I'm a big fan of Pandora, the free online music service. Basically, you tell Pandora a song or an artist that you like, and it plays songs that other fans happen to like. And that becomes a Pandora "channel." For example, I am listening to one right now called "White Christmas," which starts with Bing's version and then plays a whole bunch of other holiday songs. When one comes along that I don't like -- I'm not a fan of that goofy Trans-Siberian Orchestra -- I give it a "thumbs down" and my vote is added to the great algorithm, and if enough people think the way I do, eventually nobody will hear it on that channel.
Pretty slick, if you ask me. It's the same technology that allows Amazon to show you what people who searched for "gigantic asses" also searched for " Skin On Skin (Gigantic Ass Subdermal Dub) by DJ Romain featuring Gail Powers" ... it had me at "subdermal."
Anyway, I'm listening to "White Christmas" on a cloudy Sunday morning, while Amina is still in bed, the (fake gas) fireplace roars and our indoor Christmas tree looks elegant in the corner. I say "indoor Christmas tree" because (this being Tennessee) we have an outdoor tree as well. Why? Well, we have two pre-lighted trees, thanks to a 75-percent-off-early-January-sale at Target. We also have no real outdoor decorations; when you live in Minnesota, you don't feel inclined to do much outdoor decorations, given that (1) they'll need to come down in January, when it's ridiculously cold outside, or (2) they'll end up staying in place until April, which looks kind of goofy in, say, February ...
So we have nothing for outside, but we did have a tree that we weren't using, so we thought "Why can't you have a tree on the front porch?" And thus was born the Christmas Tradition of Having A Fully Lighted Tree With Cast Iron Ornaments on the Front Porch. Next up: a washing machine in the front yard.
We ventured out yesterday, trying to be all Michael Corleone on our gift list -- we take care of all family business today. Unfortunately, the traffic was as thick and heavy as I've ever seen it, and we spent more time in the car than we did in the stores. Not that the stores were any better -- people were fighting for position in every aisle, the cacophony drove us both to distraction and our lunch consisted of Pringles and peanut M&Ms (highly recommended when washed down with a bottle of Coke).
The clerk at Old Navy told me that yesterday was the first busy day since before Thanksgiving. Trotter's groomer at Petsmart said that business was down quite a lot. There was a dog sweater at Old Navy that was $17. I wonder if there's some sort of connection ...
Johnny Mathis is singing "The Christmas Song" on Pandora, and I'm looking at Hawaiian Santa -- there's a connection, believe it or not. My first Christmas with Amina was spent in Chicago, and I took her to see Johnny Mathis at the Chicago Theatre. He was doing a holiday show, and she'd never really heard of Johnny Mathis before. It was a fun evening. And for Christmas that year, I got Amina five little baby Radko ornaments -- of which Hawaiian Santa was (and remains) her favorite.
It doesn't feel a lot like Christmas right now. Bad news abounds, in almost every sector of our lives. But Hawaiian Santa doesn't look worried. I wonder if he knows something we don't, something that we ought to ask him about and keep in mind ...
Well, Katie has Trotter and is really enjoying it so far ... except for his breath, which I can attest is pretty heinous at times. I just texted her to say that we actually have parsley growing on the back porch. Perhaps the prime rib and smashed potatoes give him bad breath, you think? :)
Huh? you're asking. Trust me, it will all make sense in a minute.
In the first clip, you'll hear the voices of Aaron and Matthew, part of the Brush family that watched -- and thus fell in love with -- Trotter when we lived in Chanhassen. The boys called Katie's radio station and gave her some tips on how to get along with Trotter.
In the second one, Katie gets advice on how to rid dogs of bad breath. I've always been partial to peanut butter myself.
The Trotter phenomenon grows ... next thing you know, Amina's dad will call in to tell Katie that Trotter likes it when you give him animal crackers -- but only if you talk to him (Trotter) in French. :)
... and yet, when it finally happened, it's surprisingly awesome.
What's the big deal? Trotter P. is famous!
It all started with a chance encounter with Katie, at one of our favorite restaurants in Franklin, when mom and dad were down to visit.
Somehow, the conversation turned to Trotter. It might have been the back of my business card, or it might have been that Amina and I are obsessed with our dog ... regardless, we started talking about stinkdogs and how we were looking for someone kind and loving to "dogsit" for us from time to time.
Katie got all excited and quickly volunteered.
Big deal, right? Well, it turns out that Katie herself is kind of a big deal -- Katie is a transplant from Eau Claire and just happens to be the co-host of a morning radio show, on WAXX FM, 104.5 on your FM dial if you're ever driving on I-94 in northern Wisconsin. She's a Marconi Award winner, which is more than my favorite sports radio host has ever done ...
So what happened today? Well, she and her co-host, George, spent quite a bit of time talking about how incredibly awesome he (Trotter) is, and the perils of dogsitting in general. They even gave him a corner of their website ... And I must report that I could not quit smiling when I heard my dog become famous across Wisconsin. George was a bit hard on Katie for dressing Trotter up in his Steeler regalia; but it was I who did that, and despite the look on Trotter's face, he was very happy to represent the 412. He's been a Pirates fan too, and donned the black and gold for Halloween this year.
He even ran for the Tennessee House of Representatives.
So, in short: despite my expensive education and many years of workplace experience, my dog is poised to have a far better career than me. C'est la vie, say the old folks -- it goes to show you never can tell ...
I can't believe I hadn't posted this photo on Flickr yet. It's one of my favorites from last year. You have to understand that the hat lasted about a tenth of a second after I pushed the button ... and that he actually looks better in a sleeveless t-shirt than I do. His guns are huge compared to mine.
***
I got up this morning and, to my shock and surprise, the sun was still rising in the east, just where I'd last seen it yesterday at the same time. Coffee still tasted as good. Newspaper was once again thrown in the bushes. Fletcher still demanded to be let outside, even though two nights ago I'd left him out all night.
In short, the world didn't stop turning. And I never thought it would. We've got a new president, and the tears I saw streaming down Jesse Jackson's face last night seemed genuine, which is surprising, because he's one of the least genuine political figures of my short lifetime. Oprah did call it "the most meaningful thing that has ever happened," confirming my deep hatred for that woman and all she stands for ... except for those Favorite Things shows, which are really kind of awesome and would be more so if I ever saw one in person. Then I'd forgive her putting Obama above, say, Jesus, D-Day, the Beatles on Ed Sullivan, Jimmy John's subs, Trotter in a Steelers shirt or ... well, you get the point.
My Facebook friends all seem to be post-orgasmic about last night. Here's a sampling of some statuses: "woke up optimistic about our economy and country and that the change we need is finally here" ... "proud that her fellow citizens (and Virginians) have done something right and taken a step to renew the country's standing in the world-community" ... "can't stop thinking, 'Yes we can.' I finally understand what it was like for my mother when Kennedy was elected. It's a wondrous day to be alive" ... "OMG! There is No Doubt! It's so wonderful! Thanks to all who worked hard for this!"
I think it will be interesting to study their reactions (and the reactions of the millions who share their thoughts and enthusiasm) as Obama The Candidate morphs into Obama The Politician. He's bound to disappoint them, and me -- that's what presidents do. And I think he's going to disappoint them in a massive, earth-shaking way at some point, because again, that's the president's job. He makes decisions that will anger some and please others. He can't always please just one side of the country -- it's not possible. All presidents -- good, bad, and Jimmy Carter -- disappoint. And this one more so, because people think he's akin to a prophet, and have become emotionally invested in him.
(I saw that at my local library. Sad.)
So it looks like Obama's cruising to victory. It shouldn't be much of a surprise; the Republicans have had an uphill battle the whole way -- wildly hated president, massive deficits, unpopular war, belated response to Katrina -- and yet I suspect the popular vote will be far closer than the Electoral College tally that should give Obama close to 300 electors.
It will look like a landslide, and the usual suspects will call it such, but it probably won't be a much larger victory than Bush over Kerry in 2004. And remember how the same usual suspects cried that the results "weren't a mandate" for the GOP platform? I doubt they'll be making the same claims tomorrow.
Consistency, hobgoblins, etc.
As for me, I've made peace with this election and my choice in it. I'm not going to announce it -- as if anyone cares -- other than to say that I voted for Turd Sandwich. I look forward to being part of the skeptical opposition for the next four years or so.
Actually, that's a lie. I really look forward to messianic disappointment. Hopefully that will lead some people to realize that politics isn't religion, and that a candidate so slickly and expensively packaged will not change the world, for ill or good. I'll remember this election as the one where I finally accepted that neither party is worth a damn.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go park my massive, massive wealth in some tax shelters. I'm not in the mood to be a Joe Biden-approved patriot any more than I already am, thank you.
My good friend Tricia sent my Facebook account a "gift" -- a "McCain '08" button. "Based on your post," she said, referring to this one ... If I were to have accepted it, everyone who visits the page would see that I was a McCain supporter.
Thing is, though, I'm not.It's a symptom of the binary thinking that most political people fall into -- and I'm not saying Tricia is guilty of this -- that, because one does not support candidate A, one must support candidate B.
And yet, in this case, I can't say that I'm a McCain supporter. I can say that I think he's more qualified ... I can say that, on the whole, I'm more sympathetic with the smaller government philosophy that used to guide the GOP ... I can say that I'd love to see every single vocal Obama supporter suffer through four more years of not having the White House ... but I cannot say that I'd put a McCain/Palin sign in my front yard, or a button on my Facebook page.
I have one, too -- I've got a big, ol' yard sign, sitting in my garage right now, for a non-political project I'm working on ... I wouldn't dream of putting it outside.
Yet, I might be voting for him. I might not. I vacillate, depending on the hour of the day. So ask me now, and I'm not voting for him. Ask me in an hour and I'm voting for Bob Barr. An hour later, I'm not voting for president at all.
***
The boomerang: I'm starting to learn how many anti-Bush folks felt over the past eight years, as I watch the press carry its chosen candidate to the finish line. I look around at the many gaffes of Joe Biden -- he's going to be a fun VP, I think -- and wish someone would call the Democrats on it. I see the smarm just oozing off Obama, and I wonder if I'm the only one, and if I'm not, I wonder why he's going to win anyway.
It's not easy when you see "the other side" as being not just wrong, but tragically so. It's a trap that I'm trying not to fall into, because it's dangerous and defeating. But I get it now. I understand it. Hopefully I'll learn from it.
Still to come: class warfare.
I'd love it if the trees in and around my home in Franklin, Tennessee, would just hurry up and change colors already. Cripes, my old home in Minneapolis is expecting snow this weekend! You'd think we could at least have some color in the trees by the end of October, right?
Don't take me too seriously, though I am a bit perplexed by the everything's-still-green state of nature down in Middle Tennessee. Not that I'm complaining -- as I said above, it is supposed to snow in Minnesota in the next few days, whereas I had the top down on the convertible just yesterday afternoon in downtown Franklin. So I'm not carping. I'm just saying that some browns and oranges would be appreciated.
Click the image above to see a panorama I took of a gorgeous old barn directly behind our subdivision. I'm sure it will be torn down eventually, to make way for more houses or parks or sidewalks ... but for now, I'm going to enjoy it. I wish I could enjoy it with more color in the foliage.
***
So I'm trying to decide if I want to write up my one-time-only post on this election. I'm listening to former Minnesota governor (and maybe former Republican?) Arne Carlson explain his decision to endorse Obama over McCain. He says that the moronic comments by Rep. Michelle Bachmann drove him over the edge and made up his mind that Obama was the man for the job.
That's fine. I can understand that. Bachmann is an embarrassment, and unfortunately her comments reflect something in the Republican Party that's run unchecked for decades now: that somehow Democrats are un-American because they don't subscribe to Republican ideas on defense, the economy -- you name it. This idea is not only ridiculous; it's dangerous. Dangerous because it's just not true, and because it's an incredibly anti-intellectual argument. It says that disagreement is not healthy, but downright treasonous.
Sometime in the past 25 years, we've replaced "my country, right or wrong" with "my party, right or wrong," and the damage that has done to our country is just starting to be felt. I fear we have more down the road.
Democrats are just as pro-American as Republicans. But not as much as Libertarians, though. :)
***
Having said all that ... much of the anger that comes from Republican quarters isn't being channeled in the proper direction. It's an anger I share, and I know many, many people who share my point of view.
In a nutshell: the "mainstream media" outlets that have defined political coverage, and thus swayed political outcomes, are irredeemably, irrevocably biased in favor or the Democratic party.
The anger I have comes from knowing that, for all intents and purposes, the media has been in the tank for Obama since the primaries started. It's not even been hidden well in a few major outlets -- namely, MSNBC and the New York Times. I have no time or patience for MSNBC, but the Times hurts my feelings by insulting my intellect. I can't read the paper anymore. I can't buy it at the newsstand, and I can't pay for a subscription at home. It's just fundamentally dishonest in its coverage.
Examples? A front page story on the possibility that maybe McCain had an affair ... compared to its total avoidance of a real-life case of adultery -- with a child born out of wedlock, no less, from former Democratic candidate John Edwards. And that's the most egregious. There are a ton of other examples, the most recent of which made me laugh ... somehow, Sarah Palin's wardrobe deserves front page play, but news about the ACORN scandal didn't quite make it that far in the A section. Hmmm.
An honest press would be holding Obama to the same standards of investigation and analysis that it held Palin, or "Joe the Plumber" ... it disappoints me greatly that the press is doing such a disservice to the electorate, and that people still fall for it. If he is "The One" then dammit tell me more about him besides how awesome he is, how he inspires heretofore unknown homosexual desires (Chris Matthews only), how he'll feed the nation with a few loaves of bread and some fish.
***
As for what I think ...
I just can't get past the fact that Barack Hussein Obama is not as qualified to be president of the United States as John Hussein McCain. He's been a Senator for all of four years, was part of the Daley Machine in Chicago before that, and ... well, that's about it. He was a "community organizer," which does not quite lead me to believe he's qualified to sit in the White House. Oh, he was the editor of the Harvard Law Review too. So we know the Attorney General's briefs will be well reasoned, which I guess is nice.
He might be a "a second-class intellect but a first-class temperament," as Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes surmised FDR after their first meeting. I hope to God that he is, because it looks like he's going to win the election. As a registered Republican, I'm not afraid to say that he'll be my president after he wins. Doesn't mean I'll punch the ballot (or press the touchscreen or fill in the oval) for him, though. But it won't worry me if most of my fellow Americans do.
Later: the class warfare boomerang, and the coming deluge of "1-20-2017" bumper stickers
... and who doesn't, really?
Amina and I were in Memphis earlier this week, my first visit since I was in my early teens. We made the pilgrimage to Graceland, but not to do the tour -- there is no way I'm spending (at least) $30 to walk through the mansion. I was hoping to get one of those iconic shots of the gates closed (note: Elvis not included), but we were there about an hour too early, and I wasn't about to hang around outside the many gift shops sponsored by the Presley estate ... so I did my best to get some shots of the wall, and then we hightailed it downtown to Rendesvous for the best dry ribs I've ever had.
So Memphis was nice -- at least the parts I saw were nice. We stayed in Germantown and only made excursions to tourist-approved areas, so it was pleasant enough. I've heard horror stories about the "other" Memphis, and oddly enough I was reading The Blind Side, which is more a story about an excruciatingly poor African American teen boy than it is about football. It's so good I've convinced Amina to read it, and she's enjoying it as much as I did.
And now it's a week later, and I'm sitting on my front porch, freezing my toes off. Fall is wonderful here in Tennessee; I'll take the chilly mornings over the bluster that is October in Minnesota, though the leaves here haven't really started changing yet. Oh, the sacrifices I make to live in a warmer clime ... :)
It has been raining for 24 hours, and Lord knows we needed it ... Everything is brown; walking barefoot in the back yard is like acupuncture on your soles; the leaves on the trees are threatening to fall off en masse with nary a red, gold or brown hue.
But now it is raining, and it's glorious. I'm sitting on the back porch, with Trotter at my feet and a strong cup of coffee at my side. The moss on the tree bark is a seafoam green, and everything else is muted and monochrome. I actually created a photo effect called "new black" that tries to capture this; to see an example, click here and scroll over to the third photo. But even that doesn't quite capture what I see (and smell) outside this morning.
October rain is the best kind of rain.
I took Trotter out for a bike ride this morning -- we try to do one every morning, but sometimes we're not awake enough for it -- and the first thing that hit me: the smell of fall. Fall has a smell, of course -- drying leaves, lazy grass, and the rainclouds coming in from the west added to the aroma. It was intoxicating.
And, not more than 10 words into the first sentence of this post, it started to rain.
Fall is my favorite time of the year. Our last four autumns were spent in Minnesota, where the "mild" seasons (fall and spring) lasted about a month each. Here in Nashville, though, I've been promised those two seasons will be glorious, but each time I've been greeted with the scents of fall, the habitual Minnesota thoughts creep in my brain: "Enjoy this, 'cause there won't be too many more like it."
***
Mom and dad came down last weekend, and we had a surprise for them: tickets to see Willie Nelson and his band, at a fund raiser for Hepatitis C research. It was a great show, though the temperatures did drop down into the low teens by showtime. (Not really, but it did feel awfully cold.) The show was held at The Preston Farm in Leiper's Fork, which is a deceptively small town not too far from our house. The concert truly was in the middle of the farm -- a huge pasture with tractor ruts and a few dried, stray cow patties and a picturesque barn full of hay and, most likely, snakes.
I didn't venture too close to the barn.
Our bus got there a few hours early, which seemed ridiculous at the time but ensured that we weren't more than 50 feet from the stage. Of course, when you're at a concert on a farm with one entrance to the two-lane road that feeds all traffic ... first in, last out. And we were on a bus that was three quarters empty, and one quarter filled with drunken neighbors who we hadn't yet met -- at least, we hadn't met them when they were sober. We met them while they were drunk, and if it's true that you don't get a second chance to make a first impression ... well, I'm not sure how to finish that. Luckily I didn't recognize any of them from church. :)
To see a few photos of the red-headed stranger, click here.
The "fail" woman is like Forrest Gump, or if he's not available, Leonard Zelig ...
I was out walking Trotter on Saturday afternoon, and we went down to the "chess park" (so named because there's a massive chess board there with pieces as large as a four year old boy) to throw the football a bit, before Ohio State's annual "crap the bed" game against a ranked opponent.
As I was walking into the park, I saw the cuddly little thing shown above. After I soiled my boxers, I ran back home and locked Trotter inside -- it may have been hungry and followed me home -- and grabbed my camera. The one with the long, long lens ... and then hightailed it back to the park.
It must have been an amusing sight, me trying to get close enough to take this picture without getting close enough to be eaten alive by this vicious, snarling beast. And yet I was oddly soothed by it, mainly because (1) I had to admire its dogged pursuit of prey, because the web was like 20 feet wide; and (2) it was obviously a Steeler spider, as evidenced by its black and gold regalia. So what's the worst it could do? Get me in its clutches and then fail to score more than 10 points against a horribly coached Browns team on national television?
Anyway, I haven't seen it since. I'm not sure, but I think it bought a townhouse alongside the park and is busy unpacking as we speak. I'll see it at the residents' club, on a treadmill, next weekend. and i'll have to be nice to it. That's the Westhaven way. :)
well, i found it anyways...a year and half later. THANK YOU by the way. I would GREATLY appricate it if you would that that picture off the web.
If men were angels, no government would be necessary. If angels were to govern men, neither external nor internal controls on government would be necessary. In framing a government which is to be administered by men over men, the great difficulty lies in this: you must first enable the government to control the governed; and in the next place oblige it to control itself.
The week we moved into our house in Franklin, I saw that Alton Brown -- he of "Good Eats," "Iron Chef America" and "Feasting on Asphalt" -- was making an appearance in Nashville in mid August. Amina surprised me with tickets to see him, as part of a package at the Opryland Resort and Convention Center, where the event was held. We found a dogsitter for Trotter -- who, though a fan of Alton's from way back, wasn't allowed to attend -- and headed off to see my hero.
He (Alton, not Trotter) was witty, engaging and slightly more acidic in person than on television. This should come as no great surprise, because most television shows tend to water down true personalities, so as to sell more commercials. Alton had some bite and told slightly off-color jokes about a little device that makes smoke and resembles nothing more than a fancy marijuana pipe designed by Sharper Image. He also mercilessly, yet tactfully, expressed his dislike of the efforts of Sandra Lee and Rachael Ray, his begrudging admiration of Emeril's sell-out to Martha Stewart ... and his funniest bit was an off-the-cuff riff about the lack of camaraderie among the various Food Network stars. Apparently, Paula Deen's private jet lands on a runway coated with butter.
Trust me, this last line was funnier in person.
It was a wonderful performance, leading me to admire Alton Brown even more than I already do (if such a thing were possible) and convincing myself that I really, really need that immersion circulator he used to cook ribs -- 20 hours at 140º F apparently does the trick. I wonder how that would handle a Boca burger ...
The hotel was a bit of a disappointment; I linked to the Trip Advisor comments above only to say that I agree with every complaint people made, and wonder how much travel experience those who give it five stars and say "best stay ever!!!!" have actually had. Any hotel that gets you to spend $20 on coffee, a bear claw and a newspaper might be a well run business, but isn't my idea of a top-notch place to stay the night.
The grounds were impressive; the whole place felt like Vegas without the casinos or cigarette smoke, but it was designed (1) to keep you from leaving and thus (2) to keep you spending your money on its overpriced food and entertainment options. The customer service was abysmal -- if Amina had a blog, she'd tell the story of how they royally messed up her reservation -- and there's just something slightly creepy about watching palm trees blowing in the wind, until you realize that it's air conditioning, not wind, and besides the whole thing is indoors.
But it's hard to be pissy when you see things this pretty around every turn, and I must say that seeing Alton Brown in person was one of the better birthday presents I've ever received.
