Recently, I asked my mom what life was like for her during World War II. I'm not sure what made me ask the question. Every once in a while, I feel a desire to know details from a relative's life. Some sort of personal story or mental image that I can hold on to and perhaps pass on to my kids one day. I wasn't sure if she would have that much to talk about in regard to the war. After all, she was very young when it was going on, and was only about 7 or 8 years old when it ended. Even so, she had these two things to offer:

1. There were these air-raid drills during which there would be mandatory lights-out in all homes. Her family would sit in their living room, the only light a soft glow from the round dial of the radio. And even though she was told that these were only drills, my mom would imagine that the Germans were out there somewhere possibly about to bomb their neighborhood.
2. The day it was announced that the war was over, her family celebrated by going outside and banging pots and pans in the street. All the neighbors did the same thing. She felt an awesome sense of victory and celebration. Her mom cried and she didn't fully understand why.

These were powerful images to me. My mom and I have probably come to understand the war in the overall context of history in much the same way: retroactively, through text, photographs, video, words, documentaries. But I can read hundreds of accounts of the war from various historians, I can view thousands of photos, watch hours of documentaries, and none of it will be quite the same as the mental images I have of my mom, my aunt and uncle, their parents, celebrating the end of the war by banging pots and pans outside of their house in Michigan. Or of them sitting quietly in a dark room listening to the glowing round dial of the radio, waiting for an air-raid drill to end. It feels close. It feels more real.

All this made me wonder what I might say if my kids or grandkids were to ask me about some big event from my lifetime, something like 911. What would I say? During 911, I lived in Dallas, Texas, over a thousand miles away from the attacks. Even though I watched the second plane hit the tower 'in real time' as it was actually happening, my experience of that day was filtered through the camera lens, just as my kids' experiences will be. I was not one of the dust-covered New Yorkers in the streets of Lower Manhatten that day. I have no first-hand knowledge of the fear of that day, or the way the city smelled, or the eery sounds of alarms as a cloud of dust enveloped the area. The only sights, sounds, experiences I personally have of these events are those that I got from TV, the Internet, or magazines, with the exception of a few personal stories I've heard from friends and family, most of whom were in DC, not New York. This leaves me wondering what I could possibly say to my theoretical children during this imagined interaction I might one day have.

I could of course tell them about the social and cultural climate in America: how after 911, there was an initial wave of patriotism, but then it became even more strongly divided, politically and culturally, than before; we went on to fight strange wars; the economy tanked; the Internet bubble was gone, but the Web continued to be a dominant force in everybody's lives.

Blah, blah, blah. This is all stuff they could read in a textbook somewhere. Also, they will have access to the exact same images I saw, the same videos, the same articles, the same stories. So maybe the real story on something like 911, for me, for them, boils down to this: I felt a very real and palpable fear when I watched the towers fall, like I'd lost something dear and close. I remember hugging your mother in our living room in front of the TV and feeling small and sad and bewildered. We cried. Later that day, more out of habit than anything else, I went to work. It didn't really seem right, but I didn't know what else to do. People around me, walking, driving in cars, strangers, they all were a comfort to see. Somehow, everybody felt like a friend.

For the most part, these will be just words and won't fully describe 'what it was like.' But they'll tell a small part of my own experience, something close, something personal, that will go beyond the hours of footage they'll probably be able to view online. And maybe, in some ways, that will make it more real.

link to this | comments (0) | File:  Family  Chewing 

Saturday afternoon we went out near Harper's Ferry, WV to The Maple Tree Campground in Gapland, MD for Mat's bachelor party. While not 'traditional,' in the sense that there was no nakedness (either on the part of the bachelor or exotic dancers) it was still a great time. Very relaxing, which is something I needed after a week of boxing my mom's apartment followed by a couple days of stressing over hurricane Rita. I still held a hope that our rafting trip down the Potomac would actually be led by girls in thin, white t-shirts who took pleasure in splashing each other in the chilly West Virginia air, but no such luck.

There's not too much of a 'down-side' to drinking beer and camping except this: you will inevitably be awakened by the urgent pressing of your bladder in the morning. And it's always a pain to get out of the tent and go find a suitable place to pee. Mat's friend Amy told me that the reason men have to pee all the time is because it's just so easy for them to go anywhere they want, so they never have to worry about holding it. The result is that men have not learned to 'train' their bladders. They simply require more discipline. She thought I should practice holding it.

Maybe she was right. So that morning I gave it the old college try. I felt my bladder fill up, but I just put it out of my mind. I kept reminding myself: Mind over matter. I thought of dry, barren deserts. Sand. Hotness. Rainless. Rain? Oh no! Mind over . . . pee. Pee? Water. Running water, like the Potomac. Rain. Drizzle. Dripping faucet. Waterfall. Gush. Tinkle.

Oh shit! My mind was full of water words. This would not work. In the end, my 'training' only lasted for about 30 minutes of our hour-and-a-half ride home when we stopped at an Exxon in Gaithersburg to rid myself of one of my cups of coffee and a bottle of water. I'll have to build up my stamina.

My photos of the trip are of the film variety and must be developed, but Mat has some digital ones here. Looking forward to the wedding!

link to this | comments (3) | File:  Friends 

I'm in a bright and sunny Houston Texas in Hobby Airport. The calm before the storm. About to hop a Southwest flight to Baltimore. Driving south on I-45 on the way down to the airport, there was just a line of sitting cars moving North out of Houston. Apparently, it's like this on every major highway out of town. This morning, I got to Hobby around 8:00 am and it was about 10:00 am when I got through the security checkpoint. I think Katrina has scared the shit out of Houston and they're not wanting to mess with her cousin Rita.

My mom was planning on heading to Dallas, but with the stand-still traffic, is now thinking of just riding out the storm at home. Several people in her apartment complex are staying in town so hopefully she can camp out with one of them so that she doesn't have to be alone. Looking forward to being back in DC. Think good thoughts for my mom!

link to this | comments (9) | File:  Family 

This weekend, Catherine and I went to Dallas for the wedding of the Farmers. It was really great seeing everybody and we had an awesome time! Kim was a beautiful bride and Eric, a proud, downright giddy, groom. Congratulations, guys! The reception was a true Texas-style event, complete with BBQ, and a keg of Miller Lite. When the evening started, I wondered how one keg was going to cut it with this crowd. I mean, after Patrick and Jeff had their share, what would the rest of us drink? But it turns out one keg was plenty and we were all a bit shamed at the end of the evening when we left it sitting in that trash-can full of ice, still half-full.

We left Jeff and Amy's Sunday morning. My final image of Jeff is of him cleaning up a fresh 'present' left by Pita, their 3-month old puppy. Pita, while adorable, is still learning the delicate art of managing her bladder and bowels. I could tell Jeff thought it was a bit early to be getting into the puppy poop, but he still looked happy. Both he and Amy are quite smitten with Pita, despite the stinky gifts.

We hung out with my dad, my brother, and my sister on Sunday. My dad is getting back in touch with his musical roots and we listened to him sit in with the band at a few jazz clubs that he frequents. I was proud that he still had his 'chops.'

We stayed with Sarah and Oytun on Sunday night. They have a beautiful, recently purchased home near Love Field in NW Dallas. We played catch with Sarah's dogs and admired Oytun's lawn-managing skills.

Monday morning, Cath went back to DC and I hopped a Southwest flight to Houston. My job this week is to get my mom's apartment in boxes for her move to Dallas next week. Through no intention of my own, I've become a bit of a 'packing pro' over the last few years, simply because we've made two moves in that time. My mom's place will be a challenge because she has a lot of stuff, much more than Catherine and I have. It's going to put my packing skills to the test in new ways and will result in a lot of sore muscles, I'm sure. But I brought plenty of Naproxen Sodium to handle the aches and pains, so now it's time to get to business.

PS: Woo Redskins!

link to this | comments (4) | File:  Friends  Travel 

I sometimes feel ashamed that I'm not a better sports fan. I mean, I'm a red-blooded American male, like any other. I like to drink beer. I tend to make disturbing and sometimes shocking bodily noises when eating, watching TV or . . . when doing neither of these things. I always bring ample reading material to the toilet with me. And, oh yeah, I think watching two girls make out is cool. All this, and yet I never seemed to acquire the gene that causes other males to obsess over sports statistics. Why not, I often wonder? Is there something wrong with me?

It's not that I dislike sports. I don't mind watching a basketball or baseball game now and then. But I definitely won't go out of my way to do so. And I'm useless in trying to keep up with scores, player stats, contracts, salaries, or anything of that kind. If I'm told a batting average, for instance, I immediately forget it.

Then there's golf. Watching golf is the ultimate sign of a true sports junkie. I've known men who not only watch golf on TV, but will schedule time in their day to do so. This just makes no sense to me. In my opinion, it must be an act of desperation for people who have some sort of uncontrollable physical addiction to watching a sports event at all times or suffer a massive mental collapse. But golf? They can't possibly enjoy it.

When I was a bartender at a Dallas bar that attracted a lot of die-hard sports enthusiasts, I perfected the art of masking what I didn't know about current sports news by framing the discussion around what I did know. This usually worked well, because most guys talking sports in a bar really only want to hear their own opinions anyway. So I might pick up some random bit of news on my way into work about a fight that broke out between two players at the previous night's basketball game and all I had to say to one of the regulars was, "Pretty crazy what happened last night at the Mavs game, huh?" And that was enough to get the 'conversation' going for a couple of minutes. I'd nod my head a lot then find a quick one-liner or joke to round things out. We'd share a laugh and as far as he knew, I was a sports nut, just like him. I'm not saying it was pretty. But it was a necessary measure to take in my line of work. When you're in the trenches with other sports fans, it's all about instinct, survival.

But I always got a slight reprieve from my sports-knowledge inadequacies during football season. I've always enjoyed a good pro-football game. There's just something comforting about holing up for the day at home and watching the games unfold. The enjoyment is peaked by the onset of cooler fall weather and the consumption of foods like chicken wings, pizza, and of course, beer. (And yes, beer is food.) I'm still not great on remembering stats, scores, and percentages, but I definitely like to watch the games, especially when my favorite teams are playing, namely the Broncos, Steelers, and recently the Patriots.

Catherine likes to tell a story about when we were first dating and I told her I couldn't go out with her and celebrate the recent completion of her exams because I was watching a Broncos game. That almost ended things for us, right then and there. The ironic part is Catherine's probably a bigger football fan than I am, now.

So here's to you, football season, in all your pomp and glory. I may not have the male sports gene, but I'm glad you've come back for another year.

link to this | comments (3) | File:  Ho_Hum  Sports 

Andy sent me a link to this Euphemism Generator, which if you're not careful, could lead you down a road of endless procrastination. Still, it's a lot of fun, and possibly even a useful tool if you're looking for that perfect way to say something 'dirty.'

Also, photos from our recent trip to California are up. They've actually been up for over a week now, but I keep forgetting to mention it.

If you're in the DC area, The Jones will be hosting an open-mic blues jam at Pharaoh's in Adams Morgan next Thursday, September 15th. We'll be kicking things off with some tunes around 9:30 pm, then it's open to whoever wants to come on-stage and jam with us. Drums, keyboard, amps, guitars - they'll all be provided.

link to this | comments (0) | File:  Ho_Hum  Music  Photography 

For some reason, I wound up watching some episodes of Miami Ink a couple of nights ago. I like the show. Sure, it's 'reality TV,' but there is a lot less 'drama' involved in the show than other similar series. It's a much more down-to-earth look at the tattoo business, almost more like a documentary than a 'reality TV' series. I guess I also find it a bit fascinating, the idea of being an artist who uses the human body as a canvas. I mean, these guys are definitely artists - their stuff is incredible. But at the same time there is this element of human life as a back-drop to everything, of making something, a piece of art, a permanent part of somebody's appearance. This seems to up the stakes on 'art' a bit: it's art, with an extra little dose of stress.

So watching the show made me start thinking about getting a tattoo again. I went through a period like this about 2 or 3 years ago and was close to getting one, but couldn't decide on what I wanted. The problem is I like art that is abstract and full of color - like Rothko. But big blotches of color don't really work well as a tattoo. A tattoo needs to be more representational, and it's hard for me to find a strong enough affinity to something like that where I would want to place on my skin permanently.

Then I read this article in the Washington Post and I thought, now there's something I wouldn't mind having as a tattoo: the red stripes and stars of the DC flag. Apparently, this is not a new idea. People have been getting it as a tattoo for years. The idea started as a sort of emblem of DC's punk music seen, but lately it's also been found emblazoned on DC-statehood activists who are trying to get DC representation in congress. Both of these are respectable causes. But for me, having the DC flag somewhere on my body would be less of a political or attitude statement as it would be showing pride for a city I've recently come to love and also where I was born (well, close anyways.)

So I ran this by Catherine while we were hanging out in Baltimore yesterday:

"Okay. I think I've decided on a tattoo."

"Uh-oh," she said "Okay, what is it?"

"The DC flag."

There was no hesitation. No thoughful moment of reflection. No diplomatic 'talking down.' Just a roll of the eyes and a simple, "No."

I couldn't believe she had dismissed it so quickly. Why? What was wrong with it? It was certainly better than any idea I'd had in the past, musical notes or worse, a kokopelli. And who was she to pass judgement? She has three tattoos herself! I decided if she wasn't going to go for that, then I'd have to opt for the nuclear option.

"Okay, then I'll have to get a clown. Not a mean clown or an evil clown, but a happy clown. With balloons. It could go on my arm."

"Hell no."

Then I realized: this is the argument I never had with my Mom when I was 16!

"Well, I'm getting it anyway! It's my body and I can do what I want."

"Wrong on both counts," she said.

I tried to think of a rebuttal. Then I realized she was right.

We walked the Inner Harbor for a few minutes in silence.

"Alright," I said, "I'll think about it some more. But I'm not giving up, yet. The flag idea is killer."

link to this | comments (8) | File:  Cath  DC  Health 

I spent a good part of this past Sunday watching coverage of hurricane Katrina. In the early part of the week, I had been avoiding it, largely because I can't stand the way CNN becomes 'Hurricane Headquarters' during hurricane season. It's yet another example of how the news turns dramatic events into huge marketing campaigns, hyping their own name and waiting with baited breath for something horrible to happen. I hate it. But as the reports came in on Tuesday, and I realized how bad things really were, that it wasn't all hype, I couldn't help but watch and, like the rest of the world, feel terrible for all those people who have been displaced, hurt, or killed by this.

The weird thing about all this, to me, is that before the hurricane struck, I had read some really scary articles describing how the levees in New Orleans could break or be overrun in a category 5 hurricane and how, if this happened, the city could basically be destroyed. Unfortunately, with the way the news media likes to over-dramatize every. single. thing. that happens these days, I was left with the not-uncommon feeling I get after watching or reading the news that this is probably something that theoretically could happen, and therefore the news had latched on to it, in the absense of an actual story, and made a story out of that possibility. Here is a blurb from one CNN article on Sunday, August 28th:

In worst-case scenarios, most of New Orleans would end up under 15 feet of water, without electricity, clean water and sewage for as long as six months. Even pumping the water out could take as long as four months to get started because the massive pumps that would do the job would be underwater.

And here's another one from Monday morning:

Flooding from Hurricane Katrina's Monday landfall could wreak catastrophe on New Orleans, overwhelming the city's water and sewage systems and leaving survivors in a bowl of toxic soup, a top hurricane expert said.

Now I read these things, along with thousands of other people I bet, and thought, "Man, that would be horrible. But could this really happen, or is that the media overhyping a situation again?" I think it's hyperbolic phrases like 'toxic soup' that immediately set off alarms in my head and make me 'tune out.' But if we had all read, Drowning New Orleans, by Mark Fischetti in 2001, we might have said, "Hell yes, that could happen!" Likewise, if we had been a part of Coast 2050, we might have said, "You're not kiddin' toxic soup!" But a good many of us did not read or take part in those things, including probably a good majority of our existing government. (By the way, there's a good NY Times article about the history of this issue, also by Mark Fishetti. Also, Google found a site called 'coast2050.gov,' but it won't seem to come up for me today.)

So I think on Monday as the hurricane made landfall many of us began to anticipate the headlines: "New Orleans Dodges Bullet." I think even the media half expected to run that headline. And perhaps there was a collective, National pause as we all waited for it. Only that's not what happened. This time, the worst DID happen, and I think everybody, including the news media took a moment before realizing that was the case. This might partially explain the delayed response by the federal government, but certainly doesn't excuse it. All I can say is I know I've been much more suspicious of the news media in the past several years, waiting for the next cry of 'wolf!' and the whole hurricane Katrina coverage was no exception.

Don't get me wrong - I'm not trying to be an apologist for the federal government here by calling attention to our chicken-little news culture. I definitely think people in our government fucked up. Many people. And that does make me a bit aggravated. But the fact is that it's not just the response to the actual disaster that was botched. This entire situation has been botched at least as far back as 1998 and probably further. So before people go pointing fingers here and there we should all do a 360-degree turn and realize just how many directions we could point.

link to this | comments (0) | File:  News  Media  Chewing 

C and I did a trip to the gym yesterday. The gym. It sounds so good to say, doesn't it? "We went to the gym." We were healthy. We "worked out." We are shining examples of a modern healthy couple. Unfortunately, it's not the truth. It's been a good two weeks for me. And C? Well, let's just say it's been a long time. We bought her a year's membership last Thanksgiving and, I think the number of holiday's we've had since then outnumber the times she's gone in for a workout. Something strange must have happened to her registration in that time because when she swiped her card, the guy at the counter said her membership had expired.

"Expired?"

"Yes."

"No. Can't be. We bought it over Thanksgiving last year. It hasn't been a year yet. Are you sure it's the right person?"

"Well, is this Susan O.?"

Ummm. I'll say this: It was an awkward way for C to find out about the second wife I have in Utah.

On the elliptical machine, my muscles were excited to be moving and stretching again. They sucked in the endorphins like an alcoholic on a binge. C's muscles were less enthusiastic. I could hear them making some complaints, even over my iPod's earbuds. But she told them who was boss.

After the workout, we went to Potbelly's for some, eh-hem, low-fat, high-energy bio-fuel, er, sandwiches. And an oatmeal, chocolate-chip cookie. (Hey, oatmeal's good for you.) We tried to sit outside to enjoy the great weather we've been having, but there was a very persistent and (I'm sure) extremely deadly bee that kept flying around us and dive-bombing our sandwiches. We moved tables, but it had no effect. The bee was not letting up. It wanted some of that yummy meatball sandwich, damnit. So we did the only brave and reasonable thing we could think of: we moved inside.

We were a tad bitter to have have been chased from the fresh air outside. Another couple sat at the exact same table we had been at. We glared at them through the window.

"Do you think they'll get attacked by the bee?" I asked.

"They better," said C.

The couple sat pleasantly enjoying their meal for a minute or two, which really piqued us. Then it happened: the bee made a kamikaze swipe at the girl's sandwich, then went straight for her neck. She jumped in her seat and waved her hands wildly in front of her face.

"Ha!" I said.

"Get 'em!" said C.

At one point the guy stood up and made a boxer-style, one-two-punch motion at the bee, which was highly amusing. From our insect-free vantage point, we took hardy bites from our sandwiches and watched with pleasure as the other couple guarded their food nervously and made occassional swipes at the bee. Entertainment comes in all forms.

link to this | comments (2) | File:  Ho_Hum 

An interesting interview with Heather B. Armstrong.

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