some brief political notes

I've been under a deadline the past few days, and there hasn't been much time for mental (or physical) exercise. That hasn't kept me from keeping an eye on the news, however.

It was to be expected that this year's presidential campaign would be a negative one. Not even McCain's ill-wrought attempt (his use of the Goldwater-Johnson example simply served to point up the generational difference at play) to have a series of town-hall meetings was going to keep the campaign from going down the path it has. The danger for the McCain campaign of attacking Obama personally and early is clear—McCain himself would become a petulant, cranky old man. And he has. The Maverick has turned maudlin and mawkish.

From a human standpoint, McCain must be terrified at seeing his golden Moment—his Chance—so horribly derailed. He fought back and scraped his way through primaries after years of trying to become the nominee only to find what? A kid? A guy who is smart and well-liked. A guy who can speak in an idiom that McCain can't even hope to understand. How horrible must it be to stand in front of a few hundred septugenarians and misguided young Republicans applauding tepidly when your opponent-to-be is speaking to more than thirty thousand shrieking fans? How horrible must it be to be offering some (any) continuation of the sitting president's disastrous policies while your now-opponent garners nothing but praise from sitting leaders of other countries and speaks to hundreds of thousands of cheering people—while you chuckle at a television camera in a sausage haus in Columbus.

How horrible indeed. Even more horrible must be the realization that your opponent may simply be too good. That his facility with people, ideas, and language may be more facile than you can ever hope to be. Then you bring in the people (Rove and so many others) who are most adept at destroying other people, and you hope that they can weave their tragic magic one more time.

Except that maybe this time there are enough of us—and maybe we care enough—to take our country back.

mornings like these...

Banana was still a groggy ragdoll by 7:45 this morning when I finally got her out of bed. Before that, she was playing a bit of a game, and smiled a little when I'd nudge her or tickle her, telling her it was time to get up. Judging from the way she'd visibly fall back asleep each time—little twitches, deep breathing—it was pretty clear, however, that she could probably have slept for a good, long time. We've had some pretty active days, after all. Unfortunately, my life and job still don't generally afford me the kind of flexibility where I could just let her stay in bed any longer. Of course, I'm also caught by a guilty feeling that I might have sent her to daycamp overtired and maybe under the weather, and the sense that my first instinct should be to make that time rather than fulfilling my duty-bound, Protestant work ethic.

a pondering supplement

I realized after I wrote this post that I was being far too vague. And vagaries do nothing for good writing, as any of us who have taught writing know.

To be concise and specific, the custody agreement gives Banana mére four weeks of the summer. We agreed that trading off weeks made more sense than doing big blocks of time. This is the first time we've really been off the regular schedule in close to a year and a half. The disruption to my schedule and my inner well-being is surprising. What has been so shocking is the extent to which I rely on routines and schedules—Banana at school at a certain time, supper needing to be on the table, dishes needing to be done—to keep my peace of mind intact.

What amazes me sometimes is that it can take so long to know oneself.

a pool for summer

We joined a pool for the summer, a private community pool. I had to pony up an initiation fee and a membership fee, and I honestly agonized over the decision. Could I justify spending the money? That question went to the core of my "pecuniary indecency* of a few years ago. How would it feel for Banana if we joined a pool other than the one many of her friends belonged to? That question went to the heart of some of my social insecurities. In the end, I took the leap because it seemed to make sense on many fronts—including the opportunity for me to swim regularly and continue my rehabilitation.

As is often the case with my minor worries and insecurities, however, I needn't have worried so much.

Since Memorial Day weekend, we have been at the pool almost every weekend and at least a couple times during the week. Banana has learned to swim and begun to catch up with some of the other kids—real strokes will come next year, I think. We have made a number of good friends with other families. Physically, I have begun to feel like I am finally building up the strength that I lost in the past sixteen months, and in some cases never had. I have also built the courage to take a few chances—like trying flips off the diving board.

All in all, I'd have to say that the money I spent to join (and the money I expect to pay as members as long as we live in Richmond) was among the best investments I've ever made.


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

* Lewis Lapham introduced me to the phrase "pecuniary indecency" when we were corresponding about an article I was working on for Harper's several years ago. The phrase originated with Thorstien Veblein, who wrote about the middle and upper classes whose economic security was in jeopardy in the midst of the robber baron gilded age.

more muppet fun

Eventually, I will return to doing something with depth on here. In lieu of that, right now, I present Beeker and the Swedish Chef—with Animal doing a cameo.

smile

From Can Can, on Banana's birthday:

Me: You ate a cherry with the pit still in?

Banana: mm-hmmm

Me: Well, I guess you have a tree growing in your tummy now.

Banana: No, I don't. There's no sun in my tummy.

Me: But your mouth is open now so the sun gets in. Besides trees still grow even when they don't get sun, like at night.

Banana: Silly Daddy. The moonlight shines on trees so they grow at night.

Forest Hill market, this week

Today's market brought a nice yield...

• More tomatoes
  
• cucumbers
  
• lemon cucumbers, which are small round yellow balls
  
• arugula
  
• green beans
  
• cantalopes
  
• asian eggplants
  
• purple, yellow and orange peppers
  
• pork chops and ribs

Oh yeah, and there was the small matter of balloon animals. For the second week running, a woman was making the most extravagant balloon creations. Banana got a ballerina and our friend Devin got a mermaid. I should have taken pictures, because even a nice descriptive paragraph wouldn't do these creations justice. Steve Martin might, however...

pondering

I spent a lot of time this week thinking about patterns and routines, and how valuable these are to life. I've noticed this summer that having a consistent rhythm really is essential to my overall well-being. When I know what I can count on, I find it easier to make plans and add new pieces to the overall puzzle of life. (Is it a paradox that consistency makes adventure easier?) When things are in disarray and I don't know what to count on, everything seems to slip out of sync and the smallest new pea under the mattress makes things worse. So irritating...

Friday Fun

Since Brian has raised the cute quotient over at Incertus, how about Norah Jones on Sesame Street...



And from the classic ad annals...


And then there's this, which just made me smile. Especially when she's got the back-up singers and really gets into it.


Ahhhhh, cheesy, but fun.

brilliant

If you've ever wondered how things actually get produced—and how clients brilliantly screw up the communication process, this should give you a pretty good idea. And a good laugh, too... "What If a Corporation Designed the Stop Sign?"

milestones

Today is Banana's sixth birthday. What a long, strange, amazing trip it's been so far. What a long, strange, wonderful trip it promises to be. This is also the 500th post on Impolitic Eye, which has been and continues to be a valuable personal outlet for some of the strangeness of the past few years.



I'd write more, but I have to finish getting ready for work. That said... onward and upward!

childhood classics

As a kid, I played obsessively with Legos. They went everywhere with me. I had battles with them, built castles, spaceships, the whole deal. I remember the beginning of the transition to specialized pieces and kits with motors. For better or for worse, that movement defines most of the Lego business now. In fact, go into a toy store and it seems like you have to search out the classic bricks. The usual meme is that kids are taught to be less inventive now because everything is specialized and ready-to-go. Whether this is true or not will be very hard to judge.

Regardless, I just came across these videos on Gizmodo. Jesus Diaz took a tour of place, which is just mind-blowing in its complexity. If you click through to the rest of his Lego posts, there's even a Lego Airbus. It's like a pipe dream for the little boy I was thirty years ago, the little boy who carried his little brown suitcase of Legos everywhere.

note to self

After reading and editing the preceding post for clarity, I am reminded that I should not post before drinking several beers—not after.

forest hill market, this week

So, thanks to some friends and neighbors, I barely made it to the market this week. It was boiling hot, and the mojitos from the night made for a woozy wake-up. The little bit of fruit and yogurt before leaving certainly didn't cut it, and I had to give in to the urge to try some of the barbecue sold at the market.

There are two such vendors. One is a guy who has a fairly serious tent and truck set up, complete with a generator to run everything. He sold North Carolina-style. The other pitmaster pulls a large smoker behind a gray volvo wagon, circa 1990. He made Texas-style, which should prick the ears of any BBQ-loving NPR listeners. Despite a gift of the gab, he kept the line moving and recognized repeat customers. After a taste of his brisket and a sausage, I can report that it was some of the best barbecue I've tasted. Next week, I'll have to try more—my apologies to my vegetarian/vegan friends.

In the meantime, the market report this week is as follows...

• coffee beans
  
• yard-long beans , which are purple
  
• sweet red peppers
  
• four kinds of tomatoes
  
• cucumbers
  
• cantalope
  
• basil (and the pesto is already made)
  
• shiitake mushrooms
  
• blueberries (close to the end of the season for these)
  
• chorizo
  
• peaches
  
• gnocchi
  
• rosemary and onion focaccia (tasty, but a bit dry)

The only regret? I should have bought butter.

Friday Fun

This is to political songs as "Superbowl Shuffle" was to sports anthems.



Somewhere, quietly, Woody Guthrie is weeping.

wow

Rush on the Colbert Report. Playing "Tom Sawyer." These guys can still tear it up.

The video is up now. Song starts at 5:26...

coney, the beginning

Briefly put, this diagram from 1885 is where my obsession with Coney Island and elephants began:



The idea that someone would build a hotel in the shape of an elephant blew my mind. A brief intimation I later found—and hopefully will be able to dig up in more detail for the Topsy blog—suggested that "going to see the Elephant" was a euphemism for salacious fun. Then again, Coney continues to be a struggling example of salacious fun.

(Image from the New York Public Library.)

notes for my therapist, or a variation on a short story I once wrote, also known as the opposite of life-hacking

"See, here's how it works," I start.

"Here's how what works?" you ask.

"It. The whole kit and kaboodle. See, I'm really into compound descriptions right now—higgledy-piggledy and sixes and sevens. All of it," I say. "It's kind of a spiral that works like this: something dredges up a bunch of emotions or anxieties I thought I had put away—say, residual stuff from the shooting, feelings about divorce, you name it—and those feelings seed fears and anxieties and sometimes anger that I thought had gone away. My answer then is to distract myself in whatever way I can until all that's left for me to do is to pass out for a few fitful hours at night. Because I'm avoiding my own physical (and emotional) space, however, the random detritus of life piles up, and I'm left with a physical space that is as disorganized as my mental space. That, in turn, feeds my other anxieties and makes me angry with myself so that it's that much harder to pull things back into order."

"You're overwhelmed, in other words."

"Kind of. I do it to myself. It's what I've done for most of the past year or so, and I thought I was through with it."

"And you're not."

"Apparently not."

ads that will make you laugh, cry, and everything in between -- all with added features and fried chicken

When Brian posted this haunting video of David Hasselhof over at Incertus, I added a nice little commercial link in the comments. Brian has since responded with a classic local commercial of his own. To that end, I add one of the classic television ads of all time. All this for just...



But wait, there's more!

Monday Fun

I'm a dad. I'm a Mac user. I like Feist, and I love this clip from Sesame Street...