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OK, so after some pressure from various people [you know who you are] I got a facebook account.
Cool stuff: yay, pictures!
and yet: In one day I have maybe 12 emails from facebook.
I can see where this can get old PDQ.
I'm not sure how much online stuff I can hope to maintain, and obviously I don't have a great track record here. My starting idea is to keep most of the bandwidth (er, such as it is) on lj.
Since I just watched Persuasion [BBC 1995 version], I must post a link to Mostly Water Theatre's Jane Austen Drinking Game.
Cool stuff: yay, pictures!
and yet: In one day I have maybe 12 emails from facebook.
I can see where this can get old PDQ.
I'm not sure how much online stuff I can hope to maintain, and obviously I don't have a great track record here. My starting idea is to keep most of the bandwidth (er, such as it is) on lj.
Since I just watched Persuasion [BBC 1995 version], I must post a link to Mostly Water Theatre's Jane Austen Drinking Game.
Joey, for those who have yet to hear me b*tch about him, is the especially well-fed squirrel who hangs about in our yard...
From the Humane Society of the United States:
"Hot Stuff: The active ingredient in hot peppers, capsaicin, has been marketed as an additive to birdseed to repel squirrels. The theory is that squirrels encounter this highly aversive substance, get a snootful, and decide it's not worth the effort to try again. Birds' nervous systems are geared differently, so they don't appear to sense capsaicin and react to it the way mammals do. While studies show that the amount of harm done to squirrels is not that great, we question this approach when others that cause less pain and harm are available. "
Of course, they don't list any of these "other approaches" that apply to protecting your trees. Clearly, there's an insider in the works brainwashing the Humane Society. If you really think those occasional squirrel-related power outages are "accidents," well, you haven't been paying attention. Did I tell you about the time this winter when Joey left a corn cob on my windshield? An act of war if I've ever seen one.
http://www.deadsquirrel.com/
In the interest of equal airtime, I should admit that Joey has his amusing moments. We have a pretty effective squirrel-buster feeder. It's a tube-style hanging feeder with a wire cage that slides past the openings when there's too much weight. This has the interesting side effect of causing Blue Jays to do their best hummingbird impressions. We strategically set up the feeder beyond reasonable jumping distance from nearby branches and rooflines. The baffle on the bird feeder has perplexed him, though he will still try to manoever around it on occasion. The other day, after trying some complex hand-over-hand (paw-over-paw?) techniques that failed, he fell back to the ground. He stared up at the feeder as if he was concentrating, and then-- He lept for it. Straight up in the air. And he caught it! He was hanging by his front paws for a moment before he climbed up onto the feeder and discovered he couldn't get to the openings. This one? no... This one? no... up and around, until he was turned face down along the feeder. And then he decided to jump up and down while clinging to the feeder... You could almost hear him swearing as he put all of his squirrel might into it.
It's the first time in ages I wished I had a video camera.
From the Humane Society of the United States:
"Hot Stuff: The active ingredient in hot peppers, capsaicin, has been marketed as an additive to birdseed to repel squirrels. The theory is that squirrels encounter this highly aversive substance, get a snootful, and decide it's not worth the effort to try again. Birds' nervous systems are geared differently, so they don't appear to sense capsaicin and react to it the way mammals do. While studies show that the amount of harm done to squirrels is not that great, we question this approach when others that cause less pain and harm are available. "
Of course, they don't list any of these "other approaches" that apply to protecting your trees. Clearly, there's an insider in the works brainwashing the Humane Society. If you really think those occasional squirrel-related power outages are "accidents," well, you haven't been paying attention. Did I tell you about the time this winter when Joey left a corn cob on my windshield? An act of war if I've ever seen one.
http://www.deadsquirrel.com/
In the interest of equal airtime, I should admit that Joey has his amusing moments. We have a pretty effective squirrel-buster feeder. It's a tube-style hanging feeder with a wire cage that slides past the openings when there's too much weight. This has the interesting side effect of causing Blue Jays to do their best hummingbird impressions. We strategically set up the feeder beyond reasonable jumping distance from nearby branches and rooflines. The baffle on the bird feeder has perplexed him, though he will still try to manoever around it on occasion. The other day, after trying some complex hand-over-hand (paw-over-paw?) techniques that failed, he fell back to the ground. He stared up at the feeder as if he was concentrating, and then-- He lept for it. Straight up in the air. And he caught it! He was hanging by his front paws for a moment before he climbed up onto the feeder and discovered he couldn't get to the openings. This one? no... This one? no... up and around, until he was turned face down along the feeder. And then he decided to jump up and down while clinging to the feeder... You could almost hear him swearing as he put all of his squirrel might into it.
It's the first time in ages I wished I had a video camera.
So the putative almond tree bloomed beautifully. And now it has little fuzzy fruits. So far (OK, as of yesterday) they are untouched.
It's only a matter of time.
I'm looking at netting and various squirrel repellants. In my information quest, I found this site:
http://icwdm.org/handbook/rodents/TreeSq
which lists Damage Prevention and Control Methods, including Exclusion, Habitat Modification, Repellents, Toxicants, Fumigants, Trapping, and my personal favorite: Shooting. "Where firearms are permitted, shooting is effective. A shotgun with No. 6 shot or a .22-caliber rifle is suitable. Check with your state wildlife agency for regulations pertaining to the species in your area. "
Hm. Unfortunately, it would be stupid to shoot at the almond tree from pretty much any direction. Perhaps I'll start by spraying with capsaicin (in oil). Maybe that'll help keep the groundhog at bay as well-- it seems to find lilac bark tasty.
Yesterday I added some fallen brnaches to the rails of the front steps and spread fake spider webbing all over them.
I put a pumpkin on the front step.
I hung up pumpkin lanterns and turned on the porch light.
I got out the candy and...waited... and waited...
My first trick-or-treaters were teenagers (dressed up!) trick-or-treating for UNICEF. I gave them some change and some chocolate to "fortify them for their fund raising efforts."
It was already dark, and I started to think I wasn't going to get many goblins.
So when kids started to show up, I doled out loot by the handful.
At 19:45 I ran out.
I started giving out my secret stash of Mr. Goodbars (!) and some Japanese rice snacks (sweet & salty).
I still heard kids in the distance. In a panic, I headed for the CVS down the street. I got the last bag of assorted candy that wasn't the useless cheapo mix.
I got home before 20:00.
And then there were maybe four more kids.
I was left with a big bowl of Skittles and Starburst.
And 3 Mr. Goodbars hiding in the bottom that G. managed to dig up.
[Well,ok, two after he collected a 'discovery fee.']
This morning I figured I'd take some into work and leave them in the lunchroom that we share with about 3 other small companies.
There's about 1/3 of that container left still... c'mon late night security guards, help me out here...
Note to self for next year: be patient. And maybe a little more stingy in the distribution.
I realized in the early preparatory phase (candy aquisition) that I'm old. I actually looked at the stuff and thought "Oh my God, look at all this sugary, corn-syrup infested crap! I should give out toothbrushes! Well, ok, they'd hate that. Maybe raisins."
Then I came to my senses and picked up some tooth-rotting, insulin-spiking chocolatey goodness.
Hey, I'm all for celebrating. Maybe even getting some souvenir merchandise. But one can go too far...
Waterford Boston Red Sox 2007 World Series Commemorative Baseball, yours for just $165.00.
Waterford Boston Red Sox 2007 World Series Commemorative Baseball, yours for just $165.00.
- Music:Do it Again, The Beach Boys
So this is what happens when I take online quizzes in a bad mood:
#E6E6FA |
Your dominant hue is blue, making you a good friend who people love and trust. You're good in social situations and want to fit in. Just be careful not to compromise who you are to make them happy. Your saturation level is very low - you have better things to do than jump headfirst into every little project. You make sure your actions are going to really accomplish something before you start because you hate wasting energy making everyone else think you're working. Your outlook on life is bright. You see good things in situations where others may not be able to, and it frustrates you to see them get down on everything. |
(alethia's fault)
OK, so, typical of me, I took it again. and got this:
#E0FFFF |
Your dominant hues are green and blue. You're smart and you know it, and want to use your power to help people and relate to others. Even though you tend to battle with yourself, you solve other people's conflicts well. Your saturation level is very low - you have better things to do than jump headfirst into every little project. You make sure your actions are going to really accomplish something before you start because you hate wasting energy making everyone else think you're working. Your outlook on life is very bright. You are sunny and optimistic about life and others find it very encouraging, but remember to tone it down if you sense irritation. |
Which I find *really* funny, because lately I've been thinking I should take up target practice just so I can shoot something without risking legal consequences. Oh yeah, my outlook is bright all right. It's downright shiny.
[OK, I'm actually pale turquoise. First two paragraphs of Cyan, end with Lavender notes. Damn, I'm gonna need to get new clothes--I clash big time]
- Music:I'm torn between Marillion's Lavender and Eminem's Purple Pills
Oh My God.
Just got home. The ladybugs I shooed away this weekend?
They're back.
And they brought friends.
This is insane.
Just got home. The ladybugs I shooed away this weekend?
They're back.
And they brought friends.
This is insane.
OK, there's an lj theme called "Road to October" and in addition to the baseball on the header the page has...pinstripes. Yeah, scratch that one.
So the Sox won the ALCS. Whee! Hooray! Now Boston fans get yet another week of biting our nails and late game induced sleep deprivation. Hm.
Tek proved once again that he's an honorable man. In the usual post game interview, he gave the Indians credit for being an excellent team, which they are. I get really annoyed by the fans who talk about Cleveland "crying into their towels." You know damned well it could've been us shuffling dejectedly out of the stands, and if you didn't, you weren't paying attention.
Plus, what is it with sports announcers after a game like this? Have they all been given a list of only three questions they can ask? Do networks only send the dimmest bulbs out to interview players? And all those comments about Papelbon's "crazy dance." Um, has no one at Fox seen a jig before?
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So the Sox won the ALCS. Whee! Hooray! Now Boston fans get yet another week of biting our nails and late game induced sleep deprivation. Hm.
Tek proved once again that he's an honorable man. In the usual post game interview, he gave the Indians credit for being an excellent team, which they are. I get really annoyed by the fans who talk about Cleveland "crying into their towels." You know damned well it could've been us shuffling dejectedly out of the stands, and if you didn't, you weren't paying attention.
Plus, what is it with sports announcers after a game like this? Have they all been given a list of only three questions they can ask? Do networks only send the dimmest bulbs out to interview players? And all those comments about Papelbon's "crazy dance." Um, has no one at Fox seen a jig before?
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- Music:I'm Shipping up to Boston, The Dropkick Murphys
Background on Christoph Büchel vs. Mass MoCA [from the Boston Globe’s Geoff Edgers] is here. [If you need an account to access the article, try here]
The more I read about the Training Ground For Democracy debacle, the more I see a metaphor for the war in Iraq (and the Patriot Act). You have an initial plan that spirals out of control, goes way over budget, sucks up resources, and drains the psyche of everyone involved. Those who actually saw the exhibit (albeit unfinished) were:
1) connected/privileged
2) under surveillance
3) on the front lines
4) covert ops
It certainly isn’t beyond his usual scope, motivation, or ethics:
1) connected/privileged
2) under surveillance
3) on the front lines
4) covert ops
It certainly isn’t beyond his usual scope, motivation, or ethics:
From edward winkleman’s blog:
"Residents of Salzburg are this week voting whether to ban modern art.
Various pieces have annoyed locals so much that they are going to the polls to vote on whether to declare the city a "modern art free zone".
An upside-down helicopter that lies in the middle of a square in the historical baroque centre of the western Austria city has caused the most uproar.
Christoph Büchel, a Swiss artist, has been collecting an anti-modern art petition at a stall next to the artwork since it was installed during the Kontracom modern art festival in the summer.
He declared the pieces of modern art around the city "a blight on our cultural heritage".
2,000 signatures were collected, which is enough to trigger a referendum in the city. He handed the petition to the mayor in October, accompanied by local media reviews scathing the festival.
103,000 residents now have the chance to vote on a ban of modern art in public places until Saturday. Local authorities are now faced with the 40,000 Euro cost of running the referendum."
I think the ultimate loser here is the general public, who never got to see the exhibit… On one hand, it’s brilliant. One the other, he could’ve singlehandedly destroyed Mass MoCA. Shouldn’t there be some ethics in play here, even if you’re commenting on something unethical? Büchel’s attitude is so over the top; he’s gotta be playing a role. The whole mess leaves me feeling uneasy.
I have got to get my butt out to North Adams and check out Mass MoCA, whatever the exhibit happens to be. You have to give the director Joe Thompson credit. In spite of all the pain, effort, and expense, he managed to do what the US government has yet to accomplish: take the losses and let it go.
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I have got to get my butt out to North Adams and check out Mass MoCA, whatever the exhibit happens to be. You have to give the director Joe Thompson credit. In spite of all the pain, effort, and expense, he managed to do what the US government has yet to accomplish: take the losses and let it go.
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"It’s a sobering commentary on the general awareness of contemporary visual culture that the collapse of the first major project in the United States by one of the world’s most compelling artists, commissioned by the nation’s largest and arguably most prestigious venue for new art, would pass unnoticed. It wasn’t until March 28, 2007, three months after the aborted opening date, that the Boston Globe broke the story. By that time, the uncompleted installation had already been toured by Massachusetts Governor Deval Patrick, Mayor John Barrett III of North Adams—the hard luck industrial town where the arts complex is located—and an unspecified number of museum directors and curators who were attending the invitation-only Berkshire Conference, described on its website as “a forum for leaders in the arts and business communities addressing issues that face the cultural landscape today and anticipate the cultural climate to come.”
."To approach the artwork in its current confines is to grasp the enormity of its potential and the corresponding size of its failure. In order to find the installation you must wend your way through the museum’s second floor galleries until you reach a barely noticeable stairway at the far end of a darkened room. As you walk down the stairs, all you can see is a corrugated steel wall with rust stains bleeding through its powder-blue paint job, and a bright red exit sign. You think, oh, I’m heading out the fire exit. I’m lost. You’re not. The corrugated steel is the back end of one of two shipping containers, one atop the other, that you have to navigate around before you can find the tarps hiding the exhibition from view.
The tarps are a bright, incongruously cheerful yellow stretched tight across gunmetal-gray stanchions. They don’t reach the floor, and they rise only about two feet above eye level, so they don’t cover much. You can easily crouch down to slip your head underneath or peek through the slits between the vinyl sheets. Beyond the passageway formed by the tarps, the monumental elements of the installation rise all around you, plain as day—the cinderblock walls, the two-story house, the guard tower, the trailers, the carnival ride, all compacted together in a claustrophobic, politically surreal borough of hell, George Orwell by way of David Lynch. The finished version, according to the artist’s legal papers as quoted in the Los Angeles Times, was to include “role-play for its visitors … in relation to the collective project called ‘democracy’: training to be an immigrant, training to vote, protest, and revolt … training to be interrogated and detained.”
The room was deathly still; there was no role-playing or even the sound of a footfall, and the Sunday afternoon daylight felt much too bright for the assembly’s internal gloom. Nevertheless, my teenage son and I, gazing at Büchel’s incomplete “compilation of materials,” were awestruck. I had read Randy Kennedy’s Times article and was suitably skeptical of what we might find, half-expecting to dismiss it as hype. But even cloaked and abandoned, the dense physicality of the materials energized the vast space and wielded a startling, oppressive power. I was musing aloud about where Büchel might have hung the airplane (bomb-damaged and burned, as per his specifications) and my son was indiscreetly peering beneath one of the yellow tarps when we got busted. A little man in a Red-Sox-red MASS MoCA baseball cap materialized out of nowhere and barked at us that we couldn’t look at what we were looking at. It was under litigation. Shooting deeply suspicious glances at my notebook, he jerked his oversized walkie-talkie in the direction of the room holding Made at MASS MoCA and literally escorted us through the yellow-draped passageway until we got there.
Both my son and I had the same reaction: the inexplicable appearance of the guard revealed that we were being heard, watched, sonically tracked—who knows?—without our knowledge. We were hustled away for a security infraction that consisted of looking at something we weren’t supposed to see; that we were supposed to pretend wasn’t there. The subliminal dread and paranoia induced by the shrouded installation had burst floridly to life.
- Thomas Micchelli again in The Brooklyn Rail
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Jock Reynolds, director of the Yale University Art Gallery, was making frequent visits to Mass MoCA for a separate project. Walking through Building 5, he was impressed by the potential. He also couldn't help notice the strain on the staff.
"Regardless of the issues of right or wrong, I've never seen an artist put this kind of abusive pall over a museum," he said in a recent interview.
-Geoff Edgers, Boston Globe
."I happened to be visiting MASS MoCA in February when absolutely everybody was talking about the show that would never open. The staff there were really upset and offended about what had happened. It was, to them, inexplicable and unforgivable. I was so intrigued that one evening I sneaked through a fire escape door marked No Entry at the back of one of the galleries and managed to creep up a staircase and into the gigantic, spooky mayhem of Building 5.
The New York Times does a better job of describing the show than I can possibly manage. Maybe my experience was enhanced by my paranoia about getting caught, which made me scuttle around in the shadows, trying to be as silent as I possibly could, but even in its unfinished state it was a mind-blowing installation that has haunted me ever since. It was easy to see why the museum were so keen to exhibit the work."
- From Jon’s Blog
See this movie.
Blurbage:
See it if you're interested in where your food comes from.
See it if you're interested in public health*.
See it if you're curious just why there's high fructose corn syrup in everything.
But most of all, this movie has the best stop motion animation of corn kernels that I have ever seen.
It's brilliant.
Here's a review excerpt stolen from Scientific American:
* From ndep.nih.gov: "...increasing numbers of young people have type 2 diabetes. In several clinic-based studies, the percentage of children with newly diagnosed diabetes classified as type 2 has increased from less than 5 percent before 1994 to 30 to 50 percent in subsequent years." This is Type 2 diabetes (insulin resistance) not Type 1, the autoimmune version that usually shows up in childhood.
.
Blurbage:
"King Corn is a feature documentary about two friends, one acre of corn, and the subsidized crop that drives our fast-food nation.In King Corn, Ian Cheney and Curt Ellis, best friends from college on the east coast, move to the heartland to learn where their food comes from. With the help of friendly neighbors, genetically modified seeds, and powerful herbicides, they plant and grow a bumper crop of America's most-productive, most-subsidized grain on one acre of Iowa soil. But when they try to follow their pile of corn into the food system, what they find raises troubling questions about how we eat-and how we farm."
See it if you're interested in where your food comes from.
See it if you're interested in public health*.
See it if you're curious just why there's high fructose corn syrup in everything.
But most of all, this movie has the best stop motion animation of corn kernels that I have ever seen.
It's brilliant.
Here's a review excerpt stolen from Scientific American:
"King Corn, which, depending on where you live, is coming to a theater near you sometime this fall, is the story of two guys who decided to find out what would happen if they moved to Iowa, grew an acre of corn, and traced its path through the giant metabolic engine that is the American food system. Unsurprisingly, the plot resembles the path that Michael Pollan traced in his seminal doorstop The Omnivore's Dilemma, with two important differences:
1. King Corn is a movie, so it's relatively short and accessible
2. King Corn is surprisingly funny
I don't know if this film is going to get as wide a distribution as Morgan Spurlock's Super Size Me, but it certainly deserves to.
In fact, this is probably one of those movies that should be required viewing in just about every classroom in America."
1. King Corn is a movie, so it's relatively short and accessible
2. King Corn is surprisingly funny
I don't know if this film is going to get as wide a distribution as Morgan Spurlock's Super Size Me, but it certainly deserves to.
In fact, this is probably one of those movies that should be required viewing in just about every classroom in America."
* From ndep.nih.gov: "...increasing numbers of young people have type 2 diabetes. In several clinic-based studies, the percentage of children with newly diagnosed diabetes classified as type 2 has increased from less than 5 percent before 1994 to 30 to 50 percent in subsequent years." This is Type 2 diabetes (insulin resistance) not Type 1, the autoimmune version that usually shows up in childhood.
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Time spent trying to relocate ladybugs from kitchen & entryway to outdoors*: 20 minutes
Ladybugs remaining in the entryway alone: Approximately 25. I'm not going to try to count the ones in the kitchen.
*it's a nice, sunny day out. They aren't gonna freeze...
They're everywhere. At one point, I realized I had almost as many ladybugs on my clothing as in the glass I was using as a containment vessel. Another funny thing-- since ladybugs like to climb up, I'm walking around with a glass o'bugs... held upside down.
- Music:Ladybird, XTC
The cat was named before I got her. Since she seemed to respond to her name, I opted not to change it. Even now that she’s far to roly-poly for Mu to really apply. She was a little kitty when I got her...
The car is my fault, but the name seemed to stick—I think it’s that Milli also conjures up an image of a grey haired grandma, who is exactly the sort of person you’d expect to see behind the wheel (at least, until the day I pimp my ride).
Complete digression-- when I mentioned this to G—G: “Mille?”A: “Milli, like the prefix… Oh, I didn’t even think about the Mille Miglia! "
[amusing images of an Oldsmobile roaring through the streets of Italy zoom through my head]G: No, no. Mille. The card game. Mille Bornes.A: Moo?G: [gives me a look. I think it’s the look I give Americans who have never heard of Dr. Seuss]
"You’ve never played Mille Bornes? You?"Apparently it’s just the sort of card game I like. And there’s a Collector's Edition: “brings back the bright and charming artwork of the original 1962 cards.” Ooh, bright and charming artwork of 1962…
My newest metric prefix was named long before I ever happened to possess one in Shiny Green… I now have a Nano.
So now I’m finally discovering some very cool things about iPods. [Yes, I’m behind the curve. Big deal]
1) Falling back in love with favorite songs. I listen to a lot of music in the background (while cleaning, etc.). Something about listening on an iPod while watching the world go by from a train window encourages active listening. I pick up bits I don’t usually hear or had forgotten. And hooray for stereo sound.
2) Podcasts. Podcasts! I’m free of that letdown I get when I realize that it’s Saturday afternoon and I forgot to listen to npr’s “Wait Wait… Don’t Tell Me!”
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- Music:Young Folks, Peter Bjorn And John
I'm a little dismayed at the science numbers, but hey, I'm ultra cool!
And apparently variable:
"It's starting to get stressful. Planning it all out, it seemed like plenty of time-- two days in Boston, two days in New York, two days in D.C. But once you factor in travel time, it gets hard to fit everything in."
Two days?!
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Two days?!
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Today's post is brought to you by the number 5.
Let me tell you about Labor Day Weekend... since that's the last time I can remember actually having a weekend...
Way back this spring, I managed to score tix to a Sox/Orioles game. It’s a long story involving season tickets, a lottery, and more money than I’d care to remember.
As we leave the restaurant, I pick up a box of matches at the hostess stand. Dad stops in his tracks. “Are those really matches?” He grabs a box and slides it open for verification. “Wow! They are matches!” He turns to the hostess, “I didn’t think anyone gave these out anymore!” He pockets the matchbox as we head out. I’m a little embarrassed by all the fuss, which is funny. No, it’s actually really funny, because I’m just as thrilled by a little box of wooden matchsticks. I’m just not so vocal about it.
There’s an adventure of sorts to get to our seats. We have Pavilion Seating. I have no idea where that is. A helpful person notices that we’re wandering…
“Where are your seats?”
“Pavilion, Section 3.”
“Oh, those aren’t very good. You’re way the heck out there. We’re behind home plate now.”
He motions down the walkway. “You need to go all the way down.”
I’m a little disappointed, but after we go by a few more sections with no “Pavilion” signage in sight, I start asking people who appear to actually work at Fenway.
At this point, I have given up looking for signs and I ask every person I walk by who has some sort of ID. [It only occurs to me now that this might be considered slightly out of character]
Good grief. He called his brother. After awhile, Dad hands me the phone. It’s the first time I’ve talked with my uncle in, oh, about 10 years.
Let me tell you about Labor Day Weekend... since that's the last time I can remember actually having a weekend...
Way back this spring, I managed to score tix to a Sox/Orioles game. It’s a long story involving season tickets, a lottery, and more money than I’d care to remember.
Of course, I invited Dad, Red Sox fan extraordinaire. He picked me up on his way to drop off some stuff for my little sister, who is now a collegiate resident of the Greater Boston Area. I spent 20 minutes wondering why I was squished under shelving that would’ve taken 5 minutes to disassemble with a Phillips screwdriver… but then we dropped the stuff off, and I think my sister & I managed to convey that maybe the first week on campus is not the best time to have lunch/dinner with family… It was good to see her (however briefly) and the lovely shoebox she shares with her roomie. The room audibly cries out “loft bed! loft bed!” but I don’t know the rules/forgiveness r.e. dorm construction projects.
Dad & I decided to park at a T station and forage for lunch in Kenmore Square. The plan would either be brilliant or a disaster. We stopped almost accidentally at the red awning of the Eastern Standard. As soon as I saw the menu, I knew it was brilliant. Dad had the Grafton cheese omelet and generously shared a wedge. I had a cappuccino and cold seared tuna. It came with a lovely niçoise salad of greens, green beans, and fingerling potatoes. The tuna itself was dusted with a cumin crust and seared and served a bit too chilled. If food’s too cold, you can’t taste it. I eat the salad first.
The couple next to us was up from South Carolina and managed to get tickets on eBay. The woman told me it was an afterthought—“We’re football people. We’re not really baseball people.” From the expression on her partner’s face, I think she chose the wrong pronoun in her second sentence.
As we leave the restaurant, I pick up a box of matches at the hostess stand. Dad stops in his tracks. “Are those really matches?” He grabs a box and slides it open for verification. “Wow! They are matches!” He turns to the hostess, “I didn’t think anyone gave these out anymore!” He pockets the matchbox as we head out. I’m a little embarrassed by all the fuss, which is funny. No, it’s actually really funny, because I’m just as thrilled by a little box of wooden matchsticks. I’m just not so vocal about it.
There’s an adventure of sorts to get to our seats. We have Pavilion Seating. I have no idea where that is. A helpful person notices that we’re wandering…
“Where are your seats?”
“Pavilion, Section 3.”
“Oh, those aren’t very good. You’re way the heck out there. We’re behind home plate now.”
He motions down the walkway. “You need to go all the way down.”
I’m a little disappointed, but after we go by a few more sections with no “Pavilion” signage in sight, I start asking people who appear to actually work at Fenway.
At a program kiosk: “Um, I’m not sure. I think you need to go upstairs.”
Upstairs: “Keep going to the right”
Further along: “You can’t get there from here. You need to go down and under and then back up.”
Upstairs: “Keep going to the right”
Further along: “You can’t get there from here. You need to go down and under and then back up.”
At this point, I have given up looking for signs and I ask every person I walk by who has some sort of ID. [It only occurs to me now that this might be considered slightly out of character]
Happily, we find our seats. The pavilion section is one of the newer additions, so the seats are a little wider. And padded. We’re about one level under the press boxes and about even with the warm-up circle in front of the Red Sox dugout. Get this: there’s actually a menu. And servers who bring your order right to your seat.
Dad has his cell phone out. He’s already called my sister several times today, and I’m starting to get annoyed about it (She’s fine! Leave her alone already!) when he starts to talk.
“Hi Fred, how ya doin’? What’s that? I’m sorry, it’s hard to hear you—the announcer here at Fenway is really loud.”
Good grief. He called his brother. After awhile, Dad hands me the phone. It’s the first time I’ve talked with my uncle in, oh, about 10 years.
Apparently the sibling urge to say “nyah nyah nyah” does not mellow with age.
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- Music:Tessie, Dropkick Murphys
I'm way behind in my posts... so what am I doing? Copying from others. Specifically, Seth Stevenson in Slate:
"Crossover SUVs have the unibody, monocoque construction typical of a car, instead of the body-on-frame construction used in heavy-duty trucks. This lends the Freestyle a more "car-like driving experience, but with all the space of an SUV," says Felice. I look forward to the next logical step in this evolution: a return to the fricking station wagon. Seriously, what was wrong with those?"
In defense of the CRV in the driveway... It's not mine, honest... Strangely enough, it gets better gas mileage than my car. Funny, that.
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"Crossover SUVs have the unibody, monocoque construction typical of a car, instead of the body-on-frame construction used in heavy-duty trucks. This lends the Freestyle a more "car-like driving experience, but with all the space of an SUV," says Felice. I look forward to the next logical step in this evolution: a return to the fricking station wagon. Seriously, what was wrong with those?"
In defense of the CRV in the driveway... It's not mine, honest... Strangely enough, it gets better gas mileage than my car. Funny, that.
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- Music:Hey, Little Minivan, Austin Lounge Lizards
