Archives for April 2004

April 30, 2004

11 Questions

We have to arrange a sitdown between the pResident and Mark Morford at once.

I Take It All Back

All that complaining I did about Boston weather for the last 6 months? Forget it.

80 degrees, sunny, cool breeze...walking across the Mass Ave Bridge...people who live in places like California, where it's like this all the time, can't possibly appreciate what this feels like after relentless cold and windy.

In fact, why am I in here typing this?

April 27, 2004

March For Choice

V-Bunny is back, with tales from the DC March For Women's Rights on Sunday. I hope to hear my sister's stories soon, too.

A million people - that means 1 in every 300 Americans were on the Mall. And for each of those million, there's a dozen more who would have liked to be there too. Thank you to all who went.

Pat Tillman

I'm a little torn about this. You must know by now that Pat Tillman of the NFL's Arizona Cardinals was killed last week in Afghanistan, where he had been serving since 2002.

And all the news stories have talked about how he gave up a huge paycheck and a lucrative NFL career to fight for his country, back when this was still a just war on terrorists and not the scattershot bomardment of Iraq it's become. And the word "hero" has been used many many times to describe him.

And it's all true.

But, at last count, 722 US soldiers have been killed in Iraq. True, they didn't leave behind NFL careers, but all left behind families and loved ones and lives. And the government, which has itself totally convinced that Iraq is a just and proper war, fought to keep any pictures of flag-draped coffins out of the public eye. If your cause is truly noble, you honor and cherish those who died for it. If not, you bring them home in secret.

(I realize he was fighting in Afghanistan, not Iraq, but we're told it's all the same war; so, for the purposes of this post, and this post ONLY, I'll believe them.)

Pat Tillman was a hero. He gave his life defending his country, and what he believed in. If only there were more attention paid to the other 700+ fallen heroes, and more scrutiny as to what exactly they're fighting and dying for.

April 25, 2004

This Is The End

I've endured a lot in my career as a Boston sports fan: disappointment (see: Red Sox, 1988,1990,1998,1999; Celtics, 2002; Bruins, every spring); deep soul-scarring disappointment (see: Red Sox, 1986,2003; Patriots, 1980s-90s), and even transcendent glee (see: Patriots, 2002,2004). But never the miserable apathy bestowed on me by the 2003-2004 Celtics. And, barring a miracle or complete Indiana meltdown, the Celtics' season will be mercifully put to an end this afternoon.

This was, in short, an impossible team to root for. Danny Ainge, formerly beloved Celts hero, stripped the heart and guts out of a pretty good (for the Eastern Conference) team. If you weren't paying attention (and judging by the attendance lately, you weren't), Danny shipped Antoine Walker to Dallas just before the season started, essentially for Jiri Welsch and Raef LaFrentz (who promptly went on the injury list). Then Eric Williams and Tony Battie (and the execrable Kedrick Brown) went to Cleveland for Ricky Davis and Chris Mihm. Finally, Mike James got traded and the C's got Chucky Atkins from Detroit. Coach Jim O'Brien quit in frustration, and the team backed into an ill-deserved playoff spot despite all their best efforts to fulfiill Danny's dream of losing the draft lottery.

Boston fans, particularly diehard Celtic fans (all 54 of us that remain), don't give up though. We've already started thinking about next year, Danny Ainge's "plan", and who we might find ourselves rooting for next year. So here's my take on tomorrow's roster, from least essential to most:

12 (tie). Jumaine Jones and Yogi Stewart. Thanks for the memory, guys. If you're still on the team next year, I give up.
11. Chris Mihm. Proving there's always room in the NBA for a 7-foot white guy, Mihm provided a list of season highlights I can count on one hand. He's big and willing to bump people down low, though, so I guess there's a job for him somewhere next year. I frankly don't care if it's here, though.
10. Kendrick Perkins. All upside. Played only 35 minutes this year. I'm a little leery of Celtics youngsters who don't get any minutes, and whose names start with "K" and end with "drick".
9. Walter McCarty. We all love Walter. Really. But he's gone from a great defensive player with suprising shooting range, to a decent defender who will only take one shot. When your starting power forward (and that says something right there) won't take the ball inside the 3-point line, you've got issues.
8. Brandon Hunter. I'd like to keep the kid around; he's a fearless big guy who seems to love to rebound. That said, if the right trade comes along, I won't gripe.
7. Jiri Welsch. Showed flashes of brilliance early in the year. Just flashes. Then he settled down into a fairly dull routine of 4-for-11's and head-scratching turnovers. Danny seems to think of Jiri as a young Czech version of himself; maybe if Jiri played alongside the '86 Celtics, we'd see that's true.
6. Raef LaFrentz. Incomplete grade. Get healthy, big guy.
5. Chucky Atkins. There's not a chance he'll still be here when the Celtics get back to the Finals (I wonder if the Fleet Center will still be here for that), but he showed enough skill and leadership for me to want him to stay around for the transition. He may be a good mentor for Banks; after the Era of Shoot-First Point Guards, Chucky was a refreshingly unselfish floor general.
4. Marcus Banks. I've said it, but I'll go on record here. Banks is two years away from being one of the league's elite point guards. Tons of speed, and learning to play at an NBA level. So, the Celtics being what they are, the fans in Seattle or Toronto should have a great chance to watch Marcus after he gets traded.
3. Ricky Davis. Globe columnist Bob Ryan says Ricky is the Continental Divide between old-school, traditionalist basketball fans and hype-jaded kids. I disagree. Ricky's brash, energetic, unafraid, cool -- all the kinds of things old-schoolers are supposed to disdain -- but my Dad and I (both old-school fans) look at him and see hustle, nonstop energy, and ferocious defense. Sure we're wary of the fact that Ricky's been traded about 56 times since he came in the league. But when he's in the game, you pay a little closer attention.
2. Mark Blount. Hardly worth writing about, since the second the season's over, he's likely to be on the phone with Jim O'Brien (who nurtured Blount into a bona-fide starter), making plans to go to Philly next season. And it's a shame. Blount has made one of the most remarkable transitions I've ever seen, going from garbage-time fodder to (seriously) the third best center in the East. His natural skills aren't up there with Jermaine O'Neal or Ben Wallace, but his hustle and his determination keep him focused and contributing. We'll miss you, Mark.
Finally, 1. Paul Pierce. I don't know what to say. It's written on Paul's face that this season has been as trying and as glum for him as it has for us. I hope Danny's not instituting the 90's Red Sox "Let's Make Our Superstars Miserable" plan, or we'll see him out the door the first chance he gets. The plan, as late as 8 months ago, was to build a team around Pierce and Walker -- two guys who really seemed to like and feed off one another. Now Antoine's gone, they haven't built anything around Paul, and teams can zero in on him (like Ron Artest), shut him off, and destroy the Celtics. And Paul looks like he wants to go home so badly, it's depressing.

I hope Ainge has a plan. This is his team now, for better or worse. He's got exactly six months left of the benefit of the doubt. I hope he has a plan.

April 23, 2004

Another One Bites The Dust

Sooz directed me to this post by the Accordion Guy, an out-of-towner who expresses the dismay and sadness many of us Bostonians feel about the demise of Avenue Victor Hugo, one of the last great used bookstores (or, in French, bouquinistes - see, you do learn something every day) in the Hub. He also includes the text of a list of the 12 Reasons for the death of independent bookstores all over the place. Go read it, it's fascinating and achingly true.

The Accordion Guy asks what the state of independents is. Here in Boston, the erstwhile Athens of America, we're down to about a double handful. Of course, my favorite is the Harvard Book Store, which had been my favorite even before they started paying me to spend my whole day there. For purely-used-books, we have the Brattle, McIntyre & Moore, and Rodney's, plus a handful of smaller joints that I'm often pleasantly surprised to stumble into.

The one thing Boston and environs has going for it is the number of independent niche stores. We have, in Harvard Square alone, Grolier's for poetry, the Globe Corner for maps and travel, Schoenhof's for foreign literature, Curious George for kids, Revolution Books for the seething left, James and Devon Gray for antiques, Pandemonium for sci-fi, and maybe a couple others I forgot. So it's not completely bleak...here. In the rest of the country, I fear bookstore browsing is going the way of so many of the things that make life interesting. And it's just sad. But I hope it makes you want to come to Cambridge and do a little shopping.

Altar Egos

The Vatican said today that it's OK, actually encouraged, to deny Communion to politicians (and, presumably, others) who are vocally pro-choice.

As far as I can tell, though, it's still OK to receive if you're a Catholic politician who supports the death penalty. Or, presumably, if you're an ex-Cardinal who is now world-famous for orchestrating and concealing a decades-long pedophilia ring.

April 22, 2004

By Any Meanness Necessary

The hard-core Right, apparently sensing that they're losing their curious battle against equality, is trying some new things. Here in Massachusetts, we have one state legislator trying to remove all of the Supreme Court justices who don't think gay marriage is illegal; meanwhile, Governor Mitt Romney (and how did we miss that the Romney/O'Brien election was the real-life equivalent of Montgomery Burns vs. Mary Bailey???) and his minions are dusting off a 1913 law that was enacted to head off any challenges between Mass. and states that banned interracial marriages. I think that if you're reaching out to some of the most shameful, racist, unjust episodes of history, it's a pretty clear sign that you're rightfully losing the battle.

And it gets better -- from a "I can't make this crap up" point of view, I mean, not a reasonable person's point of view. The Michigan House passed a bill that would protect doctors if they refused to treat gay people. Think about that a minute. Actually, according to the bill, you can reject treatment to anyone based on your particular moral, ethical and religious grounds. So if you're a Nazi surgeon who doesn't want to operate on Jews, or if you're a fundamentalist nursing home owner who doesn't want to waste time caring for a hellbound non-saved senior, it appears there may soon be a place for you in Michigan!

The desperation of the Hate crowd would be almost funny if the game weren't so serious.

I Wouldn't Want to Show My Face Either

Oliver points something interesting out; on the home page of our desperate pResident, you can see seven pictures of John Kerry, and zero of the man the website purportedly supports.

Why is there so much negative about Kerry, and so little about the actual concrete reasons that Bush deserves to keep his job for another 4 years? I wonder...

Thank You, Thank You, Thank You...

...to everyone tonight.

Maybe I said I wanted to spend my 30th birthday sitting in a dark room listening to the Smiths all day. But obviously, I didn't really.

I got really touching comments in response to my online panic attack last night...thanks to all. I got traditional warm telephone wishes from my family...very much appreciated. And I got a 6-hour roving party thrown for me by pretty much everyone else I know in the world. And you were there, and you were there, and you were there...

And Jess made me a Black Wednesday cake. And Bunny made me a Simpsons-Shrinky-Dink-doppelganger. And a lot of other really close and cool people who don't have websites (though, frankly, most of 'em should) were there too. You all know who you are. You all know I love ya.

I think maybe I'm ready to take on this 30's thing.

UPDATE - Jess not only made me a cake, she took and posted pictures. I am honored to know all these people.

April 21, 2004

Maudlin

(Author's Note: The entry within contains thoughts and language that are a little more sentimental and introspective than the run-of-the-mill BunkoSquad posts you may be used to. Depending on where my train of thought rolls, it might even contain some bad words. So if you're easily disconcerted by this, or not quite ready for unaccustomed depth(?) in your daily(?) BunkoSquad dose, you may want to skip this entry and go directly to seinfeldscripts.com, which (as you might think) has scripts for every Seinfeld episode. There's a lot of laughs on that page; more than what's to come, believe me. Thanks for your time.)

OK. You made it this far.

At work, we thought it would be a cool idea if everyone brought in pictures of themselves as babies or toddlers, so we could all giggle at the clothes of the late 70s and early 80s and try to guess which baby turned into which hip, clever colleague. Sounds fun, right? So there I am, picking through a few old pictures I have and a really cool booklet my sister made me a few birthdays ago, with more old pictures, and suddenly had a kind of out-of-body experience. And describing it is a little tricky, so please bear with me.

I had always looked at old pictures of myself with a mixture of amused shame and small regret. The inch-thick glasses, the short shorts, the perpetually open mouth (why it was always open for pictures, I'll never know) -- they were clearly picture of a younger me. I never thought of it any other way. But suddenly, I started seeing them a little differently. What if, I thought, this wasn't an old me, but rather a distinct individual? What if, somewhere in the space-time continuum, there still is a dorky little 10-year-old who's confident that his ability to finish word-search puzzles quickly, recite all 50 states in alphabetical order, and compute slugging percentages will be adequate tools for getting through the rest of his life?

(On a side note, I guess that also means that, somewhere in the space-time continuum, there's a timebomb of a 19-year-old waiting to explode in an avalanche of apathy, doubt and self-destructiveness that will spiral down the years to the point where he can't sustain a goddamn metaphor through an entire goddamn sentence, but that may be a tale for another day.)

What would I say if I ran into that 10-year-old? I presumably know more about the ways of the world than he does; I presume that if I could convince him that I was his future self, he'd accept and take to heart my counsel. So where to begin? What's the message I wish some "wiser" adult had shared with me?

I guess it boils down to this: don't live your life afraid. A lot of life really sucks and is repetitive and humdrum and filled with an utter lack of transcendent moments. You can accept this, and bemoan it, and let it gnaw away at yourself or you can challenge it. Take a damn risk once in a while. I think the kid in question might appreciate a convoluted baseball analogy, so here goes: sometimes you need to throw a hit-and-run or a squeeze play into your repertoire. Maybe you'll hit into a double play, or maybe you'll knock in the winning run - either way, you'll get the crowd buzzing in a way that looking for a bases-loaded walk will never do. And gambling managers are always looked at with more admiration than the guys who play it safe (I obviously don't mean the Pete Rose gambling). End convoluted baseball analogy.

All the great thinkers have dealt with this. Tennyson said "It's better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all." Neil Young said, "it's better to burn out than to fade away." If you keep charging, sometimes you'll get knocked on your ass, but you can spring up again. If you stand still and just slowly sink to the floor, it's hard to get up.

I'd tell the kid that everything in life is so damn temporary anyway, it's worth it to take a chance. Maybe I wouldn't want to scare him away, but I should probably tell him all about opportunities that I've had, but never followed up on, only to see the moment pass. Friends -- girl friends (two words) -- that I've wondered if I should risk taking the next step with, only to see the friendship lost in distance and time anyway. People who could have been lifelong friends and allies, except that it would have required a (so minor!) change in my habits and patterns and trends -- which I would have soon fallen out of anyway.

Is this all making sense? I hope not...I'd hate to be that transparent.

The other thing I would try to convey to that kid is how, when all is said and done, you've got to still live inside yourself. Eventually, you're going to be at a point where all the outside distractions and social ramble and fooferaw is going to be gone -- if only for a time -- and you're going to be alone with nothing but your mind. And it would behoove him to try to force that mind outwards, to seek new things and challenge it, rather than let the mind turn on itself and try to devour itself in a feast of doubt and second-guessing and mangled metaphors (like, for instance, this manifesto).

So...what questions would that kid have for me? Maybe he'd ask where his life should be when he reaches his (let's pick an arbitrary number here) 30th birthday. Maybe he'd be afraid that at 30, his skillset would consist of little more than customer service, basic HTML, a working knowledge of the infield-fly rule, and some (admittedly cool) geography-related party tricks. Oh yeah; and a penchant for rambling psychiatric self-diagnosis. Actually, on second thought, if he asked that, I'd probably call in Ari Fleischer to deflect/redirect that particular question.

The other questions he might ask, and that I couldn't convincingly answer: How do you do it? How do you make that leap of faith that lets you shake up your comfort level (slight though it may be) and take that risk? How do you challenge yourself, and force yourself to follow through with the challenge, so you don't end up at 30 with a list of regrets (roughly) three times longer than your list of satisfactory accomplishments? And when is it too late to take that leap? I've had several people tell me, "30 is the new 21!", but everyone who tells me that is a damnsight closer to 21 than to 30. And, related to that, wherein lies the difference between a groove and a rut?

So, stumped by these questions, I'd have to come up with some cogent advice for him to take into the next 20 years of his life. I'd say Satchel Paige's rules would be a good place to start, but I've broken four of the six rules since I started writing this piece. I googled other "rules of life", but nothing seemed to exactly fit. I guess, in the end, the best advice I could give him is you've got to forge your own way. In the end, you have to stand before your younger self (or, failing a workable time-travel solution, a mirror) and account for yourself.

And I guess that comes to the crux of why I wrote this; absent a 50-year-old version of myself appearing with more advice, I'll fill in what I think he'd say. Something like "You've got to live for yourself, not for your perception of what others expect of you. Your successes and failures will come and go, but make them yours."

And with that, probably the longest post in BunkoSquad history, I enter the fourth decade of my life with...that. Thanks for listening.

April 19, 2004

New Blog On My Blogroll

My roommate Yves started a blog last week. We met years ago working at the book store, and first bonded because I was the only one there who knew ALF's real name (Gordon Shumway). He's smart and witty and erudite and cool and he hates Bush. So there you go. He's also (honest-to-God) a born and bred New Yorker who's come to embrace the Celtics and even (gasp!) the Sox. So keep an eye on his blog; I will.

What He Said

Want a summary of how I feel about Bush? Jesse at Pandagon nails it.

April 18, 2004

Tres Bien!

Saw this on the Orcinus blog: Tom Bihn, a manufacturer of luggage and bags, has quietly slipped this onto their manufacturing label:

Nous sommes desoles que notre president soit un idiot. Nous n'avons pas vote pour lui.

Which translates as "We're sorry our President is an idiot. We didn't vote for him."

The Bihn people, mindful of right-wing terrorism, claim that it's a jab at the company's president, and not...well....y'know. But all the same, it's a riot. They're so pleased by the attention that they've made up T-shirts bearing the slogan. In case, for instance, anyone you know has a birthday coming up.

April 17, 2004

More Tales From BloggerCon

So I skipped Sox-Yankees, Game 1 of the Playoffs (where the Celtics, like I thought, are getting dusted by Indiana), and the first honest-to-god spring day in Boston since like 1987. And went to BloggerCon, where, like I expected, I came away with a fervent wish for more time and more energy to work on this little clambake we call BunkoSquad. People are doing some really amazing things out there in Blogstonia.

The first panel I went to was called "What Is Journalism?", moderated by Jay Rosen of NYU. There was a good mix in the crowd of bloggers, professional journalists, and various combinations of the two. We never really answered the question, but there was a lot of good discussion about traditional media, the blogsphere's role in bringing to light underdiscussed stories, and where (if anywhere) the line between traditional media and blog-media is being drawn.

Second was a panel on blogs and libraries. I started succumbing to the hot room and fatigue, so I bailed on that a little early and shot the breeze with Sooz, Shannon, and Jessamyn (whose father used to work with my Dad - small world!)

Then a panel with Rebecca McKinnon on international blogs, which was pretty much all news to these US-centric quarters. Things I learned: the Iranian blogging revolution has made Farsi the 3rd-widest-used language on blogs; news of the SARS epidemic in China slipped around the government blackout due to blogs and SMS feeds; blogging is (slowly) catching on in Central Africa. If you're like me, and feel you ought to know more about what's going on in the world, this is pretty exciting stuff.

John Perry Barlow is currently leading a panel which I'd love to have gone to, but I'm just too damn exhausted. Time for a little rest, then to the end-of-Con reception.

BloggerCon Kickoff

BloggerCon is tomorrow at Harvard! Sooz put together a kick-off dinner at Boston's historic Durgin Park restaurant. I got to chat with Gordon and Fran from WestportNow, an independent local-news blog from Westport, CT. It's a neat idea; how much truly local news does your local paper or TV station actually show? It sort of hearkens back to the day when every town of any size had its own newspaper.

I also got to meet Bob Cox of The National Debate, a thorough and fairly tongue-in-cheek clearinghouse of information on the pundits who keep America's op-ed pages and cable-news channels humming 24/7. If you follow blogdom, you may remember T.N.D. as the site that got sued by the N.Y. Times for its parody op-ed corrections page.

Then it was on to an impromptu performance of the The Accordion Guy outside Faneuil Hall. Watching some street skaterpunks breakdancing to an accordion version of "Should I Stay Or Should I Go" is an experience I won't soon forget.

April 16, 2004

I Should Care More

The Sox and Yankees start a four-game series at Fenway tonight. The NY Post flew a banner over Boston yesterday with pro-Yankee slogans. The Globe convinced Dan Shaughnessy to write his quarterly column about the rivalry, which consists of 13% new material (highest in years).

But ya know what? It's April. And I'm tired of getting stoked for regular season games in April: getting all excited over a 3-1 lead or down after a blown save. We freak out in April and wonder why New York eats our lunch every fall.

In the parlance of our times, it's a marathon, not a sprint. And I refuse to get freaked out over the 9th-through-12th games of a 162-game season. At least until the Sox win tonight.

April 14, 2004

A Tease

Some pictures from the trip (click for bigger versions, obviously):

Top row, left to right: Strawberry Fields (memorial to John Lennon) in Central Park, NYC; Philadelphia skyline from the front of the Art Museum; cherry blossoms along the Potomac in DC; me outside Camden Yards in Baltimore.

Bottom row, left to right: Harpers Ferry, WV; the Monongahela Incline in Pittsburgh; PNC Park in Pittsburgh; Niagara Falls, NY.

April 12, 2004

1,965

...is the total mileage. Pictures are being tweaked.

April 10, 2004

Empire State

SARATOGA SPRINGS, NY - Well, this last 36 hours hasn't been the best part of the trip. Not bad, exactly, but not quite living up to the rest of it.

Yesterday I drove and drove and drove. I-79 north out of Pittsburgh, then I got off at the Sagertown exit, with ill-placed confidence in my ability to sniff out an Arby's or some other fast-food joint. Instead I got to see the back end of various tractors and pickups as they moseyed into the greater Erie area. Finally I found some grub right where the back roads met up with I-90.

At first, I-90 was interesting; off to the left was the giant blue presence of Lake Erie (not near the part where Cleveland almost set it on fire). But then -- and this is basically true for the entire length of the N.Y. State Thruway -- it turned into a flat, featureless, charmless stretch of drudgery. An exit every 15 miles, a rest stop every 50 miles (I only missed one, since my weary legs cried out every time one approached), and no cheap motels in greater Syracuse.

So I pressed on to spend the night in Utica (cue my Mom singing the old Utica Club beer jingle), and this morning made my way through country roads to Cooperstown. It's somewhere every baseball fan HAS to go to (I've been several times, naturally), but the Museum itself is under some pretty substantial renovations. Some exhibits were closed, but the Hall itself was open (and apparently also open to crying babies. Folks, this is like a cathedral to some of us. Take Junior outside 'till he's old enough to appreciate it) and I got to see the plaques of some of the newer inductees. Molitor and Eckersley get in later this year, if you're interested. Greenwell won't, which is borderline-outrageous.

Then I made sort of a snap decision (though it had been in the back of my mind) to head up north to Lake George. We used to go there for a week every couple of summers when I was a kid, and I wanted to see if it lived up to my memories. I'll have to let you know about that another time; most everything was closed. The steamboat tours - closed. The House of Frankenstein Wax Museum - closed. The Around the World/Around the US in 18 Holes mini-golf courses - closed. Very sad.

Now I have a decision to make. My discretionary trip spending limit is fast approaching, and I'm debating myself whether I'm going to try to make it home tonight to save on a hotel room, knowing that I'm headed back to CT tomorrow for Easter dinner. Decisions, decisions. For what it's worth, Yahoo Maps says it's 3 hours, 18 minutes. I think I may try it.

April 08, 2004

A Night With Pirates

PITTSBURGH - Maybe you don't think of Pittsburgh when you think of vacation destinations. And maybe you probably shouldn't. But for a quick trip or a road-trip stop, I heartily endorse it. There's more to do than in - let's say - Hartford, it's easier to walk around than D.C., cleaner than Philly, and the baseball park is everything it's cracked up to be.

Although it was a rainy pregame and an intimate (4-digit) crowd against the Phillies tonight, the Pirate fans are pretty cool. They were into the game, they mocked the few Phillie fans who made the trek, and they knew their stuff. And PNC Park is as good as they say. Right along the banks of the Allegheny River, the centerfield view opens up to a picturesque view of Pittsburgh's skyline, with the golden Clemente Bridge at the center of attention. Even from the cheap seats, you can still see every part of the field (I'm talking to you, Fenway), and if the game drags or is a blowout (now I'm talking to the Pirates, though you won handily tonight), you have something else to gaze at.

The thing that impressed me the most, though, besides the awe-inspiring Primanti Bros. sandwiches, was the scoreboard. What the Bucs save on player personnel, they've spent on cool CGI graphics. At the start of the game was a little movie where a fleet of ships sails up to the Confluence, each mast bearing the logo of a different NL team. Then the Pirate ship sailed in to defend the city, pelting the Reds ship and the Cubs ship with cannonfire. Then, of course, it turned all its guns on the S.S. Phillie, sending it to a watery demise. Very well done.

I saw other stuff in Pittsburgh, too -- the Monongahela Incline (I can spell that now without looking it up), the Andy Warhol Museum, and the bustling downtown area -- but more on that another time. I have to go walk off that sandwich.

Through the Mountains

PITTSBURGH - The Internet may be everywhere, but that doesn't mean it's easy to find public access in the hills of western PA or WV. Anyway.

Yesterday I dropped my folks off at the airport (they made it back safely) and headed west into Maryland. I stopped for gas at the Burkittsville exit (location of The Blair Witch Project), then went to Harpers Ferry, the national park at the confluence of the Shendandoah and Potomac Rivers. Very picturesque. And like 70 degrees, did I mention that? I walked around the town with a dazed and stunned expression on my face.

Then it was into the mountains. If you've never driven I-68 west through Maryland, here's a little exercise to see what it's like. Go to a building with a tall stairwell (like a parking garage). Walk up two flights, then down six steps, then up two flights. Do this 11 times.

I was intending to stay the night at the Palace of Gold in West Virginia, but it was starting to get dark and I didn't know exactly where it was, and I didn't relish the idea of driving around twisty mountain roads in West Virginia in the dark. I've seen Deliverance, you know. So I gave up and went to a motel in Waynesburg, PA (a lot of trains go through Waynesburg all night!) and headed to the Palace in the morning. Not a soul was about. There was no distant sound of chanting, and it was an hour before scheduled opening time. So I took a few pics and headed downhill (straight downhill) to Moundsville and the West Virginia Penitentiary, which was the actual state pokey till 10 years ago or so, and is now offering very cool and comprehensive tours. It ain't tourist season yet, so I had a tour all to myself. If you're ever in Moundsville, take the tour and try to get Kathy as your guide. She handled the small group (me) with aplomb; she was cool, informative and thorough. I've decided to live a law-abiding life, at least in the Mountaineer State.

And now I'm in Pittsburgh, about to meet my (so far) Internet-only friend Andy and go to the Pirates-Phillies game. But I'm gonna wander around first.

April 06, 2004

Showing the Colors

BALTIMORE - So this morning found me at BWI Airport, where my parents were flying down for a whirlwind 24 hours in Charm City, primarily to go to the Sox-Orioles game at Camden Yards this afternoon. As I waited by the entrance to the arrivals gate, the most amazing thing happened. Flights from Providence and Manchester must have been arriving simultaneously, and Red Sox fans were streaming out of the secure area and into the main terminal.

It's fun to be part of a visiting contingent in a hostile ballpark. It's fun when the "Let's Go Red Sox!....clap, clap, clap clap clap" chant goes for a while before the hometown fans work up enough numbers to drown it out with boos. It's fun to feel the unity and camaraderie with your fellow strangers in strange lands. Now I've seen the Sox on the road in several cities (Philly, Oakland, Comiskey) and never have I not sat with at least a few other members of the Nation.

In case any of the above makes Yankee fans think it's OK to come to Fenway, the answer is no. With you guys, it's not gentle gamesmanship. We truly and actively hate you.

PS - the Sox won 4-1. Schilling gets the win, Foulke gets the save, I get a BBQ pork sandwich at Boog Powell's restaurant. Good times all around.

April 05, 2004

The Reflecting Pool

LAUREL, MARYLAND - I still don't know what we're fighting the Iraq war for. I don't especially know what we fought the Vietnam war for, either. But I have a hunch it wasn't so I could see the depressing display of humanity at the D.C. Vietnam Memorial wall today.

I know I was a tourist, too - I took pictures, and I am never sure if that's showing the proper amount of decorum and reverence. But at least I can take comfort in the undeniable fact that I was more respectful than:

• The guy who got his three brats to pose in front of a list of casualties with a "Big Smile!"
• The old guy on a Chinese tour group who blew his nose, loudly and visibly, right onto the sidewalk. Both nostrils. I don't think it was a statement; I guess some guys just aren't handkerchief-ready.
• The two friends, yapping and carrying their show-dogs down the entire length of the Wall and back.
• Any number of loud obnoxious middle-school groups from all over the nation, prone to saying things like, "Danny! There's a dead guy here with your name!"

So I sat on a bench betweeen the Wall and the also-packed Lincoln Memorial, and just reflected. On how the Vietnam Wall was designed as a stark, powerful monument to actual dead people who would still be alive today if the war never happened, and now it's just another item on a tour-group checklist. On how the "names of the dead" has become almost the minumum requirement for any memorial park, thus diluting its potency. On how the memorial to Bush's Iraq War will look thirty years from now, and how many names will end up being on it. And on all the majestic events that have happened in Washington, and how the current era isn't living up to history's promise (for example: read the words of Lincoln at the Memorial, and compare it to the crap that comes out of the mouth of our current pResident). And it's just sad.

Also gnawing at me is the fact that I forgot Kurt Cobain died ten years ago today. I was coming back from a CD store in Philly (ironically, buying a Pearl Jam disc) when the news came on the radio in 1994. I never fully bought into Kurt-as-icon-for-my-generation, but that hurt. A lot.

Our Nation's Capitol

WASHINGTON, DC - You know, even for a wishy-washy pinko-liberal down-on-the-Government type like me, there's still a certain something that comes up in your heart when you crest a hill and see the U.S. Capitol building dead center in front of you.

But I'll get back to that...first things first. Let's start with this morning. I had to split Philly pretty early to avoid parking-meter-interruptus. Even though Pat's Steaks on Wharton Street is open 24 hours, I reisted the siren song of cheesesteak-for-breakfast. I wanted to spend the day sightseeing, not cursing the universe in a Maryland men's room. I did stock up on nature's perfect food, though, so that should keep me OK for a while.

I saw more of Delaware today then ever before (which, frankly, ain't sayin' much). The people at the State Museum Information Center in Dover were awfully nice, if a little surprised to see a windswept, teeth-chattering traveler first thing on a Monday morning. Did I mention the wind? I think I did, but then the computer I was typing on got flung into Delaware Bay.

Then a quick hop across MD, over the Bay Bridge, and into Washington. I did observe my personal Washington, DC, tradition, which is to somehow inexplicably find myself in Virginia (this was due to a misreading of a sign on the Metro platform), but made it back safely. I haven't really had the time or the inclination to stand in the amazingly long lines to clear Security at any of the museums or attractions, so I've just been bopping around the Mall taking pictures and downing Starbucks vanilla cremes (as I explained to my sister, YES, I am generally vehemently against big multinational corporations at the expense of locally-owned independent stores, but damn those vanilla cremes are GOOD).

And now, instead of waiting in line two hours to see a dinosaur or something, I'm biting the expensive-Internet-access bullet at a Kinko's behind the National Archives. All to bring this to you.

(Interesting note: as I type, there's a guy waiting for a computer who's clearly wheeling and dealing scalped baseball tickets. Pretty brazen.)

April 04, 2004

South In Search of Spring

(The following is an attempted recreation of what I would have actually posted yesterday, if it hadn't been eaten by a dialup connection and my unfamiliarity with Macs, particularly the fact that Control-C isn't where you expect it to be and it's very easy to replace everything you've just typed with the letter 'c'. 'C' may be for cookie, but after 20 minutes of fruitless typing, that's just not good enough for me.)

PHILADELPHIA - The calendar says it's April, which is spring. The East Coast says it's still mid-February. Bah. I woke up to a steady rain, which broke by the time I made it over the GWB and into New Jersey. I had a couple stops to make in Monmouth County - more on that when I have corraborating photographs (let's just say I was supposed to be there today!)

Then I wanted to send my Mom a "Greetings From Asbury Park, N.J." postcard (she loves the Boss), but that didn't work out. I don't know what the story is -- if Asbury Park is just closed for the winter, or if the Army's been using it for shelling practice -- but I've never seen such a dismal, forlorn, gone-to-seed burg in a long long time. (I may update that when I get to Philly.) I skedaddled before I even made a token run at a gift shop.

Then torrential rain on I-195 as I crossed Central Jersey, which ended just before I hit the Ben Franklin Bridge into Philly. I did a quick pop-in at the Art Museum, bought a new memory card for my camera (at the Gallery Mall, of "Parents Just Don't Understand" fame), then met up with my college friends. They were buzzing about the Flyers and the Phillies; it may have been the tail end of the same conversation they were in when I last visited in 2000.

Philadelphia is pretty much just like I remember it. Seedy, scary, a little stinky - but exciting. You know you're in a real urban city immediately. The bad news, my friends inform me, is that BookTrader, the fabulous used book store on South Street, is no more. Rumor is that the owner plans to relocate and reopen, but there's still a twinge of anxiety. Even Boston (formerly the Athens of America) is down to just three really good secondhand bookstores...one more than Omaha. Tough times. I guess the fact that BookTrader's closed saved me some money, though.

An Unqualified Restaurant Recommendation

The Bayou Restaurant, in Mount Vernon, N.Y. Unbelievable portions of Cajun and other Southern food (I had the Deep South chicken, which was drowned in amazing gravy), a hoppin' bar, a quirky clientele (loved the table of yuppies sitting next to the table of Hell's Angels) and a sassy attitude. My goodness.

April 03, 2004

New York City

Last night with my sis and her friends was, indeed, interesting. I'll say no more.

Today we brunched at her campus brunchery, then took the train into Manhattan. What she and I usually do when we go to NYC together is this: we ask each other if there's anything specific we want to do/see, agree that there isn't, then walk around like crazy and see all kinds of things. So that's what we did today, although we wound up pretty comprehensively covering the southern third of Central Park. Lots of cute kids and cute dogs all over the place. We also managed to do pop-ins at Times Square, Rockefeller Center and a couple other places.

And, in a personal NYC first, we did it all without getting on the subway once. Which means my legs hurt again, but in a different way (you can see a leitmotif for this journey starting to develop).

April 02, 2004

Tales From the Road I

BRONXVILLE, N.Y. - Day One's driving is over, and my legs are getting reacquainted with being in the car for hours and hours. Yikes. Anyway, the rain kept up (y'know, as opposed to coming down) so Day One was fairly uneventful. A few notes, though:

An accident stopped traffic for a few miles on I-84 at the MA/CT border; without knowing what was ahead, and curious that it happened right on the state line, my first thought was, "Great, Massachusetts is going to allow gay marriage -- now we'll have to go through security checkpoints at the border."

I had read that Holy Land, USA in Waterbury was closed. Sad, but I wouldn't have gone anyway. But the giant cross overlooking Waterbury is still there, lit up, so it's either still open, or someone still pays the electric bill, or some kind of miracle is underway. If I cared, I'd find out.

Now I'm going to spend the evening hanging out with my delightful sister and her college buddies. This could be interesting...

Here Goes Nothin'

The laundry's in the dryer, the 10-year-old mix tapes are packed in my trusty old iCast lunchbox, and the rain has stopped for at least a few minutes. And so I'm nearly off to see the East Coast again. I'll blog from the road as much as I'm able.