Baltimore Diary

Discriminating Taste

Beth: Do you know what she's like? She's like a slutty version of the singing frog in that cartoon. You know, Hello my honey, hello my baby- Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh. Here comes Dave... Ribbit.
Lisa: So, Beth? Does this singing frog ever tell you to do things?

--Newsradio, "Friends" (11/14/95)

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 So every once in awhile, Wee One has her act together in the morning and can afford to kill a few minutes watching TV before it's time for me to take her down to school. Lately she's taken to watching Boomerang. 

For those of you not in the know, Boomerang was originally a block of programming on Cartoon Network, but split off to its own channel a few years back. Its main appeal is baby boomers; it shows the cartoons that we watched as kids (Popeye, Tom & Jerry, Hanna-Barbera Saturday morning shows) and, to a much lesser extent these days, Looney Tunes. When it comes to the MGM and Paramount cartoons, we're looking at the higher-quality, fully animated stuff. These were also the last of the Popeye cartoons where you have to listen carefully because Popeye is muttering a lot of weird things to himself for which they didn't bother animating his mouth. 

I love old cartoons, partly for the nostalgic value of watching them on TV and partly because I get the jokes on a whole new level nowadays. So while I don't usually watch them all the way through when Wee One has the TV on, I'll usually pop in as a cartoon starts to see who's directing them. 

My favorite cartoon director--and the favorite of many--is Tex Avery. He's the guy who really took cartoons to the next level, encouraging the animators to really stretch the limits of the medium and get the characters to do things that couldn't be done in real life. Avery is the guy who first animated Bugs Bunny, and he practically invented Droopy Dog. One of his most famous cartoons is Red Hot Riding Hood, during which the wolf, watching Red sing in a nightclub, overreacts to her sexuality with the hyper-bulging eyes, the extended howling, beating himself on the head and assorted other antics. (The scene in The Mask that takes place in the Coco Bongo club is a direct callback to this one.) 

I'm also fond of the work of Bob Clampett, Friz Freling, Robert McKimson and, to a lesser extent, Chuck Jones. (My big complaint with Chuck Jones is that so many of his characters look alike. You can tell a Jones cartoon almost instantly.) 

Anyway, when Wee One is watching Boomerang, I've taken to noting who directs the cartoon and deciding instantly whether I'm going to sit in for awhile. At this point, however, I find that I don't have to do that anymore: Wee One has begun just telling me who's directing and I give a quick review: "Meh", or "Ooh, he's good", and she pays appropriate attention. So I've got a ten year old kid looking at the finer aesthetics of cartoon art. 

She's not liking the Hanna-Barbera stuff so much anymore. 

Unfriended.

Alfred Hitchcock: Now, if you'll excuse me, I must hurry off to a little social affair. A dear friend is guest of honor. It's a stoning. I wouldn't miss it for the world. Good night.

--Alfred Hitchcock Presents, "Mr. Blanchard's Secret" (12/23/56)

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The act of "unfriending" someone in Facebook is an interesting one. It gives off a lot of messages that you may not necessarily be sending. Or perhaps you are, who am I to say. 

For lack of a better word, it's often a stealthy maneuver. Unless you take the time to tell someone that you're unfriending them, they don't know that it's happening unless they try to take a gander at your profile and suddenly realize that they're locked out. Or, perhaps they notice that their friend count is inexplicably down by one. 

In the real world, people do drift apart: they call each other less frequently, find different circles of socializing, and sooner or later they delete your phone number altogether. There's no discussion; there's no "Hey! That person isn't my friend anymore!" It's not a big deal; it just happens. On the Internet, however, it appears to be a sudden decision. And perhaps it is, but it can't help but have a little bit of a malicious feel when a person drops off your list. You become all, "What the hell did I do?" 

Unfriending in Facebook, in my experience, is often a reaction to action. Back in March, I wrote a post about how my ex-wife and I were starting to accumulate friends in common. As it turned out, it didn't really create any hassles, until I got married again in July. That was the point where all of the "common" FB friends who attended the wedding suddenly found themselves unfriended by my ex. Common friends who didn't attend, got to remain friends. This, as it happens, includes the daughter of someone who was unfriended who couldn't attend the wedding. It generated a little bit of buzz for a day or two, with the general attitude running somewhere in the realm of "amused". The one person we thought would be terribly upset by the move, wasn't. Really? OK. 

For what it's worth, perhaps they wouldn't have been so amused if she hadn't taken a few oddball pot shots before making the disconnect. 

On a slightly different tack: anyone who knows me, whether online or in real life, knows that I'm a bit of a wiseass. And by "a bit", I mean "consummate". But I get as well as I give, and most people are able to have fun with it. 

Most people. 

About a month ago, someone I've known for a long time didn't take well to it and basically called me out on her page. She told me to stop harassing her. Harassing her! That's a pretty serious charge, especially considering that I nearly got Dooced this summer for my Internet activities. So with that fresh on my mind, I replied to her that it wouldn't happen again, and unfriended her. While that may sound rather extreme to some people, I figured that I'd better take it seriously and therefore take steps to ensure that I don't find myself in that position again. Don't have to hit me over the head twice, except when it comes to getting married. 

As it happens, she just made the discovery and sent me a note, asking why I'd made the move, while at the same time acknowledging that it probably happened awhile ago and she's just getting around to noticing. (Good call, that.) I figured that at this point my explanation would sound petulant to her, so I ignored it. A couple of days later, Daughter emailed me, asking essentially the same question: "XX wants to know why you unfriended her..." I gave her the bumper sticker version: "She said I was harassing her and that's something I have to take very seriously." End of explanation. So we'll see where that goes.

I had another incident this weekend where someone with whom I'm NOT friends encouraged a friend of mine to unfriend me because I'd written something that she considered to be in poor taste. I'm not sure how I feel about that, but I'm pretty sure that I'd never take it upon myself to insist that one person unfriend another. Live and let live, and all that. 

Gotta Settle Down

Rabbi Gendler: What was that?
Frasier: It was the classic Hebrew blessing Tu-ock-bok-nech!
Rabbi Gendler: No, that was nothing. It was gibberish.
Jeremy Berman: That's not gibberish, that's Klingon! Freddie's Dad just blessed him in Klingon!

--Frasier, "Star Mitzvah" (11/5/02)

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Listen, Children, to a story/That was written long ago...

OK, so Rusty comes up to me and he wants to take phone calls but he wants it to be with a music background and he wants it in stereo because of the music. After some figuring, and (of course) with the help of John S., we get it settled: Rusty's mike, and Steve's mike from the announce booth in CR2 will be in Audition, we'll patch the Audition feed over to the Audition channel in CR1, mix in the sound effects, plus my mike, plus the AB mike that Lisa & Jeff are using, PLUS the mikes in the studio, run all that through the delay and out again in CR1's Program channel, then patch the whole thing back over to CR2 where the Program channel will pick up the delayed audio and mix it with the music. Simple!

I'm thinking that unless you're Rusty, John, Jeff, Lisa, or a handful of others, you have no idea what I was talking about. But if you've ever worked in radio, you might have at least a little bit of a clue. This is a little bit of what I've been going through lately. 

Up until a few weeks ago, my job was different from the one I have now. Then, my position was much like the grizzled Sergeant in the old World War II movies, the guy who'd been around forever and knew exactly what was up, but was still just one of the guys. Now I feel a little more like the 90-Day Wonder Lieutenant who has a knowledge base, is a voice of authority, but isn't quite sure how to wield that power. However, with a little more practice and continued support from the other people with whom I work, I'm sure I'll be okay before too much more time has passed. It's just a little weird at this point, being a Voice of Authority and actually having the authority behind it. 

In the meantime, I've been to a bunch of meetings and staff development sessions this week, and so I have a LOT of materials to review this weekend. 

Wild Things

Carol: Hey King! What's your first order of business?
Max: Let the wild rumpus start!

--Where the Wild Things Are (2009)

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See, once in awhile I do see a film in the same year it was originally released. I saw Star Trek this year, too, although I admit it was in a second-run theater

 Wee One was supposed to cheer at a football game today, but with the rain, they decided to cancel the cheerleading part. I have no idea whether the game ran anyway, but I hope not. Wife suggested that we go see a movie, instead. She looked at what's playing and suggested that we see Where the Wild Things Are. The reviews were good, not great, but what the hell: we bought tickets online to see the 11:00 show at Towson Commons. Pre-noon discount plus free street parking = good deal! We still got ass-raped at the concession stand, but what are you gonna do. 

I was pretty surprised that the audience was so small at this particular showing, given that it's a new film and the weather and such, but no way I was complaining. 

 If you remember the book (and who doesn't, if you're my age or younger), which incidentally is composed of precisely NINE sentences, Max is a kid who is a complete pain in the ass. When his mother banishes him to his room, the bedroom turns into a forest. He gets in a boat and visits the land of the Wild Things, has a party and returns home over two years after he left, to find his supper waiting for him, and still warm. 

Naturally, nine sentences don't make quite enough dialogue for a 94-minute film, so the story had to be padded out a bit. This, of course, didn't prevent Wee One from protesting a few times: "This wasn't in the book!" Max is given a little bit of backstory, but not too much. His mother has a new boyfriend and his older sister is...well, she's being an older sister. For me, there was a little bit of a disconnect between the opening scene and the rest of the first part of the film, but I'm big enough to move past that. At any rate, once he starts to misbehave, we've got a reason for it. Fortunately this is a relatively short piece of the story. 

We also don't get to see Max's encounter with the sea monster, but what are you gonna do. 

 Max's adventures in the Land of the Wild Things was well-done, and the actors who provided the voices of the Wild Things did a great job. I was especially taken by Catherine O'Hara, who voiced Judith. James Gandolfini also did a fine job, although unfortunately you couldn't help but hear Tony Soprano from time to time. Each of the creatures takes on some aspect of human behavior, and you could say that collectively they add up to one person. These parts are all disconnected until Max comes along. However, this may be carrying the metaphor a little too far. 

Max's return home is done almost silently, so it's not clear whether he's been gone a long time or if it's only been a couple of hours. But it's heartwarming anyway so you don't really care. 

This is not really a kid's movie, though; I'm not positive who it's aimed at. But many of the smaller children who were there seemed to lose interest in spots, and Wee One was a little taken aback by a couple of the more emotionally intense scenes. So it may be for young people a little older than she (she's 10 now), and for the nostalgic. It's certainly a worthy diversion for a rainy afternoon. 

Surely You Remember Children, Sir...When You Were Younger You Used to Beat Them Up

Veronica Mars: Congratulations. You've been named the world's biggest cockroach. This award is given in recognition of your unparallell lack of decency and humanity. Bravo. You're gonna die friendless and alone.

--Veronica Mars, "Hot Dog" (4/19/05)

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Wife has been sick for over a week now, with god-knows-what. We know it's not Swine Flu because when she went to the doctor, they isolated her until they'd finished testing. Her fever is finally down but she's still acking up stuff and sounding cruddy and I have to wonder if she doesn't have herself a case of pneumonia now. 

All of this is prelude to the fact that I had to take Wee One to the football game on Saturday so that she, and her fellow cheerleaders, can cheer on the Parkville Patriots. While there, I also managed to get roped into holding down the Bake Sale table for the first half of the game. I did have a nice chat with another Cheer mom, so that was good. 

After the game, Wee One had a birthday party to attend, over at Skateland in Perry Hall. We got there an hour late (we'd given the girls' mom fair warning), and as it happened, they were about to serve the pizza and beverages. Wee One scarfed hers down and went to the skate rental window to get a pair to put on. 

(Sidebar: this is why I don't rollerskate. I'm not putting my feet into shoes that hundreds of other people have worn. Even during the time that I bowled, I had my own damn shoes.)

She got her skates on and managed to go a few laps. Meanwhile I stayed back and chitchatted with a couple of the adults. One of them noted that she hadn't been in Skateland in twenty years, and it hadn't changed a bit. I looked around me and allowed that this may be true: it didn't look as though anything had been changed in that place in a long time. maybe some new paint here and there, but not much else. 

During the weekend days, apparently, Skateland is like Chuck E. Cheese with wheels: all they do is kids' parties at that time of day. Then they shut down around 4:00 and re-open with the usual crowd in the evening. There were no fewer than a half-dozen kids celebrating their birthdays, with adults and guests and presents and such, all sharing the same space in the Snack Bar area. It was pretty crowded in there, and as it happened, the party that Wee One was attending had about a dozen kids, crowded into two of those picnic-table type setups with the plastic molded benches that might hold two adults comfortably. The kids on the ends were constantly in danger of getting bumped to the floor. For whatever reason, the adjacent tables were not used to feed kids. 

The kids were called back to the table so that we could sing "Happy Birthday" (© 1935 by Patty and Mildred Hill) and have some cake. Wee One worked her way back to the table, carefully because she was still on the skates and struggling to maintain her balance. Candles were lit, songs were sung and the cake was cut. Wee One was among the youngsters who couldn't find a place to sit. The adjacent table to one side had another party in it; the one to the other side had an older couple who wasn't with our party. Wee One got her plate and started to eat standing up.

Of course you know what happened next: her feet went out from under her, the cake went a-flying, and she landed on her butt. She wasn't hurt but her pride was definitely wounded. This is when the guy at the next table turned around, said something that he thought was clever (I can't remember what it was), and offered her a hand up. He got her on her feet--I'll give him credit for this--and another slice of cake was procured (fortunately, there was a LOT of cake). I said to him, "Hey, maybe you could let her sit and eat her cake." 

Nothing. Well, if you've read this drivel for any length of time, then you know how I enjoy being ignored. I tried again: "Hey...why don't you let her sit so she can eat her cake?" 

At this, he turned around and said, "This isn't your table...it's our table." My hands were full at that point, so I couldn't really do the "whoa" hands, but my eyes rolled so hard that I think I sprained one of them. Now, he and his wife were the only ones sitting at this table, and god only knows where the rest of his party was located. I said to him, "It's not a matter of whose table it is, it's a matter of doing a decent thing for a little girl who's clearly struggling to stay on her feet." 

Believe it or not, this douchebag was ready to give me ten minutes of argument about it, what with his "what is your problem?" and whatever else before I stopped listening and literally turned my face away from him at that point. We found another place for Wee One to sit and I did my best to keep this guy thinking that I was going to start the argument up again. I'd see him gearing up all over again, but I wouldn't say anything and he wasn't brave enough to start without new provocation. Every time he gave me the stink eye I'd look directly back at him until he broke eye contact. That's right, I was playing with you, Dickhead.

The psychological warfare, it is truly fun. 

Under Cover

Alex Trebek: Sean Connery, why don't you pick.
Sean Connery: Well, the game is afoot. I'll take Anal Bum Cover for $7000
Alex Trebek: That's...
[Sean Connery laughs wildly ]
Alex Trebek: That's "An Album Cover", NOT ANAL BUM COVER!
Sean Connery: I can read, Trebek! That says Anal Bum Cover! I spent five years of my life trying to invent an anal bum cover! Failure to do so is my greatest regret!
Alex Trebek: You have led a horrifying life.

--Saturday Night Live, "Lucy Liu/Jay-Z" (12/16/2000)

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Once in awhile, when I'm feeling in a dopey frame of mind, I'll hear a song on the radio and suggest to Wife that someone else should do a cover of it. For instance, Shania Twain's "Man! I Feel Like a Woman!" will come on, and I'll say to her, "You know who could do a great cover of this song? Robert Goulet."

OK, that one was a little funnier when Goulet was alive, but you get the idea. 

This was brought to mind recently when I heard the Four Tops singing their version of "If I Were a Carpenter." I like this recording, but what a weird song for this group to do, I thought. (And never mind that there are about forty other covers of this song out there, including those by Dolly Parton and Robert Plant.) I started to think about other cover songs that probably didn't make sense on the surface, but worked out well in the end:

Joe Cocker's version of "With a Little Help From My Friends" is probably one of my favorite covers of a Beatles song--The Wonder Years notwithstanding--ever. The long intro, the soulful approach, the different bridge, different tempo and key...everything is all wrong, and yet so right. I love this track. And then there's this cover of the cover (audio isn't excellent, but it's the best I could find):

"Hurt", the Johnny Cash cover of the Nine Inch Nails track, lets the music bring in the emotion while Johnny holds more or less steady throughout. The timing of this recording, not long before he died, gives it some extra poignancy. This song also pairs very well with its video:

lMost people don't realize that Fats Domino's version of "Blueberry Hill" and The Righteous Brothers' "Unchained Melody" are themselves covers (Glenn Miller and Todd Duncan, respectively, were the original artists). And while everyone knows that Soft Cell covered "Where Did Our Love Go" from the Supremes, who really knew that the first half, "Tainted Love" was actually a rather faithful cover of the Gloria Jones song from 1964? 

But frankly, adding a techno beat to what's essentially the original arrangement doesn't bring a lot to the song, so I'm not so impressed with Soft Cell in this context. On the other hand, the Run-D.M.C./Aerosmith cover of "Walk This Way" really did something new to the song, and the video was fun to watch, too: 

Run DMC feat Aerosmith - Walk This Way

One of the cooler covers of the 1960s was the Beach Boys' 1965 version of the Regents' "Barbara Ann"

One of the things that puzzled me about this song was the fact that Brian Wilson has always been known to be a maniac about things sounding perfect, so why did this recording sound so chaotic and "live"? Was it the group jerking around and they just liked the way it sounded?  

As it turns out, the answer is "no." The Beach Boys cut the album Beach Boys' Party! to fulfill Capitol Records' request for a new album. They were about to start on Pet Sounds, they'd already released a concert album the previous year, so they hit on the idea of a "live party" album. The tracks were recorded in a studio and the party chatter, laughter and other noises were added in post-production. This also explains the quotation marks around the word "Live" on the album cover. 

There's not much to see in the video link above, but give this one a listen anyway; this is the "full ending" version that is so rarely played on the radio these days. Also, singing lead on this track are Brian Wilson and Dean Torrence of Jan & Dean (hence the "Thanks, Dean" at the end of the track). 

OK, one more and I'll stop for now. Eminem recorded "'97 Bonnie and Clyde", which was subsequently covered by Tori Amos. Amos completely transformed the track into a kind of "banality of evil" study and seducing the listener with the strings and the whispered lyrics. The clip below is Tori's voice, but it's part of a film project she's not, to my knowledge, associated with. It's an interesting short film, though, and I have my own idea as to what's going on here, but I'll let you come up with your own interpretation. 

There are plenty of cross-genre covers out there, but so many of them either don't work well (Elton John's "Lucy In the Sky With Diamonds" never impressed me, for instance, although I really liked his "Pinball Wizard"), or they bring nothing--nothing much, anyway--new to the song (Marilyn Manson's "Sweet Dreams Are Made of This"). One of the better examples of the latter would be Nena's "99 Luftballoons", in which she covered herself in translating it to English. The English version is a mess because of the way the lyrics are more or less shoehorned back into the song. 

So what about you? What re-recordings are you especially fond of, and why? 

One More Thing About My Trip to New Paltz

Connie: Dinner's on the table.
Carlo: I'm not hungry yet.
Connie: Your food is on the table. It's getting cold.
Carlo: I'll eat out later.
Connie: You just told me to make you dinner!

--The Godfather (1972)

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I totally forgot that this place existed, so when I saw the billboard while on the way home, I had to break out my phone and snap a photo. Is this one of the best names ever for a store, or what?

I get the feeling that you either get this one or you don't.  

Touring the New Paltz Area

Marcus Fiehls: There is a place where restless souls wander. A place that is not affected by our world or our dimensions. A place where confused souls are trapped; tortured. This place is all around you.

--Rip Cage (2007)

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...and that place is the mall.

Parent and Family Weekend at the State University of New York (New Paltz Campus) is a different sort of animal from my previous visits. All the other times, the point was to tell me I was pretty and convince me that Daughter's mother and I should be sending thousands of dollars to them. This time around, well, they've already got the money AND the kid: we're just here to see that she's still alive and reasonably healthy. There were a few on-campus events scheduled, but it was really a formalized reason to visit our child and maybe see some of the local area.

As it happened, I came up alone: Wife and Wee One have a cheerleading competition to attend, and Ex-Wife is still recuperating from complications related to a medical procedure she had awhile back. So after work on Friday, I packed a bag and headed north. I got a later start than I wanted, but the traffic wasn't too awful. The biggest setback was missing an exit and mistakenly thinking I could just make it up at the next exit. I wound up on a road parallel to the one I sought, which took me through Princeton, including the school. Hey! Two campus visits in one trip!

So I lost about an hour doing that, because of traffic lights and such. Not a disaster.

I got to the campus around 9:30 AM on Saturday, and the atmosphere was very different from my previous visits. There were no students posted at all the entrances to direct us; there weren't balloons tied to every stationary object. In fact, the campus was kind of a ghost town. I thought I'd come on the wrong weekend. I parked the car and walked to Daughter's dormitory. I called Daughter and got her to come down and let me in. She still had a little bit of act to get together, and then we were off.

Check-in was at the Student Union building, which is currently undergoing renovation and will soon look like the picture here (which I nicked from World Architecture News). There was an array of events going on, several of which would have taken place anyway, but there were also a few extras. Refreshments were also served, courtesy of a local orchard, which provided apples and cider and apple cider doughnuts, which were all very good. The President of the school did a little spiel, and so did a guy from the school's Development office ("please send us another small pile of money"), and that was about it for that event. The President was sponsoring a "coffee with the President" event a little later on, but since they'd already convinced us to send our kid to SUNY, I figured--based largely on all the information that's been pounded into Baltimore City principals--that it could wind up being an hour of talking about H1N1 precautions, and I'd had about enough of that. 

There were several different things on campus that we could check out, and if you're genuinely that interested in the list, go look at the previous post. We had tickets for the Comedy show, and made tentative plans for the walking tour of the town, but the big mission of the day was to get some warm clothes for Daughter. The leaves are just starting to turn all kinds of colors, but it's pretty chilly up there already. 

 Ooh--here's something I learned by going to Parents' Weekend: the leaves don't turn yellow, or red, or whatever; they're already that color. It's just that, during the summer, they have so much chlorophyll that the green masks over the leaves' true color. When the fall comes, the chlorophyll production slows to a halt and the color comes through. It's explained in a little more detail here. Science!

Anyway. So our mission was to head into nearby Poughkeepsie and do some clothes shopping. So we get into the car and hit the road toward Poughkeepsie. We drive some ways.

Then we drive some more.

Then, some more.

And when we get to Newburgh, we realize that we may have missed a turn somewhere. Somewhere, say, about 16 miles ago. So we double back and find the road that leads over the Mid-Hudson Bridge, then shoot straight through town. Dammit, we missed another turn. Daughter calls her mother and asks where the turnoff is. Mom says it's on Route 9, head south. Crap. That turnoff was the first exit after the bridge. Once again, we get back on track. 

With the mall more or less within reach, I realize that I haven't eaten since my apple cider doughnut, and that was nearly three hours earlier. I spot a strip mall-ish kind of place, where we have a choice of a Red Robin, a Five Guys and a couple of others. For whatever reason, I opt for the Red Robin. No sooner do we enter the front door, however, than we hear an earsplitting buzz and strobe lights start going off. 

No, we weren't the one millionth customer. I look at the hostess, who is covering her ears, and I ask her, "Is that the fire alarm?" She doesn't know, but everyone in the restaurant is about to mow us down as they make their way towards us.

"Let's go, sweetie," I say to Daughter, "this place is much too on fire for us." We walk down to the Five Guys. 

After lunch we head to the Galleria Mall, which has a Target as one of its anchor stores. We shopped in stores both large and small throughout the mall, and I guess we spent about $150, maybe a little more, but we got some pretty good deals. Daughter didn't think so, but maybe that's because it was coming out of her bank account. (What? I put money into it that morning.) By the time we'd gotten back, what with getting lost and all, we'd missed the walking tour and had just enough time to get some dinner before the comedy show. 

Dinner was at a small Greek restaurant, located next to another Greek restaurant. You can't even find that in Highlandtown, but you find it in New Paltz. We ate at Yanni's, which had several positive reviews in various places on the Internets. And if it's on the Internets then it must be true, right? In this case it was. Food was good, service was friendly, and we didn't even mind when they asked us to switch to a smaller table so they could accommodate a larger party. 

The comedy show was a pile of fun, and it was preceded by three of the school's a capella singing groups. The first two, Male Call and Sexy Pitches, were single-sex groups. I'll leave it to you to figure out which was which. The third was a mixed-sex group called Absolute A capella. All three groups did a fine, fine job. The Second City touring company was a lot of fun too, with a mix of old material and new stuff as well.

When we got out, it was absolutely pouring outside. This after an entire day of bright-but-gray skies. It was less than a hundred yards to the car and we were thoroughly soaked by the time we got in. I dropped Daughter off at her dorm, and as I got back to the hotel room, the tire pressure indicator light popped on. Oddly, I opted NOT to check that out right away; it would wait till the morning. (It was just a low tire. I gave it some air and it cheered right up.)

Sunday morning and Daughter had a theater thing to attend to for the day, so we had time for breakfast only. As I dropped her off, this was the view from the parking lot we'd been in the night before: 

I'm guessing that if it hadn't rained the night before, that mist wouldn't be there. If we don't put up with the bad stuff, we wouldn't appreciate the good. 

Clean Up Your Room, the Parents are Coming Up

Eric: Okay, guys. Road trip checklist. Car--Check. Okay. We're good.

--That 70s Show, "Canadian Road Trip" (5/8/01)

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 This weekend, I'll be heading up to New Paltz, NY to visit Daughter at the SUNY New Paltz campus. It's Parents' Weekend, so once again I guess they're be sprucing the place up, sending us on all kinds of fascinating adventures and telling us we look pretty so we'll keep our kids in their school for the duration. 

Daughter recently learned, incidentally, that between AP classes, college courses she took in summer a year or so ago, and high school classes that her school designed collaboratively with Adelphi and Molloy, she's already considered a sophomore based on her credit count. Woo Hoo! 25% Tuition cut! 

This time around, there's not much in the way of campus tours and such; we've already done that part. On Friday, both Hillel and Chabad are holding events for those of the Jewish faith, and if we get there early enough (not me), there's tennis and soccer to see. 

Saturday promises a "coffee hour" with the school's president, who I presume is primed to talk about nothing but the H1N1 virus for the entire hour. I, for one, hope they'll be serving tea as well. The Science Building will be staging several planetarium shows throughout the day, and the school's art museum will have some exhibits going on. There's a tour of the town, a boat tour of the Hudson River, which as I'm sure you know was named after the famous explorer Henry Hudsonriver, and in the evening there's a comedy show by the Second City Touring Company. 

There are numerous other activities listed as well, many of them not sponsored by the school but some I'm sure were staged to coincide with this weekend. So it all sounds quite interesting and maybe even a little bit fun. Meals for this whole thing, by the way, are "on your own", which I'm perfectly comfortable with. They offer a local dining guide but we're welcome to use the dining halls. In fact, one of my favorite blurbs about one of the dining halls reads thus: "Enjoy an ‘all-you-can-eat’ brunch in the dining hall. The lunch price for guests is approximately $8.00; students use their meal plan." I'm just curious what "approximately" really means, here. 

So Daughter, who has known since before she moved in that I'm planning on coming up, calls me this past weekend and asks, "Are you registered for the Parent Weekend?" 

And I very confidently reply, "Um, we're supposed to register?" 

I have to get back to her on this. I ask Wife, "Did we register for this?" She tells me we did not, so I go to the school's website on Monday to get the details. Hey, you can register online!

Only, no you can't. There's a message that the computer system is down for upgrading through Tuesday. Since it's so late, I figure I'd better call the school instead and register that way. I call the office and get a voicemail message. I leave a message and wait about five hours.

I call again and get through to a woman and, let me tell you what: this woman could not be any less interested in talking to me or anyone else. I tell her I'd like to register for Parents' Weekend, and she tells me that I can't register because the system's down. Uh, yeah, that's why I'm calling. She can't register me either. Fine. I decide to wait and see what happens. 

Tuesday: My cell phone rings. It's a perfectly perky young lady who got my message and wanted to see if she could help. I mention the computer thing and she apologizes for it, as though it were her fault. She tells me that a lot of people are having trouble still, but it should be cleared up either late in the day or Wednesday at the latest. As long as I don't want to go on the boat cruise--and I don't--it should be OK. Late that night I get registered and secure tickets for the comedy show. 

So I'm all ready to go. Tomorrow after work, all I have to do is grab my bag, then...um, fill it with clothes for the weekend. Then go to the bank and make a car payment. Then put more gas in the car. And then I'm on my way!

Giant Eel-Birds of Regulus V of a Feather, Flock Together

Beth: This is just like that episode of Star Trek when they entered a parallel universe where everything was the same except they were all on heroin.
Dave: There was no such episode.
Jimmy: Geek test! 

--Newsradio, "Coda" (4/21/96)

-------------------------------------

I've made no attempt to cover up the fact that I'm a bit of a Star Trek nerd. 

When I was in tenth grade (this would be around 1978), I went with a friend to a Star Trek convention. We didn't stay in the hotel, but instead took the Long Island Rail Road in to Manhattan each day of the convention, which I think was in the Pennsylvania Hotel (of "Pennsylvania 6-5000" fame), across the street from Madison Square Garden. This was one of the first conventions, so there wasn't a lot of dressing up, nor had William Shatner or Leonard Nimoy quite bought into the whole fandom phenomenon yet. But we did get to meet Grace Lee Whitney and James Doohan, and I also got to meet with Isaac Asimov, twice. I had the sad opportunity to share with him the recent death of a mutual friend. And we saw several episodes on the big screen, which was pretty cool. 

Anyway. I remained a fan of The Original Series, and enjoyed The Next Generation once they got their act up to speed, and Deep Space Nine, and to a lesser extent, Voyager and Enterprise. I've seen all the films, and I even took the time to watch TOS over the last few months to see the remastered episodes with the new special effects. Fun!

But I'm not really the kind of guy who wears his green-blood-pumping heart on his sleeve about it. I don't have a "Starfleet Academy" sticker in the back window of my car (in collegiate typeface); I don't have a cosplay outfit stashed in my closet somewhere; and unfortunately for me, that one trip thirty-plus years ago was my only convention. I'm a Trekker, not a Trekkie. (The difference? I met Grace Lee Whitney and James Doohan. A Trekkie would have met Yeoman Rand and Scotty.) 

But it was a pleasant surprise when I sent an email to several of my co-workers a day or two ago, and one of them, who coincidentally has a desk quite close to me, sent this reply: 

"Ka-CHU! (Not a sneeze but Klingon for “Impressive!”) Thanx"

I wrote back: 

"I may be a nerd but I'm not so nerdy that I speak Klingon."

I heard him laugh at his desk when he saw the reply and he turned to me, then showed me his coffee mug with a Trek Nation-type logo on it. He told me that he didn't dress up or go to conventions, but he is a fan, and we chatted for a couple of minutes about it. 

Then I said to him, "I think this is pretty bad, though: I got all jazzed because the first house I bought was numbered 1701." It took him a few seconds to get the importance of that number (you either get it or you don't), but he laughed again and said, "No. Really?" I told him it was practically the biggest selling point.

Awhile later he said, "I've got you beat." He picked up a photo on his desk of his family, and pointed to one of the children. He said, "This is my oldest daughter. Her middle name is Losira, from the episode "That Which Survives." 

He told me that he'd always liked the name, but his wife begged him not to make it her first name, so he compromised and made it her middle name. 

(Parenthetical tale: in 2003 a friend of mine took me to see the play Nunsense at the Lyric Theater. This particular tour starred Kaye Ballard, Georgia Engel, Mimi Hines, Darlene Love and Lee Meriwether. Naturally I thought it was all kinds of cool that I was going to see yet another Star Trek actress in the flesh. I didn't share this story with my co-worker, though.)

So not only does this young lady have a middle name that derives from an alien character on Star Trek, she has a middle name that derives from an alien character from the THIRD SEASON of Star Trek. 

He wins.