After all this, I had to return it. Too big.

link to this | comments (5) | File:  Ho_Hum 

If you're interested in wasting a little time, check out Line Rider. A good example.

link to this | comments (5) | File:  Ho_Hum 

Canadians have known for some time what people south of Boston are still catching on to: Sam Roberts Band is crazy good. Live, these guys are 100% passion, tight as a drum, and contagious with a sickness you don't mind catching. Jonathan and I saw them last night at Black Cat. Even though the attendance was kind of low, the band acted like they were playing for a crowd at the Verizon Center. Impressive. If you're in the need to get excited about music again, go see these guys next time their in town.

One of these days, I'm going to add an mp3 player here and post some tracks. But until then, watch some videos here. My favorite track, Dead End, isn't there, but I also really like Hard Road, which is. And I would definitely recommend the entire album, We Were Born In A Flame.

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

Things to be thankful for this Thanksgiving:

1. Parent-in-laws who live in the San Francisco Bay Area
2. Crazy sleep-deprived sister-in-laws with fully-loaded leeks
3. Playing with Photo Booth on the MacBook Pro
4. A wife with a sense of humor
5. Football on TV 9:00 am to 9:00 pm (Pacific time!) in 70-inch HD goodness
6. Romo starting for the Cowboys
7. Plummer's last starting game (fingers crossed)
8. 33rd birthday eve

link to this | comments (7) | File:  Thanksgiving  Football  Family 

The annoying thing is I'm normally up by then. I'm normally up at around 6:30. But yesterday I was not. I hadn't gone to bed until about three, so I was still out of it when the phone rang at 8:14. I chose not to answer it. Nothing good can come from answering the phone in this state. But when the machine went on and I heard the rush of street noise come through the speaker I realized it was somebody calling from the front of the building. And somewhere through the haze of my sleep, I remembered: The Package. My laptop! It's here. It was FedEx.

I hate abrupt wake-ups, but sometimes they're necessary. Like when you realize you've overslept and you have a plane to catch. I think that's the worst. Or when your consciousness is tingling alive just as you feel something crawling up your leg. That's pretty bad, too. But here's another one: realizing the new laptop you ordered, which you've been tracking online since it left Shanghai last week, is just outside your building and about to get back on a truck. I threw off the sheets and looked out the window. There it was: the FedEx truck, parked right outside. Wait! I thought about opening the window and screaming from my fifth-story window, but that might be kind of weird. The next best thing was to run out in my underwear, but I had enough of my wits about me to know that was probably a bad option, too. Oh, why so early, FedEx man?

I found my jeans on the radiator and slid into them as I made my way out the door. In the hallway, I buttoned them up, though I discovered later that I forgot the zipper. Or maybe I didn't. Maybe I left it open intentionally. Maybe that's part of 'the look' I was going for. Why not?

Bare feet. Crazy hair like some kind of bird's nest. Couldn't wait on the elevator. No time. Down the stairs I ran hobbled, my SI joint yelling at me the entire way: E-hem! Excuse me . . . what the hell do you think you're doing? Remember me?

When I got to the lobby, I saw the guy getting into the truck. I didn't have keys to the building, so I had to pull the mat into the doorway to prop the door open, which I believe violates some sort of condo rule.

I got to within an arms length and the truck began pulling away. I hopped along side of it for a second, and then screamed: "Hey!"

The yell was kind of loud and aggressive for the eight o'clock hour. I was a bit surprised at myself, actually. I don't normally yell like that, you know. But I had just ran down five flights of stairs. This guy wasn't getting away that easily. Not when his truck was right there beside me.

The truck stopped suddenly and I heard a car honk from behind it. I went to the side window and smiled a big toothy smile at the driver. "Package?" I said, and pointed to the building. Then to myself. And nodded for effect.

The man said something, which I didn't understand, but I did hear him say my apartment number, so I nodded again. Yes, that is me. Then he said something else which I didn't understand. I shook my head.

He looked a little perturbed now - he sighed, rolled his eyes, and put the truck into park. Then he shifted over to the passenger side of his truck and opened the door.

"A lady signed for it and was going to bring it up to you."

It's a wonderful thing to have neighbors that are nice enough to sign for packages and bring them to your door when you're not available. But right then, I wanted to strangle whoever it was who had done just that. She must have gone up the elevator while I was coming down the stairs.

"Shit!" I said, again a little too loudly.

The FedEx guy kinda scowled at that remark. I immediately apologized. "No, that's great. Thank you!" Then I limped back inside.

When I got to my apartment door, there was my new laptop waiting for me in its neat little cardboard box, calm and innocent. The realization that right now I could be sleeping in my bed and the package would still be right here waiting for me was a bitter pill to swallow. But whatever. It was here, wasn't it?

I found out later who the mysterious signing lady was by way of an email confirmation from FedEx which revealed her name. I had her email address, so I sent her a quick thank you.

"That's what neighbors are for!" she wrote back.

Indeed.

Happy Turkey Week!

link to this | comments (6) | File:  Ho_Hum  Neighbors 

So it took the Cowboys to finally rope in the Colts. I'm glad the streak is over. Colts needed some payback for beating the Broncos. I was rooting for the old home team all the way, even though it is a capital crime in DC to root for any team with stars on their helmets. Looks like the Romo era is off to a good start.

link to this | comments (6) | File:  Dallas  Football 

Now I like NPR, but why do they seem hell-bent on making people cry in the morning? It's too early for this sort of thing. You're still groggy. Still vulnerable. And bam! They hit you with this? C has to bring tissues to work with her. Just listen to the audio. I bet even the most stalwart among you will get a little teary-eyed.

link to this | comments (4) | File:  Radio 

I recently gave my mom the address to this blog. She's known I've had a blog - or as she calls it, a 'blob' - for some time, but she's always figured it was something I might not want her to visit. Because, who knows, I might say something a little vulgar, perhaps. Or slip in some vaguely sexual pun. Or, you know, I might drop a few F-bombs down on this bee-atch. And in the beginning, she was right: I did find it a little unsettling to consider my mom - or any member of my family, really - reading this. Not that I'm particularly vulgar, or write about obscene sex, or say the word 'fuck' a lot. (I save all that stuff for my fiction.) But I think it's just that parents kind of wind up being a censuring force in most people's lives, whether they mean to or not. It's not their fault, really. It just happens. And for many people, just knowing that their mom could be reading something might lead to a change in tone, or an avoidance of a subject altogether. And how strange that is, isn't it? That we might freely write about all kinds of subjects in front of the anonymous Internets without giving it a second thought and the moment we think about our parents reading, we pause, reflect and edit. The red pen comes out.

But the more I've done this - shared things with the Internets - the more comfortable it has become - the more natural the voice sounds to me. And so, by extension, the easier it has become to include various members of my family in the content. Also, with my 33rd birthday staring me straight in the face like a 200 lb gorilla, I've come to the mature realization that my mom already knows I have a propensity to let out the occasional curse word or two and sometimes say things that aren't so sugary sweet. And, since I'm married, she probably assumes that I've had sex once or twice, though I might be wrong about that. So with that out of the way, I've decided the rest is cake.

So I sent her the URL. And last week she read some of it. And I asked her, "So what did you think." And her reaction was priceless: "Well, it's . . . interesting." It wasn't said in a way that implied she didn't like it exactly. It was more a sort of confusion. She was curious, for instance, about who read it. "Well, several people," I said. "Not a lot. But a few." "Are they people you know?" she asked. "Some are, some aren't," I said. "Some are people I've met solely because it's there, which is kind of amazing."

Then she said what I think was the heart of the matter: "I guess I just don't understand why anybody would keep a blog. Or why somebody might read one. I'm not saying this in reference to yours, in particular. But any of them."

And there was the crux of it: Why? Why do this thing? And that's a hard thing to answer.

One of the first blogs I read was bluishorange. It wasn't the first blog I read, but it was the first blog I remember reading where the whole thing made sense to me. Where I knew this was something I wanted to do. I also remember being struck by the fact that the writer of the blog was from Houston, which was where I was from. She was an English major, as was I. And the writing - unfiltered by any third-party, big-media conglomerate, completely self-driven and raw - was refreshingly relevant - it just spoke to me - and how incredibly random and wonderful and strange to have stumbled across it. Anyway, the writer, Alison, doesn't know any of this - it's the first time I've written it - but if she checks her technorati results, or her traffic logs, she's bound to find this post. Which will be weird for her because she doesn't really know me, aside from two or three random comments I've left on her blog. But to me that's another part of what is so cool about the whole bloody thing. It's that public/private thing. That knowing who somebody is without really knowing them at all. I went on to find several other blogs that I really enjoy - most of them are listed over at the right - but I still read bluishorange from time to time. In fact, this recent post is partially what lead me to write this - as it deals with the same question: why?

All I know is that the medium immediately drew me in. It was something new and fresh and wide open to explore - uncharted territory. As a writer, it seemed exciting to experiment with it - find new ways of writing. New literary conventions.

This was all back in 2000-2001, when if you said you had a 'blog' some people might assume you had some chronic disease. Now, of course, everybody has a blog. Somewhere around 2003 to 2004 the word 'blog' became a common household term, sort of like 'toilet plunger,' and just as appealing. And like anything else drowning in hype, the word 'blog' somehow became one thing to everybody - although if you asked a handful of people, not one would really be able to tell you exactly what that one thing was. It was a period during which a lot of people became famous from their blogs. And soon after, people even began making money from their blogs via advertising or donations. In some cases, lots of money. And people in the media began to ponder: Is blogging 'journalism?' And this always seemed to me such a ridiculous question. (Quick answer: No. Not in the sense you mean it, anyway. And yet, it's kind of changing the face of journalism, isn't it?)

Now there are so many different kinds of blogs. It's almost nauseating. There are news-y blogs - blogs about politics, technology, culture, 'web culture,' sports, movies, music, books, writing. There are ranting blogs. There are homemaking blogs. There are knitting blogs. There are blogs about being productive. There are blogs about being reproductive. There are blogs about every kind of medical condition you can imagine, and probably several you can't. There are mommy blogs, and daddy blogs, and baby blogs, and blogs about your cat or your dog, or your hamster, and some blogs BY your cat, or your dog, or your hamster. There are sex blogs. There dating blogs. There are blogs about money. There are blogs about teaching. There are 'how-to' blogs. There are city blogs. There are community blogs.

But my favorite blogs are still the personal blogs. The kind that got me started. The kind I try to keep here. The kind that offers a glimpse into somebody's real thoughts and real life, and all the humor or sadness or anger therein. What matters is the sentiment. To me, that's key, though the actual writing is definitely important, as well.

I imagine for all the different kinds of blogs, there are many different kinds of motivations. Money. Fame. Vanity. An interest in a particular subject, even if that subject is: 'Myself.' A desire to share information and collaborate on projects.

For me, there's no one reason I blog. But there are lots of little reasons. So here's a few:

1. Because of the connections, man, the millions of freakin' connections.
2. Because it's one voice out of many, many voices. And how powerful and big that voice is - with the ability to reach millions. And yet at the same time - how small and insignificant - how completely lost in the fray of all the other voices that one voice becomes. But there's beauty in those numbers.
3. Because of a feeling that I'm contributing to a 'canon' that continues to grow exponentially - an overwhelming mass of thoughts, ideas, words, letters. It's a canon that makes up our current world. And if it survives, how incredible it will be for future generations to pour over. Perhaps, ultimately, it will be the only canon.
4. Because sometimes it's the only thing that seems real.
5. Because sometimes it doesn't have to be real at all.
6. Because it allows me to keep in contact with people I might have lost touch with otherwise - and this is something I'm continually grateful for.
7. Because I've formed new acquaintances, new friendships, sometimes with people who are on the other side of the world, people I've never met, and how freakin' amazing is that?
8. Because it can be a way to practice my writing.
9. Because it can be an escape from 'real' writing.
10. Because it's private and intimate.
11. Because it's so entirely public and, who knows, maybe I'm a bit of exhibitionist.
12. Because it gives me a voice.
13. Because usually it helps me remember.
14. Because sometimes it helps me forget.
15. Because people can know me without really knowing me at all. And isn't that so weird and cool?
16. Because it helps me keep things in perspective. Helps me process the world.
17. Because it keeps me motivated.
18. Because it can be ignored if I want.
19. Because I want to leave something behind.

So there it is Mom - a few reasons why. Welcome. I'm glad you're here and I hope you come back.

Maybe some of the other bloggers who read this have some of their own reasons to add? Why do you all do it?

link to this | comments (15) | File:  Blog 

I think it would be fun if football referees wore these. Every 'First Down!' call would get an emphatic E chord.

link to this | comments (1) | File:  Random 

The central irony to living in the District of Columbia is that, while its residents are generally politically-minded and live in the epicenter of the federal government, they have very little voice in national politics. For this reason, I found myself a little jealous of people in Maryland and Virginia as they went to the polls this week to help contribute to the change taking place in Washington which - again, glaring irony right here! - is the city where I live.

Of course, DC residents know what their new voting status is going in, and nobody's forcing us to live here, so we can't exactly cry foul. But since the population of the District hovers just above that of Wyoming's and continues to grow, I really can see no reason why it shouldn't be considered the same as a state, with a voting member in the House and two voting members in the Senate. Right now, DC gets one non-voting representative in Congress, a seat currently occupied by Eleanor Holmes Norton. And while DC has a mayor and some semblance of a city government, Congress ultimately has control of the city, and has the right to intervene in that government when it sees fit, as it did recently when it decided to repeal DC's gun laws. Thanks, guys!

Thanks to a constitutional amendment passed in 1961, DC has the right to vote for President and Vice-President, but its electoral votes in that election are limited to that of the least populated state, which is currently Wyoming. So, even if the population of DC increased to that of Nevada's, giving it the theoretical right to five electoral votes, they'd still be limited by the lovely state of Wyoming, which for all its majestic land, seems to be plagued by a real lack of sexual drive among its residents. But even if Wyoming went through a sudden baby-making craze, DC would be electorally confined by the next least populated state. Vermont, maybe. Or Alaska.

A new amendment was offered in the late seventies which would have given DC the same voting rights as other states, but it was not ratified within the seven-year time limit that was set for it. But there is still hope for DC in the form of the current DC Voting Rights Act (HR 5388) (text). The bill is kind of weak, in my opinion, because it only tackles the issue of having a voting member in the House, not the Senate. But it is a realistic and palatable first step in the larger question of statehood. Also, the bill gives another voting House Rep to Utah. It has been argued that Utah was slighted in the last census review and that they deserve another Representative in Congress. But there's no doubt this is also something of a political bone to the Republicans since DC's rep would certainly be a Democrat, and an additional rep in Utah would restore balance.

Some good news on this issue came out this morning, that Rep. Nancy Pelosi, who is on her way to becoming the next Speaker of the House, will change the 'House rules' to allow Norton to vote on proposed changes to legislation on the House floor. Apparently this was the way the floor operated from 1993 to 1995, before Republicans took over and quickly abolished that little act of goodwill. According to the WaPo, although Pelosi supports full voting rights for DC, she doesn't support HR 5388 because of the Utah concession.

It's kind of crazy when you think about it: that over half a million American citizens don't really get a say in congress. I bet this will change soon, particularly with the new House and Senate. It just seems like one of those oversights that continues to exist because it's always been that way. Personally, I think we should all go down to the Potomac and throw something in as a protest. It probably wouldn't have too big an impact on the issue, but it would be a hell of a lot of fun.

link to this | comments (6) | File:  Politics  DC 

With Rumsfeld leaving, I thought now would be a good time to take another look at his widely celebrated poetry. My personal favorites are 'The Unknown' and 'Glass Box.'

link to this | comments (1) | File:  Politics 

I looked out the window a little bit ago and let me tell you: Pigs are flying all over the place. And it's a beautiful thing.

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

The data is a little out of date, but it looks like if you're from LA, you might start investing in a new lung now . . . Also, I was happy to find out that moving to DC from Dallas brought me one step down on the ladder of smog pollution. (via Laundro)

link to this | comments (0) | File:  Dallas  DC  Health 

Holy crap - what a weird final two minutes. Guess it was the Skins turn to pull one out against the Cowboys. (More like the Cowboys handed it to 'em, actually.) Denver got a little payback for last season's playoff loss.

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

We brought her home from the dealer on Friday. She's a sinewy 3180 lbs and, while she may look dainty on the outside, she's all brawn on the inside. You know it at soon as she opens her mouth. She lets out a pretty ferocious roar at the slightest touch of the gas, and even growls impatiently when she's idling at red lights. If you give her the right love, her 263 horses will do 0-60 in just under 6 seconds. And she's obedient around turns.

She's a Mazda, of the 'Speed 3' variety, and needless to say, C and I are in love. We're star-struck, even. And because we're star-struck, and because she brought with her a couple of beautiful clear nights and a full-moon weekend, we've given her the name of Hoshi, which means Star.

Hoshi seems a lot like Carmen at first blush. They share a lot of the same physical characteristics. Both are hatchbacks. Both have a red finish. Both have nice rims and low profile.

But Hoshi comes from a different land, and has a very different personality - one that's more no-nonsense and less high-maintenance. But she's not without her pet peeves, and we're quickly finding those out. For one thing, Hoshi doesn't seem to appreciate any conversation when she's accelerating. If you try to speak, you'll suddenly find yourself without oxygen, the words you were about to utter trailing off somewhere behind you. It's alarming and a bit embarrasing. You'll also be startled to find that your lungs and stomach have somehow flattened against the wall of your back. We've learned it's best to just brace yourself during launch, remain quiet, and let her do the talking.

This isn't to say she's rude. Quite the opposite: once you're at a comfortable cruising speed, all passengers are free to talk amongst themselves. Basically, she won't interrupt you if you don't interrupt her. She even sports a few extra rear doors - something Carmen could have desperately needed - which make three and four passengers feel much more welcome.

Another difference between Carmen and Hoshi is in their street-fighting skills. While Carmen looked like she may have been able to hold her own in a fight, she was no martial arts master. I mean, come on, she hailed from Germany. The only hand-to-hand combat training she'd ever had came from a day-long beginning Kung Fu seminar - and I remember she spent most of the class flirting with the instructor. Hoshi brings from her homeland skills in the ancient martial arts. She was taught by a team of ninja warriors in a remote mountain region of Japan. I shouldn't really discuss any of it with you in much detail, though. I'm sort of afraid she might kill me. But I've seen a few moves, and let me just say that if somebody chooses to pick a fight with her, she can hold her own - and that somebody will probably wind up with his face against the concrete.

I think you'll probably be hearing a lot more about Hoshi as we introduce her to DC and its environs. And I'm sure a few of you will be meeting her in person.

link to this | comments (5) | File:  Hoshi 

I've gone off the coffee, which has had some slightly averse effects on my head over the last couple of days. For starters, there's the constant lingering threat of a headache hiding just under the surface. It's a threat I've been able to hold back with tea, but just barely.

What's even more annoying is that I seem to be in a continual state of almost remembering something, which is an unattractive and slightly horrifying way to spend your day. The end result is me staring off in the distance with an expression that is not quite confused, but not quite cognizant. Sort of like the early beginnings of a sneeze. Now, on good days, my memory might be described as slightly defective. But without the full jolt of a 12 oz cup of Starbucks, I would say it has become decidedly flawed . . . and . . . um . . . not quite . . .

. . . eh-hem . . . I thought . . . was there? . . .

. . . Oh, sorry. Where was I?

Oh yes. So I've gone off the coffee, which has had some slightly averse effects on my head over the last couple of days. For starters, there's the constant lingering threat . . .

Shit. See what I mean?

Like millions of other people, my coffee drinking has become habit-forming. I like that expression. Habit-forming. It gets used a lot, typically on warning labels. Watch out: smoking cigarettes is habit-forming. Careful: taking narcotic pain killers can become habit-forming. Strangely, I've never seen the warning on a cup of coffee. But just wait. This is America after all. Somebody is bound to sue over this oversight eventually.

But if you have an addictive personality, the term is meaningless and a little redundant. It's like saying, FYI: Water is wet. I have a knack - you might even call it a talent - for making a habit out of just about anything. It doesn't need to contain any special chemical, get me high, or really do much of anything at all. It just needs to be there. And I don't particularly even need to like the taste or sight of it.

Nevertheless, I don't have an addictive personality. Really. I know this because my brain tells me it's true. And we can trust it. I swear. What I do have is an itsy-bitsy case of the OCD, which seems to turn the expression 'habit-forming' into a synonym for just about anything. For example, here's one: bran muffins.

For the past several weeks, I've turned a simple fondness for bran muffins, into a disturbing fixation. Somewhere along the line, I got in the habit of grabbing a bran muffin along with my coffee each morning. Sometimes I didn't need to pick up coffee - sometimes I'd brew it at home - but I'd still step out for a bran muffin. And if I got bored with Starbucks bran muffins, well I would get one someplace else. I explored the bran-muffin universe: Cosi, Au Bon Pain, random delis around town. . . by the way, did you know Caribou doesn't carry bran muffins? Holy crap. Talk about a cruel discovery. Were it not for the expert negotiation skills and zen-like calmness of that barista, things may have very well ended in violence that morning.

Anyway, it didn't take long before the bran muffin became an integral part of my morning. My well-being depended on it. I started thinking about the bran muffin even before I went to bed. It wasn't just the thing I did when I got up. It was the reason I got up.

When your primary reason for rolling out of bed in the morning is to ingest a bran muffin, it's time to re-evaluate your life.

Now take this behavior and apply it to something that's truly addictive: coffee. Things have been spiraling out of control for me there. It's time for a change.

But I should be clear: I will not go off of caffeine altogether. I see no need to take things to such an extreme solution. I'm just going to take some measures to cut back. First, as I mentioned above, I've started by substituting my morning joe with English Breakfast tea which, according to this chart contains about 300 milligrams less caffeine than my tall cup of Starbucks's finest. And the fact that it's Starbucks, as opposed to other kinds of coffee, is significant. A study published in the Journal of Analytical Toxicology by researcher Bruce A. Goldberger - a study described in this NPR piece - found that there was about a 100 mg more caffeine in a cup of Starbucks than the same cup of Dunkin' Donuts. For years, my dad has been saying that Starbucks must put something else in the coffee because other coffees just don't have the same effect for him anymore. Yeah. That something else is about 100 mg more caffeine per serving. It's the equivalent of crack. And by the way, we're talking about the straight coffee here, not the grande mocha lattes or frappaccinos. It's more accurate to refer to those drinks as 'milk.' No, we're talking about thick black java, in large doses.

So yeah, the tea solution is working out alright, but even though it's a 'black tea,' it still leaves much to be desired. First of all, it's much weaker in taste. I like strong drinks - black coffee, hoppy beer. It's got to taste like it means it. And tea is a sort of half-hearted beverage. It almost means it. And almost doesn't cut it.

The color of tea is all wrong, too. I mean, you can still see through it. What's up with that? A real beverage should have a thick, impenetrable quality to it.

Overall, tea is like a splash of water on the face as opposed to a full shower. But I suppose that is the point, isn't it? It packs just enough punch to help me avoid a headache - and for that I'm grateful - but it still leaves me in a bit of a stupor.

But the tea thing is just a temporary fix. I think the answer, eventually, is to switch back to straight espresso. At first this might seem like a step backwards, but a shot of espresso gives a nice boost with all the coffee goodness, with less overall caffeine - only about 35 mg per shot. This means that even if I have three shots of espresso and one cup of tea during the day, I'll still wind up consuming less caffeine than if I had only one 12 oz cup of coffee at Starbucks, never mind the 20 oz I normally brew for myself at home.

Actually, all this talk about espresso is making me salivate. Come to think of it, why should I wait to implement this new healthier lifestyle? There's no time like the present to supplant old habits with new ones. I'll be back. In the meantime, Happy Drinking!

link to this | comments (4) | File:  Coffee