I have my handbasket all picked out and everything

The founder of chaos theory has died at age 90.

Reports differ, but it is widely believed that his death was caused by beating, specifically the beating of the wings of a butterfly, somewhere over central Mongolia. Mathematicians continue to investigate. A statement from Jeff Goldblum is expected sometime this afternoon.



What does it say about me that, at 8:00 this morning, this is what first occurred to me upon reading the headline of the story? It's good that the Pope is here this week. He can just give me my Downstairs Pass today and save all the waiting.

Things I learned in San Francisco

In Part II of my west-coast journey.

- Golden Gate Park is beautiful. You could probably kill half a day or more there, if the weather's nice (California, duh), and there do seem to be plenty of things to look at. I had little time to spend on my visit, but did stop through the Japanese Tea Garden, which in addition to providing some excellent photographic scenes, allowed me to get the cherry blossom fix I was missing back home, minus the throng of underfoot tourists that clog the pedestrian arteries of our fair city this time of year. Points for that. There is also a rose garden, although apparently early April is not precisely the height of bloom season, as there was exactly one rose among the approximately seventy gajillion rose bushes in that part of the park. All of that said, it is a lovely place, and there are many more picture-worthy spots there than I had time to see, but would like to at some point. The DeYoung museum, for example, looked fascinating. There is also a flower conservatory which includes a butterfly house, if you're into that sort of thing.

- Maps are helpful. There are, to my mind, two major flaws in San Francisco's design, based on my short time there. First, and this is minor once you know your way around, is the signage. I'm very grateful for the Powers That Be for telling me the name of every cross street I pass; I think that's a wonderful idea. What would be brilliant, though, would be to occasionally tell me the name of the street I am currently on. This is important to know when you've just taken a poorly labeled turn that you think is the one you're looking for, and you travel a half-mile or so wondering about it but can't be completely sure because every signpost is blank. Big signs for cross-streets, roughly zero for your current street. Last time I checked, signposts could accommodate at least two signs, one for each direction of street; it seems reasonable to suggest that they be used in that manner, much like every major city on the planet. Except, of course, San Francisco. So knowing how the streets are laid out puts you at least in a moderately advantageous position.

Except for the one-way streets (Issue #2). I don't think it's too much of an exaggeration to say that sorting out the one-way streets in San Fran feels somewhat akin to trying to decipher sanskrit using an Ovaltine decoder ring (and yes, finding out that the secret message is, in fact, "Drink more Ovaltine" is less than satisfying). I've never been so grateful for DC's user-friendly, intuitive urban design. At least here, you are fairly assured that if the street you're crossing won't let you turn left, the odds are at least 50/50 that the next one will. Over there, if you miss one left turn you might be in Sacramento by the time you get another chance.

(And before you say it: GPS is for wimps. Either that or I couldn't expense it. Pick the rationale that you like best. Wimp.)

- Thanks to the BART, I now have an appreciation for just how phenomenal the coverage of our local metro system is, in terms of access to different parts of the city. The BART has four lines, which all pass through the exact same dozen stops downtown, in a straight line across the city.

- The cable car is worth a ride. Because you're there, and that's what you do. Plus, it's a relatively cheap and easy way to get over to Fisherman's Wharf and Ghirardelli Square, etc. It is a fun, scenic ride, and you can hang off the side all the way across town if you want to (which I did). Humming the Rice-a-Roni theme song optional but encouraged (or not). And if you're riding across town in the evening, it's entirely possible that your driver will stop the car in the middle of an intersection, hop off and run into a corner pizza shop to place an order.

The truth is, San Francisco is a very manageable size, and is generally walkable (or at least, don't-have-to-drive-able); you can get most places of interest other than Golden Gate Park or the Bridge without riding a municipal bus or getting into a cab. But given that,

- I am in lousy shape. Not that this is a surprise, but it was brought into uncomfortably stark focus on this trip. I was out and about in San Francisco for about eight hours or so on my one free day, with the total time spent sitting still (driving or riding the cable car) accounting for between an hour and a half and two hours of that time. The rest? Walking. Sure, a lot of stopping to take photos and that sort of thing, but mostly walking. And of the walking, there was a significant amount of climing. Not like rock-climbing or anything, but climbing hills and stairs. Because San Francisco? Not flat. Not even a little. It has hills. (Correction: make that hills).

I walked up Hyde St from the end of the cable car line to the top of Lombard St, the world's windiest street. On the map, this journey is about four blocks, which seems perfectly reasonable. In fact, it may seem reasonable enough that when the cable car stops at the top of Lombard St on Hyde, on the way to the Wharf, you might actually decide against getting off right then, instead figuring that you'll ride the car to the end and then walk over to the bottom of Lombard where the pics will be better anyway. This is a bad idea. Because when you fail to find Leavanworth St, which meets the bottom of Lombard, you will just end up walking up Hyde St anyway, retracing the path your cable car just took, without the benefit of mechanized transportation. And it will suck. The street is obscenely steep. Lombard St itself is listed as having a 27-degree incline; Hyde isn't quite that steep, but it's close. Or at least, it sure as hell feels like it. According to Google maps Terrain view, the trip from Bay St to Lombard St will take you up around 200 feet. In four blocks. With no stairs. It's steep enough that the middle of the sidewalk is cross-hatched, presumably to help people with traction as they climb. So yeah, get off the cable car, take pictures, then walk down the massive nasty hill to the Wharf. Down is easier. Or wait 15 minutes and catch another cable car to the bottom. I did none of these things, because I'm an idiot. But we've long since established that, now haven't we?

And all of that was after I had spent a couple of hours at the Golden Gate, where I climbed every bit of the 220 feet from the bridge deck to sea level, but at least there were stairs involved. See, you can park right next to the toll booths at the bridge, almost, take your pictures, then head on out to do whatever's next. You can, but I can't. I'm the one who notices the path off to the side, and follows it, ever looking for better angles for the photos. Then you realize that you can make your way all the way down to the water, where there's this cool concrete pier that gives you an excellent view of the bridge, as well as the city itself and Alcatraz; all it requires is that you descend, oh, say, 33885744 stairs to get there. At which point you're probably a little less than a half-mile from the bridge, and you notice that you can get almost right next to the bridge itself, also at the water line. So you go. It is at that point when you recognize that, while you may be standing next to the bridge, there is no direct path from there to the top of the bridge where you started. Instead, you ahve to go all the way back around and all the way back up the stairs. And did I mention 220 feet? Yeah. Awesome. And no escalators.

But the good news is, the pictures came out pretty well. They would be much better, if not for the final, most colossally aggravating thing I learned out there:

- My (brand new) camera has a defect in it. There is this small collection of circles, between two and four, in the top-center of just about every frame I took on this trip. They aren't always obvious, but they are always there, and always in the same place. So the clear blue sky surrounding the architectural wonder that is the Golden Gate Bridge has what appears to be a series of bubbles in it. Not that that's distracting or anything. I had purchased this camera about a week before I left for California, from a website that shall remain nameless (although one might suspect from its name that they also sell crackers, or that they're Putting On something*), but whose return/exchange policy, I found out later, is ten days. Ten days. That's it. Even for exchanges for defects. Ten days. So instead of making it easy to get this rectified, I'm going to have to send my camera to the manufacturer to get serviced, which will take something on the order of two weeks. Because the piece of crap website can't seem to figure out how to write a reasonable customer service policy. Fuckers. I have a $50 gift coupon that came with my camera, after whose use they will receive exactly $0 of my money ever again, and roughly that same amount from anyone who I ever talk to about camera stuff.

But that said, I did find some very good pictures in San Francisco, and will get some posted here one of these days. And I had an excellent trip out west, all things considered. This is a pretty busy travel month, so there may be more stories coming, you never know. Hopefully good ones, but since Murphy and I have the sort of relationship we do, you can never really tell...

* I should point out, however, that the brick and mortar stores bearing this name are not affiliated with the website, and as such I have no issues with them. The people there have been very helpful, in distinct contrast to their virtual cousins. Did I mention fuckers? Just checking.

They can't take it back now....

While it took so long as to suggest less Pony Express than Limping Tortoise Express, this did finally arrive today.


Not that it was ever in doubt or anything, but actually being able to hold it in your hands is pretty darn cool.

But seriously, it took 'em long enough....

Doing a little West Coast swing

Some observations from my first-ever trip to Los Angeles, the first stop on my two-city tour for work this week. Spent the weekend with a good friend from college, who was kind enough to play tour guide, and I've managed to see far more of the LA area than I had expected to. All in all, an excellent time.

- Why being nice to people matters: my seat assignment for my flight on Friday was waaaay in the back of the plane, on the window. Being somewhat taller than average, I tend to prefer the aisle because window seats usually have less foot-room on account of the curvature of the plane's fuselage. And exit row seats are always a good thing; but the seat-selection for exit rows, the computer said, would have to be handled at the departure gate. Not a promising sign, but I remained optimistic. At the gate, I inquired about a seat change, and was told that the flight was completely full, and there were no available seats, but the lady said she'd put in a request and we'd see what came up. Which sounded a lot to me like, "Don't hold your breath." But again, I remained optimistic.

Fast forward about twenty minutes, when the rest of that gate's staff arrived. The lady I had spoken to asked the arriving folks whether any of them had an extra pen, since she seemed to have left hers at her previous post. As it turned out, only one of them had a pen at all, so there was one pen available for three gate agents. Not an ideal situation, to be sure. I have my backpack with me, since that's what I use to carry my laptop, which has all of the supplies I used to take to class, including a plethora of pens. So grabbed one I hardly use, wandered over to the desk and handed it to her, saying,"And the best part is, I don't even want it back." She chuckled, said thanks, and I went back to my seat.

Another twenty minutes or so, and we're beginning the boarding process. They've already announced that first class is completely full, so there will be no upgrades, and we have a full flight, so the standby folks are SOL. But in the midst of all those announcements, the gate lady makes her way in my direction, holding a long slip of paper. A new boarding pass. Exit row. Aisle. Score. I'm not saying it was because I gave her the pen, but I'm not saying it wasn't, either.

- For some reason, United has decided that, rather than dividing the under-seat space evenly across the three seats in a row, the best approach would be to give the middle seat enough space to house a small third-world family, and the aisle and window each enough space for a business-sized envelope (standing on its edge), a thimble and a ball-point pen.

- Celebrity Sighting #1: Friday night in a small, relatively loud bar in Studio City whose name escapes me (I remember low, red lighting and a lot of noise, which narrows the list to roughly 4,556,533 bars in Los Angeles). Among the patrons, Jeffrey Dean Morgan, who I recognize more as "that guy who looks like Robert Downey Jr's older brother" than for any of his acting work.

- Complain all you want about the drivers in the DC area, but compared to the drivers out here we are all extraordinarily thoughtful and considerate on the road. No wonder they shoot at each other. But then, if I had to deal with the 405 every day, I might be a little unhinged myself.

- Run, Fat Boy, Run is a very good movie, and the Cinemadome at the Arclight theater is an exceptional place to take in a film. It reminded me of the Uptown, in terms of the screen space, but it is a very modern, updated theater. As interested as I was/am in Grummann's Chinese Theater, I wasn't willing to suffer through Drillbit Taylor just to have the experience. I think I came out ahead here. Quick trivia on Fat Boy: co-written by Michael Ian Black, formerly of MTV's The State, and directed by David Schwimmer, of all people. And he does an excellent job. And let's be honest, you simply cannot go wrong with Simon Pegg. Hank Azaria doesn't hurt, either.

- I've seen more Italian sportscars here than I have anywhere else outside of Milwaukee, Wisconsin (yes, Milwaukee of all places. There was this little euro bar near where I stayed while I was there in 1998, and every night there were no fewer than seven high-end sportscars parked on that corner. Lamborghini, Ferrari, even Lotus were well-represented on that hundred-foot stretch of curb. We never understood it, but it was something to behold). Also, more than a few Bentley's and Rolls' out in normal traffic, driving to the mall.

- Celebrity(ish) Sighting #2: Santa Monica is a lovely place to walk around, between the Promenade, which has some exceptional street performers, and the Pier, which has some exceptional views of the Pacific Ocean and the surrounding beaches. In the Apple store on the Promenade I saw Amanda from that Tila Tequila reality show, A Shot at Love. Neither my friend nor her boyfriend knew who she was, but thanks to the internet-connected computers in the store I was able to enlighten(?) them. The site has switched to Season 2, so her bio is no longer up there. But I will say this: the makeup artists on that show were busy. Either that or she aged a helluva lot since that show ended. Possibly both.

- If you find yourself in Studio City, make your way to Sushi Dan. Trust me. Order the baked langostino roll. You will not be disappointed.

- Ditto for Duke's in Malibu, which offers the added extra bonus of a drive on the PCH. Sitting at lunch, looking at the ocean, watching dolphins go by. Yeah, that'll do. Plus, the food? Delicious.

- Celebrity Sighting #3: Vivian's Millenium Cafe, brunchtime. Order the banana pancakes. But get the regular order, because the large is just absurd (he said, having learned the hard way). But they're very, very good. Sitting about six feet away, just off the patio and doing a crossword puzzle, is Zach Levi. At one point, he disappears into the restaurant, grabs the coffee pot to refill his cup, then heads back to his table with it, offering refills to other patrons along the way.

- Petco Park in San Diego is a beautiful stadium, and an ideal place to take in a game. Our client decided to make an impromptu trip down for the Padres-Astros game Tuesday night, and I went along. We got there early, and wandered through the grounds and every level of the stadium. Great sight lines everywhere. Our client said that it's a very similar environment to the new Nationals stadium, actually. With the small exception of it being very chilly in San Diego that night, it was an excellent side trip to take, and we made very good time both getting there and getting back. And on top of it all, it was a pretty good game; we root-root-rooted for the home team, and they won. Like an idiot, however, I left my camera in my hotel, so we'll have to see how the cell-phone pictures come out.

- There is an endless supply of amazing views out here, to the point where you get oddly used to it. And it's hard to take pictures, since the panoramas far exceed the width of the camera lens. It's difficult to pick which part of the sweeping view you want to capture. I got a few good ones, though.

Next up is San Francisico, for the second (and much shorter) leg of the tour; I head home Friday. I won't have nearly the tourist-time I had in LA, but I do plan on seeing as much as I can fit in. I'll post some of the pictures once I get back home.

In which I support a good cause, but recognize I am closer to breaking a hip than being hip

I recently had the opportunity to attend the annual dinner for the Syrentha Savio Endowment (SSE). If you're not aware (and let's face it, you're probably not), SSE is an organization dedicated to the fight against breast cancer. It's a small organization, nothing even approaching the Komens of the world, but naturally there's room for everyone in this area, and SSE is taking a different, and rather novel, approach to the effort and to outreach.

SSE was started by Mark Beemer, who had made his living as a rock photographer. Without getting into too much detail, events conspired to put the issue of breast cancer into stark focus for him, and in 2002 he made a slight change to his life's mission. Making use of his background in the punk-rock scene, and the network of people he knew there, Mark put punk-rock at the center of his outreach strategy. He knows bands, bands know him, and he gets them involved in his cause. SSE goes to shows to hand out materials, and the bands regularly mention SSE on stage, and direct people to their booth and the website.

The support of the punk-rock scene is even more evident in the centerpiece of SSE's fund-raising efforts, called Shirts for a Cure. Bands donate T-Shirt designs to SSE, and all proceeds from the sales of those shirts go to the endowment. And we're not talking about small bands you've never heard of, either. Bad Religion, Blink-182, My Chemical Romance (MCR), Fall Out Boy, and The Plain White T's are only a few of the myriad bands who have contributed designs to SSE's cause. They do some original stuff, too, including the punk-appropriately-titled "Fuck Cancer" line. They have some additional things in the works that haven't been announced yet, but will be very exciting and will expand their mechandise catalog in cooperation with a couple of big names*. They tour, they organize an increasing number of groups for the Race for the Cure, all the while helping to support breast cancer treatment for women who lack the means to obtain it on their own. These are good people.

SSE put on a show at the South By Southwest festival whose band list (including MCR) rivaled anything the festival's organizers could put together (in fact, the SXSW people are a little steamed at SSE for getting bands they can't, but that's a whole different story). They have gone on tour with MCR and other bands, getting out and talking with the fans, increasing awareness and promoting early detection/prevention of breast, testicular, and skin cancer. SSE has developed a number of materials that they hand out, including laminated shower cards promoting self-testing for boys and girls, complete with cartoon people sporting tatoos. By all accounts, it's been very successful and the response has been overwhelmingly positive.

This year, I attended SSE's annual charity dinner, which was held at Maggianos in DC. So right away, you know you're going to eat well. This is a good thing. In addition to copious volumes of Italian food, we were also treated to an update on SSE's previous year, and some of their plans for next year and the future (see asterisk, above/below, for example). It really was a wonderful event, and I may or may not have eaten way more than I should have. But that is neither here nor there. Good times.

One of the most interesting things for me was being seated at a table with three-fourths of the band Senses Fail. They were in town for the week, working on a new album, and came out to show their support for SSE. And to eat. Now, I should point out (which will surprise no one, really) that I know virtually nothing about punk/indie rock (is there a difference? That's how little I know about it), beyond being passingly familiar with a few of the bands named above, and having been to a Guided By Voices show at the 9:30 Club a few years back. So it's not all that suprising that I'd never heard of my tablemates before that very evening. But to me, that meant that they were obviously some up-and-coming band just getting started or something.

I was close. Turns out they share a record label with Dashboard Confessional, Paul Westerburg, and the Lemonheads, and are in fact working on their third album, not their first. So yeah, a little pop-culture hubris to go with the gnocchi in vodka sauce. And the gargantuan tiramisu (family-style dining rocks, especially at dessert time). I then went from feeling ignorant to old when one of the other people at the table explained that Senses Fail is 'very popular with the kids.' A group to which I clearly no longer belong.

I should also point out that the guys from the band were hilarious, and great fun to share a meal with. I was able to talk music with people who do it for a living, and it was fascinating for me to get some insight into the process of putting an album together. There may also have been some discussion of Steven Seagal and Steven Seagal movies. Highly entertaining all around.

It was a great night, supporting a great and growing organization. And at the end of the evening I finished my prune juice, hiked up my pants, and hopped on the Rascal for the trip home.

These kids today...


* As soon as I find out what I'm allowed to say, or when it does get announced, I'll tell you. I promise. But it's very cool.

Dictionostalgia

Like most people, I occasionally make up words. We all do it, don't we? We're trying to express or describe something, and can't quite nail it down with the words we know; so we come up with our own solution. Most of the time, these new words have a lifespan of that conversation, and are never heard again after that one use and chuckle. Some of them, however, bear repeating. They stick around. They go into a regular rotation, and our friends might even start to use them. Heck, some of them make their way into the national consciousness*. The average person might simply refer to these terms as made-up words, and they would certainly not be wrong to do so. But those of us of a certain age, who grew up in a certain pop-cultural period, recognize them as more than that. We know that some the best of these words fall into their own category, their own special place in the American lexicon.

We call them by their rightful name. We call them Sniglets.

Mention sniglets to someone, and if they remember them at all you will almost invariably get the same reaction, sort of like they just ran into a close friend from middle school that they haven't seen in years. But what they may not remember, however, is just where sniglets came from. Sure, there were books and even a sniglet calendar, but before all of that, there was a show. Much like Beavis and Bart (and Fergie, for that matter), sniglets started out as a small part of a larger show, which grew to far exceed (and outlive) the program that got them noticed.

Back in the early days of cable, when Nickelodeon was dumping green slime on people, and MTV was, well, something people actually wanted, HBO was coming up, still filling out its movie selections; but even then HBO was producing original shows. One of the first of these was a spoof-news program called Not Necessarily the News.







The show was decent, occasionally very good; kind of a distant progenitor of The Daily Show. NNTN introduced the world to Rich Hall, who in turn introduced the world to sniglets. And the rest, as they say, is history. But not nearly as many people remember the show itself so much as the new words the show provided. (For example, just look at the difference between NNTN's wiki entry and the one for sniglets. It's not even close**).

And if they do remember, then rest assured that not only do you get the holy-crap-i-remember-that reaction, complete with wide eyes and a chuckle or two, the person you are talking to will without fail proceed to tell you their favorite, the one that cemented sniglets in their memory. Promise. Everybody has one, and no matter how long it's been, they'll remember it pretty much on the spot. Mine? That's easy:

• cinemuck [n]: the sticky substance that covers the floor of most movie theaters.

So this long string of nostalgia was sparked for me over the holidays, while I was down visiting my family for Christmas. Unfortunately, I can't remember the exact circumstances, but I know I was sitting in the living room, talking with my brother and sister-in-law. I am blessed with a very funny family, and we spend at least as much time together laughing as doing anything else. It's a good group. Somewhere in the midst of all of the funny conversations, it occurred to me.

• mirthquake [n]: an extreme state of amusement, in which one is laughing so hard, or has been laughing for so long, that the person ceases to make any sound; all that remains is a near-involuntary shuddering of the body, and frequently unsuccessful attempts to catch one's breath.

I have never had a short way of describing this condition, but I have always greatly enjoyed it. See, my friend Katie from junior high school was the queen of this sort of thing. She was an easy laugh, and once she got going she had a lot of trouble stopping. She would often end up in exactly this condition, a huge smile (that bordered on a pained expression, honestly), occasional tears, and shaking, punctuated by loud intakes of breath. I remember once in a math class, she got caught by something funny at her desk, laughed for a couple of minutes, but then had a question for the teacher. She got up to ask, but by the time she got up to the teacher's desk, she was in full mirthquake mode. She tried for the better part of a minute to work through it and ask her question, standing next to the teacher, but eventually waved it off, went back to her desk, sat back down, and dropped her face into her hands until she could re-compose herself. As much as we laughed, none of us were more amused than the teacher, who got quite a kick out of it. He was good like that. And I don't think she ever asked her question, either.

In many cases, the onset of the mirthquake is signaled by the

• snortle [n]: laughter punctuated by an intake of breath through the nose, resulting in a sound reminiscent of a pig; this usually embarrasses the person making the sound, causing them to laugh further, often creating a snowball effect leading to general loss of control.

I have several friends who do this, and it's always hugely entertaining. First they're laughing at something else, then the snortle, then they're also laughing at themselves, and it just spirals. Personally, I love it.

The ultimate goal, of course, is to cause something to come out of your friend's nose; that's the grail, right there. But the mirthquake and the snortle are perfectly acceptable in the meantime.

So yeah. I made a sniglet (or two). If you remember them, please share your favorite(s), or one you made yourself.


* Only while writing this did I learn that the term I and all my friends always used to refer to a car with one headlight out (pediddel) is, in fact, one of these.
**Let's be clear: I am in no way suggesting wiki is some kind of journalistic standard, but I still think it says something.

I resolve to be immature

While I am not one to normally make New Year's Resolutions, I guess you could say I have a few this year by virtue of having just finished grad school (and no, I can't say that often enough, in case you were wondering). As I mentioned earlier, I do have some hobbies on the drawing board (although drawing is not one of them): I need to get back into some kind of exercise habit, I want to learn the guitar, and there are a couple of things on the second tier that I'm considering. We'll see how it all goes. I just hope the motivation lasts longer than the average Resolution, which these days has the lifespan of a fruit fly.

Except yours, of course. I have no doubt that you will be completely on top of your resolutions. No doubt. Let me know how that works out for you, k? K. Although if you're hard-up for ideas and want some help coming up with resolutions, LemonGloria has some excellent suggestions.

In other news, it's rare that one can get away with publicly channeling one's inner junior-high-schooler, but today is one of those days. As I and many of my co-workers were preparing do depart at the end of our half-day, we traded the age-old cliche that never fails to get a giggle, or at least an appreciative (though they might disagree, we know better) groan. I now bid it to all of you:

Have a good night, and see you next year.

Just remember: If you're driving, don't drink, and if you're drinking, don't drive.

Happy New Year, everybody.

I am Legend: somewhat less than legendary

The short version: good not great, but certainly worth seeing. One of the rare occasions on which I would have preferred a longer movie, since several aspects of the story seemed rushed (or ignored). But it's a good, entertaining thrill ride, even if I would say it doesn't quite live up to the hype.


I remember the first preview I saw for I am Legend, even if I don't entirely remember the movie I was seeing at the time. It was just about perfect, as previews go: you got a few shots of Will Smith in his house, driving through a desolate NYC, hunting with his dog, and you got the voice over of his radio message, which ends with, "you are not alone." Cut to title, cut to black.

That was it, and it was great. I knew that I wanted to see it, and frankly I didn't much want to know more about the movie than that. I desperately hoped that they'd keep it that simple in the marketing. I mean, it was brilliant in its simplicity: show the star, whet the appetite, leave the audience a little confused and a lot curious, and they will flock the theaters to see what happens. Genius, right? Less is more, tantalize them and they will come.

Apparently the commercial writers didn't get that memo.

I seriously want to find the people who write movie commercials and pimp-slap each and every one of them. They come very close to ruining most of the movies they're trying to sell, and I'm very, very tired of it. That's another rant for another time, but they really pissed me off with this movie. Mystery? Gone. Almost all of the anticipation about what the story might involve, the curiosity that the preview created, was pretty much shattered during the very first commercial. Oh, that's what they mean by not alone. Thanks, jackasses.

(In the hopes that some of you escaped the spoiler-filled commercials, I will try to discuss the movie vaguely enough to leave some mystery for you. And if you see a commercial come on, turn the channel immediately. Consider yourself warned).

Anyway, even though I knew more than I wanted about the plot, and even though I was pretty sure I knew what the ending was going to look like, I went and saw the movie anyway.

What I liked:

• The suspense - this is not as much a scary movie as a jumpy movie. There is a lot of good suspense and tension, not much in the way of blood and gore, which I think is a good thing. My suggestion: no coffee before showtime. You'll thank me.
• Will Smith - it should not be surprising to hear that Will Smith is pretty darn good in this movie, since he hasn't really clunked one in quite a while. What's most impressive is that he spends most of this movie by himself, in a way reminiscent of Tom Hanks in Cast Away. I don't think he's as good in this as Tom was in that, but there are similar aspects of the performance, including making characters out of his surroundings and having it be believable. But then, he has a dog, which is quite a bit more interactive than a volleyball. In any case, he does very well, particularly in showing how the solitude affects him over time. I don't think a nomination is out of the question, even though it's not the genre of film that award voters tend to look at closely.
  
• The dog - you get exactly what you want/need out of this dog: a sympathetic side kick for Smith. The fact that they generate real exchanges, Smith and this dog, is a really a credit to the trainers and to Will's performance, but the whole thing works. You will root for the dog almost as much as you root for Will. Best Supporting Animal? I guess we'll have to wait and see how awards season plays out.
• Almost no music - one of the things I have always given Cast Away (or more specifically, Tom Hanks) tons of credit for was the ability to create drama without the assistance of the movie's musical score. I applauded the decision then, and I applaud it now. There's not a lot of background music in this movie, and I think that was an excellent choice. It heightens the sense of isolation, and it also forces the actor to perform, and as I mentioned, Smith does a good enough job that he doesn't need the musical assistance that most suspense/drama movies get. For example, you don't get the high-pitched violin score in the background when something scary is happening. You get breathing, and darkness, and footsteps, and creaking of floors, and that's always better. Every time.

What I didn't Like:

• Duration/pacing - this story could easily have taken a two-and-a-half hour film to really flesh out completely, yet the movie comes in at well under two hours and some of the storytelling suffers as a result. The price you pay is a rushed feeling through several points in the movie, as well as the utter lack of explanation of a few questions that seem fairly obvious to ask, although I won't, since doing so would spoil. But they're there, and you'll want to ask them when you're leaving the theater; unfortunately nobody there will be able to help you. There are many points that could have used further explanation, and the lack of it loses a lot of depth to the film.
  
• CGI - considering the success of fully-CG characters in movies over the past several years, I was disappointed with the quality of the CG work in this movie. I fail to see what was gained by not using real people. That's all I'm saying. Maybe it was a budget thing (I'm not sure how much they spent to make this movie), but it detracts a bit from the overall experience
  
• The fact that I, with zero military or advanced tactical training, and without being a research doctor, was able to suss out at least two things that somehow completely eluded the main character. Granted, you could argue their necessity for plot movement, but having highly intelligent characters suddenly go completely ignorant and unobservant is one of those devices in movies that always bugs me. Especially someone who has apparently developed such a keen survival sense and situational awareness.
• The marketing/hype - this has a lot less to do with the movie than with the buzz that the people selling the movie have tried to create. I've already mentioned my issues with the commercials, but the real problem is that this movie has been so highly marketed, so intensely advertised, that I can't imagine it truly living up to the expectations that are set in the minds of the people going to see it. I mean, watching the coverage, you realize that if it's not the second coming of The Godfather or something it's going to be a huge disappointment. I think the larger issue is that studios see the drop in overall box office numbers lately, and they think that every movie has to be The Big One, just to get people in the door. They're doing themselves, and their movies, a disservice, though, because the higher you build something up, the more risk of a fall. Conversely, I really enjoyed Harold and Kumar go to White Castle as much because I had zero expectations going in as because it was funny on its own merits (which it was, but still). Anyway, I think that the studios put movies in general, and this movie in particular, at a disadvantage by talking it up so much. It's a good movie, but I think it would have had to be truly great just to meet the expectations, and that's not fair to the film itself.

Ultimately, I did like the movie quite a bit. Despite some of the issues, it's very engaging, it pulls you along with the story, and there are a few surprises in there that will help mitigate the effects of the commercials. I wasn't all that thrilled with the ending, but I respect the fact that it didn't end the way I thought it would, which I appreciate in and of itself. I think it's definitely worth seeing, and it's a movie experience that is definitely enhanced by seeing it on the big screen (the shots of NYC alone are practically worth the ticket). But you will probably enjoy the movie a lot more if you restrict your expectations to a good roller-coaster kind of movie, rather than some epic story. Think Aliens more than, say, Braveheart, and you'll be in better shape.

I give it a B+ for what it is, but a B- for what I expected it to be.

The commercials get an F. Fuckers.

And now for something completely different

For the past three years, my life has been more or less defined by a particular two-word phrase, the mention of which has elicited reactions ranging from admiration to pity, depending on to whom I was speaking. That phrase, as many of you know, is 'grad school.'

Or more to the point, it was. As in past tense. As in no longer. Finished. Complete. Dunzo. No mas. I grajimitated.

It didn't quite wrap up the way I expected it to, though. When you think about finishing something like this, you envision going out after class with a couple of classmates and raising a glass in celebration, or heading home to relax and soak up the fact that after all that work and time, you're finally through it; something to mark the occasion, some reflection, some acknowledgement of the event. This wasn't quite the way it went for me. Instead of getting to the end of that final class and basking in the moment, I scampered out of class as soon as my presentation finished, hopped on the metro to my apartment, got in the car and began the 3+ hour drive to Atlantic City for work (that's right, for work). Drove back Friday, then rolled straight into the birthday weekend with plans Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. The trip was fun (despite being work), the weekend was fantastic, but there wasn't a whole lot of time to digest the fact that I'm finished (but there was plenty of food to digest, to be sure).

Which brings us to tonight. Tonight would be a class night*, but I will be going home rather than to campus. I have been told that the being-finished thing sets in most on those first evenings when you should be in class but aren't. I'm kind of looking forward to it.

One of the most frequent questions I've gotten as the end approached is, "what are you going to do with all of that free time?" My answer usually involves sleep and/or the rediscovery of my friends' contact information (or their rediscovery that I, you know, exist), but those are facetious answers to an excellent question. I mean, I haven't had a hobby since the end of 2004. I've got this backlog of ideas that's, oh, about three years old now; now it's just a matter of figuring out how many I can fit in. That in addition to the sleeping and the friends, of course. I was only partly kidding about that. But really, all of those decisions will wait until after the holidays. Between now and then, I'll be concentrating on that whole relaxing thing.

I started this blog partly as a way to kill some of the time I was procrastinating from doing my actual schoolwork. I was spending the bulk of my time at home in front of a computer anyway, and that whole All-Work-No-Play thing made it seem like a good idea. And it certainly has been. Now that I'm finished, it will be interesting to see whether I get better or worse about the blog; I'm a little curious myself.

I'll figure all that out later. Right now, I have to go spend some quality time with my couch. Because I can.

And hey, did I mention I'm done? Oh, ok. Just wanted to make sure I covered that.

* Secretly, it is a class night, due to my prof taking certain liberties with the schedule. I'm not going, though. I did my presentation, the project is handed in, I'm done. Plus, I had told him I was going to be out this week anyway (work travel that was subsequently postponed), so I see no reason to confuse the man by showing up; that would just be impolite.

In case you ever wonder...

...why people make fun of

a) blondes
b) southerners
c) the fanatically religious
d) the state of the American educational system

I submit Exhibits A thru D:

A) The Kellie Pickler Experience



That sound you're hearing is your own hand involuntarily smacking into your forehead.

B) Kellie Pickler, even Pickler-er



I mean, she's right, but holy crap. There are people out there who insist that Ms. Pickler's affectations are all an act, and prior to this I might have believed it. But not now. You can't write this stuff; only real people say things this ridiculous.

C) Sherri Shepherd demonstrates the power of faith to overcome fact, logic, and history



Um, what? The best part is Whoopi giving her the out ("on paper"? What does that even mean?), looking for some way to end that conversation without specifically pointing out how hopelessly, foolishly ignorant her co-host is. Because seriously. Jesus came first? Really? The Jews must be awfully confused, then.

But we get this level of uber-intellectualism not just once, but

D) Twice



I've got nothing here. Nothing at all. Because it defies words.

And I feel compelled to point out that both of these women make far, far more money than I do.

But remember kids: work hard and stay in school, because.... um, because that's the only way to.... er, because people who don't.... because, uh....

Turn off the TV. Because I said so.

Turkey Day two-fer

family, friends, and
four weeks to go in grad school:
things I'm thankful for

turkey, stuffing, yams,
gluttony on the menu.
Happy Thanksgiving

And then the conductor said something about one hand clapping

I will admit that I don't really understand Zen Buddhism. It seems mostly to be concerned with finding alternate ways of looking at things, pondering the kinds of questions that if you try to analyze them logically and rationally, you run the real risk of basically having your brain leak right out your ears.

This is what I was thinking about as I walked home to Ballston from the Clarendon metro station on Friday.

But wait. Ballston has a metro station, it's just two stops farther down the line from Clarendon.

This is true. It may come as no surprise, then, that the philosophical ponderings and my commute are related.

Friday afternoon, there were some issues on the Orange line which were creating delays. In fact, the Orange Line Delay was becoming an all-too-regular occurrence lately, but that's another post. Apparently, there was a disabled train somewhere around East Falls Church that was causing trains to share a track, hence the delay. Nothing new, same as it ever was. So I got on at Rosslyn, figuring that the trip would take a little longer than usual, but no big whoop. We were actually moving along better than I had expected. Everything seemed to be going pretty well, I thought. Until we got to Clarendon, where the conductor said, and I quote:

"This train will be going out of service, due to a disabled train ahead of this one."

Um, what?

Read that sentence a couple of times, and try to make any kind of sense out of it. It might help to plug your ears, just to prevent excess leakage. Don't think about it too hard, you'll just hurt yourself.

Utter ridiculousness aside, they still booted everyone off the train and onto the platform, at which point I decided that trying to figure out/understand what was going to happen next would probably take longer than the 15 minutes I would spend walking. As it was chilly but not raining outside, up the escalator and out of the absurd metro system I went.

Maybe that moment of Zen reflection is how they're justifying the latest round of rate increases. We're not going to appreciably improve service, no, but we will start contributing to your spiritual health. Think of it less as your morning commute than as one more stop on the Express Train to Enlightenment.

But grab a tissue first, because you've got a little something coming out of your ears.

I give it a B(ee)

The expectations for Jerry Seinfeld's Bee Movie are understandably high. He's been hyping his project for what seems like forever, creating a spectacle at last year's Cannes film festival and spending a great deal of time on TV lately, from movie ads to McDonald's commercials, making sure that everyone on the planet (and anyone listening on nearby ones) knows that this movie is coming out, and by the way did we mention that Jerry wrote it? Stars in it? And he's in it? And he likes it? And don't you love Jerry? So don't you think you should run out and watch it? Like right now? I mean, it's Jerry! Go see Jerry! It kind of reminds me of that Beggin' Strips commercial: It's BACON!!! That seems to be the marketing philosophy behind this film: the movie? Oh, well, it's about some bees and stuff, but never mind that, IT'S JERRY SEINFELD.

One might be concerned that the commercials show more of Seinfeld in human form than in bee form, at least the one's I've seen: the producers appear to be more interested in selling the voice behind the movie than the movie itself. I mean, he wrote it, sure, I get that; but if he's as proud the project as he claims, don't you think he'd be more interested in showing it off than his face, especially since his face isn't in a single shot of the film? Maybe not: a $38 million box office performance speaks for itself, I guess.

But marketing plan (and box-office gross) aside, is it any good? The short answer: yes. It's good not great, consistently funny but not so much that your sides hurt.

The premise is quite literally one of Bee Meets World: the discontented dreamer strikes out on his own and ends up changing things for everyone, but most importantly himself. The movie hardly scores points for conceptual originality, but how many movies really can these days? The key is the execution, and this movie does a good-to-very-good job with what it has, and what it is: a kids' movie trying to entertain Mom and Dad, since they have to be there, too.

The plot? It's ridiculous, but it doesn't matter. If you're going to a CG animation movie looking for deep plot development, you have to stop going to the theater. In fact, just stop going outside, because you're creeping the rest of us out. The plot is enough to string together the jokes, and that's all that really matters. I'll leave the summary to others, but seriously, who cares?

The art/animation: excellent. The Dreamworks people decided to pull back on the photorealism on this picture, instead going for a more cartoonish look to the characters, and I for one appreciate it. Nobody will mistake the bees for real bees, the people for real people, but the backgrounds, textures, and effects are as good as you'd expect (the flying scenes with the kites are very good, for example). Frankly, if I want to see real people, I'll go outside. That's why it's there. But I digress.

Characters: fine. The characters are everything they need to be, but not a whole lot more; it's mostly archetypes, broadly-drawn characters who are, again, mostly there to keep things moving to the next line or the next step in the story. Jocks? Check. Overbearing Jewish-stereotype parents? Check (they even talk about being Bee-ish, so I'm not over-interpreting anything here). Dreamer's over-practical world-fearing best friend? Check. Sensitive stranger with a heart-o-gold? Check. Her (and of course it's her) overbearing insensitive boyfriend? Check. And on, and on. They're very simple, but remember: kids' movie. Simple is good. As long as it's funny.

The voice acting: Pretty good overall, with some definite bright spots. For better or worse, while his character's face bears no resemblance, you can almost see Jerry in his voice. His delivery is 100% Jerry, in the way that only he can really do it. One of the things I'm curious about is how funny this movie would be without his voice. I'd be interested to know how it does dubbed into other languages, where some of the subltelty of how you say something gets lost while what is said is preserved. As for the other characters, Jerry must have made a lot of phone calls, because this is a very large cast of names. Renee Zellweger is The Girl, and she does well enough as the sweet, sensitive florist who becomes Jerry's connection with the human world. Matthew Broderick is the best friend, and may give the best performance of the whole film. Naturally, a Seinfeldian or two is bound to show up: Putty, aka Patrick Warburton is The Girl's Jerky Boyfriend. There are more, but half the fun for me is guessing. So listen close, and check the credits. All in all, though, the casting was solid, and the performances were generally good. Again, some of the characterizations are a little over the top, but it's all in line with the rest of the movie (which, again, is totally absurd).

There were just a few things that I take issue with, but they aren't that serious. I think that the chemistry and rhythm between Jerry and Renee syncs up way too quickly for my sense; she gets over the talking-bee thing with far more aplomb than she should. I understand why they did it, but it struck me as a bit strange. And the ending is absurd, even by absurd standards. And it was kind of predictable; I remember thinking, "Oh, they're not going to... don't tell me... come on..." as I saw it coming. Some of the jokes are like that, too, a little on the predictable side. But you know what? Kids' movie, and it works on that basis. The kids in the theater where I was oohed and ahhed at exactly the right places.

You will appreciate this move if:
- You enjoy cartoons, the raft of Pixar movies, A Bug's Life, and their extended family
- You think puns, word-play, and anthropomorphic humor are funny
- You remember and enjoy Jerry's standup, if not necessarily the sitcom
- You are 7 years old (not required, but certainly helpful)

If you think puns are generally stupid or lacking in cleverness (no matter how clever they may be), or if the bee/people life parallels have little chance of amusing you, then you probably want to skip this movie, since the vast majority of the humor is exactly that. I can't disagree, for example, with a lot of what the WashPost reviewer says in that regard*, although I do think Desson is a bit stuffy and shortchanges the comedy a bit. But he's a critic, and that's his job. I just go to laugh. Which I did.

For what it is, though, it's done pretty well. Like I said, it's a funny movie: the jokes-per-minute rate is relatively high, and the laughs are good ones, if not tear-inducing side-splitters. This makes sense, though, for anyone familiar with the work of the writer and star. His comedy has always been illuminating, thoughtful, and insightful, but not that intense. We shouldn't expect this to be much different.

My final piece of advice: if you go, stay for the credits. There's a treat in there for you.

The bottom line, for me, is that it's worth seeing. I woudn't say you need to see it in the theater, but it's definitely worth renting/Netflixing/buying at a Shanghai pirated DVD kiosk, whatever (I kid, I kid; don't steal or download movies, kids. And stay in school. And say no to drugs. And stay off my lawn).

Actually, I disagree with his point about Chris Rock, but that's as much as I'll say about it here to avoid spoilage. And obviously, I like the movie more than he did.

I would much rather oversleep

Sometimes, you wake up in the morning without your alarm, ready to go, and get your day started without that grating electronic screech telling you to get your lazy behind up and moving.

Today was not, strictly speaking, one of those days, and it reminds me of a similar morning I had in college.

My third year of undergrad I was an RA (actually for all of that year, the summer, and the first semester of the next, but anyway). Being an engineer, naturally I had 8am classes, because the department hated us. I'm sure they wouldn't have put it that way, but that was certainly the message they sent. Neither here nor there. Moving on.

One weekday morning, I woke up without my alarm, hopped out of bed and started my day. Grabbed my stuff and headed for the shower. In the hall, I passed one of my residents, said good morning, continued. The usual. I did notice, however, that there did not seem to be the usual activity I was used to seeing in the morning: people up and about, grumbling about the time, the sorts of things your average class-day morning are made of. I didn't think too much about it, lest I get distracted and end up with shampoo in my eyes, but it did occur to me. I made my way back to my room, at which point I looked clearly at the clock for the first time. the more perceptive children probably have an idea where this is headed...

It read: 3:15. As in a.m., ante meridiem, in the morning, a good 3 hours before I was supposed to get up; and there I was, not just up but already showered, and now more than a little annoyed. I hopped back into bed, determined to get back to sleep for at least a couple of hours before getting up for class. You ever try to go to sleep, like really try to sleep? It's hard. It's easily the least effective way to go about it, but I was pissed and had little choice. Fortunately, I did get there, got a little more shuteye before getting up. Again. Dammit.

Later that day, I saw that same resident again, and we talked about it. He agreed that seeing me obviously shower-bound at that time of morning (or night, really) was more than a little out of the ordinary; to which I replied: then just why the hell didn't you, I don't know, say something?

He just shrugged and said, "I just figured you thought you were dirty."

He just figured I thought I was dirty. And apparently had my cleansing inspiration at 3 in the morning. Um, sure.

This made sense, actually, coming from a guy who showered both when he got up and before bed, but I was less than pleased all the same. But I learned my lesson: look at the clock before you get out of bed.

I learned it. Or so I thought.

This morning was like that, although I did catch my error before actually getting into the shower. But I've been groggy all day and class tonight is not looking promising.

Is it just me, or does this happen to other people?

Just another day that I miss naptime.

Just say what?

Walking back from getting lunch today, I wandered past what became the current titleholder for Strangest Overheard Conversation Ever.

Man, into cell phone: "... no, the... the cocaine.... the cocaine was out on the back porch. The other stuff...." That was all I heard, and frankly more than I needed to.

Bear in mind that it was just past 1pm, in the area just around the Ballston Mall, and this man made no efforts to lower his voice or seek any particular privacy. In public, in plain sight. My question is, if you weren't interested in concealing the fact that you're talking about cocaine, then what on earth are you into that has to be cryptically described as, "The other stuff"? And what kind of idiot are you dealing with who's leaving cocaine out on the back porch? I mean seriously: what if it gets windy? Think, man, think! I don't even do coke and I know better than that.

This follows a couple of instances in the past couple of months where I've walked behind or past someone smoking pot, while making no effort to conceal the fact that they're smoking pot. One was on GW campus over the summer, some dude just strolling up the street, smoking a joint like it was a cigarette, without a care in the world (except maybe for some Doritos). The other was last week, just after lunch walking down Pennsylvania Avenue. You know, one of the busiest streets in DC? Some guy not even walking, just sitting next to the sidewalk toking up, half a block from one of those really nice hotels. Blew his cloud right in front of me.

Gone, apparently, are the days when the good, self-respecting druggie was behind closed doors, towel shoved into the crack, blowing through a toilet paper tube and dryer sheets. No need for incense, kids, don't worry about it. Get some fresh air with your smoke. It's DC, after all.

You can insert your own joke(s) here about Marion Barry, the DC Police and/or the crime rate and parking tickets. I'd do it for you, but I'm suddenly very hungry...

Not technically, but I like the way it sounds

For the next week and a half, I will be a burden on society, a blight on the American professional landscape, a hanger-on, a dragging weight on the progress of the national economy, contributing nothing of substance to the GDP, to the greater good, or to anything other than, perhaps, the viewership of daytime television, Sportscenter, and the Cartoon Network.

I will be, in a word, unemployed. Or, more accurately, I am unemployed right now.

That's the shorter, much more interesting version. The truth is longer and has, like most truths, far less flash. But it'll do.

I got a new job. Monday was my last day with the firm where I have worked for the past six years, and I start the new one in mid-October. While I had been planning to job-search when I was finished with school, and had every intention of polishing up the resume to support that effort, life stepped in a little early and made all of that unnecessary. It went kind of like this:

When I first started at my most recent job, J was also working there. Very solid engineer, strong business sense, overall good guy. He went with me on my Egypt trip, and we got to know each other fairly well (at least, as well as one can in the office). We would even kick around after hours shaking our heads at some decisions management was making, and wondering how it was that the right thing seemed so clear to us and yet eluded many people with far more responsibility, experience, and salaries than we had. But I digress. After a couple of years, J left the company to pursue his own thing. He was going to start his own company, and set off to seek his fortune, as it were. I pretty much lost touch with him shortly after that.

Fast-forward about three years, to a month or so ago. I get back in touch with him on another matter, and we catch up on what's been going on since he left. Turns out that rather than start his own firm from scratch (as was his original plan), he got the chance to start his own division within an existing company instead. And was, oh by the way, in talks to take that firm over once the owner decides to retire in the next couple of years. So at the end of that story, he asks what I'm up to and how things are going at my end. He knows most of the players, having done some consulting work for us since his departure, so he gets a lot of the shorthand. Long story short (ha), I get this offer about two weeks ago. A good one. With some pretty serious growth potential, and a clarity of career path which is more or less foreign with the current company. All that plus the fact that with a new, swiftly-growing firm there are plenty of things they haven't decided how to do yet, from a corporate policy perspective, and the chance to be involved with that appeals to my about-to-be-an-MBA brain quite a bit. The commute's about the same (Crystal City instead of DC), better health coverage, that sort of thing. And of course, more money. And did I mention I'm friends with the Big Boss? That doesn't hurt, either.

You can imagine how long I had to spend thinking about it.

The irony is that it's another federal contractor, and that's the one area I didn't expect to get involved with in a post-MBA career move. I had planned on going and looking into consulting, etc, with private-sector clients, and even had a small list of companies to go chasing. Instead, I got a job similar to what I'm doing, albeit a serious upgrade, and never had to update a resume or even really interview. It's something that I wouldn't necessarily have gone looking for, but I'm certainly glad it found me.

Six years is a long time to spend in one job, and truth be told the company has been pretty good to me overall during my time there. It's a big office, filled with a diverse group of smart, fun people, and that's something that's very difficult to find. While it is hard in it's own way to leave, it's the best move and I'm looking forward to the next step.

But in the meantime, I get to be a bum. Well, okay, not really. Since I'm not collecting unemployment or anything, I'm not technically a burden on society. And I won't be watching a whole lot of TV, what with the whole grad school thing going on. But being a bum sounds a whole lot better, doesn't it? The upside, though, is that I should be able to get on top of my classwork in such a way that makes the end of the semester a whole lot easier. I kind of wish that the move happened in August, between semesters, but you won't hear me complain. Much.

There seems to be a lot of this job-changing thing going around lately, I'm noticing. And that's just the people actually making changes; there are a number of other bloggers in the area either seriously considering changes or having changes looming in the not-too-distant future. In what I would describe as a relatively small community of local bloggers, that's an awfully high percentage. I don't know if it means anything, but I think it's significant.

Heck, it's almost enough people to co-host a HH. Well, almost...

Reading is fundamental

*Credit to Jo for jogging my memory

Let me preface this by saying: they weren't for me.

I start with that, because it's the answer to the question that will fly out of your mouth/brain, unbidden, in just a second. So I will say it again, just so we're clear: they weren't for me. Got it? Good. Moving on.

I have, on two occasions, gone into a grocery store unaccompanied, and purchased pantyhose. Now go read that first sentence again.

If there were any questions as to whether I'm a good friend to have, I will now consider the matter closed.

Here's the thing: a lot of guys talk about buying tampons as being a big deal. Like it's the ultimate sign of either a) loyalty and devotion, or b) whipped-ness, depending on your point of view. But I disagree. Tampons are nothing. All buying tampons says is that more than likely there is a woman at home who will be very, um, grateful, when you get home (or at least in a short period of time). ('period,' heh) Tampons are unambiguous; everyone in the place knows what they are and what they mean. Ladies who see men buying tampons/pads will invariably see that man in a positive light, a gentleman to be respected and admired.

Pantyhose? Not so much. The social standing of a man buying pantyhose is, understandably, somewhat less clear. He may very well be a helpful soul, doing his part for a lady friend in need. Or, he may be a bank robber. Or a transvestite. Or something that makes either a bank robber or transvestite seem like a desirable alternative; I leave that to your imagination. Pleasant dreams. But I digress. I was the former, just trying to help out. This particular story concerns my first pantyhose adventure (which really sounds like a whole lot more fun than it was, as you will see).

My freshman year of college, I lived in a dorm that was coed by floor, and I happened to get to know a number of the girls who lived on the floor above me (somehow, in 1993, simply knowing how to get around in Windows made one an 'expert,' but that's another story). My favorite of these was 'Heather,' with whom I got to be pretty good friends that year and through most of college. Anyway, Heather got herself into a sorority, and come springtime she got all dolled up and went off with her boyfriend to her spring formal. Looked great, good to go, no problem.

Fast forward about three hours. I'm hanging out down the hall when I hear the door to our hallway open, and the sound of heels heading my way. Naturally, I poke my head out to see who it is, and there's Heather, visibly upset, and she comes straight to me and about loses it. Mascara running, tears all over the place, generally not a great scene. Apparently she got a little tipsy, did something embarrassing (or got in a snit with the boyfriend, I really don't remember) and made a beeline home. More or less inconsolable, and I somehow have to deal with this.

The solution: take her upstairs to the girls, and put her in the care of experts. Fortunately for me, a couple of her sisters had followed her home, so there was a cavalry of sorts. I did, however, make what would prove to be the mistake of sticking around, something I would come to regret. Twice.

So we get her calmed down, and ultimately decide that what she needs to do is put herself back together and go back to the formal. Excellent idea, all agree. So the crew gets to work.

Hair? Tara. Makeup? Keely. We're good to go.

Then, someone notices the run in the pantyhose (cue more crying). At which point the room basically turns and looks at me. Given that I had (and have) no skills in the hair or makeup department, and seeing as how both of my legs did in fact work, I was the 'logical' choice to go to the campus store and get black pantyhose for Heather. (cue Moment of Regret #1) And quickly, chop-chop. Regular black pantyhose, no frills, just get it. I'm a smart guy, I figure it can't be that hard, so off I go. I'm the man (er, as it were). I was to the store in back in less than twenty minutes, and proud of myself for it.

Now I should take a second and describe Heather: maybe 5'3", a petite little thing, cute as a button, etc. But the point is, tiny little blonde girl.

I should also point out the importance not just of reading, but reading for comprehension. And I should further mention, gentlemen, that if you find yourself in a similar position you should know that pantyhose comes not only in different colors, but different sizes as well (this is worth writing down, if you have a pen handy).

Because, it turns out, when a size 0-1 girl is already in a very, very fragile state, it does nothing to help matters when she is handed a package of pantyhose to wear, whose size reads: Queen. I am not exaggerating when I say that this went over poorly. There may have been more, possibly even louder, crying. I try to block that part out.

But the bottom line (ha) is, these will not do. But it's no problem, I will simply return them and get the right size, and all will be well. So again, off I go to the campus store. I have a receipt, so there will be no issues.

I get to the store, go up to the counter, and explain that I need to return some pantyhose. The guy behind the counter reaches down and pulls out a form, and explains that I will have to sign for that. (cue Moment of Regret #2) Apparently, my alma mater keeps records of all returns made to the campus store. So in the archives somewhere, there is written record of the fact that I returned women's black Queen-sized pantyhose, complete with (wait for it) social security number and signature. Awesome.

Plus, the whole transaction took time, of which I had very little. So little, in fact, that when I got back Heather was gone. They decided to skip the pantyhose and go without. Which if they had just decided in the first place, would have saved me two trips to the store and a signature for women's undergarments. And might have kept any potential political aspirations alive. But not so much.

But I hear bank robbery is a growth industry, and I do have a leg up on that now.

Not boxers

Football

- If you're curious what it's been like to be a Buffalo Bills fan over the past, say, ten years, all you had to do was watch the game on Sunday. We finally get on TV in the DC area, and lay a big, fat egg. Chris Berman once said that nobody circles the wagons like the Buffalo Bills. Well, circle 'em up, boys, because that was ugly.

- If you had told me that the over-under on one of Sunday's games was going to be right around 100 points, then had me choose the matchup that would produce such a total, I can unequivocally say that Cleveland-Cincinnati wouldn't have made the top five. And we were stuck watching Jets-Ravens. Yawn. Yet another reason I despise regional broadcast rules.

- For all his extensive education and football smarts, Bill Belichek sure thinks that the media and fanbase of the NFL are a bunch of rubes. Like anyone believes for a second he misunderstood anything, and there's no chance the vague, non-acknowledgement of something that has apparently been a poorly-kept secret in football circles for some time is going to satisfy anyone, save the most die-hard Pats apologists. Note to Bill: come on. If I want my intelligence insulted, I'll watch Congressional hearings. I expect more from you.

Emmys

- Wow. I mean, wow. On a night celebrating the best of television, a night that should be all glitz and glitter, polish and panache, they choose to pull that crap. Okay, so you want to beep some bad words. Fine. But really, is that the way to do it? Like some seven-year-0ld got loose in the booth and started pushing random buttons? Cutting away to some still footage behind the disco ball, so everyone wonders whether you're having technical problems? Somehow the simplest move in broadcast television turned into Twitchy Moron Theater Sunday night, when they trot out the best and brightest to show just how good television can be.

- I'm all for theater in the round and everything, but that usually means that the show will play to all sides of the stage. That's the beauty of in-the-round. If you're curious about how it's supposed to look, check George Carlin, late 70s, or Def Leppard, Pour Some Sugar on Me. But no, really, I'm sure the cast of Ugly Betty really wanted to stare at all the presenters' asses all night. Good choice.

- I know awards shows are too long. I know that there are only a few hours to get it all in. I understand. But seriously: you do not, ever, ever play Robert Duvall off the stage. America Ferrarra? Sure. She won an award, say thanks, now let's go. But Duvall, one of the greatest actors of his generation (and possibly any other) can stand up there as long as he damn well pleases. Read his grocery list, I don't care. Show some respect,people, for crying out loud. Sally Field, too. Gidget can take her time. She's earned it. Want to save time? I only need one member of the cast of Entourage to present an award. Or, better yet, cut out Seacrest's monologue. No really, please. Cut it.

- Someone please explain to me why Ryan Seacrest is allowed to host anything other than American Idol and some girl's sweet 16 party. Nobody over the age of 25 wants to see this guy. I'm pretty sure most of the ladies will agree with me on this, not just the guys. In five minutes, Jon Stewart and Steven Colbert were more entertaining than the host. My vote? Seacrest out.

- And finally, why I am a Katherine Heigl fan after last night: she corrected the patronizing, infinitely annoying disembodied Announcer Voice on the pronunciation of her last name. You would think that one of the key, critically important details of putting an awards broadcast together would be knowing how to say the people's names. You'd think that, but apparently you'd be wrong.

Thoughts about thoughts

This is less about the day itself than about the peculiarity of the mind, and how things occur to us sometimes.

About this time six years ago, I was in my second week at a new job (this one), at my desk by Farragut West, about four or so blocks from the White House. As most would say, it started out like any other morning. Actually, I probably wouldn't have found out much about what happened if not for the fact that the lady sitting across from me was listening, as she did every day, to one of the local morning shows (PGC, or something similar). Like most people I've talked to since, I took the early news of a plane crashing into the WTC as something like a small Cessna or private plane; it wasn't until a short time later that the truth was made clear. But everyone knows what happened, and this isn't really about that.

The first thing I did, as I'm sure many did as well, was try to figure out whether I knew anyone in either of the Towers or at the Pentagon. I couldn't think of anyone, which was a relief, so I went to check the TV that had been set up in the hallway upstairs (our office didn't have cable or TVs, someone found a presentation TV and set it up with rabbit ears on the next floor up; I got to it just in time to watch the first building come down). I couldn't watch much after that, so I went back to my desk. I had talked to my roommate, who was home at the time, and got caught up a little on the news. We'd heard from a co-worker's dad, who was working in the Pentagon, and by and large most of the people we knew of were accounted for. One woman hadn't heard from her husband, and she left the office almost immediately. Again, I found myself glad that I didn't know anyone directly connected to what was happening.

But not long after (in the men's room of all places), a snippet of conversation floated across my memory, a question asked in what sounded a whole lot like my own voice:

So what's it like working in the World Trade Center?

Huh?

It bubbled up seemingly from nowhere, and it took me a few seconds to put the images together.

I was in St. Augustine, Florida, the previous Christmas. My cousin, her then-boyfriend, and I were at the tail end of driving up A1A after taking my grandparents most of the way home from the holiday festivities (we took one of our cars and theirs, drove them most of the way home, then put them in their car for the last hour or so), on one of the most beautiful winter days I could remember (75 and sunny all day) for a drive back up the coast to Jacksonville, where my parents live. We had stopped in St. Augustine in the late afternoon, walked around town, and had some phenomenal seafood for dinner on the patio, thoroughly enjoying the weather. It was over that meal that the conversation took place. My cousin's boyfriend worked for Black Rock at the time, as I remember, and they had an office in one of the Towers. So I was curious as to what that was like, working in a global landmark.

A global landmark that was, at the moment, in the process of disintegrating.

This all came back to me in a rush, and I could have slapped myself for not thinking of it sooner.

But really, all I thought was, holy shit.

Now, anyone who tried to make a call into NYC that day knows what it was like. Cell coverage was shot, because a) everyone and their brother was calling into town that day, and b) the cell tower that would have carried the incoming calls went down with the buildings. So I had little to no hope of getting directly to my cousin. Not that it stopped me from trying, mind you.

Fortunately for me, her parents lived in the Poconos at the time, so I was able to get through to them and find out that everyone was all right. My cousin's bf (who is now her husband) was actually between the buildings when the first plane came in, being one of the many who were running a little late that morning and probably being alive because of it. So he was fine. At least, as fine as anyone could be that day.

Not long afterwards, I made my way home and spent eight or so hours straight watching CNN. I finally hit my threshold around 9:30 or so, when they ran the same montage of footage for the third or fourth time in a row, and my and my roommates' brains just couldn't take it anymore. There's an extent to which I suppose mine still can't.

But I always sort of shake my head when I think back, and wonder just how the hell I didn't think of that conversation sooner.

Perhaps more bizarre, in terms of how-the-brain-works, is what my aunt told me about M's experience that morning (he hasn't told much of the story himself; doesn't like to talk about it). Apparently, in the midst of all that was happening, having seen a plane crash into a major building, one of the first things that occurred to him was this:

better get to an ATM.

Most New Yorkers carry little or no cash, and he figured he should probably get some in case he needed it and the system shut down. Under the circumstances it made practical sense, but it seems a totally bizarre thought to have. It's the kind of thing that actually gets a laugh when telling the story. But sometimes, the brain just sort of does that.

I don't have much of a point here; I just like to tell that story as an example of how even in the midst of tragedy and suffering, sometimes things happen that just make you chuckle a little bit, and maybe that's the best news of all.

Unlike the rest of them, I actually am back to school...

Is there a better way to close my first week of classes than with the Back to School Blogger HH? There aren't many that I can think of. Once again, a very good time with the blogkids.

This one may have set a world record for number of co-hosts, which prompted my suggestion that if the trend continues, we will at some point have a Blogger HH where the co-hosts outnumber the attendees. It's only a matter of time before we have a HH comprised entirely of co-hosts. You laugh, but just wait, it could happen.

This was a really, really good HH for me, because it had what has become the usual suspects, plus a handful of bloggers that either haven't been out in a while, or that I just have missed over the past few HHs. At one point, KassyK turned to me and said that the HH had a very old-school feel to it, and I agree. I kept waiting for someone to walk up to Jessica and ask her if she was new, and did she write a blog. That would have been classic. It was great to see the erstwhile DC Cookie, just a short time before her upcoming wedding (and an even shorter time before a half-marathon yesterday. I get tired just thinking about it). She was my first blog friend, and it is nearly impossible to have a bad time when she's in the building. Go ahead and try; you will fail. KK, also one of my first blogquaintences, can easily hold her own in that department as well.

I got to Madhatter a little bit early, and found most of the co-hosts there and getting a step ahead of the party. More surprising than that (okay, so it wasn't surprising at all) was seeing Bettyjoan, who I almost didn't recognize with her lighter hair and whom I hadn't seen since I voted for her butt. That evening was going to come up a lot Friday, since it was also the last time I had seen/met I-66, VP of Dior, Hey Pretty, and Mandy. I got to catch up with each to varying degrees, but it was good to see all of them. My only request: don't let it go that long again before the next time, please. Also got brief hellos/catchups with Boztopia and Joe Logon, which is never a bad thing. And the retired blogstress of Circle V made an appearance,

Some of the newer familiar faces: the treacherous trio of gn, h, and Gen; I got to congratulate gn and h on their new jobs, and got to see (but did not meet) Gen's bf. Arj, of course, was in full Arjewtinian effect (which is to say, inebriated and amnesiac), sporting his new fannypack. We more pushed past than talked to each other most of the night, but that counts for quality time in my book. Same for INPY, who was somehow always at the other end of the room from me after about the first half hour.

And then the new (or new-ish) folks. Leon is one funny man, and has what I can safely refer to as the best business card I've ever seen, period. JustJenny has what may be the world's greatest blog title, at least to anyone who enjoys Eats, Shoots, and Leaves-type humor. I also got to meet the man behind DCBlogs, whom I had seen before but never spoken to. I re-met a couple of folks, including LMNt, fresh off of his blogging sabbatical, and Dagny Taggart, who I met very briefly at the last HH I attended and who I read just about daily. She also gets major cool points for making bearable, even enjoyable, a very long wait for the metro at the end of the evening. So thanks for that.

There were a whole lot more bloggers there that I recognized but never got to say hello to, and I know there were a bunch more that I didn't know but have heard of. But I suppose if you're going to have a problem, it should be of over-attendance and too many people to talk to, as opposed to the alternative.

I will apologize if I left anyone out; feel free to lambaste me in the comments. Thanks to the cornucopia of co-hosts for putting together another winner, and I look forward to the next one.

The rest of the weekend was also very good. If you ever find yourself in a postion to see Daniel Tosh do anything, especially stand-up, jump on it. Great show at the Improv on Saturday. One of the rare occasions when all three comics, from the emcee to the feature to the headliner, killed. The best emcee I've seen at the Improv in years, but I can't remember his name (figures; my best guess is Terry Tyler). The feature was a girl from Last Comic Standing (whose name I also do not remember; Amy something, I think), and was much better on stage than on the show; I think this is because a) LCS doesn't give comics more than a couple of minutes, which makes it difficult to hit a rhythm, and b) you can't be dirty on LCS, and she was, but she did it well.

And now, of course, it's Monday. I don't have a case of them, but it's possible that I'm a carrier.