Such Vituperation.

Goodbye, World

2008-09-05T11:44:00.001-04:00

For the two of you reading this, I've moved my posts to Wordpress. You can find me now at suchvituperation.wordpress.com. Rock on.

I'm Oddly Fascinated with Joe Torre

2008-08-25T20:31:00.002-04:00

He's just interesting. Gruff, terse, Brooklyn boy.

John, John, John.

2008-08-10T21:52:00.001-04:00

I love your self-effacing humor, your bouts with anxiety, your hideous sunglasses, your obsession with expensive watches. Your attempts at stand-up amuse me. I can even deal with your tattoo sleeve.

But good God man. What's going on with this DVD? The camera angles: queasy; the intermittent interview segments, rough going. Driving in your Mercedes with your tiny dog. Really? A TELEPROMPTER? I mean, come on. You can remember your own lyrics.

If you find yourself saying "my music is necessary," it's time to turn off the cameras, pack up the two-rock, and regroup.

We'll let this misstep slide. It happens to the best of us. Just had to check you on this.

Superhero Ideas

2008-08-09T10:55:00.002-04:00

Shrinking Violet: Can shrink to subatomic size to infiltrate enemy headquarters and mess with their shit. This would have been better in the 1970s or so when women needed a bit more of a boost in the superhero department.

Super Sloppy: Solved crimes by inadvertently spilling things. Needs an amusingly named sidekick.

Only Connect

2008-08-07T22:53:00.004-04:00

There was terribly sad news from my high-school classmates this week. One of us is not with us anymore. We don't know what was going on with Nate, really, but we know that he had had enough of it, whatever it was; that he cared about his wife and daughters immensely; that he used his energy to make his world a better place using the tools he had at hand.

From Nate's Facebook page, it's clear he had made a larger impact on those around him than maybe he knew. I found him on Facebook about 2 weeks ago, considered sending him a friend request, and then didn't. I thought he might not remember me.

I remembered him. I wish I had sent that.

After a week filled with sad, joyous, and meaningful connections and re-connections with friends and compatriots, I sank into sleep last night grateful for the rich life I have, which is defined in its most essential form in the way E.M. Forster advised: "Only connect."

Schroedinger's Cat, Putatively

2008-07-28T21:47:00.003-04:00

Brad's been on a philosophy kick lately. He's got me reading about Derrida. Then he went ahead and dropped an offhand reference tonight to Shroedinger's Cat. You lose me around the first turn on quantum physics, but this concept of quantum superposition seems appealing because of its many applications outside quantum theory.

Schroedinger said that you could demonstrate the concept of quantum superposition by thinking of a cat sealed in a steel box. (Don't worry, this is just a thought experiment.) There is a flask full of poison near the cat. If the flask shatters, the poison is released and the cat dies. If the flask does not shatter, the cat lives. But, Schroedinger asks, is there a state in which the cat is both alive and dead? Quantum mechanics would indicate that the states of alive-ness and dead-ness of the cat would coexist simultaneously. While a state of alive-ness slowly gives way to a state of dead-ness, there's a liminal time in between when both states are true.

Quantum mechanics is based on the theory that complex numbers called amplitudes can be assigned to events, the way we think of probabilities. While many have accepted this postulation, some have objected to the assumptions it leads to. This theory helps us predict the movements and behaviors of subatomic particles, but as we (and Einstein, famously) might object, life isn't like that; you're alive or you're dead. Right?

Yes, Facebook, I'm Still Married.

2008-07-08T10:25:00.002-04:00

Willikers. Social media has caused some scandal among my friends and neighbors. Here's what happened. (No, A-Rod and Lenny Kravitz haven't broken up my marriage.)

When I was setting up my Facebook profile, I dutifully entered all my infos in the requisite fields. I checked the box "men" next to "interested in." I indicated where I went to school, and that I'm married. I paid no attention to the subsequent display of this data, and its broadcast to my Facebook pals, until someone pointed out to me that "Interested in Men" was showing up in my profile, which somehow signifies that I'm 'on the market.'

Cut to the other day, when I happened to review my Profile again, seeing now that I'd cut out all the other attributes, it just showed "married." Lest this particular factoid define me, I deleted that from the display. Apparently, this change was broadcast to all my Friends, with the requisite broken-heart icon, as "Lisa is no longer married."

Suppress your overwhelming disappointment, gentle reader, for I am not, as we say, on the market. Marrying Brad is the best thing I ever did. I just don't necessarily want to be defined by only that fact; rather, I want people to know about all of me - the Shark Week lovin', Journey singin', human-pyramid-formin' whole package.

Dystopic Exactitude

2008-07-03T12:41:00.005-04:00

I find myself listening to Boston radio a lot these days. Sometimes my dial settles on 93.7, the local Mike station (which is a format in which a very large set of songs is played at random, without the strong presence of a DJ/local 'personality'). After concluding a set comprised of the Scorpions' "Rock You Like a Hurricane," Norah Jones' "Don't Know Why," and Hank Williams, Jr.'s "All My Rowdy Friends Are Coming Over Tonight," the station went to commercial with a pre-taped bumper. I realized, there's nobody at the wheel! I want someone to be driving this silly bus that is my listening experience. It's too disconnected, too sterile, to have a machine choosing what I hear next. I love to think of an underpaid, entry-level DJ trainee devilishly laughing at the absurd combination of music he's chosen for me, just me, to hear. I want the music I hear to reflect the choices of another human with whom I may share a common experience.

Exigencies

2008-06-24T21:34:00.003-04:00

I just found this PostSecret site, where as part of an art project, people send in post cards with their secrets written on the back. Now they have video secrets also, which to me are a little too close for comfort. Some funny, some embarrassing, some disturbing, some terribly sad, these things will get you, I promise.

It's All Part of My Rock 'n Roll Fantasy

2008-06-17T14:12:00.002-04:00

I think it would be fun to challenge my friends and compatriots to a Journey Karaoke Sing-Off. I think I could bring it. Here's how this would go:

I would open things up with a rousing version of "Separate Ways (Worlds Apart)" or perhaps "Don't Stop Believin'." Then I'd take it down a notch with a mid-tempo number, like "Girl Can't Help It" or "Only the Young." As a capper, I'd bring down the house with a tearful rendition of "Faithfully." There wouldn't be a dry eye in the place.

I've been practicing a lot in the car, with Journey's Greatest Hits reissued on CD. My fellow motorists agree that this thing is something that I should do.

Booty Camp

2008-06-10T12:23:00.002-04:00

I've been going to fitness boot camp with a fellow producer and friend. It's something she signed up for through Brookline Adult Ed, and I just kind of tagged along. It's pretty tough going, so far. An eight-week program with 2 sessions per week, and we just got through the third session. I say "got through," because that's what it is, a test of endurance, stamina, and generally dealing the prospect of reaching one's physical limitations.

We do jumping jacks, "mountain climbers," "planks" (don't ask). We skip around the gym sometimes. We do sprints. We do TONS of lunges, so much so that it feels I may pop a quad. We jog in place. We use resistance bands. We do tons of ab and core work.

It's led by a personal trainer/field hockey coach type. She is great. We hate her. She makes us work. We love her. etc.

The whole thing is tremendous fun and hugely gratifying, and I love and dread every minute of it.

I'm Helping.

2008-06-09T14:10:00.002-04:00

People don't really need, or want, my help, it turns out. I am friends with a number of shy people who either (a) live alone or (b) have trouble lifting heavy things or (c) are Going Through Something that I've been through before.

When I talk with these people, I feel an overwhelming compulsion to try and assist them, whether it be with my mad resume-building skillz, my enormously impressive biceps, or my incredibly attuned listening abilities. Or, perhaps, to pick up the other end of the new sofa.

However, I find that my offers to help, while evidently appreciated, are routinely declined. Are people afraid I'll expect something in return that they cannot provide? Are they unwilling to admit that they need to rely on other human beings to get through the quotidian tribulations of this life? And perhaps most puzzling: why do I care?

Saturday Night

2008-05-27T23:55:00.002-04:00

I've been thinking a lot lately about the role dance plays in my life. Those who know me know that I'm the farthest thing from a professional dancer; injuries have been sustained as a result of my flailing limbs. But I do find that despite this danger, lots of stressful or potentially awkward situations have come to resolution as a direct result of Dancing it Out.

When I was with Glenn, we lived in San Diego (La Jolla specifically, and University City even more specifically). Our proximity to UCSD lent itself to several employment opportunities. I was a temp at UCSD's Graphics and Reproduction Services (!) department, where I learned a lot... and Glenn had taken a job at a nearby independent bookstore. We'd just returned from a summer misspent, canning salmon in Alaska. (More on this adventure some other time.)

This bookstore, next to the Albertson's on La Jolla Village Drive, employed a number of recent college graduates who, directionless and sun-dazed, were nonetheless quite smart. When they weren't engaged in selling books to a just-off-the-speaking-circuit Deepak Chopra, they took turns hosting ridiculous parties in the hills just outside the University City area of La Jolla.

Everyone who worked at the bookstore attended these soirees, including wary East Coasters Glenn and I. After his shift ended at the bookstore, we'd drive to some vertiginously perched art-deco chateau overlooking the smoggy basin of San Diego. Someone would crank up their parents' stereo, and things would get rolling.

I know what you're thinking. It's San Diego, the mid-1990s. We're at some rich kid's parents house - who aren't home. There will be coke, and hookers, and possibly arrests will be made. None of these things happened.

What we did, is sit around and talk - the Go-Go's was a favorite soundtrack. "Head over heels where should I go/Can't stop myself out of control/Head over heels no time to think/It's like the whole world's out of synch." We made pizzas in the oven that we'd bought frozen at Albertson's. We watched amusing shows on television and commented about how easily our generation is entertained.

I was amazed at how much time I'd spent with these people, not really knowing them, not really. But they didn't really know each other, either. We did have this in common: we loved Whigfield's dance anthem, Saturday Night.* At each of these gatherings, we'd play this song several times in a row, and do the line dance associated with it, faster and faster and faster until we were jumping in unison, double time.

We had lots of other places to go, and I would soon realize that San Diego wasn't the right place for me to be, but for that moment this house, whatever house it was, seemed like the right place to be, and these people seemed like the right ones to be near.

Wondering if those folks are still in SD now, and if they remember those strange days.

*It never caught on in the States, but was apparently huge in Belgium.

Why, Once Again, I Must Claim My Undying Love for John Mayer.

2008-05-27T23:54:00.002-04:00

I know, I know.

Jeux Avec Frontieres

2008-05-06T12:41:00.002-04:00

Jesus Christ. The death count from the Burmese cyclone is at 22,000, and probably way more than that, because how can you count when you don't have electricity, transportation, or communication? The military junta won't let aid workers have visas, while human suffering continues and the body count grows. Putting on my Captain Obvious hat here, but shouldn't suffering and death trump pride, and worries about the perception of hypocrisy, every time?

R.I.P., Eight Belles

2008-05-03T21:42:00.002-04:00

The spell was broken at the Derby today when Eight Belles went down on the track. Women in large hats were still high-fiving their men, and drinks were spilling on the seats. Slowly the realization made its way through the haze of mint and sugar-syrup that Death had come to Louisville on this fine May day.

The jockey's horror and sadness were plain as he leapt nimbly off the falling filly. The veterinarian's eyes were wet as he explained to the ESPN correspondent what had to be done.

Belles' run with the boys did us proud, just the same.

Stiff Green Gallop

2008-04-24T08:55:00.002-04:00

Jim Morrison's poetry spoke to me in high school. Today at the gym, I thought of Horse Latitudes, the Magnum opus of the drug-addled Southern California counterculture of the late '60s.

As I struggled to lift with my legs (and not blow a hammy), I looked up at the long line of cardio machines in front of me. All this human kinetic energy, and we can't even power the individual televisions attached to each machine. That's crazy. What do we do with all this useless beauty?

"Nobody with a Good Car Needs Religion"

2008-04-24T08:39:00.002-04:00

So says Hazel Motes, the holy fool of Flannery O'Connor's masterwork Wise Blood.

It's 72 degrees here in Boston right now, balmy for late April, and people are turning their furnaces off, opening their windows, and inhaling the incredibly sweet and fresh air. They're also staying out later at night, driving more erratically and doing a lot more reckless jaywalking. Yes, spring is here.

Feeling a little bit bedraggled coming home from work yesterday, I saw an incredible thing. It was a jacked-up El Camino with the American flag painted crassly across the hood. Revving its huge engine and waiting for the light to change, it seemed hopeful, anticipatory; an unexpected feature of the landscape.

It said, keep going.

Pictures of the Sky

2008-04-23T14:46:00.002-04:00

Mad propz again to Zefrank for pointing out the lovely work of one David Horvitz, whose pictures of the sky project I am enjoying quite a bit. I have been receiving these via email every few days.

There's some kind of simple delight in quotidian things.

I Love Boston

2008-04-02T10:19:00.002-04:00

Tuesday night, 10:17 p.m., WAAF 107.3 FM...

DJ: "Caller, you're on the air - what can I do ya for?"
Caller: "I gotta hear some Danzig."
DJ: "Nice. Which one?"
Caller: "Mother."
DJ: "Good call. What are you doing tonight?"
Caller: "Workin'. Thinkin' about my friend's mom."

Ack-sent-you-ate the positive...

2008-03-31T12:15:00.002-04:00

My friend Toby just pointed me to zefrank, a blog site where fans == "sports racers." Zefrank has been publishing video podcasts for quite-some-time which are very very amusing and insightful, delivered with deadly precision and intensity, in short staccato bursts.*

Just read a zefrank post on David Horvitz' work. Wow. I love the idea of the project proposals, which are delivered with such earnestness, you have to support it. I wish I lived near Valencia Street in San Francisco for this and other reasons - so that I could be standing, right now, in the middle of the street flapping my arms like a bird.

*I f'ing hate when people who work in technology casually drop the name of a lesser-known blog or type of functionality as if it's common parlance; when they/we assume everyone else knows what they/we are talking about. It perpetuates the intimidation factor and is counterproductive to our work. I'm definitely guilty of this, and it stops now.

Here Comes the Sun

2008-03-24T13:08:00.002-04:00

It's Dyngus Day, and I couldn't be happier. Not about the Polish spring-rites celebration, or the funny name; but just because the trees are budded out, the Baltimore oriole's nest from last year is almost falling off its branch (so I can pick it up when it does, and stash it somewhere for further examination), and the ground, while not green, is visible again.

Friends are starting seeds in containers for transplant in late May, after the last frost is surely past. I'm taking a day off this week to work in the attic and the basement, cleaning and organizing things into clear labeled bins. I saw two robins last week darting across the snow-tamped grass of the front lawn. The crocuses are up.

Even if it snows again this month, it's ok; we made it through.

DVR Has Outed Me

2008-03-20T16:13:00.003-04:00

I am truly a Connoisseur of Crap. My portion of the DVR hard drive is polluted with overtly staged mass-market melodramas, predigested and deposited, baby-bird style, into the fiberoptic stream for me to pluck out, gulp down, and belch up again throughout a given day:

Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew
High School Reunion (a TV Land Original Series)
My Fair Brady: Maybe Baby?
Scott Baio is 46 and Pregnant

I'd like to say that as a liberal-arts edumacated, thoughtful and erudite pontificator, I would have loftier pursuits. I do - I'm learning how to play banjo, after all - but at the end of the day, there's nothing like Keeping up with the Kardashians to help me remember why I'm alive. Now, Team of Therapists: I command you! Do your Work!

John Mayer is My Hero

2008-03-11T10:34:00.000-04:00

Balls out.

Sometimes Good Is Good

2008-03-10T18:40:00.003-04:00

JetBlue Airlines asked me today, in a customer survey, if I could imagine JetBlue Airlines as a person, is this someone:
-- I would really like
-- I would like a little bit
-- I would not really have an opinion about
-- I would find mildly annoying
-- I would detest

Now, here's an example of a blue-sky idea (pun intended) having no clear antecedent or context. The rest of the survey is straightforward questions about leg room, friendliness of the crew, etc.

I'm not sure if this creative and strange way of getting data from me is effective for JetBlue, but it definitely got me thinking. Probably because I'm here right now.

I voted for the "really like" option. I pictured my JetBlue 'person' looking like this.

Did the French Braid Go Out of Style?

2008-03-10T18:02:00.001-04:00

I think it did. I'm just checking.

I heart ICHC

2008-03-04T22:24:00.002-05:00

Five years later, I just discovered I Can Has Cheezburger Dot Com.

Onward and Downward (-14.5)

2008-02-25T22:32:00.001-05:00

Hey! My jeans fit again! And some of them are too big. Yay!

Checking Out

2008-02-19T10:17:00.003-05:00

File under: In A Bad Place

I've been dealing with some stressful work stuff, and also family stuff, and the thought crossed my mind today of "checking out." Don't get worried about me: it's not like THAT kind of checking out. I just meant, "a vacation from my problems." (Remember What about Bob??)

How awesome would it be to not be bothered by stupid, petty things, like why the guy down the hall gets his own office, and I'm stuck in cubeland? Why is everything I ever do, never going to be good enough? Why can I never be satisfied with what I have, which is a lot? Why did I get so angry with the Andersen Window Corporation yesterday?

I mean honestly, this is petty, quotidian shit. Who gives a rat's ass?! I can see how people become addicted to prescription drugs.

I'm going to focus my energy on becoming more doglike. I can see that if I don't use my powers for good, they will be used for evil.

Star Quality

2008-02-07T12:36:00.000-05:00

When I fly, I take lorazepam, a generic form of Valium. It helps assuage my otherwise crippling fear of death. Since I only fly maybe 5 or 6 times a year, refills routinely expire before I use up all the pills. I throw them out and call my doctor's assistant for a refill prior to my next adventure.

Getting 10 Valiums is a magical journey for me, an average or lower-than-average consumer. Yet, reports indicate that Heath Ledger was taking 6 medications at the time of his death:

oxycodone
Vicodin
Valium
temazepam and doxylamine (sedatives)
Xanax

What doctor, or doctors, prescribed this lethal-in-low-doses cocktail?

Everyone that came up in the 'hood, can bowl and roll.

2008-01-31T22:32:00.000-05:00

So says Snoop's "honorary son" on the obviously staged, but oddly compelling Snoop Dogg's Fatherhood. Check local listings.

More Evidence that John Mayer is Worthy of My Affections

2008-01-26T09:48:00.000-05:00

He went to see Hanna Montana. The only way this button-flyed dreamboat can do wrong by me is to become a Scientologist.

Freeballin'

2008-01-24T17:22:00.001-05:00

Tags: TooMuchInfo

I know what you're going to say. "Lisa: boys won't like us unless we wear tiny, ill-fitting butt-garments!" While clearly it is sometimes necessary to bust out the goods, and mom-bras are to be avoided, on any given Tuesday, you might prefer to be wearing some underwear that is, let's say, a bit on the larger side. I'm not talking granny panties here, people; I'm just talking about full coverage.

Do not despair; while it is difficult to walk the line between kittenish and septuagenarian in the drawers area, the balance can be achieved.

On a related note: tights with built-ins. Why?

On another related topic: NO underwear. Other than Britney, who does that? I mean, I know some people do. But I've got to have my business in order.

My girls, are you with me?

It's Good to be Tom Brady

2008-01-22T08:52:00.000-05:00

What a hilarious, testosterone-injected year we're having here in the U.S. Tom Brady has managed to impregnate TWO supermodels this year, and led his team to the Super Bowl yet again. The nation is up in arms as he limps to Gisele Bundchen's apartment with some flowers in hand. Boo hoo. Meanwhile, the body count in Iraq grows to nearly 4,000 souls.

Cajun Style

2008-01-16T10:13:00.001-05:00

james_carville1
Originally uploaded by cubanista411

I've become fascinated with the people behind the curtain: campaign strategists. How does one get a gig like this? Seems to require at least this:

1. Some kind of business success or renown.
2. Media savvy (dur).
3. Distinguishing physical characteristics (baldness, pronounced accent).
4. A funny name.

Witness:
Dave "Mudcat" Saunders
Karl "Boom Boom" Rove
And the crawdaddy of them all, James "Ragin' Cajun" Carville.

Evening News

2008-01-09T16:51:00.001-05:00

cnn
Originally uploaded by cubanista411

No wonder our world is filled with pessimism, doubt and fear. Look at the headlines today, any given Wednesday. Did anything GOOD happen today?!

I don't know about you...

2008-01-03T22:19:00.000-05:00

Is anyone reading this siding with the tiger?

45.996N, -68.446W

2008-01-03T22:06:00.000-05:00

Me and Dad
Sprawled on the picnic table looking at the stars one night.

It was midsummer and Dad was midstory
Trying to remember a word
Describing when a hen has laid a number of eggs
But not enough yet

She stays on the nest for 21 days until they all hatch at once
I knew the word
It was "broody"

Dad was impressed that I knew it
I was eight
We were connected
Then, as now,
by this obscurity

Fascination

2008-01-02T11:38:00.000-05:00

That's all I can call it. I don't know what to think of Benazir Bhutto: not enough information. This timeline, while hard to use, provides some interesting stuff. So far:

1. I don't know enough about her politics, but wow! She went to Radcliffe!
2. She set her sights on becoming Prime Minister and BECAME PRIME MINISTER. Twice.

Shit, I can lose 60 pounds then, can't I?!

Buffalo Bill's

2007-12-27T08:55:00.000-05:00

Buffalo Bill's
defunct
who used to
ride a watersmooth-silver
stallion
and break onetwothreefourfive pigeonsjustlikethat
Jesus

he was a handsome man
and what i want to know is
how do you like your blueeyed boy
Mister Death

-- e.e. cummings

During a holiday visit fraught with the usual mix of humor and pathos, my mother casually mentioned this tragic story from my hometown. During our November outing, she brought up a recent story about a woman who leapt off the Androscoggin Dam to her death. This recounting of the recent spectacular local tragedies both depresses and annoys me; as a person having lived most of my adult life so far in the city, these stories barely seem to warrant a mention on the local news, and only the most macabre and fascinating get billing on CNN.com. One artifact of rural life seems to be the sporadic, astoundingly AWFUL news story that pervades the nightmares of good people leading an otherwise quiet existence. These stories live in my memory too: the little girl whose father burned her to death in the oven while her sister hid under the bed; the carful of teenagers rear ended and run over by a semi truck on the highway; the high-school accident that claimed the life of my grade-school crush, Chad Nickerson.

All so stupid, so unnecessary. The absurdity and ridiculousness of it angers me. I don't like to talk about the dead. But to some, doing that is honoring them, remembering them as they would maybe prefer to be remembered; not as part of a grisly scene involving the spookily named Jaws of Life, but as a person with thoughts, dreams, flaws, a preference for mayo or mustard, etc.

I guess this is one of many differences between the life I've chosen to lead and the one my parents have chosen for themselves. It's also a difference in the way we choose to deal with death. I don't know what's healthier, but I'm not sure that question is really relevant.

Good Lord.

2007-12-21T09:27:00.001-05:00

Silly girls
Originally uploaded by cubanista411

My 36th birthday proved to be an extended throwdown this year, with a three-day celebration culminating at Margarita's, where this scene could be observed. We cleared the entire back wing of the restaurant with our tomfoolery. At one point, the giant button flew off my hat and almost impaled our timid waiter, Keith. None of us will be quite the same.

We got to keep the hats!

The Genius that is Maxtone Witherball

2007-12-17T23:06:00.000-05:00

When wistfully searching Amazon and hoping against hope that Andy Richter Controls the Universe will FINALLY be released on DVD, Brad encountered a review by one Maxtone Witherball. Sometimes serious and often hilarious, Witherball's Amazon reviews cover a $119 butter dish, a serving platter he does not, in fact, own, and, of course, the Richter show. Good stuff.

Names I Immediately Looked up in the Mitchell Report and Was Happy Not to Find

2007-12-13T17:42:00.001-05:00

Ortiz
Schilling
Lowell
Varitek

Greetings, Rock Warriors

2007-12-12T14:52:00.001-05:00

You haven't heard about this guy, but he and his (apparent) legions of followers can't be wrong; get thee to the Newbury pick up the An-THOR-logy tout suite. You won't be disappointed.

There's something incredibly innocent about hard rock in 2007. Know what I mean?

Why I Know My Obsession with John Mayer is Becoming Slightly Unhealthy

2007-12-06T08:26:00.000-05:00

1. I kind of care who he's dating!

2. I read his blog a fair amount. He, in turn, is obsessed with high-end watches. I know this, but I can't remember multivariate algebra, or how to find the area under a curve.

3. I buy each and every record, though the singles are hideously overplayed on terrestrial radio.

4. I tried to petition friends to go see him play at a huge arena with... wait for it... Maroon 5.

5. I'm 35 years old.

Gone, Missing

2007-12-05T08:52:00.000-05:00

This story just keeps getting stranger. Theories:

1. Went crazy.

2. Fraudulent death claim to collect life insurance.

3. Just kind of checked out. Probably went to an island country somewhere, a former colony with a loose infrastructure and few rules. Why?
a. Sick of rat race.
b. Bad investment choices.
c. Girl trouble.
d. Unhealthy addictions or habits.

Polka Time with Ed Targonski

2007-11-27T15:14:00.000-05:00

The communities of South Hadley, Easthampton, and Pittsfield, Massachusetts, among others, have apparently enjoyed for years the musical stylings of regional Polka King* Ed Targonski. During a recent road-trip, the band and I were entranced by public access TV airings of these shows, culled together from Targonski's apparently vast archives of polka-party footage from the late 1980s and early 1990s. Ed and his entire family took turns hosting these broadcasts, which mostly cover the Western Massachusetts area, focusing on Pulaski Park, the epicenter of all things Western Mass. Polka (apparently). Ed, who must be in his eighties at this point, thoughtfully replied to Clint's request for materials, which was hastily handwritten on hotel stationery, with a parcel post chockablock full of DVDs and a typewritten letter. I can't wait to read what Ed had to say to his newest bespectacled fan.

Had I the capability, I would write a song about Ed. I can't do it without sounding hokey and ironic.

*I say "regional" because the international title clearly belongs to Jimmy Sturr and his orchestra. Look, Mom! More Grammys than Britney!

Thanksgiving Highlights

2007-11-26T13:18:00.001-05:00

perfunctorily
Originally uploaded by cubanista411

-- Took on significant water in a pontoon boat on the Intercoastal Waterway.
-- Ate pulled pork smoked in Don Henley's barbecue. (Yup, that one.)
-- Saw this, back in Cambridge.
Perfunctorily? It means this.

For the Love of Wasiu

2007-11-20T10:46:00.000-05:00

There's still hope.

Pop Magic

2007-11-16T22:43:00.000-05:00

Coming soon to an iTunes near you...

They asked me if I'd go out to the laser show
Heard about it on the radio
Now here we are in steaming summer

Lasers can shape your corneal contour
But they can't make poor Emerson Lake and Palmer better

Is something wrong when I'm not put off by this?
The stars shine onto Petty Floyd and Kiss

Cause I've got an awkward smile
Just right for nights like this

Plastic cups and pent up discontent
I try not to forget just where my keys and I.D. are
The beams bend and curve, all of the strains are heard
Familiar refrains emerge from "Urgent" into "Drive My Car"

Shouts of irony turned serious
We have been severed from our moorings
What we shared has been made clear to us
Out of the night into the morning

The lights come on, people move along
It's just us and these old songs here in FM ecstasy
Lasers are useful for tattoo removal
But to be truthful, you can't improve on nights like these

Amusing MySpaces (from my er... Extended Network)

2007-11-15T13:02:00.000-05:00

The God Damn Doo Wop Band.

Are You Suggesting I Fondue Your Vagina?

She Touched It

Musings.

2007-11-14T10:45:00.001-05:00

I sit near a bona fide secretary at work. Old skool. I love it.

Will all the climbers on this season's "Everest: Beyond the Limit" make it down the mountain? What motivates these mf's, anyway?

It's business time.

My parents are getting older. So am I.

I love the interwebs. My friend is dating someone she met through a social networking site for Ag students. It's the cutest thing ever.

Found some great van porn in South Hadley MA over the long weekend.

Brad's band played in Northampton at the PopFest. It was great fun. We tore that shit up.

OJ is F'd

2007-11-13T16:38:00.000-05:00

So this guy's testifying that OJ told him to "bring some heat." Hoo boy. This sure doesn't sound good for our star running back, does it?!

Honoring and Letting Go

2007-11-12T15:17:00.000-05:00

Things have been really tough at work lately, so I decided to make (yet another) change. My friend Bill has been working with me on the honoring lessons/letting go thing. It's been hugely beneficial, but I'm still pretty angry and sad about what happened to me. Trying to just breathe in, breathe out.

Guitar Hero 3

2007-11-01T21:26:00.000-04:00

Brad's Guitar Hero 3 name is Lars Umlaut. His band is the Dumslutz. At the moment he is wailing away at Poison's "Talk Dirty to Me." The legitimate Boston pop scene would be horrified. Don't tell anybody.

Bloody Compression Socks and Memories... and other Sox stuff

2007-10-29T10:52:00.000-04:00

Say whatever you want about Curt Schilling. I don't agree with his politics or his stance on, well, any issues, really, but I still admire his dedication to the game and his insistence on keeping his 38 pitches blog going in the face of a number of other time commitments (and much vituperation from fans and non-fans).

Last night's post is indicative of the view of Schilling as a person that makes me a fan. It might later be read as a sign-off, depending on decisions re: Schill's contract. He says he's up for one more year, though, and it would be fitting to let him retire in Bawston, if you ask me. But you didn't.

You also didn't ask me about Mike Lowell, but I'm'a tell you anyway - YAY and double YAY for the Series MVP moniker. Lowell is a great utility player - the way Phil Hartman was on Saturday Night Live - and he should get credit as such. To think he was a ridealong on another trade! Now he's a hot commodity, and the Sox will have to pony up to keep him.

I keep forgetting that the Sox are the second-highest-paying franchise in Major League Baseball. They still seem like scrappy homeboys to me. I guess that's successful marketing, I don't know. I love that dirty water...

Fun with PhotoBooth

2007-10-28T19:40:00.000-04:00

While Brad jumps around in the living room, playing DDR on the Wii, I'm sitting here musing that (a) the meatloaf whose aroma is currently wafting out of the oven has way too many ingredients, and (2) that I love my new MacBook... Over at Adaptive Path, the theme seems to be that good design is king/queen. Echoing my previous blog-sentiments, things, especially those you use every day, should be useful. The most impressive thing about this machine is its magnetic power supply plug. It's just nice to know that things have already been thunk of.

Silliness here as we goofed with PhotoBooth during Game Three last night.

Novel Ideas

2007-10-25T13:40:00.000-04:00

1. Sao Paulo favela dweller
2. The Importance of Being Ernestine
3. Luddites with long beards
4. Missives from Maine (epistolary)

Redsox Dancefest

2007-10-22T10:25:00.001-04:00

This is why.

Now, That's Just Sad

2007-10-01T21:44:00.000-04:00

This just in from CNN.com re: Britney Spears having lost custody of her two sons:
"After her September 9 'comeback' performance on the MTV Video Music Awards, critics derided her singing and dancing as lackluster and said she appeared overweight in her sequined two-piece costume."

For God's sake, Britney, move to friggin' Idaho and raise your kids there. There are ways to do this under the radar! This problem is really solvable. Yes, the locals will gawk at you for a while, but then you'll become part of the fabric, and they'll leave you alone.

I don't know what is sadder: this poor hillbilly shooting star, or the people (like me) writing about her. I don't want to be part of it so I'll end it here.

After I post this.

Who's the Boom King? Bret's the Boom King.

2007-09-26T13:14:00.001-04:00

Open Letter to Me from the Scotts Fertilizer Company

2007-09-26T13:06:00.000-04:00

9/26/07 11:01 am

Earlier this year, you shared with us your comments regarding litigation between Scotts and TerraCycle. We respect your thoughts and opinions on the lawsuit. To help keep you updated on recent activity, we wanted to let you know that TerraCycle and Scotts reached a settlement agreement last week. The announcement was made in a joint news release, which is included below for your reference.

In the settlement, TerraCycle recognized that Scotts brought the case based on a valid need to ensure truth in advertising and agreed that it will stop claiming that TerraCycle products are superior to Miracle-Gro. More specifically, TerraCycle has agreed that it will not claim that its products are better than, or more effective than, or as good as Miracle-Gro products. Additionally, TerraCycle may not claim that any independent tests or university studies were conducted to support any such claims.

In terms of the trade dress, the Court recognized that the Miracle-Gro trade dress is a strong and famous trademark. TerraCycle has agreed to change its packaging so it will not use a green and yellow color combination, for which Miracle-Gro owns a trademark registration.

While there was a fair amount of publicity regarding the litigation, we felt it important to make you aware of the merits and outcome of the case. Scotts appreciates businesses like TerraCycle and the products they bring to the lawn and garden marketplace. We wish Mr. Szaky and his colleagues much success in the future.

Su Lok
The Scotts Miracle-Gro Company

Fear and Loathing in Watertown

2007-09-25T21:05:00.000-04:00

So my friend who's studying to be a Shaman is helping me a lot these days. I've been in a bad place with work stuff -- what else is new, one might ask -- and we've done some healing work which I have found extremely helpful. Today I learned a relaxation technique that was really helpful. I've also been working on "cutting the cords," as my friend says, getting rid of the cords people attach to me in vulnerable spots.

It's amazing how much of my life is dominated by fear, worry, and self-doubt. How wonderful to think it doesn't have to be that way.

Forro After Dark

2007-09-17T22:51:00.000-04:00

Despite NPR's approval, I love this band Forro in the Dark. Brad and I caught them opening up for Bebel Gilberto at the Paradise tonight. Had to leave during Bebel's overwrought, painfully hip set, which even with Forro backing her up was too much to take; but the first hour and a half of the night was all tenor flute, bongos, bass and bounce. Apparently FITD are getting a lot of attention since David Byrne sat in w/them at SXSW this year - and well deserved.

I love the Boston Brazilian music crowds, coming out of the woodwork for somewhat rare performances like this. Similar fun was had in a much larger room when Juan Luis Guerra came to the Agannis last winter.

It's Business Time

2007-09-17T22:49:00.000-04:00

I am WAY into this show right now. I'm making you click this link to figure out what I'm talking about. Do it do it do it.

Not the Demo

2007-09-05T21:41:00.000-04:00

Until I'm 49, when this will be no longer amusing, but just sad, n.b. the following two items, in reverse order of importance:
1. I'm already hooked on the Real World: Sydney.
2. I'm worried about what's happening with Owen Wilson. I don't know the guy, but I admire his work and feel sad that he's not well.

30 Rock

2007-09-04T20:47:00.000-04:00

... well, rocks. Just got Season One on DVD and looking away just long enough to write this. The extras aren't great, but the show's great enough. Check it.

Us People

2007-08-27T22:55:00.001-04:00

In times of trouble, when I'm not near a local Target store, I have been known to buy a copy of People, Us Weekly, or even OK! magazine. I hide them deep in a grocery bag full of girly items, which Brad would not deign to unpack; then I dart away as soon as possible to enjoy 20 minutes of unfettered K-Fed, Brangelina, Camilla and Charles, etc.

The (only) slightly less embarrassing version of this is Vanity Fair, which I have shamelessly and openly read cover to cover each month since 1997. I quote loudly for anyone in hearing range the latest bons mots from Nick Tosches, my literary and journalistic hero; I summarize the salient points from the salubrious words of that cranky expat, Christopher Hitchens; I devour the exotic witticisms of the unnecessarily hunky and sensuously named Sebastian Junger. But none of these can compare to the creme de la creme of this fussy periodical: the diary of one Dominick Dunne.

Each month, or whenever he's not otherwise occupied, we get a taste of intrigue from the recesses of Old Hollywood, bits of testimony from current celebrity courtroom hoo-hahs (this month, word from the Phil Spector trial), and accounts of you-had-to-be-there events involving foreign dignitaries and wives of the captains of industry.

Why, you may ask yourself, does a sub-Ivy liberal arts graduate with a promising future occupy herself with these things? I suspect that there are more of you out there than just me, who can't bring themselves to subscribe, but who are disappointed when the hairdresser is finally ready for them.

Ratted Up

2007-08-27T22:47:00.000-04:00

I love the expression "ratted-up" to describe hair. You know it, don't you? Not the dreadlock look - this is a '50s, '60s thing; when you went out, you ratted up your hair around the sides, and pouffed it up on top.

Goog is surprisingly little help here. You'll just have to picture it, or remember it.

There Goes the Neighborhood

2007-08-19T19:02:00.000-04:00

Good God, where have I been? you may be asking yourself. Probably not, though. I'll answer anyway: moving. Dealing with plumbers and electricians. Unpacking shit and not knowing where to put it. Feeling unnaturally emotionally attached to an electronic weather station. Dreading another trip to Home Depot. Flaming out my credit card. Looking at the stairs, wondering why I never noticed the alarming angle they've settled to. Bemoaning the orange carpet on the third floor. Closing the fridge with a satisfying thwep.

Being a homeowner again.

Crossing That Bridge

2007-07-29T22:45:00.001-04:00

Well, our time at the Staybridge is winding down - time to start cleaning our own bathrooms again. No more overchlorinated swim-time; no more questionable, but free, breakfasts. We're moving into our new house in 4 days, and we're ready. What a strange summer it's been.

On the up side, we've done lots of carefree (summer) things this year - played Marco Polo in the pool, watched the fireworks over a lake in New Hampshire on the 4th of July, gone to the beach and eaten fried clams.

But it's time to resume the happy bone-tired-ness of homeownership once again. I'm going to rest up and wait for the movers and the cable guy. And the asbestos guy. And the refrigerator guy.

And I Quote...

2007-07-29T22:43:00.000-04:00

"I've been keeping this fucking blog for a year and a half!"
-- Yours Truly, 10:42 p.m.

Plot Summaries of Elvis Movies, #1: "The Trouble with Girls," 1969

2007-07-20T20:27:00.000-04:00

Elvis plays head honcho Walter Hale, manager of Chautauqua - a travelling show of performances, entertainment, acting and lectures in the 1920s. But when the show-business hopefuls' acts are disrupted by small-town prejudice and politics, will it be curtains for everyone involved?

Denizens of Places Named by Marketing People

2007-07-01T21:40:00.001-04:00

Like many who have made their living as consultants, I find myself ensconced (literally, surrounded by sconces) in the liminal place between home and home, the not-this, not-that of the suitcase existence. For some this is a comfort zone, anonymous and noncommittal; for others, it's a trial. I'm somewhere in between these two extremes, in my hovel at the literal-mindedly-named Staybridge Suites.

The cats climb on piles of boxes while I self-medicate with a pint of (low-fat!) Ben and Jerry's. DVDs of Ben Stiller films and last week's issue of Rolling Stone cover the veneered coffee table. I take two baths and one shower per day, plus swimming in the pool. I am waterlogged and desperate, giddy and exhilarated about the future, all at once. I am overloaded on fresh berries. I have flipped too many channels. My bed is ridiculously large. I have too many pairs of pants, folded up in drawers in the spare bedroom.

My fellow transitional tenants act out too, in poolside tantrums, fitness-center snits, and laundry-room tiffs. We eat too many paninis at the sundowner hour on Tuesdays through Thursdays from 4:30 to 6:30 p.m.. We imagine ourselves in the next, similar transitional existence in which cereal is dispensed in large hoppers with turn-crank doors - that of the nursing home or rehabilitation center, where we will spend our own sundowner hours, days, weeks. Frightened by this spectre, we dry off our chlorined, pruney legs and toss our towels in piles on the commercial rugs. We leave our trash in the halls. We eat french fries and wait, wait.

Paul McCartney is Still Hot Hot Hot

2007-06-11T20:40:00.000-04:00

... at 60-plus, because he (seems like he) is a Good Man. Think about it, girls.

Press 1 if You're a Big, Sweaty Ass Wipe

2007-06-11T20:32:00.000-04:00

Greetings from the Seventh Circle of Customer Service Hell.

In changing our address with the numerous purveyors of utilities and magazines, I've had to navigate some interesting phone menus. In my day-to-day work I concern myself (in the big picture) with connecting customers with content - in helping them to buy things. Consequently I've come to expect a certain level of expediency in my own transactions, whether the result is information or products. I'm consistently disappointed in the user experience of these automated phone menus, though I understand the need to automate triage of routine calls.

My question is, what about calling a magazine to change one's address is NOT routine? What self-respecting publisher doesn't have this as one of the first options? What the eff else am I calling Cook's Illustrated about - that their scone recipe last month was a bust? Why do I have to enter my account number in the Keyspan system before I can get a rep, whose first question after a five-minute wait is "account number, please?" Why do I need to know my subscriber number to enter a site to change my address? What if I don't know that number? Why do I have to enter my name and address in three instances of the Conde Net database to change my address for the New Yorker, Vanity Fair, and Domino?

As someone whose gig is the reduction of redundant data in the world, and the disambiguation of processes surrounding technology that's supposed to be helpful, this is cruel and unusual.

Edentulous

2007-06-09T19:34:00.000-04:00

I had to have a mold of my teeth made for a nightguard that I wear at night. I had chewed through the last one so they made me a hard plastic one that I'm now working on. When I was packing some of the stuff downstairs I was horrified to find that I'd saved the plaster cast of my teeth that they gave me, inexplicably, once the nightguard was ready. What did I think I was going to do with those ghastly things, except scare myself when I found them again? Now a ghoulish reminder of my unique identity sits atop my desk, just in case I forget who I am.

Packing and Grinning

2007-05-29T12:44:00.001-04:00

I found myself indoors this weekend, lovely weather notwithstanding, putting fancy dishes and wedding gifts we rarely use in double-walled boxes, well secured with brown packing tape. As the dulcet sonic tableaux of Richard and Linda Thompson moved by apace on the old Harman Kardon, my thoughts turned to the unknown circumstances in which I might unpack these boxes again - what light of day will they next see?

Catching-and-releasing the melodrama and unnecessary angst associated with this thought, after a packing stint I went outside to finish a novel I've been reading, which deals with the end of the line for an advertising agency and its carping denizens. In the book, when real life events threaten the petty cube-to-cube existence of the protagonists, they resort to ever more ridiculous antics (that closely resemble my experience of dealing with change in a corporate environment).

I'm wondering if I can successfully jockey the work stress and big changes at home stress so that I worry about just one thing at a time. Whose life is like that though?

Te Voila Reparti

2007-05-23T07:23:00.000-04:00

The side of my Spongebob Squarepants Band-Aid box tells me, in French, that I will be delivered. I hope so.

We've been in the seventh circle of condo-selling and house-buying for the past few weeks. We're in the eighth circle now, having booked a suite in a Residence Inn-type place for June 28 to whenever... the closing on our condo is at the end of June, but we have not found a place to live after that yet. The market is crazy and the experience of identifying, mapping, and visiting potential houses is an exhausting roller coaster. It's great, I love it. Oh, it has carpenter ant damage? Oh, it's on a huge hill I'll never get up or down in the winter time? Oh, it's built on an Indian burial ground? Yes, we've heard all that and more.

I realize that complaining about an activity that is not available to a lot of people in 2007 who have good jobs is the height of hypocrisy. We have chosen this path, after all. Or, it chose us, as an object lesson in patience and managing one's frustration with a situation out of one's control.

During my latest crying jag about this last night, Manny hit a 3-run homer, and I was once again reminded of the healing powers of professional baseball. And, that all this doesn't really matter that much - I have a home, wherever it is.

Open Letter to the Scotts Fertilizer Company

2007-05-17T21:27:00.000-04:00

Consumer type: Home Gardener
Grass type: Fescue, Kentucky Bluegrass, dandelion greens, crabgrass

Hello,

I understand you are suing the Terracycle Company, a $1.5 million concern founded by college students, whose business model includes reclaiming used soda bottles to package an organic crop-enhancement material. As a longtime consumer of your synthetic fertilizer products, I must respectfully request that you cease this baseless litigation. Terracycle's packaging is clearly distinct from yours. The market share you enjoy is not threatened by this small company whose goal is to establish more conscientious choices for gardening consumers.

Thanks for your time.

L.S.M.

The Fifth Dentist

2007-04-25T18:50:00.000-04:00

In an email to some folks today, I inadvertently found myself reciting from memory the back of the Crest toothpaste tube: "Crest has been shown to be an effective decay-preventive dentifrice when used in a conscientiously applied program of oral hygiene and regular professional care." (Don't ask me how I wove that little gem in.)

An extroverted child with no siblings to torment, I used to stand in front of the mirror and practice this speech, as if I were in a Crest commercial, and as if the people paying good money for prime-time advertising would think that was a good use of the precious seconds they'd bought. I imagined that this ability to recite something completely inane from memory, while smiling, would lead eventually to a career as a news anchor. Alack, here I am without such a career; no recollection of the concept of stoichiometrics, or the formula for calculating the area under a curve, but the memory of these exceedingly meaningless words persists.

As I typed this stupid sentence into an email today, it occurred to me: what happened to that fifth dentist?? Four out of five dentists surveyed indicated that Crest has been shown to be an effective... yada yada, but what did that fifth guy say? Was he unhappy with his modest stipend, paid to him in return for brushing his teeth once or twice with the concoction? What was the nature of this survey, anyway? How were the survey results aggregated? Were just five dentists surveyed? Was the sample statistically significant?

These are the questions that plague my mind now, ones that remind me that I'm grown up.

Crystal Light

2007-04-23T20:16:00.000-04:00

So I'm down 20 pounds now, which is a good thing. A long way to go, and I thought the shrimp lo mein would do me in, but here I am, pants hanging low around my waist, time to get some new clothes.

I ascribe a great deal of my dieting success to Crystal Light, sweet elixir of the goddesses who graced '80s nighttime soaps. Why this and not Tab, if I'm going for a 20-years-old dieting trend, you ask? Well, the pesky carbonation, if you must know, can have a bloating effect. I like to keep it lean and mean, no bubbles in my way. Just that sweet powder, the OTHER one from that era, that takes your breath away should you inadvertently inhale it while mixing in a large Rubbermaid pitcher with splash-free spout.

Rebecca clued me in to a real find: the 7-11 on JFK street in Harvard Square, where if you can get past the guy asking for change on the corner holds the holy grail of diet drinks: the Crystal Light slurpee. O yes, it can be yours for a mere dollar-ninety-eight: the raspberry lemonade quiescently frozen little dollop of heaven. I've contemplated making the trip to Hvd Sq just to get one of these, people. Hasn't happened yet, but I won't rule it out.

My dedication to organic products and my new obsession with quinoa notwithstanding, when push comes to shove, it's Crystal that gets me through. That old girl.

Hills and Bills

2007-04-23T20:08:00.000-04:00

I studiously avoid the political, in this blog and in life. But I kind of forgot these two were married...?!

2007-04-15T19:38:00.000-04:00

This just in from Cute Overload:

I tried this with my cat and ... it didn't work out.

On Despicable Behavior; Or, What Is Wrong with People?

2007-04-10T20:45:00.000-04:00

Two items, to wit:
1. This gem from radio host Don Imus... How does one come back from this kind of commentary? Can contrition be sincere when it's directed by a publicity team? Other recent examples include the Michael Richards onstage heckler freakout and the bigoted remarks by an actor on the set of a TV show. These people met with members of the community they offended. Was all made better? Was anything made better?

2. Photographer and playa-apparent Larry Birkhead, newly announced as the father of Anna Nicole Smith's baby, raising his arms at the requisite press conference as if the champion of, what? Parenthood out of wedlock? Sycophantic attachment to fame?

Slaps on the wrist and a meeting with Al Sharpton don't make our world a better place. Hit these people where it really hurts - in the wallet. They should slink into obscurity, which to them is the real anathema.

Amusing Real-Estate Phrases

2007-04-05T09:48:00.000-04:00

"Well treed"
"Newer roof" (newer than the old one?)
"Fully applianced"

Things I'd Pay Good Money For

2007-04-02T14:04:00.000-04:00

1. A stretching area at the gym
2. Underwear that fit well, but don't look gigantic
3. Reserved seats at the movies
4. Constant, unsolicited reassurance

Lost Weight, Hard-Won

2007-03-19T14:57:00.000-04:00

I'm down 10.5 pounds from 2/19, one month ago, the day I started my horrifying Zone diet. It's been really hard, as I've discovered the difference between "being hungry" and "wanting food." Food is good, god-dammit. It's hard to think of it as only fuel.

I have to disassociate "going to the gym" with "deserving pizza." And I have to disassociate being thin with being unhappy, and being fat with being happy. This is the way it is with certain cultural and religious iconography, after all... (I'm thinking of the numerous statues of the Buddha, whose attained Nirvana apparently comes with it a certain gastronomic recklessness. But maybe these things no longer matter once you find the Lotus Way.)

I have to change this way of thinking, and learn to love Crystal Light. Despite my recent tendencies toward more natural foods and greener choices, this fact remains, that I will require large quantities of aspartame in the short term. If it means that overall I get healthier, then so be it. Here's my koan: what is the sound of one dry-roasted almond falling into a tiny Tupperware container? There is no answer. I catch it before it falls.

Sine of the Times

2007-03-11T15:32:00.000-04:00

Despite a bad cough I've developed over the last week, I made the pilgrimage on Thursday night in below-zero wind-chill weather to see one of my folk heroes, Utah Phillips, perform at Passim. Utah is an activist and labor organizer, former hobo and rail rider. He has made his living since the '60s as a folk singer based in Nevada City, California. A bum ticker has kept him closer to home in recent years, and he's 72 years old, so I didn't want to miss this tour.

He sang the familiar railroad ballads as well as some ditties he'd written for his three kids when they were little, one of whom, grown now and a labor organizer herself, was in attendance at the gig, along with Utah's wife, Joanna. Audience participation at a Utah gig is mandatory, in keeping with the folk traditions he's worked so hard to keep going. The very least we can do is sing along, actually. So I did, between coughs, keep time with the Cambridge folkies beside me, their breath reeking of goat cheese and organic pitas. The songs were often comprised of melancholy lyrics set to a jaunty banjo rhythm, which Utah picked out nimbly from the club's tiny stage.

Utah's four decades of folk singing and rabble-rousing have seen lots of change, and most of it not for the better. I find comfort packed into this little Cambridge basement club with the folding chairs: while our country is going through its darkest days in some time, we've been here before, haven't we? Dylan plugged in; the Apollo missions nearly failed; Kennedy got shot; Lennon died in Central Park; oil prices skyrocketed; the towers fell. The sine wave is just at its nadir, and I have hope that the pendulum will swing the other way again. For now, like Utah in HIS darkest days, I'm staying close to the ground and keeping my head up. Is anybody here with me?

21 Hours in Brooklyn

2007-03-04T20:02:00.001-05:00

Okay Thursday played the Magnetic Field in Brooklyn this past weekend. Since I'm learning Flickr, here are some highlights:

We stayed in someone's apartment that qualifies as a B&B in Park Slope. I'm not a good B&B person, but this was a cool place, with an odd layout and really high punched-tin ceilings.

This was the Cosby Show neighborhood that we stayed in. It was super nice with tons of dogs and babies in strollers everywhere.

The band rocked. Hipsters were duly impressed.

The band took photos in a little photo booth inside the club. I was elsewhere nursing some Basil Hayden's.

On Saturday morning, we had an amazing breakfast at the 2nd St. Cafe (2nd and 7th Avenue in Park Slope) and headed up the hill to Prospect Park. There was a small farmers' market goin' on. A coughing Rebecca took this photo while we squinted into the noonday sun.

We returned to Boston in the twilight under a lunar eclipse and settled in for a long night of Sonic on the Wii, followed by the Wallace and Gromit movie "Curse of the Were-Rabbit." That's hard to beat.

Odd Jobs, part 2

2007-02-28T21:20:00.000-05:00

The flipside of today's Janus-faced post is a clipping from the Bangor, Maine paper that my Dad included with his latest letter. It's an ad for contract logging workers in northern Maine. A feller-buncher operator in Fort Kent, Maine can get work at $13.00 an hour operating one of these fascinating machines. Time and a half after 40 hours; housing, transportation and equipment are provided at no cost. Wages, of course, are subject to change.

The sticky note on the clipping, written in my Dad's inimitable scrawl, says "Dangerous, away-from-home job opportunities. Wage scale is great for woodsworkers, isn't it?"

Coming from a stock of woodsworkers and wartime factory laborers as I do, I'm the second generation of college-educated and highly paid white collar executives in my family. I have a faded picture of my great-grandfather sitting on a rocking chair in a logging camp. He's smiling, probably because he's done for the day.

I'm proud of where I come from, and sometimes embarrassed by the outward signs of my own success. I know what I do is labor, too, but less physically demanding, and probably rewarding in different ways. It's hard to think about someone operating heavy machinery for 8 hours every day, for many years. But it's equally hard to think about someone sitting in a cube or in meetings for that long, too.

Terry Loves Toilets

2007-02-28T21:08:00.000-05:00

I know it goes without saying, gentle reader, but there are some truly odd jobs out there. My current fascination with the Discovery Channel show "Dirty Jobs," and its slick everyman host (who's a cartoon version of Joe Six-pack) notwithstanding, I've been counting my little worky-blessings in the last days and weeks relative to what is, as they say, Out There.

Witness one Terry Love, plumber extraordinaire and toilet enthusiast, who's provided a helpful overview of several popular consumer and commercial-grade toilets. Terry gives the poop on the finer points of several brands, having (helpfully) tested them in his own home. No miso paste here, people! Terry's four evaluation criteria are:
1. plug resistance
2. completeness of flush
3. perception of sound levels
4. price
While the colorfully named "soiree" and "carlisle" models do present a strong showing, it's the Toto Ultramax that really brings home the bacon. Or, takes it away. Reader comments in Terry's Toilet Forum say it all.

What I Did Last Summer

2007-02-20T20:17:00.000-05:00

Well, really in the past week or two...

1. Entered the Zone
2. Attended a bluegrass music festival
3. Shoveled the sidewalk
4. Watched "I, Robot" for the 45th time
5. Marveled at the decrepitude of Modern Celebrity
6. Contemplated the loveliness of honey mustard
7. Rediscovered pickles
8. Practiced my banjo rolls
9. Heard Brad's band at the Milky Way
10. Stretched

Flotsam and Jetsam

2007-02-12T10:36:00.000-05:00

I haven’t sat through an awards show in several years, so I decided to give our new sofa a try and endure that Super Bowl for People subscribers, the Grammys.

The Police, poised for their comeback tour, made the audacious choice of the oddly compelling “Roxanne” to kick things off. Their sparse presentation thankfully lacked the pomp and circumstance of a gyrating Ricky Martin number. They looked and sounded great. Even the people besides the kids they hire to stand in the front and wave their arms around wildly, waved their arms around wildly. I’d probably pay $150 a ticket to see them perform live. Which is, of course, the intended result.

I forgot what a marketing-palooza these awards shows are. The Chevy commercials featuring 8-time nominee Mary J. Blige were especially ubiquitous. And not one, but two performances by Ms. Blige (whom I call Bilge) precluded the broadcast of many awards considered to be of lesser interest to the average consumer. I watched the ticker that appeared at the bottom of the screen during the bumper sequences for awards relating to the music I actually care about. This is sad.

Other lowlights to me were:

1. A painfully long volley of Eagles covers between Carrie Underwood and CMT-manufactured band Rascall Flatts. Highly derivative bands covering other derivative bands. Can’t they hire the actual Eagles? Hell’s frozen over several times at this point.
2. Short shrift given to the lifetime achievement nominees, who each deserved their own documentary-length coverage.
3. Ornette Coleman giving an award to Carrie Underwood. Check, please. This is where I turned off the broadcast.

If Ludacris’ father is actually in critical condition somewhere, what the f is Ludacris doing at the Grammys ceremony???

I kept track, during the hour and a half I endured this show, of whom the people winning awards thanked. Here’s the breakdown:

Mom: 2
God: 2
Industry people: 4
The Fans: 1
Target: 1
Rick Rubin: 1

I’m pretty sure God doesn’t give two shits about how many Grammys Mary J. Blige wins. Maybe I’m just projecting.

Hot Old Men

2007-02-06T21:54:00.000-05:00

Bruce Springsteen, still the Boss.
Mick Jagger.
Walter Matthau.
And this guy.

Don't Tell Anyone This

2007-02-01T12:16:00.000-05:00

Since I was about 15, I've had various crushes on pop stars. In chronologic order: Bruce Springsteen, Huey Lewis, George Michael (we were both confused), David Lee Roth, Jon Bon Jovi, Peter Gabriel, Ric Ocasek, Mick Jagger (circa Steel Wheels), L.L. Cool J (circa Around the Way Girl/Mama Said Knock You Out), Johnny Sciascia (formerly of Tarbox Ramblers), etc. These are harmless infatuations which pose no threat to my current relationships (other than, of course, my credibility and self-respect). I've not really outgrown this, as the object of my current "fascination" is wide-eyed Connecticut pop songsmith John Mayer, who in the last couple years has made the big time.

One artifact of this having arrived, as it were, is HIS infatuation with the pneumatic and functionally retarded Jessica Simpson. While neither camp confirms this rumor, the two have been photographed together for months at various functions. Therapists would probably have a field day with the exploration of why this bothers me at all, let alone this much, but this is at least the part I am able to articulate:

I don't know either of them personally. I realize that part of "show business" is "show" - a persona or character that you turn on and off for the camera, etc. But over time, one starts to see a pattern in people's behaviors that indicates a tendency toward this or that. (If Jessica Simpson is secretly a genius, then she deserves an Oscar for her performance in LIFE. If John Mayer is secretly as dumb as she appears to be, then he deserves some kind of medal for patience, or the worship of silicone.)

All this sounds like the ranting of a disenchanted ugly duckling who had a bad childhood and lives vicariously through what she reads in People magazine. Maybe that's me, but I don't think so; I think it just really pisses on my cornflakes to see someone who seems to be smart, funny, and self-deprecating with someone so obviously made of Velveeta. But maybe I've made the wrong assumptions about what makes for a good couple. I assume that people seek out their intellectual equals; while physical attractiveness plays a huge role, it's not the whole picture; people seek others with similar experiences to them, but who are different enough to be interesting. These two just do not compute.

I realize this post is ridiculous.

La Vache qui Rit

2007-02-01T11:54:00.001-05:00

I've been a hardcore junk food junkie my whole life. Well, let's say at least since I'm 19 or so. As a kid, Kix cereal was my version of a sugar-fest, since my parents didn't allow me to have Lucky Charms. But in college, look out! Bring on the bagels and Count Choc-u-la.

Lately though, and especially since reading this, I've been thinking a lot about what I eat. I really like the idea of considering whether my great-grandmother would recognize what I'm eating - there was no Laughing Cow in the 1800s, no such thing as "cheez." There's something fundamentally not-right about "cheez," when you come down to it; it's the same convenience/aversion that I have to strip malls and SUVs.

It's going to be quite an adjustment to me, as I find most of the patrons of Whole Foods to be repellent, let alone the produce. It's going to be a gradual shift, too, as my poor beleagured organs will need to stop needing all that orange powder.

I've associated this type of change with "growing up," as in something i never want to do. But I have to do something, as I might become visible from the Hubble pretty soon. Just kidding. It's not really a weight issue for me, as that's just a number; it's about (at least occasionally, if not more often) making a better set of choices. How boring and adult. Goddamn it.

At Last

2007-01-30T12:38:00.000-05:00

I've been through a lot of bad things in my life. But this kind of makes it all just a little bit better.

Gone Bad

2007-01-24T10:24:00.000-05:00

Why does hand lotion have an expiry date? Am I going to get a rash if I apply some Intensive Care Hand Therapy that's been around a few years? It's amazing to me that we fear the effect of massive amounts of non-degrading hydrocarbons in our landfills, but we make damn sure the chemicals we apply to our skin are fresh.

I suspect this phenomenon, which is recent, has two influencing factors: one, the unfortunate faithlessness and litigious nature of our society; and b, the impetus to keep the commerce cycle short. This latter concept is the same as building in defects that limit the utility of electronic equipment, and also making it difficult for authorized (!) small-electronics-repair shops to stay in business; postmodern consumers are trained to buy cheap radios that break in a year, and then to just buy another one. And so on.

There's no dairy or meat in this inorganic product. How can it go bad? Can't I just give it a good shake in a couple years when I remember that I still have it? I've still got the same jar of Vaseline that I had when I was a little kid. It's just not something I need that often. Why throw it out? I'll take my chances.

Talking House

2007-01-22T15:17:00.001-05:00

I drove by a house for sale in Watertown today, which had a red sign in the front near the realty sign. It said, in large lettering, "Talking House. Tune radio to 530 a.m." Eager to hear what this house had to tell me, I alertly tuned my radio to the prescribed frequency. The house was emitting a high-pitched electronic shriek. I wasn't sure what type of authority to call for that.