meet next month.

The canaries are dying. The coal mine is filling with gas, and I don't see any way out.

creepiness

The initial Vanity Fair shots of Miley Cyrus that appeared struck me as a little over the top, but still artsy enough that I wasn't bothered by them. This morning, however, Gothamist posted this one, and my take on the whole thing changed. I am not a particularly prudish person, but this isn't exactly the best image of the whole Miley Cyrus/Hannah Montana entertainment machine.

what we talk about when we talk about wine

I volunteered to help my father pour wine at the James River Wine Festival this year. He has poured for one of the better wineries for the past few years, and I joined him this year. It seemed appropriate since this festival is something that brought me to Richmond annually for a few years in the nineties. At that point, the festival was a funky little affair held on Browns Island, downtown where the James River bisects Richmond, and it seemed important to the burgeoning wine industry in the state.

The festival has since been moved out to the far 'burbs west of town, in an odd little pavilion in a corporate park. It has also gone the way of many events that someone here thought they could make better. There are lots of craft vendors selling the usual "art" fare, there are the various random vendors selling things like home window treatments, and there are the requisite cover bands playing "Twist and Shout" one more time. Food is provided by the usual funnel cake/sausage/hamburger/gyro/fries/nachos stand, a crab cake stand, and one lone local restaurant that decided to buy in--without really being able to compete with the funnel cakes or the crab cakes. Hell, I even opted for the traveling crab cake stand and their overly sweet lemonade.

But the festival is supposed to be all about wine, right? Right. Except that many of the people who flock to these festivals know very little about wine. Instead, they know "what they like." As I learned, this means sweet wines. Think Riesling with sugar dumped into it. Or the berry wines hawked by several of the wineries. Some people are so adamant that they will categorically refuse to taste any other wine.

The winery I was pouring for is proud of the fact that their wines are dry. In fact, even their dessert wines have residual sugars as low as three percent. Considering that many of the "sweet" wines poured by other makers push into the 12-15% range, even the dessert wine we were pouring wasn't sweet by some people's standards. It was clear early on that it wasn't even worth trying to get some of the people to try the wines if all they wanted was sweet. (And the winemaker had asked us not to pour the dessert wine frivolously.) There were a number of people who treated it as a slight that we didn't have anything they wanted. What they seemed to forget is that these festivals are supposed to be a two-way street: festival-goers get to try new wines for a small price, and since the wineries are there to sell wine, festival-goers are expected to buy some wine.

After pouring for a few hours, I had the chance to roam around and do a bit of tasting myself. What I found, however, was that there were only a few of the better wineries present: Barboursville, Veritas, Villa Appalaccia, Tarara, Corcoran, and a few others I've already forgotten. Most of the wineries, however, were places like Peaks of Otter which serves a habanero wine and various fruit creations that don't really deserve to be called wine. In addition, there was a whole tier of wineries that also sell treacly, sweet creations, and whose main draw seems to be their proximity to the highway and their pretty tasting rooms. There was one winery, in particular, that I was shocked to see in attendance--their wines were so bad when they opened three years ago, I figured they'd go under.

Ultimately, many of the people who attended the festival wouldn't even get to taste some of the best wines being produced in Virginia. Why? Because of sweet wines and suburban silliness. Or more to the point: when the festival was moved and "improved," attending became less profitable for many of the wineries who care more about interesting, challenging wines. Clearly, there are some that hang on, but even some of those producers have begun to push the showmanship a little bit and maybe even added a few sweet wines themselves.

The owner of the winery I poured for also made a good point. Because we don't have a food culture in the States, we are not culturally attuned to see wine as an accompaniment for food. Yesterday, that was made even more clear: food options were not only limited, they were not at all attuned to third word in the name of the festival. So what we have in the end is an event that is no longer held anywhere near the James River, and for which the wine (or what wine should be) ends up being secondary to the festival.

*sigh*

I could add more, but it's getting late.

Friday Fun - I've left the office

This is classic. Classic. And appropriate.



(Pulled from comments at AdRants.)

The light posting ends?

We'll see. I'm still having trouble sitting at my desk at home. My workstation chair is not very good for my back, and I had gotten accustomed to sitting on the couch and working on the MacBook Pro I had to return to the university. I'm also trying to get many, many little details covered before I start the new job next week. Still, this feels like a garden I've been neglecting.

Friday Fun

I tried to find the clip from Stanley Tucci's Big Night, but this will have to do instead.

summer

One of the regular questions I've gotten about my decision to return to the private sector is why I would leave so much leave time behind. My reply has invariably been that my role at the university did not allow me to take the kind of leave time teaching faculty can take. Summer is a prime example of this issue.

Since Banana started school last year, I've had to think through what she would do for those absurd ten weeks that we still protect from the old harvest-based school schedule. Last year's alternative involved her spending big chunks of time with Banana mére and some healthy chunks of time at my office. This year, I am determined to put her in a summer program of some sort, but even with my slightly elevated income, schedules and cost are going to remain issues.

At this point, my alternatives include the following:

• Several sessions of camp through the JCC (between $1500 and $2000), the Y (between $1200 and $1600), or a local school (between $1000 and $1600).
  
• Various sessions with various camps (see above for cost estimates)
  
• Joining with a couple other parents to hire someone to entertain the children at home, parks, museums, and the pool (approx $2,800 broken down between the families)

They're all fine alternatives, but each one comes with certain advantages or disadvantages. And they all jog my money anxieties. Furthermore, I see the pitfalls of each when it comes to scheduling a trip to Maine or Banana's time with her mom.

Why is it that this matter seems far more complicated than it should be? These are the moments I wish someone would just lay it out and make the decision for me. Tell me where to be and when to be there.

wrapping up

Cleaning the desktop of my machine at work, I just came across this shot of Banana's first day of kindergarten. That smile will make even the most bittersweet days seem better.

still locked out...

Since the driver who delivers our UPS route won't deliver without a signature, I am still disconnected because of a f**king power adapter. I never realized how much I had come to rely on internet access for connections to people, records I keep online, my finances, and more. It's frightening.

So... more silence until I can get access again later.

Friday Fun - the beer-soaked 80s edition

This just came on Radio Paradise. Such an 80s classic cannot be ignored in Friday Fun-land.

our discourse (or Friday not-so-Fun)

Last night, Jon Stewart went after Charlie Gibson and George Stephanopoulos for doing his job--taking the trivial and making it the point. What is remarkable about our time--as we began to see in the 2004 election--is that the "fake" news reporters are really doing the true reporting. The core media has turned into an echo chamber of triviality, trying to drum up stories, while Stewart and Colbert are the ones who bring up the big points. Or rather, they bring up the big points by showing how they are being ignored by the "real" news people.

In fact, the Democratic debate the other night was the epitome of the absurdity. Can it truly matter who won or lost when three-quarters of the debate was squandered on meaningless spin items?

Sad, truly sad.

Friday Fun

Leaving the university in a few days, and starting the new job in just over a week. Judge signed the divorce yesterday. Awaiting word on whether a gun matches a certain bullet. What else? Whan that April with its shoures soutte

Verizon sucks...

though this one really isn't their fault. It's the fault of their router vendor. It's their fault that the power adapter fried yesterday, and I'm dead in the water with access in my house until the replacement arrives.

So, I sit in my neighbors' house plugged into their router for a few minutes. Strange how attached we become to our networks in this day and age. If they're down for even a few hours or a few days, we begin to feel isolated, cut off. (South Park got it right in their latest episode.)

design geekitude

This little quiz is great. Now, if I could only break above 24... just one more sign that I've been administrating for too long.

(Thanks to Bonnie for the link.)

I like my life.

apologies for the navel-gazing moment...

This idea shouldn't be a revelation, but it is. The notion that I don't regret parts of my life in spite of all the ups and downs is new. Credit is, in part, due to a recent conversation about my maternal grandfather. He was a staid, upstanding, academic man from a staid, upstanding, blue-blood upbringing. He was also a very accomplished man--author of nine books, drafter of the U.N. Charter, recipient of fellowships and letters from such eminent figures as Winston Churchill. And the point of the conversation was how much he would disapprove of my life up to this point.

Obviously, as anyone who has known me a long time or who has read certain posts on this blog knows, there are plenty of things about my life that I regret. There are lessons I wish I had learned without hurting myself or other people. But the reality is I can't change any of that. What I can do is continue to grow and evolve based on those lessons. I can also learn to accept and love my life--whether or not my forebears would approve of it.

They would not approve--I'm fairly certain--of the fact that I count among my friends pool players, a soft-core pornographer, a F-to-M transexual, a witch, and all manner of ne'er-do-wells. I'm being partly sarcastic, partly serious. The reality is that I was raised to certain class boundaries, but I've spent good chunks of my life trying to live beyond the small neighborhood of expectations built by my families.

At some level, I think I've done this to escape certain insecurities and unhappiness with myself. When the need to compensate for insecurities fades, however, it is easier to see the good in one's actual life. And when you realize that unhappiness only breeds more unhappiness, it becomes easier to let stupid stuff go.

The point? Is there one? Can there really be one when life is constantly evolving? Yeah. The point is that we are in control of our own happiness.

(End navel-gazing moment. Return to regularly unscheduled programming.)

382

That's how many days I've been in one sort of pain or another. Not that anybody's counting. And not that it's getting old or anything...

Don't get shot, okay?

friday fun - vintage kids tv

Jack mentioned these last night, and I had to—just had to—put a sampling up.

Gore - new thoughts

First, I still wish Al Gore had chosen to run as our re-elected president. Second, if you have a few minutes, go and watch his latest presentation. It is dynamic, frightening, and important. Be sure to watch all the way through to the Q-and-A. Please.

design poll!

Here are two designs for posters for the Strawberry Street Festival, a major fundraising event for Banana's school. We may run both, but if we can only run one, I'm putting it out there for my few readers... which one would you pick? Let me know in the comments.

Freddie the Frog

For the next week, Banana and I are responsible for Freddie the Frog. It is our sworn duty to care well for the frog and show him an exciting week. And that week must be documented in a journal.


We decided to start Freddie's week off right. He went with us and two other families to Carytown Sushi for dinner. While the kids ate their edamame, age tofu, and sashimi, Freddie went to town with insect gyoza and grasshopper rolls. He also held his own with a couple glasses of unfiltered sake.

Even though it was already pushing nine o'clock on a school night, we decided to carry on the welcome party next door at Bev's Ice Cream. The kids put away Richmond's best ice cream, and Freddie shared Banana's mint chocolate chip.



Unfortunately, Bev's does not put food coloring in their ice cream which kept the ice cream from matching the frog.

**********

UPDATE: I will be cross-posting at Freddie's very own blog. Time for this frog to go high tech. Maybe we'll even go Twitter and Facebook next!

quick notes

This weekend, I revived my paella tradition. It was a small gathering—just four of us. There was good rioja and vinho verde to be drunk, plenty of cheese and olives, and the paella. The dish was a New Years experiment a few years ago, and I've taken to making my own way of doing it. I dug through a plethora of recipes, found the common themes, and created a social cooking and eating experiment. It's a grand way to kill an evening with good friends.

***************

Stay tuned for the Freddie the Frog blog. We are "caring" for Freddie this week, and part of the requirement is that we document his adventures. And mis-adventures.

the pinch?

This comes from the No Shit Sherlock department:

Across the United States, consumers like Norris are finding that grocery shopping has become a sobering experience as their budgets fail to keep pace with food costs.
****
Prices continue to rise. A survey conducted by the American Farm Bureau Federation in February showed that in the beginning months of this year, the cost of 16 grocery items, including flour and cheddar cheese, was $45.03, up $3.42, or 8 percent, from the fourth quarter.
****
Increasingly, shoppers like Wikholm must wait until payday to load up on groceries and then hunker down until the next paycheck.

Unfortunately, this experience is all too real. Taken in small doses, a jump of a dime or two on the price of pasta (from $.69 to $.89 at Trader Joe's) doesn't seem critical. When every item begins to jump a little bit and some jump by a dollar or more, the whole hit on a grocery run can grow, as it has for me, from $125 for two weeks to $160 or more for that same two week period. Couple that with gas prices that finally hurt, and the budget begins to look tighter and tighter.

More times than I would like, I have had to tell Banana that we can't get things or I've had to shift budget items to make a few small clothing purchases (kids grown, you know!) fit. Savings and extra payments on credit card balances are out the window, too.

What amazes me is that this is even news. Scratch that. What actually amazes me is that stories like this come out, but there are still pundits and politicians who will argue that we aren't in a recession and push the line that the economy will be just fine. As the cliche goes, be careful when the price of milk rises...

media bias?

Why is it that NPR seems so pre-disposed against the current Democratic candidates? Their editorial bent all week has been that the race between Obama and Clinton is a problem, and how sad it is that poor McCain isn't getting enough coverage.

My guess is that much of NPR's audience falls on my side of the political spectrum. While this doesn't necessarily suggest they should tailor their coverage accordingly, there seems to be a distinct editorial bias creeping in. When even the progressive commentators fall on the center-right end of the spectrum, I get the sense that they are trying to create "balance" by tipping the spectrum too far to the right.

friday fun - 80s edition

I couldn't help it...



and...

changes

I gave notice at the university today. It was surprisingly nerve-wracking and difficult. So much so that the pain in my stomach doubled me over at times. I dreaded telling my staff, and just the thought was enough to turn my stomach again as I was discussing it with my boss. Beyond that, I am dealing the frustration that I'm jumping ship right in the middle of major projects, major projects that were my signature accomplishments over the past three and a half years. Regardless, change is a good thing. In this case, change will bring more money and a chance to get out of the managerial/bureaucratic line for a while. It will also bring a return to advertising and marketing.

This blog started a few weeks before I joined the university in 2004. I wrote very occasionally on it until last year, after the shooting. Since then, it has become a more regular fixture of my weeks. My plan is to continue to refine and focus it as I shift gears into the next chapter of life in Richmond.

Richmond, a.k.a. the smallest city in the world.


*********

In the background, Bowie's "Heroes" is playing. Old pool teammates may remember that I always played it on the juke box during my matches.

Why are hiccups a bad thing?

Conversation this evening:

ME: Where did you get the hiccups?

BANANA: I don't know.

ME: You didn't have them earlier, so you must have gotten them somewhere.

BANANA: From you?

ME: No. Hiccups aren't contagious.

BANANA: From Reilly?

ME: No. He's a dog, and I already said hiccups aren't contagious.

BANANA: From the Hiccup Fairy?

ME: More like the Hiccup Troll.

BANANA: Why?

ME: Because hiccups are a bad thing.

BANANA: Why are hiccups a bad thing?

ME: (stymied)I have no idea, sweetie. They just are.

BANANA: (giggling)April Fools!

Random 10, etc. (late evening notes)

In honor of Incertus, here is this evening's random 10:
1. Yeah, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah – The Pogues
2. Saturn Return – R.E.M.
3. The Old Grunt – Guided By Voices
4. A Little Soulful Tune – Taj Mahal
5. No Birds Today – Cowboy Junkies
6. What Is This Note? – Eels
7. Fire On Babylon – Sinéad O'Connor
8. The Colossus Crawls West – Guided By Voices
9. Mistress – Red House Painters
10. Dash 7 – Wilco

***********


Spent some time in Forest Hill Park again this weekend. Our public spaces became a source of fascination (and pleasure) for me long ago, but what particularly interests me is the effort that went into creating remarkable urban facsimiles of nature. And the degree to which these same spaces were ignored and left to ruin a half century later. What is the predilection of much of this country against public spaces which results in this sort of neglect? That is one question that continues to fascinate.

************

John McCain has begun to remind me of Bob Dole. He is, after all, another supposedly-honorable, war-hero senator who seems to have been offered up as a sacrificial lamb in a very bad—increasingly bad, even—electoral climate.

plastic bags

Here's a Catch-22 of environmentalism and urban living:

Richmond, like most cities, requires owners to pick up after their dogs. Generally speaking, this requires the use of plastic bags, which I have been running out of lately. This means I either get rid of Reilly (not going to happen) or bring some of my groceries home in cloth bags and some of them home in plastic bags.

I mentioned this to the checkout guy at Kroger today, and he said, "There's a place in this world for plastic bags."

Indeed.

Life with Banana

"We" have started reading. It happened a few weeks ago. At least, I got my first taste a few weeks ago when Banana went through two easy reader books. When I told her teacher the next morning, she winked at me and said, "She's been reading for me for weeks. She just turned the corner for you." The kindergarten teacher has a delicious bit of New York snark in her.

Today, we picked up her first chapter books for her to read on her own—a Magic Pony Carousel book and the first Magic Tree House book. I skipped over the Junie B. Jones books for now because they seem a little too idiomatic. I also didn't like the fact that the first one in the series had "stupid" in the title.

In any case, she did remarkably well diving into them. There are some words—"what," for example—that defy easy phonetic reading, and she gets a little frustrated with those. She's also having trouble with the combined vowel sounds, and I'm half-tempted to plop her in front of The Electric Company for a few hours. For my part, I'm looking forward to the moment when the balance of reading by memorization and phoneticization* balances out.

New York notes

I'd been planning to write a much longer, more detailed account of the trip back to the city, but apparently I can only find so much space and time for writing these days. A few choice notes and comments will have to suffice.

• The MoMA, post renovation. First, many thanks to Bonnie for arranging tickets for Banana and me. I don't think I've been back to the museum since I moved away, which means this was my first chance to see the rebuilt institution. The architectural work is remarkable, from opening up the galleries to creating some truly breathtaking public spaces in the common area. The place is still over-run by tourists and far too crowded, but that's a problem common to any of the major museums in the city. In any case, it is a pleasure to see the permanent exhibitions given more room to breathe, and the placement of Matisse's "Dance" is memorable. The special exhibition Design and the Elastic Mind seemed like it would be fascinating, but it wasn't as kid-friendly as I'd hoped and the crowds made it feel absurdly claustrophobic. It's a pity, though, because it looked truly cool. The other special exhibition—Color Chart—was a little more kid-friendly, however, and Banana and I sat for a while in front of the Rothkos, talking about the different colors he was using.
  
• Street corner falafel. This was my first stop after we got off the train in midtown. Falafel. With everything. Bliss, pure and simple.
  
  
  
• Brunch at The Farm on Adderley. When I lived in Brooklyn, Ditmas Park was still the boonies to all of us who were moving out to the boro. Or rather that's to say that it wasn't over-run by those of us who shop at organic markets and push our kids around in MacLarens—or newer, hipper strollers. Now, the neighborhoods have begun to shift and businesses catering to the Park Slope/Cobble Hill spillover have started to open, including restaurants like The Farm on Adderly. Just a couple of blocks from the Cortelyou Road train station, this place sources most of its ingredients locally, knows how to cater to families (the kids food comes first and quickly!), and serves very, very tasty fare to what seems to be a sizable foodie population. Their bloody mary was among the best I've ever had, and the poached egg with smoked trout and greens served on a potato latke was a near-perfect brunch item. Not that that quite takes the sting out of Banana's $8 hot dog—but, hey, it was organic...
  
• Brooklyn dads. There's a uniform: sneakers (Converse or Vans, preferably), cool jeans or cords, layered t-shirts (either graphic, basic black, or ring-neck), v-neck or zip-collar sweater. It was one more small way I still feel more at home there than I do in Richmond.
  
• Franny's redux. Saturday night, we gave Banana the choice of what she wanted for dinner. She said pizza, and Amy, Victoria, Banana, and I trotted over to Franny's to continue the locavore theme of the day. It was also the scene of one of our more remarkable meals on last year's visit. Ordinarily, I would break out and try new things, but I've dreamed of the clam pie I had last year. The crust is perfectly thin and crispy coming out of the brick oven. The pie itself has a few clams on it, some parsley, and some crushed chili. What makes it remarkable, however, is the preparation: they saute the clams in butter in white wine and brush the crust with the liquid from the saute before it goes in the oven. The result is one of the near-perfect dishes ever. The margherita with fresh buffalo mozzarella is damn good, too. So are the wood-roasted olives. And the wine... sigh...
  
• The Prospect Park Zoo.In the years I lived on the other side of the park, I never ventured into the zoo. At that time, it was still trying to be a full-service zoo of some sort. After the WCS began to consolidate the zoos and aquarium, the mission became more focused on being a small, family-friendly place. They've achieved this, providing good proximity to the animals and a fun sea lion show. More importantly, they have a baby kangaroo, and it's pretty damn cute.

the ultimate Easter supper

For the second year now, Banana and I have been drawn into an Easter dinner party tradition started eight years ago. The originators are my old friend Philip and an old neighbor of his from Atlanta who now lives in Queens with her husband and two and a half year old daughter. The genesis was the decision to cook chicks and bunnies for Easter. Brilliant!

This year's rabbit preparations included braising with juniper berries and leeks and roasting with local organic bacon. There was also homemade sauerkraut, fingerling potatoes, crab and conch ceviche, arugula salad. The wines ranged from a delicious pinot noir to an interesting Croatian red. I had picked up bread and three cheeses at the Prospect Park greenmarket. (On a side note, the trip to the greenmarket was a reminder of how much easier it is to eat locally and well in New York than many, many other cities, including Richmond.) For dessert, there were dessert liqueurs, a chocolate terrine with creme fraiche and raspberry sauce, and manchego and cabrales.

Through the course of the evening, Banana acted as the perfect oldest kid of the four kids we had running around.

friday fun - sweet, sweet music edition

In 1992, I saw Taj Mahal open for Michelle Shocked. Should've been the other way around...



The song kicks in after about a minute and a half here, but it's worth it.

shooting update

When the suspect was arrested last year, the Commonwealth's Attorney nolle prossed the case (let the guy go) because of a lack of evidence. In an interesting turn of events, however, this same man was arrested in January on a concealed weapon charge. The Commonwealth's Attorney has asked the detective assigned to my case to retrieve the weapon and the bullet and send both to the state ballistics lab. This means there is a chance (albeit a slim one) that I may get some small measure of closure.

friday fun - cheese edition

Kudos to the bartender at the Corner Cafe the other night who actually had this on his iPod...

smile

From Gawker, this made me smile, and I desperately needed to smile...



And like they suggest, you should watch it over and over again in order to attain Nirvana. Totally.

oy

Make it stop, please.

Binsted, a sophomore sculpture major at VCU, was walking in the park with a friend when they were approached by two males, one armed with a gun. Binsted and his friend were robbed of their car keys, and he was shot in the back as they walked away.

It was less than half a mile from my old house.

Trauma, a year later

There will be a quick recounting of the New York trip later on.

One year ago, I was sitting in a room at MCV under the alias Trauma Case Plum. My wound dressing and IV were being changed while nurses and med students were brought through to see the patient who had been shot while interrupting a robbery, the hero. The news had already hit the newspaper and television news. My father had come to the hospital to see me, and I was wheeled alternately into X-Ray rooms where they took pictures of my esophagus and into CT rooms where they determined that the bullet was large but hadn't damaged anything vital. I had what the CT tech called "The MIllion Dollar Wound." I hadn't even begun to process what had happened yet.

A year later, I am still struggling to process what happened. I am still trying to put my head and body back together. Though the simple act that brought this about seems small and far away now, the scars and ache and muddle I often feel in my head are constant reminders of how much worse it all could have been. They are also reminders of my work over the past year to make my life a better, kinder, more responsible place—despite occasional recidivism.

At the time, I joked that it was Colonel Mustard in the alley with the revolver, and that I got lucky. A year later, I realize none of this is a joke.

/navel gazing

I am Helvetica.

Wilco and Volkswagen. I am a cliche, which is probably why I love these ads.











And this one that is reminiscent of the famous chair ad in the late nineties:

ad moments

Mrs. Butterworth has joined Charo and Little Richard in Martin's excellent Geico campaign. Wait for the great punchline at the end...

friday fun (on Tuesday)

And I thought our PSAs were twisted. Little did I know Canada had the market cornered. Be sure to watch the whole thing.

homecomings, pt. 1

Last year, I wrote about returning to Piccolo Angolo after a long absence. Rather than leaving things to chance this year, my friend Amy made reservations a couple weeks in advance for dinner on the day Banana and I would get in town.

When Banana and I got to the restaurant early—a shocker for anyone who's known me long enough, Renato gave us our choice of tables. The head waiter shook my hand. Renato fawned over Banana, and his daughter was over in a minute to talk to her. She reiterated that we should move back to the city so Banana could grow up in New York. A bottle of wine arrived. Soon enough, Amy and Victoria had arrived, and the treatment continued. Pasta for Banana arrived soon, so did a heaping basket of bread. The Tre Colore salad, when it arrived, had grown since the years I spent regular time at the restaurant—not necessarily a bad thing.

Not long after Anna finished her pasta, her dessert appeared—chocolate gelato. When the rest of us ordered dessert, Renato decided we needed his tiramisu. It was lighter and more fluffy—not nearly as sweet—than any I've ever had. The fresh berry cheesecake was also a revelation—and a double helping.

In the end, as always, the return meal at Piccolo was the best possible welcome back to the city. Stay tuned for comments on MoMA, falafel, more food, and parents in Brooklyn.

in the city

I look forward to the day someone gets connectivity running on Amtrak. No chance to post yesterday, and today we're about to run off to the Prospect Park Zoo. Stay tuned for city and food posting, and for belated Friday Fun.

tasty tofu

It took me a long to learn to enjoy tofu. In fact, it took traveling to China in 1996 for me to really understand all the different ways tofu can be used. Lately I've been playing with a new preparation—one that I completely blame on Trader Joe's.

Take one block of extra firm tofu. Press it to get some of the water out. Cut into strips approximately 3/4" thick. Marinate with the TJ's Soyaki sauce, just enough to cover all the pieces and leave a little liquid left over. Let soak for approximately half an hour, then lay the strips out on foil-covered broiler pan. Place under broiler for seven minutes, then turn the pieces and spoon the leftover liquid on the them. Broil for another seven minutes and drizzle the last of the liquid on them when you pull them out.

I served these with snowpeas and carrots steamed and tossed with toasted sesame oil, seasoned rice vinegar, and good soy sauce, and rice.

Lastly, drizzle a little sriricha on the side of the plate. Perfect!

friday fun – the design geek edition

If you care about type, if you truly, truly love fonts, then you need to know what font you embody. The selection is limited, but funny. Especially the description of Helvetica.

Then again, there's this:

friday Fun - the essential ren & stimpy

After a bumpy week, I can think of nothing better than this...


Link: sevenload.com

because amy asked

Amy over at Incertus challenged me and a few other people to join the 6-word-memoir meme. I batted around a few options. For instance, there was Boston. New York. Arkansas. Virginia. Daddy. Then there was Mostly happy, I watch Anna grow. But in the end, neither of those was quite as mordant as I wanted, nor as much about the reality of my life over the nearly-twenty years I've been an adult. So I landed on one that seemed to accomplish it better.

Paul in six:
Richer, poorer. Better, worse. Better now.

Update
Per Jack: My life in diapers. No, seriously.

friday fun, 2 days early

A bit of college nostalgia here...

(Crash Test Dummies)


(Disposable Heroes of HipHoprisy)

From the AP Wires and the NYT, this is classic:

Odom entered the house and found the two tiny terriers in pet carriers in a smoke-filled room, and shuttled them to safety.

When he removed one of the dogs from its carrier, Odom noticed it was not breathing and its tongue was hanging out. The firefighter removed his face mask and placed the dog's head inside so the oxygen could blow in its face.

When the oxygen didn't work, Odom began performing CPR on the dog by ''cupping my hands around the dog's snout and blowing until I could feel his chest expand,'' he said.

''I then did chest compressions similar to that of infant CPR. After approximately one minute of doggie CPR, I noticed the dog trying to breathe on its own.''

Five minutes later the dog began looking around and was given to the owner of the house. An oxygen tank was left with the animal.

legislative absurdity (journalistic, too)

According to the Richmond Times-Dispatch (alternatively referred to as the Times-Disgrace or the Fishwrapper), one reason the Virginia General Assembly "matters" is that they defeated various efforts to ban smoking in restaurants and bars. As I have grown older (and quit smoking), become a parent, and researched the effects of secondhand smoke for PSA campaigns, my hope for smoking bans in bars and restaurants has grown. After spending enough time in establishments in Maine, New York, DC, and Bloomington following the enactment of bans, I've come to appreciate the opportunity to go out without hacking up a lung the next day or worrying about whether my clothes reek of smoke. I (and other parents I know) have also come to appreciate the ability to take Banana (and other kids) places where they won't be exposed to clouds of smoke.

What continues to amaze me about the intractability of the foes are the various arguments they use:

• Business will suffer. Empirical evidence in cities and countries where bans have been enacted shows that business actually increases.
  
• The effects of secondhand smoke aren't proven. First off, I'm tempted to point this one back to the arguments that climate change is a cooked-up theory; the effects of secondhand smoke on pets, children, service employees, and so forth are well documented. I mean, does anyone really believe that working in an enclosed space filled with particulate matter and chemicals like arsenic and benzene won't affect a person.
  
• Smokers have rights, too. Yes, the same ones I have. The last time I checked, however, it is not a constitutionally protected right to put something in the air that injures another person.
  
• Business owners should be able to run their businesses the way they want to. So develop a compromise that allows some businesses to continue to permit smoking. Bloomington's solution was to allow a three-tier set-up. A restaurant could be all-ages all the time and ban smoking, move to twenty-one and over after a certain time and only allow smoking after that time, or allow only legal drinkers at all times and allow smoking at all hours.

Regardless of the debunked argument or the ultimate solution, the reality is that none of this is truly about "rights" or even individual business owners' rights. Instead, this smacks of just another moment where the Republican-held VA legislature (and its media mouthpieces) are bowing to another powerful business lobby.

****************

In the same section of the RTD, there was also a brief piece noting that the legislature had passed a measure requiring an adult convicted of French kissing a child under 13 to register as a sex offender. Really? Are we that backwards that we actually needed to stipulate this? Shouldn't it have been common sense (and law) all along?

Sheesh.

bringing coney back to life

One of my most vivid images of Coney Island before I moved away from New York was the image of the parachute jump rising behind the ivy-covered Thunderbolt, like some sort of giant's broken umbrella. The repainted, lit parachute jump is a Disneyland dream compared to those dreams. Even the vague possibility that it might be restored to working order so that my generation and our kids can enjoy it is a possibility that seems almost too good to be true. Still, we can hope, can't we?

In the meantime, I'm still going to relish every plan for every return trip to the city.

brief thoughts on PTSD

One of my physical therapists has concluded that some of the issues with my back and shoulder are related to my mental recovery. After this week in therapy, I'm convinced that she is right. With more pain and more rough work to break through some of the locked up parts of my back, my head has gone into a more precarious place. Certainly there is a lot going on generally in my life, but the muddle in my head seems to come along with more pain and release in my back. What really brought this home was thinking back to last August when the trauma and anxiety decidedly returned, and the realization that their return seemed to coincide with more physical activity—and more physical pain.

With the anniversary of the shooting approaching, I look forward to some sort of breakthrough in all of this. I hope.

pound puppies. really.

Some of the things that inspire enough nostalgia to continue being run amongst such classics as the old MGM cartoons, Chuck Jones-era Tom and Jerry, The Flintstones, and Hong Kong Fuey boggle the mind. To wit, I am sitting on the couch watching Pound Puppies with Banana. Thankfully, The Smurfs aren't on the schedule for the evening.

Friday Fun - Shatner/Folds edition

Looking back at my posting for the week or lack thereof, I realize how much the time has slipped away. Stay tuned for a few jottings later this evening. In the meantime, there's this...

Once

I'd love it if someone could explain to me why it took me so long to see Once. I love Ireland, singer-songwriter music, and indie films. I should have been first on line to see it when it hit town for one week last year. But I didn't. I also passed it over repeatedly at our neighborhood video store. Why? I don't know. I was in the mood for zombies not love stories; I wanted to watch it as a "date" movie; I really don't know. Instead, it took the adorable moment at the Oscars for me to get clued in. And then it took seeing Swell Season on TV. Then I realized I had to do it. And now I want to know why I waited so long.

Once is a brilliant little play on the kind of intense, charged friendship that can crop up between a man and woman who connect at many levels at once. The intimate dynamic is very reminiscent of Before Sunrise and Before Sunset. I felt like I knew Hansard and Irglova's characters by the end of the film, and I cared about them. It was a world I didn't want to leave. As with Hawke and Delpy, these two were friends before the movie came about, and their sense of comfort shines through.

Visually, the stripped-down feel of the film was perfect, and John Carney pulled a few perfect visual moments out. First, there was Irglova traipsing after Hansard with her canister vac along the streets of Dublin. Then, there was a brilliant scene in the bus with Hansard narrating his story on his beat-up old Takamine.

As far as the story goes, there isn't one. The tension holds for the entire film, and all that happens is an album gets made. (Sorry if this is a spoiler for anyone.) By the usual standards we're taught in writing workshops, the story would never fly as a film or a story. It would need something more at stake. Something would have to break by minute 20. To some extent, it's all there, but very subtle. And really, when something is done well, the rules can be skirted a bit.

Ah well... it's a brilliant little flick.

Friday Fun - film parody edition

Picked this one up from Gawker... Brilliant!



Of course, it made me think of this too...



Can't forget part 2...

a brief political comment

Whether Clinton pulls it out or Obama finishes what now seems like an inevitable trajectory, I am confident we will have a strong candidate. McCain seems like a default candidate, and I do not truly believe that he can defeat anyone the Democrats put forth. That said, it's pretty clear that if Clinton fails it will be because of two things:

• The same old hands (and rivals) within the party machine joined the campaign because of its inevitability, but they never counted on having to work.
  
• Obama has managed to skirt his lack of experience (his greatest liability, in my opinion) with a message of hope that the country is craving after almost eight years of abject fear and idiocy.

This is not to say that I want Clinton to fail. She has been a capable senator — though I still quibble with her support for the war — and is an intelligent and experienced individual. She could be an excellent president. She is, however, a "Clinton" which will create an instant liability for her from the beginning of her presidency. Why? Because there are significant chunks of the electorate who will never support her because they view her as an opportunist who is married to a philanderer. Sadly, there are also segments of the electorate who would never support Obama because he is black, but that's another subject for another time.

I Want My Life To Make More Sense To Me, pt. 2

As part of my physical and psychological therapy, I've spent a lot of time lately thinking about what it means to deal with this trauma. A post by my friend Amy over at Incertus reminded me that there are other layers to the recovery, layers that go back to John Locke's murder at Arkansas in 2000 and follow the trajectory of the various ups and downs of my life since then. The conclusion I've come to as part of this whole reflection and growth process is that fully dealing with the trauma of the shooting almost a year ago also involves facing and confronting other unpleasant experiences.

The paradox of dealing with the trauma(s) is that you have to move on from something that will always haunt you. By this, I mean that you need to recognize and let go of triggers that set off anxiety attacks or flashbacks; at the same time, you can't push the feelings under the metaphorical rug. Holding on to the feelings ensures that you will never move on. Ignoring the impact of the trauma ensures that it will come back to haunt you later—in spades. Finding the proper balance here does not guarantee that you won't be haunted by random flashbacks and other traumatic pentimentos. Nevertheless, finding the balance gives the possibility of retaking your life.

What I have discovered lately is that there are basic steps that I have to take to get through the pain and anxiety. Taking on some personal design projects has helped. Making sure my kitchen is clean every night when I go to bed has helped. Making sure that my coffee table is empty has helped. Getting back into routines has been essential. Though small, each of these things has been part of the overall task of controlling my life, rather than letting random circumstance be the rule of the day—because random circumstance can be a cruel mistress.

I Want My Life To Make More Sense To Me

• The title of this post is taken from a song by Glen Hansard and The Swell Season. It's a hell of a song about making amends and turning around. The Swell Season, with Hansard and his partner Marketa Irglova, is also an excellent, quiet little folk duo. They were one of the highlights of the Oscars, and the notice they're getting is well-deserved. Don't forget to pay attention to Hansard's guitar if you do catch them. It's so well worn that the face has worn through in two spots, much like an Alvarez (at least I think it was an Alvarez) that my friend Ned Landin played on the street in Harvard Square years ago.
  
  
• I recently picked up The Animal Years by Josh Ritter. It's a hell of a good album. Ritter's lyrical strength is undeniable. Like early Bob Dylan, the lyrics are worth reading just for the imagery and excellent word play. The guy can also play a pretty damn good song. His energy was infectious in a live set on "The Artists Den" on Ovation, and I suspect I'll be searching out a gig within driving distance in the near future.

Verizon Sucks, part *I've lost count*

I'm liveblogging this, baby...



I am on hold with the fourth person I've spoken to this morning. Supposedly, she finally found the "active" erroneous bill. She has placed me on hold--mind you, by this point, I know every song on Verizon's hold music--in order to speak to billing and find out which way this account needs to be corrected.

She just lost me. The call shipped over to another rep at sales and service. She shipped me back to billing, and the person there shipped me to FiOS.

Patience is a virtue, right?

I have just asked the latest CSR to hand me to her supervisor. When she told me she would need to take my call-back number and have the supervisor call me back , I patiently explained that she was the eighth person I had spoken to this morning and that I very much needed to speak directly to a supervisor at this point.


12:20 p.m. Update

I'm on with person number 10 now after the last rep refused to put me through to her supervisor directly.

Oy.


1:02 p.m. Update

The FiOS account rep I was "walked to" by number 10 has found the whole cycle of bills. It's possible (knock on wood quickly) that she may be able to resolve this mess. Fingers crossed.


1:36 p.m. Update

After three and a half hours, we have a partial resolution. And in theory, I'll be receiving an email confirmation of the partial credits. The rest of the credits will be sorted out--supposedly--over the next few days, and the latest (very nice) CSR has assured me that their "special team" will be resolving any credit issues from this.

Fingers still crossed.

friday fun - the tv edition

The other night, my friend Jack and I were talking about TV we watched growing up in the seventies and eighties. There was one question that we kept coming back to: How did we go from this



and this



to this



and this



??

friday fun - the early edition

Some musical discoveries you make late, and by accident. This is one. I just stumbled on Josh Ritter, and I think I have a couple CDs to buy soon...

fever - not the song

Banana was up to 103.8 after I got home at 6:30. Now, almost three hours later, she's up to 104.6. She's sleeping hard, and I'm worried about a late night emergency room run. I'm also trying to console myself with memories of the times my grandmother weathered me through the worst of a fever before it broke.