Folk Singers Palooza

One of the great nights of my life:

I was living in Manhattan the summer of 1991. Through my brother, I’d met a family who lived near Lincoln Center. One of their grown daughters shared a common interest in singer/songwriter John Gorka with my brother and me, and I became pretty good friends with the family. I still sometimes run into the parents when I travel to New York on business, but I can’t remember the daughter’s name. Let’s just call her Whatsername.

One evening, I read in the Village Voice that John Gorka was performing at a club in Greenwich Village (and sadly, I can’t remember the name of the venue either – Let’s just call it Wazzit). I called Whatsername and asked if I could take her to see the show at Wazzit. She was totally up for it, and said she’d meet me there since I lived down on 15th Street and she lived a block from Lincoln Center. It wasn’t that far away from show time, so I walked down to the club and then hung out in front of Wazzit waiting for Whatsername.

As I waited for her to arrive, John Gorka came out and started hanging out on the corner with me... Well, he was about eight feet away from me and we didn’t talk. Which I regret to this day, that I couldn’t just strike up a conversation. But soon, another guy came up and you could tell he was friends with Gorka.

It was actually Cliff Eberhardt (whom I would be a fan of within a week). So, there we were, these two handsome, masculine Jersey/Italian looking folksingers, with lots of dark curly hair and friendship bracelets, and me, this skinny, dweebily-dressed balding guy. Hanging out. I’m sure they didn’t really notice me.

Then these Brooklyn-ish girls showed up and were really friendly with John and Cliff. They seemed like fans. Big fans. Then the girls went in. Then Cliff wished John good luck. And they went in. Then Whatsername arrived. She looked very pretty and seemed very happy to be there, and she was impressed when I told her I’d been hanging out with John Gorka.

We went in and got a table close to the stage on the far right of the room. Julie Gold opened for John. I immediately thought she was one of the coolest female performers I’d ever seen. Her voice? Not great, but gutsy, and her songs were wonderful. Almost exactly a year later, Taco Queen and I would be dancing at our wedding to Nanci Griffith singing Julie Gold’s song, “Heaven.” But I hadn’t met Taco Queen yet (I would in just a couple of weeks, and I wouldn’t have believed it if you told me), but I did like that song.

I can’t remember if it was during Julie Gold’s set or John Gorka’s set (but I think it was Julie Gold’s set), Christine Lavin came on stage to do back up vocals for a song. Now, as you must know, Christine Lavin is a goddess to all folk singers because she’s amazing, and she’s been a remarkable promoter of modern folk music. And she’s hilarious. So the place went pretty crazy (at least for a nerdy folk concert). And then Christine brought Cliff Eberhardt up for the song, and said that if we hadn’t heard Cliff’s debut album we needed to go out and buy it (which I did just a couple of days later, and it is still one of my favorite albums – in fact, this was 1991, and that CD was the first CD I ever bought).

After Julie Gold’s set, John Gorka came up and gave a fantastic performance. One of the things that made the night special was a new song called “Gravyland.” It was so new that he played it out of his spiral notebook. It’s a great song – a gratitude song. A song that simply says, I never thought things would turn out this well, and if it all ended tomorrow, I’d still have more than I ever asked for.

Whatsername and I left Wazzit and walked over to the subway station. I was going to accompany her home, but it was a warm night and neither of us wanted to wait down in the swampy station, so I said, “Let’s catch a cab.”

The cab ride was a treat for me, a poor graduate student. We completely enjoyed talking about the show scrunched down in the massive back seat of the Yellow Cab. There was something tremendously romantic about it all, even though Whatsername and I both knew without saying it that this was simply a platonic summer friendship. I walked her back to the lobby of her family’s apartment building and then headed home on the subway.

The next Saturday I saw that Cliff Eberhardt was performing at a folk festival on a South Street pier, so after helping a friend move into a new apartment, I headed down. I had wrenched my back during the move, and the concert was outdoors and seating was on the planks of the pier, so I found a barrier to lean against since my back was in a lot of pain.

I looked a few yards away, and there was Julie Gold, hanging out with several friends. They were having a wonderful time. I wanted so badly to tell her how much I enjoyed her performance the week before, but I couldn’t get up because of my back. So, another regret: that I didn’t introduce myself and hang with Julie Gold.

Cliff Eberhardt’s concert was fantastic as well.

So, I moved back to Ohio, met Taco Queen, and fell instantly in love. We went to a Nanci Griffith concert where she sang Julie Gold’s “Heaven.” We got married. Danced to “Heaven” at our wedding.

I guess there’s more to the story, since Taco Queen and I have seen several concerts over the years (Most recently, Cliff Eberhardt at a ridiculously little venue in Germantown, Maryland). But this entry has already gone on way too long. Suffice it to say, 1991 in New York City was a wonderful summer for me....

...But the best was yet to come.

I Guess I Don't Hate Barry Bonds

I’ve lived in the Washington DC area for over seven years. For the first four of those years, there was no major league baseball team here. But in 2005, the Montreal Expos became the Washington Nationals and for the first time in over 30 years, our nation’s capital enjoyed our national pastime.

I grew up a SF Giants fan. The first Major League game I attended was in 1969, the Giants vs. the Dodgers (one of the great all-time rivalries) and featured Willie Mays, Willie McCovey, and (I believe) Bobby Bonds. I’m grateful to Pa Wanders for taking me. I can even remember some of it.

Moving to Washington left me aching for Major League Baseball. I’d try to follow the Giants from the East Coast, especially when Barry Bonds hit 73 home runs in a single season. I still wanted to call myself a Giants fan, but they were just too hard to stay up late for. And when they came to play in D.C. they just seemed so darn boring.

This weekend I went to two games at RFK to watch the Giants play the Nationals. The first night, I took the entire family and I wore my SF cap and rooted for the Giants. Barry didn’t play so I didn’t have to put up with all the jeering for Barry Bonds that follows him all over the country. Still, it just wasn’t fun. Even though SF won, it wasn’t fun to cheer for them. They're a pretty dour team these days.

So the second night, I came with Number Two as a Nationals fan. We had a blast. Not to mention it was Teddy Roosevelt Bobblehead day! The Nats have developed some great traditions in just three seasons, and the best is probably the Presidents Race during the fourth inning. All the Mt. Rushmore Presidents race across the field. The costumes are hilarious. And Teddy Roosevelt has never won. Many thought he might win last night judging by the number of “Let Teddy Win” signs I saw. Almost as many as “Barry cheated” signs.

I can’t boo Barry Bonds, though. I’ve liked him for too long. I’ve always felt that of all the players who were cheating and using steroids, he was the best. And if he didn’t use steroids, he’d be even better.

So for me, Barry Bonds has become a nearly irrelevant enigma. I let Barry be Barry. I cheer for him when he comes to bat, and I cheer even louder when he ends the game by flying out to left field and the fireworks go off at RFK stadium, and the kids wave their Teddy Roosevelt bobbleheads, and the Nationals break their seven-game losing streak to move half a game ahead of the last place Florida Marlins.

Speed Racer in the Movies

I know I just blogged about Speed Racer, but here's a fun piece on the movie that's being filmed in Germany. Do you see why I'm so excited? Of course you don't.

Here He Comes, Here Comes Speed Racer!

Last night, Number 2 and I snuck down to the basement to watch our new Speed Racer DVD. When I was Number 2’s age (10) it was my favorite cartoon, although I admit I couldn’t remember it very well so I ordered Speed Racer vol. 1 on DVD at Amazon.com and anxiously waited by the mailbox.

We planned to watch only one episode, but it ended with a cliff hanger, so we just had to watch the second part, despite Taco Queen hollering at us from upstairs that it was getting late.

I’m pleased to announce that I remember now why I loved Speed Racer as a kid. It totally rocked. The best cartoon ever made!

Here’s what I enjoyed the most:

1. The English dubbing crammed into the mouths of cartoons animated for Japanese dialog. The writing isn’t tight, so the actors have to say their lines very quickly with no pauses between ideas. It’s hilarious and wonderful.
   
2. The sinister villains with the bad James Cagney-esque accents: “If you want those plans, it’ll cost you 5,000 clams, see.”
   
3. The racing animation, especially the signature crashes through the guardrails. Cars and motorcycles constantly break through guardrails, fly through the air for miles, and then explode in massive flames.

But of course, the greatest thing in the world of Speed Racer is his awesome car, the Mach 5. It’s a very fast car; I saw it take a corner at 300 miles per hour. It has a roomy trunk to hide Spritle and Chim-Chim who constantly stow away. It also features a set of buttons on the steering wheel that activate a lot of cool features like jacks that make the car jump, an air-tight cockpit so the car can drive underwater, and two awesome buzz saws.

I can’t wait to keep watching this wacky, violent, ridiculous cartoon. But, as loyal readers know, I’m even more excited to see the movie to be released May 9, 2008, and directed by the Wachowski brothers, creators of The Matrix. How cool is that?

Hairspray/August Rush

Taco Queen and I went to see Hairspray for our 15th wedding anniversary. Granger at work had been telling me for at least a month that I would love the movie, but I didn't believe her. I finally took Taco Queen because it was the only thing that looked halfway interesting, and after The Invasion last week, we had to see something decent to get the taste out of our mouths. (Afterwards we went to the Melting Pot for dinner - thanks to a generous gift from Ma & Pa Wanders - lest you think a movie is insufficient for an anniversary date).

We really loved Hairspray. In fact, the entire movie, we kept saying, "We have to take Number One to see this." So I volunteered the next night to take Number One back to the theater, but when we got there, it had sold out! I was so upset. However, Number One took me to the mall and we had milkshakes and then she got to buy her dream coat at Hollister Co. (we went halvesies). Hollister deserves its own blog entry under my "Getting Older is Getting Funner" label.

But, truth be told, the main reason I was disappointed about missing the second night of Hairspray was because I wanted to see the preview for August Rush one more time. This one took me by complete surprise. I hadn't even heard of the movie yet, but after this preview, will I be there? Yes, on November 21, opening day. And not just because it stars former Mousketeer Keri Russell either (although that's reason enough).

So now, without further ado, the preview for August Rush:

Mister Rogers Talks to the U.S. Senate

Wheelhead recently posted about visiting an amusement park in Pennsylvania that featured a Mister Rogers' Neighborhood. That got me thinking about Mr. Rogers. People who know me well, know how much I idolize Mr. Rogers. This clip from 1969 pretty much sums up why.

Do NOT Fall Asleep

Taco Queen and I went out to see The Invasion last night. Despite some remarkable editing, cool car crashes and decent acting, it was so fake! So fake! So, so, SO fake. I'm all for a good sci-fi flick, and I have a pretty decent imagination, but you know there's a problem with a movie when you keep checking your watch, which I did five or twelve times.

- - - Spoiler Alert (if you care (which you shouldn't)) - - -

The ending was outrageously pandering. I don't really recollect the other Invasion of the Body Snatchers movies that well (for some reason, though, I can remember the Donald Sutherland Mad Magazine version very clearly). As I recall, the endings were depressing - the hero can't do anything to stop the pod people. In this version, however, everything ends up just hunky-dory. Everyone (except those who were killed presumably) goes back to normal like nothing ever happened. Listen, if 700 degrees Fahrenheit can't kill the virus, then how did they create an anti-virus from a strain of acute Chicken Pox?

- - - End of Spoilers - - -

And it was ironic that Nicole Kidman's major dramatic question was, "Will she be able to stay awake?" That was pretty much my major dramatic question as well.

But WAIT! I should mention that I did dream about the movie all night. I dreamt that Taco Queen and I were trying to fool all the pod people so they wouldn't kill us. So we disguised ourselves as gorillas. The dream went on and on as we mingled with and fled from the pod people in our costumes. Although we weren't as sexy as Nicole Kidman and Daniel Craig (at least not in our gorilla suits), it was a very clever dream and far funnier than any previous version of Invasion of the Body Snatchers.

One Hobbit out of five. So I've saved you $10. You can thank me later.

R.I.P. Elvis

Thirty years ago today, Elvis Presley died at the age of 42. Taco Queen (my All-New Really Hilarious Nickname for my Wife) and I commemorated his passing by watching “Elvis Lives” on PBS, a rock concert performed in Memphis by Elvis’s old band mates. During the concert, they projected footage on the big screen of Elvis performing in Hawaii and Las Vegas. But they had taken out all the music and back up vocals in the film so that all that was left were Elvis’s vocals. Then his former band members and back up singers accompanied the film live. It sounds kind of cheesy, but it was a really cool gimmick and it would have been amazing to have been there.

Hundreds of people began to gather in Memphis yesterday, where it was 105 degrees, to mourn Elvis Presley with a candlelight vigil last night. One person died in their trailer because of the heat. One guy who recently lost a lung showed up with his oxygen tank. I can only admire this level of devotion. We went to Graceland last year at Taco Queen’s suggestion, and I was completely converted to the Church of Elvis, but more at the Buy-a-lot-of-Elvis-Hits Novice level, not the One-Lung Fanatic level. And Memphis in general was a great city to visit – very cool. Well, maybe not when it’s 105.

Harry Potter and the Suspension of Disbelief

Yes, I finally finished Harry Potter Installment the Seventh. I know, I’m the slowest reader in the world, but remember, I just got reading glasses, and that helped me speed things up.

I won’t give anything away; however, if you haven’t read it yet, you probably don’t care if I give anything away or not. You probably don’t really care to read my review of the book, either, so I’ll keep this brief. I like the Harry Potter books, but as I’ve mentioned earlier, I’m simply a muggle when it comes to getting into these things. Every time, I really have to force myself through the first half of the book, and then, every time, I’m simply gaga-pants over the ending. What I enjoy about the books are the puzzles that Harry and his friends have to solve, and I always like it if there’s a good violent climax at the end.

Harry Potter books, however, ask me to suspend too much disbelief. It all boils down to page 20 of Installment the First: “He wore round glasses held together with a lot of Scotch tape because of all the times Dudley had punched him on the nose.” Okay, I can understand the glasses before he finds out he’s a wizard, but he wears the dang things for thousands of pages! Dumbledore wears them too. They can restore the bones to Harry’s arm, but, what, they can’t make a simple adjustment to his eyes?

My wife says it’s no big deal, but it is. It’s symptomatic of the entire book. The author has created a world that just has so many inconsistencies that it takes me half the book, always, before I can start to buy into it.

But once I do buy into it? Oh, what a return on investment. Thank you J.K. Rowling for showing me Hogwarts, regardless of how long it took me to open my eyes to see it. Maybe I just didn’t have the right pair of glasses.

Now about that cheesy epilogue…

No Real Than You Are

A giant Lego man washed ashore in the Netherlands yesterday. This picture ran in today’s New York Times with a short Reuter’s article. Apparently, the Lego man is eight feet tall and was coming from the direction of England.

But the article makes no mention of the mysterious message emblazoned across the Lego man’s chest: “No Real Than You Are.” And yet, this is the most baffling part of the story. What does it mean? He doesn’t sound English to me.

Is the Lego man an emissary from some distant dimension bringing us a message of peace, or is he merely some intergalactic traveler warning us of imminent destruction?

Regardless, be sure to order your own “No Real Than You Are” T-shirt today! (I receive no income from T-Shirt sales. This is simply a public service.)

Like Sands Through an Hour Glass…

Am I too old to be bloggin’? Yesterday I was prescribed my first pair of reading glasses. I’ve always prided myself on keen vision, but I have to admit that when I put them on, I was stunned at the difference they made. So, I’m grateful for the improvement, but still embarrassed to be seen wearing them. Especially at work.

Why at work? Because I work with children. I already blogged about Television Shooter being surprised that I knew an Augustana song. But I didn’t tell you about our new receptionist. She’s been with us a couple of months now (and she’s outstanding – let’s call her Granger). But her first week here, we were celebrating someone’s birthday, and Granger started going on about how her mother had just turned 50. Then she turns to me while I sat there just quietly minding my own business, and says in all sincerity, as if it were some sort of complement, “You’re not 50 yet, right?” As if she intended to add, “Because you look younger than 50. I never would have guessed you were 50.”

The entire department erupted in laughter. I’m only 86 percent of the way to 50. Well, actually a little over 87 percent to be honest. My wife told me I shouldn’t worry what 25-year-old receptionists think. And, yesterday, when I told my wife that I was getting reading glasses, she said, “Don’t worry. I won’t think you’re old.” I can tell sarcasm when I hear it.

100 Years of Happy: Too much of a good thing

We finally made it back after spending a day at Hershey’s Park. We were supposed to spend a second day at the park, but Mother (my really hilarious Wanders Blog nickname for my wife) and I were just too zapped of life and energy.

Numbers One and Two dragged me onto several thrill rides that were indeed quite thrilling. I haven’t ridden so many roller coasters in years. By the end, I was completely zoned. I wasn’t the only one. As we boarded an evening ride on Storm Runner, the entire crowd looked like a bunch of well-fed zombies who had entered into some sort of Zen-like trance despite the fact that we were about to be hurled 400 miles an hour over, under, around, and inside out.

Our final ride of the night was on the smooth gliding Great Bear. It’s a hanging coaster where your legs dangle and you worry that you’ll lose a foot or something. This last time on it, though, rather than getting all worked up about the pounding and flipping and high-speed flinging, I successfully accomplished “fantasy transformation” – my mind slowly sputtered out, “Wee. I’m Peter Pan. I can fly… I’ve always wanted to be Peter Pan.” It was wonderful. I was so moved I almost cried.

However, I now want Walt Disney World to create a Peter Pan thrill ride coaster where you glide on your stomach at high speeds through a Neverland volcano, barrel roll through clouds, and skim over water. Call me, Disney; we’ll discuss.

"Stay close to the candle; the stairway can be trechorous at times."

We toured Independence Hall today. It was pretty amazing for me because I’ve been a fan of the musical 1776 since I was a kid. I’ve always wanted to see the building where it all took place. One of my favorite scenes in 1776 is when the committee assigned to write the Declaration meets to determine who should write the first draft. They go into the foyer where they sing and dance up and down an open stairway, each of the committee members offering excuses to John Adams as to why they shouldn’t be the one to write it. Finally it comes down to Thomas Jefferson who only wants to go home to Virginia and get some lovin’. When he offers this excuse to Adams he declares, “But I burn Mr. A.” to which Adams responds, “So do I, Mr. J!”

Jefferson: “You?”
Franklin: “John.”
Livingstone: “You do?”
Sherman: “Who’d have thought it.”

To which Adams sings:

“Mr. Jefferson, Dear Mr. Jefferson
I’m only 41; I still have my virility,
And I can romp through Cupid’s grove with great agility.
But life is more than sexual combustability.”

And we all know who ends up writing the Declaration - which is half the fun of the song.

I was thrilled to be walking up and down that staircase. As we were headed back down, our tour guide said, “Be sure to rub your hand along the handrail. This is still the exact rail that Benjamin Franklin used.” I was elated to be using that same handrail, and it is a good thing because I tripped and fell, and while my fall was spectacular, it would have been worse if I hadn't been holding on to the rail. I guess I’ll leave the dancing on the stairs to the professionals.

When the movie version of the Broadway musical 1776 first came out, it was severely edited from its original director's cut. Under pressure from President Richard Nixon who objected to much of the play's politics, studio mogul Jack L. Warner cut 40 minutes. The mostly-restored version was released a few years ago on DVD.

Lights of Liberty Show

We arrived in Philadelphia late last night and spent today at the Franklin Institute, a remarkable science museum that the kids really loved.

After a very satisfying dinner at a little diner that was everything you imagine a Philadelphia diner featuring Philly Cheese Steaks and Pizzas to be, we took the Lights of Liberty tour. The after-dark walking tour takes you past five significant sites. You listen to a state of the art surround sound narrative on headsets as pretty impressive projections are flashed up on the buildings.

It was great for the grown ups with lots of historical information. It was also great for the kids who had a different narration featuring Whoopie Goldberg. It was all well done and a great way to see the sites.

Tomorrow we'll wrap up Philadelphia with a tour of Independence Hall.

"Please Don't Break Anything at the Breakers!"

On our way from Boston to Philadelphia, we stopped in Newport, Rhode Island. I wanted to show the kids some places that were special to me back in the day, and we toured Cornelius Vanderbilt's summer cottage, the Breakers. This 70-room tribute to his own money was spectacularly unimpressive to me and child Number 2.

First, everything was just way too much. Way too big. You live in a house like that and you get lonely. Which might explain his and her master bedrooms. Second, the tour was the dullest hour of our entire vacation. Our young tour guide had her script well memorized, but it divulged absolutely nothing about the owners. It was all about Louis XIV this and Victorian that.

I tried to ask a few questions, looking for anecdotes, but our guide was hopeless. Afterwards, Mother (my really hilarious Wanders Blog nickname for my wife) and I came up with a list of questions we wished they'd answered but seemed to have no interest in: What was the Vanderbilt's favorite charity? Who did they hate? Anything embarrassing happen at their parties?

The sad thing was, despite all that money, most of them died pretty young or untimely. So in the end, the money didn't really make that much of a difference.

Here kids, play with these rocks.

We took the kids to Georges Island in Boston Harbor. We didn't take the picture you see here - we arrived by ferry, not helicopter, and today the grass was brown rather than green, but it is still a good picture. It was very hot. We bought some hot dogs and had lunch in the shade amidst 40 huge and hungry seagulls.

The island is about 28 acres and home to Fort Warren which was built in the mid-19th century to guard Boston Harbor. It actually functioned through World War II.

The kids loved exploring the fort. But even more than that, they loved hanging out on the gravel beach and skipping stones into the water. They did it for an hour and declared it the best day of the vacation. Sometimes I think they're the hardest kids in the world to please... and then sometimes I think they're the easiest.

Land o' a Thousand Dunkin' Donuts

We walked the Freedom Trail today. It's a special walking tour in Boston that guides you past 27 Dunkin Donuts. It also takes you to a number of significant historical sites including the Granary Burying Ground; the location of the first American public school; the Old South Meeting House; the Old State House; the site of the Boston Massacre; Faneuil Hall; Paul Revere's House; and the Old North Church where signal lanterns were hung - one if by land, two if by sea - and launched the Revolutionary War.

We had lunch at one of my favorite restaurants back in the day: Durgin-Park at Faneuil Hall Marketplace. Though it used to be staffed by the rudest waitresses, the wait staff has become quite eager to please - unfortunately. However, the food remains excellent and I still give the place five Hobbits. I enjoy most clam chowder, but this was the best I've ever tasted. I felt sorry for everyone packed into the "Sam's Cafe at Cheers" next door thinking they were having a Bostonian experience. The real deal was just a few yards away at Durgin-Park.

What? No pictures?

Today, we started out with a Duck Tour of Boston, one of those car/boat tours that many cities have where you end up driving into the water. They convert military DUKWs into tour busses. It was actually very informative and funny. Our guide had the perfect sense of humor for our family. (Later, as we left the tour, we passed another tour getting ready to depart. The tour guide was dressed like a Viking and going on about his "manly purple DUKW"- Uh, no thanks, thesbo... just a bit over the top for us. There's a big difference between humor and silliness.)

But our tour was informative and funny. And our two older kids, Number One and Number Two, each got to drive the boat/car around the Charles River, which was really cool.

We also walked along the Charles River into Boston. We rode the historic Swan Boats in the Public Gardens and strolled around a bit. Then we spent the rest of the day at the Museum of Science. Back at the hotel, the kids swam until bedtime.

Number Two carried the camera and literally took 274 pictures as we walked around Boston. Would you like to see them all?

Battle Road

Today we visited Minute Man National Park in Concord, Mass. We heard a ranger presentation about the launch of the Revolutionary War. He was just some kid in a Smokey the Bear hat, who stumbled only slightly through his memorized speech, but when he got to the part where the leader of the militia ordered the colonists to return fire on the British, I actually started to cry. Fortunately, it was raining and I could hide my tears. I. Am. Such. A. Sap.

Welcome to the 17th Century

After a day-long drive yesterday, we made it to Plymouth, Mass. We drove safely and only got frustrated with some of the traffic we hit. Oh, and the kids. I got frustrated with the kids once in a while, too.

Today was spent exploring the Mayflower 2 which you can see in this photo. I don't know if the picture captures how tiny the boat really is. "How tiny is it?" you ask? It's so small, you can display it on your mantle... in a bottle. In a shot bottle. You know, I'm on vacation. Don't ask me to write good jokes while I'm on vacation.

We then went to Plimoth Plantation. That's actually how they misspell it. I'm not sure why. After we saw a short orientation movie, we visited the Wampanoag Homesite, a small representation of the lifestyle of the native people who lived here when the Europeans arrived. Then we visited the Pilgrim Village. At the Pilgrim Village, the people are role players who act like pilgrims and answer questions in character. In the Wampanoag Homesite, the people are members of the Wampanoag Nation. They also wear period dress and explain some cultural traditions. But they aren't role players. Both areas were really fascinating and enjoyable, but on the the cool scale, the native people are on the Way Cool end, and the pilgrims hover somewhere between Eccentric Thespian and D&D Nerd.

I think I'll go to Boston

We're headed to Boston for a lengthy vacation. Should be fun driving all that way and crowding into too-small hotel rooms!

Yesterday at work, because we're going to Boston, Television Shooter (not her real name) was telling me about this song called “Boston" that's on the radio a lot. She had this really funny look on her face like, “This is a real cool song, but you’re old so you probably haven’t heard of it." Then she said, “I don't think you'd like it.” I said, “Boston, by Augustana?” Then she got an even funnier look on her face like, “How does an old guy like you know about a cool song like that?”

Then I asked her, “That's that song that has that lyric, ‘No one knows my name,’ right?” She said, “Yessss…” with some hesitation. “So, TV, can you tell me what television show the lyric is referencing,” which is a question I thought was so obvious anyone would know the answer. She looked at me this time like, “What are you talking about now, old man?”

I said, “So you think I’m too old to know a song like Boston, but it turns out you’re too young to even know that the lyric of the song is an ironic reference to the TV show, ‘Cheers,’ which is set in Boston where everybody knows your name.” I found that hilarious and had a good laugh at her expense. Or maybe I just made a jackass of myself.

To be fair, though, TV is familiar with my preference for exotica and lounge music, so I understand the confusion. But my tastes are certainly not limited to that.

We're spending the day here at home getting ready. Maybe I'll send a blog update from Faneuil Hall!

I'm Such a Muggle

I'm such a muggle. Mother is not. Mother (my really hilarious Wanders Blog nickname for my wife) is a full-blown graduate of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft. As a first year, she was sorted into the Pufnstuf House.

On Opening Day (Wednesday for us muggles), Mother took Numbers One and Two to see “Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix,” (Installment the Fifth), which the children raved about. However, while Mother seemed to enjoy the film, it somehow lacked the detail and nuance she recalled from her days as a student. I think she loves seeing in these movies and stories details such as what the little students are studying in potions class, or what’s the latest defense against the dark arts spell. I said, “Yeah, but we’ve seen that in four movies now. How much more can we take?” For this remark, she transfigured me into a rabbit. So I went out and ate her vegetable garden.

She insisted I take her to see the movie again on Saturday night. Which I did. If you haven’t yet been convinced that the powers of witchery and wizardry are real and that the Dark Lord lives and is seeking to rule the world, you never will be. Still, you don't want to upset Mother.

The movie was pretty good – not my favorite Harry Potter movie, but I give it three Hobbits out of five.

After the movie, I asked her what spells she would most like to learn. These are her top five:

Crustulum Prandium: Cook dinner
Congelo Vicis: Stop time so I can get something done
Brain Peniculus: Imports knowledge directly into my head without study
Tersus Vestri Cella: "Clean your room." (Actually, she can do this one, but she has to repeat it over and over and over to get it to work, and even then it’s not done very well. Sometimes it’s just easier to do it yourself!)
Minnivanum: Instantaneously transports the kids where they need to go.

Oh Thank Heaven for July 11.

This afternoon, I was sitting in my office and heard Starry Girl down the hall announce that it was Free Slurpee Day. My throat got tight, my skin started to burn and I went into a deep crimson blush. I can't hear the phrase "Free Slurpee" without having a serious psycho traumatic response.

You see, when I was in the second grade, some older kids at school told me that if I took my souvenir Slurpee cup back to the store, they would refill it for free. I hopped on my Schwinn and headed to one of my favorite places in the whole world: 7-11.

I handed the clerk at 7-11 my plastic cup and asked him to fill it with cherry flavored Slurpee. In the early 70's, the Slurpee machines were behind the counter, but I guess 7-11 has since figured out they can save millions in labor costs and reduce their work force by making Slurpees self serve. He handed me the Slurpee and said, "79 cents" (or whatever), and I felt my stomach drop, my knees go weak and tears start to build behind my lids. "Isn't it for free?" I asked. "Free?" the guy scoffed. He took my Slurpee, dumped it in the garbage can and handed me back my cup. The memory still stings.

So, today, I had to find out for myself if this time it was true: Free Slurpees. I walked to the nearest 7-11 and there were throngs of people filling up little 7.11 oz. Slurpee cups which I assumed were free. But I was still so traumatized that I was afraid to risk it. I grabbed a regular cup and filled it up and went and paid full price. But as I walked back to the office, I was thinking, "Dang! Dang it! Why couldn't I take a free Slurpee? I couldn't even ask if they were free. I'm a coward!"

After work, I spent the evening doing some volunteer work. I had some people in my car and I told them, very sagely, "You know, it's free Slurpee day." And I stopped at every 7-11 we passed to fill up on free Slurpees. I tried Whoo-Hoo Vanilla, and Cherry, and Pina Colada... there were so many flavors to choose from (I resisted Full Throttle because frankly I imagine that tastes like engine grease).

Store after store. Free Slurpee after free Slurpee. Call it my revenge if you will, or perhaps immersive therapy. Regardless, I will never fear Free Slurpees again!

For those who missed Free Slurpee Day, mark July 11 on your calendar (7/11). Each year, the company celebrates its birthday with free Slurpees - trust me on that. This year was their 80th year!

God Bless America (with Universal Health Care!)

We felt pretty patriotic after shooting fireworks at our friends' home in Pennsylvania. (Well, not literally AT their house... you know what I meant.) When we crossed the boarder into Pennsylvania, we stopped at a fireworks store. It was the Fourth of July so the place was pretty crowded. I had to sign some paperwork with a bunch of personal info like my drivers license, etc., and swear that I would abide by the local laws of whatever jurisdiction I was taking my fireworks to (nudge, nudge, wink, wink).

After we passed through the screening area, I was told if I lived in Pennsylvania, I had to limit myself to this little corner of the building, but if I was from anywhere else in the world, I could cross the ropes into the Warehouse of Destruction which looked like where Saddam might have hid his WMDs.

We limited ourselves to the Pennsylvania Pyromania room and found a lot of fun fireworks that we thought all the kids would enjoy. As I paid for them, the cashier told me that the sheriff from my county was actually in the WMD room picking out stuff for his party. The cashier gave me a "Preferred Pyro" membership card (no joke) that would allow me to buy fireworks in the future without going through all the paperwork.

That night, when we went outside to light our Spinning Blossoms and Flaring Volcanoes of Fire and Howling Hotpipes, we were immediately upstaged by the neighbors who were shooting rockets that were exploding in huge colorful bursts over the houses. They were awesome. "Why don't we have any good fireworks?" the kids whined. To which the adults responded, "You can see the neighbors' show just fine, and we didn't pay for it so it's even better." The kids all seemed to understand our logic, but I quietly resolved to buy cooler fireworks next year!

In the end, no one blew off a finger, or needed to go to the hospital, which is my segue to "Sicko." The day after we got home, Mother (my really hilarious nickname for my wife) and I went to see Michael Moore's new movie, "Sicko," which humorously compares the American health insurance program to health care throughout the rest of the Western world. While I realize there are many who are more knowledgeable than me on the issue who might take exception to the one-sidedness of the movie, it is hard to argue against all the real life human stories. Also, the movie was Hill-Air-Ee-Us! We were cracking up. (And Mother even cried a few times.) It was just a fantastic movie that I totally recommend. I give it four Hobbits out of five.

Restaurant Review 3: Acacia

Restaurant: Acacia Fusion Bistro
Location: 129 N Market St., Frederick, Maryland, 21701
Rating: Five Hobbits out of five

Mother (my really hilarious nickname for my wife) and I were in Frederick for a really frustrating reason (it’s a great story but completely irrelevant so you’ll just have to let it go… Let. It. Go!), and we decided to pull out the GPS system and find a place for dinner.

I wanted seafood (since I’d somehow gained five pounds over the week) and the GPS gave us several choices. We picked Sig’s Hideaway Café, but that was literally hidden away and we couldn’t find it. So we decided on Acacia Fusion Bistro.

To get to Acacia, the GPS drove us through parts of Frederick that were built probably 100 years ago. Rows of impoverished homes stood side by side with low hanging power cables and front doors literally two feet from the sidewalk. In front of one sat two sunburnt, hardscrabble families drinking whiskey from the bottle while their young toddlers sipped colas – and not the nutritious Diet Coke Plus either. It was a bit heartbreaking, not to mention guilt spawning during the sumptuous meal that awaited us.

Acacia, however, was in a beautiful part of town. During our brief wait for seats, I became aware of the wonderful smells swirling about the very classy bar. The aroma was constantly changing from steak to curry to seafood to fine wines. But the smells weren’t overpowering; they were subtle and diverse – maybe this is one reason for the title “Fusion Bistro.” It began to have an emotional effect on me and soon I was in some sort of euphoric state.

By the time we were seated I was almost weeping, longing for something left behind years ago: The San Francisco Bay Area. From the decor of each dining area, to the dialects of the wait staff, to the dress of the clientele, everything transported me back to the place I spent most of my life, the Bay Area. Don’t get me wrong, I love Maryland; I was just caught completely off guard to be back in a very authentic California setting.

We ordered tons of food, and when I said to the waiter, “We may have ordered too much,” he replied, “I don’t think so, you both look fit.” Okay, Mr. 20-Percent-Tip with the stylin’ goatee, bring us our drinks!

I can only review my own meal, since Mother ordered the exact same dishes as me (what can I say, we’re compatible): a shared calamari appetizer, Thai curry soup, a broiled tilapia and shrimp entrée special, and for dessert a mango mousse tart. It was one of those once-a-year meals that we usually wait for our anniversary to enjoy, but there was something very satisfying about spontaneously walking into such a wonderful restaurant right off the street and discovering one of the best meals we’d ever shared. So if you’re ever on North Market Street in Frederick, Maryland (with your credit card), be sure to give it a try. Five Hobbits at least!

The Beatles "Love" Larry King

Last night’s Larry King interview with Paul McCartney, Ringo Starr, Yoko Ono and Olivia Harrison was amazing. They were at the Mirage in Las Vegas celebrating the one-year anniversary of Cirque du Soleil's Beatles show, Love. The interview was great.

Larry has that annoying “Stop interrupting my questions with your answers” attitude. He asks things like, “Do you ever just want to pinch yourself when you wake up in the morning thinking, I’m a Beatle?” and as a follow up, “Tell me about John’s death.”

Larry King asks Ringo, how is life? To which Ringo answers, "Life is great."
How's the wife? "Great!"
And gorgeous. "She’s gorgeous and she's great."

Then Larry immediately turns to Sir Paul: And Paul, how are you adjusting to what was tumultuous times? (Referring to Paul’s divorce.)
"I'm okay, thank you Larry, thank you for asking," with just a touch of irony that cracks Ringo up. "I'm doing surprisingly well."
Larry: I mean that had to be rough. "It is currently rough, it is very rough, but I don't talk about it and that helps."
Larry, who’s been through a few tumultuous times himself, takes the hint: But life's good aside from that? "Life is good, life's good, life is wonderful. And with friends like these, who needs life?"

They remained cheerfully cocky and occasionally cynical toward Larry, just like they always have treated the press. Especially when Larry called Ringo, George. Paul mocked Larry like crazy, until Ringo told Paul, "Tell the man what he wants to know."

Then there was this odd moment:

Larry, bringing Yoko and Olivia back on: We're going to bring out the widows.
Ringo: The Widow Cranky.

Which I believe is some totally obscure reference to an old old old British pantomime. Regardless of where the remark came from, it could have been seen as completely inappropriate. Yoko had commented earlier that one of the things that first impressed her with the Beatles was their humor, and that other composers had always struck her as so serious, but the Beatles were constantly clowning. Putting your foot in your mouth probably just goes with the job.

But some of the interview they took quite sincerely:

Larry asks about whether or not George’s death had been a surprise (which was a typically lame question since he suffered with cancer for a while). Paul begins to talk about his last visit with George. As he tells the story, he takes Ringo’s hand quite tenderly and says how he held George’s hand, just like this, how this was a guy he’d known since childhood and you don’t hold hands, and it is really a tremendously candid moment. To which Larry touchingly responds: “Let’s go to a commercial. And tomorrow night, Paris Hilton’s first interview since her release from jail!” He says to the lads, “You’ve heard of her.” And Paul and Ringo just stare dumbfounded.

Mother's Opinion

Mother (again, for those who are new, this is my hilarious nickname for my wife) had this to say about the blog:

"Your blog is a bit of a joke."

She is so hard to impress! So why did she marry me?

Restaurant Review 2: Hershey's Restaurant

Restaurant: Hershey's Restaurant
Location: 17030 Oakmont Ave, Gaithersburg, Maryland
Rating: Two Hobbits out of Five

We've been eating out a lot lately since our dishwasher broke. The repair has taken a long time... but that's another story.

Thanks to our handy GPS system, we can find lots of new restaurants, and the kids were thrilled to find "Hershey's Restaurant" listed near our home. The road wound through the nearby woods along the railroad. As we drove, the kids speculated about what Hershey's Restaurant would be like. Number One imagined a chocolate buffet. Number Two was certain it would be made of chocolate.

Mother said, "I think this place may have trouble living up to expectations."

However, when we arrived, Mother and I were nicely surprised. The place literally was a whistle stop cafe -- the only other building in sight was the small passenger shelter for the train stop across the road. We entered through the back and made our way through a fairly charming atmosphere: yellow and teal painted decor with lots of nicknacks and a Peter Rabbit mural in the front room.

The food was passable, but the servings were very generous. We all ended up with more than we could eat. The servers were a little slow and frequently bumbled our orders, which proved beneficial to One. The kids all wanted a second soda, but I said they could have water. The server, however brought water for Numbers Two and Three; Number One got a second Sprite much to her glee.

Now came the test. The Ice Cream. When we entered, we'd all noticed a cute Dutch door in the corner with a Hershey's Ice Cream sign hanging over it. The top of the door was open and it looked like there was a little dessert kitchen back there. However, the waitress never suggested dessert, so I asked if they had ice cream. She said, "Just Vanilla." What!? That lost them a Hobbit right there. So we came home for ice cream and saved ourselves at least ten dollars.

Still, Mother and I might go back. Maybe. We still have a lot of other untried restaurants to explore on the GPS.

A little local history: The building for Hershey's Restaurant was built in the 1890's and for about 90 years housed the local post office. It also served as a general store that evolved into a restaurant starting in 1952. It was run by a family named Hershey and (much to the kids' disappointment) has nothing to do with the Hershey Chocolate Company.

It Looks Purple to Me

Mother and I painted Number Three’s bedroom on Friday night. Three had gone off to her first sleep over at a friend’s home (where, incidentally, the friend’s brother had returned home from Scout camp early when 175 Boy Scouts contracted a norovirus that spread like wildfire through the camp. The next day, Three’s friend came down with the norovirus, so we’ve just been counting down for the 48 hour incubation period to pass and keeping our fingers crossed).

Mother told Three that when she came back in the morning from her sleep over, her room would be painted, to which Three replied, “You mean it won’t be blank any more?” Number three is seven years old and her description of her room as blank was very apt. Her room has remained the beat up flat white it was when we moved in seven years ago. Blank was the perfect description of the wall color. With a little coaching from Mother, Three picked out a beautiful lavender paint. Real men call it purple.

Mother spent the day readying the room and painting the trim. After all that prep, there was no way I would get the satisfaction of being the one to roll on the paint. Besides, Mother has come to distrust my skills with a brush to some extent. I was the brush cleaner, the electrical outlet handler, the scraper and sander. I was not the painter. Still, after an hour I was covered in paint!

After a few hours, though, there came a point where I wasn’t feeling useful. I thought to myself, “Mother’s parents (my in-laws), always did these kinds of projects together, and neither of them needed to be told by the other what to do. If I was one of them right now, what would I see that needs to be done?” Then I knew Mother would hate to paint the paneled closet and bedroom doors. The way things usually go is that we finish the room except the doors, and then the doors are a big pain in the neck and never get done. So I did those, and Mother adored my self-direction and determination. By the time the room was all painted (at 3 a.m.!), the doors were already done. Sometimes I just need to put myself in someone else’s shoes in order to know what to do… my shoes are rarely that smart.

Speaking of shoes, I’m not the only one who gets covered in paint, as this photo attests. Mother stepped off a chair right into the bucket.

By the way, if you want to know why you don’t want a norovirus, read this. But trust me, you really don't want to know.

Restaurant Review 1: Tara Thai

Restaurant: Tara Thai
Location: 9811 Washingtonian Blvd, Gaithersburg, Maryland
Rating: Three Hobbits out of Five

The Wanders Review: First, why Hobbits? They're cute and they have hairy feet. So what did I think of Tara Thai? I really would only give it two Hobbits, but it is such a busy place and I'm so insecure about my own convictions that popular opinion has influenced my score upward. If you like eating seafood inside a fish tank with all the fish and whales staring at you with a look in their eyes like, "Don't eat that little shrimp, he's my brother," then this is the place for you. Mother (that's my really hilarious old-fashioned nickname for my wife... well, I think it's hilarious) and I were seated at a table with drawings of sharks swimming over an undersea photo of a starfish. Little halogen lights were dressed up as jelly fish. The walls were covered with aqua green and blue murals of sea creatures converging on a sunken vessel like my bowling league at a buffet. I'm sure there were many dead bodies inside the ship that the fish were going to feed upon. Oh, the irony.

Mother said, "Look up. There is a scuba diver on the ceiling." I turned and hanging above me was a real scuba diver dangling from the rafters by fishing line (again, ironic. Perhaps the fish in the mural strung him up there). What gave me the chills, though, was that his dead eyes were wide open and staring through his scuba mask directly down at me! Creepy.

I really don't believe you need to eat the food at a restaurant before you review it, so I didn't bother to try an entree. Mother and I had wandered in for dessert. We ordered the mango sticky rice which was pretty good. I looked around at other people's plates and the food looked pretty good. The entrees looked pretty big. At the table across the way, a couple of French women were talking French while their two daughters ran all over the restaurant making noise. They seemed to like the food. They ate a lot of it. How do the French do that? They eat and eat and stay so skinny. So, I say, based on the way people seemed to be enjoying their meals, give Tara Thai a "trai" - Hee hee.

Man, I'm funny. Just ask Mother.

Plus WHAT??

Yesterday I had to drive to Southern Maryland on business. I got a little sleepy so I stopped at a gas station to pick up a Diet Pepsi. All they had was Coke, which is usually an acceptable alternative to the much superior Pepsi.

I noticed through the glass door of the cooler something I’d never seen before. It was a soda bottle with a pale blue cap and label that said, “Diet Coke Plus – with Vitamins and Minerals.”

“Gosh,” I thought, taking the bait hook, line and sinker, “it’s healthy!”

Well, given the fact that the bottle looks like a bottle of medicine, I shouldn't have been surprised to find out it tasted like someone had dissolved chalk in my cola.

So I looked at the label to see what I was drinking. After caffeine, there were a few vitamins listed: zinc gluconate, niacinamide (vitamin B3), pyridoxine hydrochloride (B6), cyanocobalamin (B12). I’m sorry but this is sounding more like something I’d bleach my hair with, rather than drink.

Then I saw that it has aspartame in it as a sweetener, and I did a little Google Search – which is different from Research I admit – and found out that all this low carb stuff I've been eating has been setting me up for a nasty case of lymphoma and brain tumors in a few years. Suddenly, I'm thinking that sugar is a heck of a lot healthier than Diet Coke - or even Diet Pepsi - no matter how many vitamins they add!

Low Bridge, Everybody Down

Lock 1 of the C&O Canal is two blocks from my office. It has been beautifully preserved - in fact the National Park Service still operates a tourist barge along a short stretch of it near the shopping district of Georgetown.

One of my favorite lunchtime walks is to follow the tow path for about 20 minutes and then turn around and come back. I can get pretty far along the path, well past the touristy areas. Yesterday, I'd walked past Georgetown and was on a broad stretch without anyone in sight except the cars up above on Canal St. So I felt wonderfully alone.

I was watching the baby mosquitoes that have come out by the millions skipping across the surface of the muddy water, when I noticed some bubbles simmering about ten feet off the bank. I wondered if there was some sort of vent at the bottom of the canal. The bubbles began to slowly intensify, and I started to worry, "What if somebody's down there?" What if someone had fallen in and these were their lasts gasps of life. The water really started to stir, and then suddenly this very decayed, green hand shot up out of the water!

Well... that's what I thought it was anyway, and I jumped nearly out of my shoes. Till the dead hand looked at me like I was some sort of idjit. Turns out it was a huge turtle. It treaded water, staring at me. I stared back amazed at the size of this thing. We communed for a moment and I wished someone had been there to see it. I also wished I had a camera phone so I could show you how huge it was. Trust me, it was huge.

The C&O in the C&O Canal stands for Chesapeake and Ohio. It was originally designed to carry barges from Washington DC to Pittsburgh (in the Ohio Valley) and back. Construction started in the 1820's along the banks of the Potomac River. They got as far as Cumberland in Western Maryland - about 184 miles. After a controversial history, President Nixon designated it a National Park for me and thousands of others to walk, bike and jog along. (I just do the walking since I'm usually wearing a tie.)

Want more info on the Canal? Click here.

Flag Day: Burn Your Flag

Yesterday was Flag Day, one of my favorite holidays. Come on, it's the FLAG!

I have a couple of pet peeves, though, about idjits who think they're patriotic and then totally disrespect the flag.

First, thank heaven our post-9/11 patriotism is starting to wane. After 9/11, it was like how the whole country became Red Sox fans when the Sox won the World Series. People who had never displayed a flag in their lives suddenly started hooking them to their car windows (which is not how you display a flag on a car, by the way), and then they'd drive down the freeway at 70 miles an hour submitting Old Glory to gale force winds. After a week of that kind of beating, the flags were thrashed, shredded and tattered. I want to know what happened to these flags? Were they disposed of properly? Not likely. I suspect millions of flags ended up in the garbage. How patriotic.

Which leads to my second pet peeve:
Who are these yahoos who think a Constitutional Amendment preventing the burning of flags is a good idea? First, it violates our already established rights of free expression. Second, any Boy Scout can tell you that the proper way to dispose of the flag (that you just beat the crud out of on your car) is to burn it. That's right, BURN IT.

Have a flag that needs to be retired? You might try contacting your local Boy Scout council. Many councils have a Scout troop specially designated to dispose of flags properly. If your local Council doesn't have such a troop, then visit Flagkeepers.org and they can give you more options. In fact, you can even send your flag to them, and they'll take care of it for you.

Can I be funny without anybody getting hurt?

Did you watch last night's episode of "Last Comic Standing?" I'd never seen it before but the season premiere was on while I was folding laundry. I got some good laughs out of it, but when the funniest comic is a guy in a gorilla suit, I just don't think it bodes well for the show. What the show didn't do is demonstrate how really hard stand up comedy is. I haven't done it for almost six years now - the reason being that on September 5, 2001, I made my triumphant return to the stand up microphone and then the following Tuesday it was 9/11 and I totally lost my sense of humor for a few years.

I find that as a grown up, events just seem to constantly transpire against my attempts to entertain. Having our first baby really killed my desire to make people laugh - I was just too scared and freaked out. Then, when I finally got the drive back, Boom (no pun intended), 9/11.

So, I'm thinking I'll try blogging. It strikes me as a healthy lunchtime activity. I can't promise to be funny, or even mildly interesting. We'll just have to wait and see. Gadz, I hope trying to be creative again doesn't bring about some sort of horrific natural disaster!