He could be Biggs. Or even bigger.

Last night was a perfect picture postcard for the bookish scene in Seattle.  I caught one full reading @ the U Bookstore, swung through the last 15 minutes of another @ Elliott Bay Book Company, and decided to skip the last part of a third @ the Richard Hugo House, even though I actively appreciate what regularly gets done there.  Along the way, I even got sucked into the absurd pleasure of the movie "Grassroots" doing a location shoot on Capitol Hill.  Jason Biggs (from "American Pie" and a whole lot more brain swamp stuff) stars, the story's local, the locations include the Comet - the adoptive booster in me wants it to be awesomely awesome.  But the anarchist in me appreciated the brief conversation I had in the thin crowd with a very wasted teenage pair.  I love the yutes.  You can fill in the blanks by my verbatim answers to their first two questions.  "No, Jason Biggs is not dead.  Yet.  Now...shhhsh."  And, "no, I don't work on this movie." 

But back to the readings - Eric Jay Dolin gave what amounted to a fully formed history lecture regarding his book "Fur, Fortune and Empire".  He's the sort of guy that can answer questions with fully formed, anecdote-laden responses that impressively show how well he's paying attention.  Dolin shows up to work and does it well.  His book is meticulous, dense, and completely worth the purchase if you're big on American History.  Those that know my background can understand why I've been waiting for this guy's book tour for months - not that many definitive histories on the fur trade come along these days.  But even those not tied by family history to this particular history can nonetheless find some captivating cocktail stories at the very least in the mix.  My rating of the book - a serious B-plus.  In a good way.  I see this man's work as a resource that I've already learned a great deal from, and I expect it will lead to much more thought on down the road.

The reading I then caught just the last chunk of was Jonathan Tropper (promoting the paperback edition of last year's hilariously awesome novel "This Is Where I Leave You").  Tropper's the sort of self-deprecating, comfortable, intentionally but not irritatingly clever writer that makes you forget just how hard it is to do what he does way too well.  I've been evangelizing about that novel for quite some time.  Maybe he doesn't need it since his novels (this latest was #5) already get optioned for movies.  I just can't understand why this guy hasn't blown up like Krakatoa.  Not that he's a volcano looking to tip the planet's climate off-kilter for a decade or so.  I'm just saying he could make a really big bang, if people are paying attention.  On second thought, he's not a Krakatoa.  He could be the equivalent of introducing Pop Rocks.  More hilarious, and more fun to talk about.  Whatever lame metaphor I'm trying to squeeze out before running my daughter off to camp, read Tropper.

Hope your own location shoots don't require you to fake the weather today.  Rock on.

Gimme a shot of Draper. And keep 'em comin'.

The summer has entered a strange middle passage.  Post-vacation, pre-kindergartenpalooza, all sorts of family and personal plans bumping up against each other like big crates in an untethered hull.  But everything's got the right momentum.  With the possible exception of falling into the cliched trap capturing so many not-so-new modern parents - over-scheduling the offspring.  Amidst her usual social calendar and classes, Maya's mid-way through her third (and final) summer camp.  Two home (in Seattle) and one away (in Santa Barbara while we were there as a family).  Granted, they were/are for only part of the day.  And I am of the political orientation that thinks varied input can only add flavor to the soup.  Yet I had to pause yesterday after Maya told me she had the most fun going to the chilly, rocky shore of Lake Washington than anything having to do with camp at the Woodland Park Zoo where they have lions and tigers and bears (oh my!).  That's why today I'm taking her out for a donut at Top Pot after the Zoo to test my unformed hypothesis.  I don't expect to answer any big questions.  But their maple bars rawk (just ask the Seattle Seahawks).

On the subject of rawking, I'm surely in a legion of fans completely enthused to have the new season of "Mad Men" underway as of this past Sunday.  All the way through, that show has been a must-see.  Now it feels like a must-discuss.  Jon Hamm as Don Draper is a rare, transcendent role delivered by an actor with real chops (seeing him host on "Saturday Night Live" made me a believer, as if I needed a verification given what he does here).  And now that he's turned far darker yet substantially more knight-like,  I think the storyline is stronger than ever.  If you hate new entertainment and think you can categorize all art without actually experiencing countless, massive troves you've never touched (I'm looking at you Stephen Metcalf), don't watch.  This show is for those of us that let loose naturally at Roger Sterling's howlers (the Ad Age reporter joke in the beginning is one of his best ever) or yearn for challenging confrontations with real history (was the actual Jantzen Swimwear family actually that prudish?) or just want sexy TV to not dumb it down.  My rating of this season's premiere - a strong A-minus.  The final scenes of the episode set a higher than ever bar.  That's why we watch.

Hope your own camp is all theatre, no bugspray today.  Rock on.

Face the wind.

Face the wind.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Which, I must suggest, would be a great title for a "Karate Kid" knock-off centered on the world of competitive kite flying. If such a world exists. Regardless, Maya got a kick out of KiteFest at Magnuson Park yesterday. There's nothing left in my puddle-deep reservoir of kite knowledge to teach her. From here on out, the student shall be the master.

If there's a phrase for confidently letting out more line, that's what Maya's doing.

If there's a phrase for confidently letting out more line, that's what Maya's doing.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

As demanded by my daughter, the jokes stop here. For today, at least.

Maya's been nagging me the last few days to "stop always making jokes" and we've effectively agreed to a one-day moratorium on my silliness.  Granted, the terms of this brief cease-fire are squishy.  She can't really define what a joke is, but she knows it when she sees it.  Kinda like the Supreme Court and obscenity.  So in the interest of honoring our agreement, I'll post a few quick shots at some new albums I've had in rotation.  If you find anything funny herein, don't tell my daughter.

The debut from LA band Local Natives came out a number of months ago, but I just got around to picking it up.  If you like the sort of lush sound that made Grizzly Bear such a breakthrough act, you'll certainly hear the apt comparisons in what Local Natives offers.  They sound like what I always thought bands would sound like if you took the performance and the need for original shtick off the bill.  My rating for "Gorilla Manor" is a very pleasant B-minus.  No epic standouts, but well worth a mention because the band is so chuck full o' talent.

Like too many people, I am a fan of Outkast.  And while I generally couldn't have cared less, I heard about the extended period of time that it took Big Boi (the less flashy half of that duo) to put together his recent solo release.  We're talking years.  The result is especially surprising not because it's good.  But because there's so little depth there.  Lots of sexy tawk.  Most of it pretty damn juvenile.  The thought of cutting and remixing all of this over and over constitutes some incredibly dull staying power (if you know what I mean).  So I have to lower my rating to a missionary-style B-minus.  The beats are good, the sound can be juicy.  But the spontaneity is pure high school, if you take into account how long we've been waiting for something to happen.

The opposite type of output comes from Wolf Parade, in terms of quickly prolific releases (please veer away from the sexy in following my train of thought in this refrain).  These Quebecois doods crank out the new stuff faster than the paint dries on their past projects.  I'm not dismissive - this is a good roadtrip album if you're talking over the top of it in the car with someone you actually enjoy rambling along with.  But it's a thin sort of paint that doesn't really stick to much.  My rating is an appreciative but still looking for the really tasty hook C.  If you're jonesing like me for the upcoming release from their fellow Canucks, Arcade Fire, this will probably help get you through the next few weeks, though.

Hope your backlog of pop culture worth mentioning is also lessened today.  Rock on.

The sort of movies that almost cancel out the existence of "Macgruber" and "Eclipse". Almost.

As a measure of my dedication to the cause, I've got two leftover movie reviews from the week spent in Santa Barbara that require appreciative mentions.  All in all, it was time well spent in the theatres last week.  And most of all, the time spent watching and then trying to unravel the dizzying story of "Inception" was worth every minute.  It isn't a perfect ride.  But it surely is quite bewildering.  Christopher Nolan deserves all the butt-kissing he receives.  While this movie is not his best, it is monumental.  My rating is an imperfect B-plus, with plenty of room to be further impressed with added viewings.  I, after all, made the huge mistake a few summers ago of not being blown away the first time by "The Dark Knight".  As everyone is actively discussing (coming quite close to spoiling), the story of "Inception" dwells almost entirely inside the dreams of targets of corporate espionage or its practitioners.  You're cleverly encouraged to question what's real.  In the end, it doesn't matter.  The journey is the thing.  Leonardo DiCaprio is a hard nut for me to crack (immensely talented, really hard to like on some level possibly because of that fact), Ellen Page is out of her depth, Joseph Gordon-Levitt continues to amaze me his rocket ship career ascendancy, I still just don't get the whole gauzy grapple at Marion Cotillard's underwhelming breadth, and all the other character actors are positively fantastic (in particular, Tom Hardy will be a huge star in the not too distant future).  So if you need convincing, please see it.  Then grab a brewski - or more appropriately an absinthe - and discuss.  Preferably with others.  Movies should always hope to be this smart, even though they almost never can be.

In a very different way, the bleak little critical darling "Winter's Bone" also inspires conversation.  My rating - a hearty, worthwhile B.  Even though I saw it with absolutely the worst crowd for this particular film, although I'm sure they'll think they meant well.  Pairs of seniors, spread out evenly throughout the theatre landscape of a Saturday matinee.  It's been ages since I've been irritated by people talking back to the screen at a movie.  In this case, it was almost entirely caused by the meticulous authenticity of the white, rural poverty central to the story.  But since when is it cool to say "they don't want to eat squirrel" out loud?  When anyone who's seen enough of the real poverty this movie is drawn from feels a stirring irritation to answer "no, but they MUST because they're HUNGRY."  That may be a hard anecdote to draw too much meaning from.  But it does represent the central conundrum of this movie - representing poor, meth-addled, White America without making the largely rich, clean, White America that is seeing it in arthouse, urban theatres not feel compelled to respond in disbelief.  "Winter's Bone" nails it.  And the brutality - not violence, mind you - used to do so will make a ton of people uncomfortable.  If you have a willingness to see tough, smart characters who don't transcend their surroundings but instead revel in survival, see this movie.  If you've got upper-class guilt and a skewed view of how everyone makes their own destiny, stay home and watch "Glee" or read Dan Brown.  Because this movie ain't for pussies.

Hope your own endings make everything else along the way worth the journey today.  Rock on.

Swim lessons with a strict catch and release system in play.

Swim lessons with a strict catch and release system in play.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

A few final pics follow from our latest week in Santa Barbara. A grand time was had by all, thank you very much.

Maya gets a close-up view of her spankin' new cowgirl boots.

Maya gets a close-up view of her spankin' new cowgirl boots.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Goodbye takedown of Auntie Katie.

Goodbye takedown of Auntie Katie.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Is it wrong to hope that Robert Pattison and Kristen Stewart are actually eaten by wolves?

It's something of a normal Santa Barbara visit for us.  Good food, exercise, time to steep ourselves in some pop culture fun.  We threw together a fantastic daytrip to Los Angeles.  I always love dipping at least a toe into that City.  There's just so much cast along at crazy angles in a dizzying array of directions.  Seeing friends is the point.  Everything else is frosting.  Included in that was seeing a matinee of "The Kids Are All Right" at an absurdly over-priced ArcLight multiplex ($13.50 for a regular screen matinee, people).  But the movie was worth it - my rating is a very smart, solid B.  The cast is great across the board, although no one had to stretch themselves out of a comfort zone.  Mark Ruffalo is especially good (another Sconnie product - way to go Kenosha).  The nuances and trainwrecks will have you talking through dinner afterward.  And considering all the dreck that's clogging up the screens this summer, few movies give a better escape hatch.

Speaking of dreck.  Or just plain awfulness.  Or something else entirely that smells like untranslatable garbage.  Is "Eclipse", the new Twilight movie.  Honestly, I don't know how to rate it.  So I have to break my own conventions.  My rating - a Z-plus.  Or maybe a Z-minus.  I have no idea what to say about it.  I'd love to hear from a tween why it is either good or bad.  And I won't get all curmudgeony and claim that those darn kids these days don't make any sense to me.  I'm just saying this movie made no sense.  I get angst.  I don't get this awful movie.  But don't see it.  Leave the mystery untouched and you'll feel better about yourself.

Somewhere else in the middle is the Swedish middle movie based on the Stieg Larsson books - "The Girl Who Played With Fire".  It is such a middle movie, such an unsatisfying arc, and done with the mid-level intensity of a television movie you might see on the BBC.  My rating is an appreciative but underwhelmed C-minus.  Noomi Rapace (love the name) is good as Lisbeth Salander.  The cast of hyphenated Swedes are quirky (Biker-Swedes, an Indian-Swede doctor, a lesbian Asian-Swede love interest, and the list goes on and on).  The quality of the police procedural is very true to the trilogy's intent.  But rent it.

There are a few more flicks on our wish list for the short time we have left.  But it's all a bonus now, given how much we've been able to soak up since last weekend.  Hopefully you're also wriggling your mind's toes in some warm sand today.  Rock on.

If Maya's this happy in the airport...

If Maya's this happy in the airport...
Originally uploaded by emaggie

We're in Santa Barbara for the week. As you can see, Maya was ready to go before we even were wheels up. A few choice pics from the start of the week follow, including swim lessons and science camp at the Santa Barbara Museum of Natural History. Please check back for more later. Rock on.

Cloudy day swim lessons call for a bit more towel time. Which is a good thing.

Cloudy day swim lessons call for a bit more towel time. Which is a good thing.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

"They really do look delicious, Mommy!"

"They really do look delicious, Mommy!"
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Maya shows how she learned to carefully peel the hermit crab, before ever looking for the melted butter.

Maya shows how she learned to carefully peel the hermit crab, before ever looking for the melted butter.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Sarah does her best to avoid eye contact with the pine cone-sized bug sizing up which child looks tastiest.

Sarah does her best to avoid eye contact with the pine cone-sized bug sizing up which child looks tastiest.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

"So when you say 'Madagascar Cockroach' there's no 'flying' or 'kid-eating' attached in any way?"

"So when you say 'cockroach' there's no 'flying' or 'kid-eating' attached in any way?"
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Swapping spies for better stories

I haven't gotten much of a charge from the whole prisoner swap with Russia story.  Sure, it's a throwback to an era that still has plenty of tasty juice to squeeze.  Especially when the current and ongoing big story (runaway underwater oil volcano) is being increasingly ignored.  And it adds to the foreign policy narrative about the Obama administration that I think is being lost amidst the fusillade of exploding turd bombs - namely, that we're seriously updating some old accounts starting with Israel and Russia, providing a platform for the decade ahead.  Still, something about this story feels so small as to not merit any heat and light at all.

Instead, I'd recommend digging back into the genre of international spy novels that are trying to update the Cold War mindset that provided such rich material for decades.  I won't claim a deep knowledge of what's out there.  But I did just finish "The Tourist" by Olen Steinhauer - my rating is a slow-building, strong B.  It employs a very smart Cold War throwback mentality to flesh out post-9/11 internal and external spy agency conflicts.  I'm going to read Steinhauer's sequel this week ("The Nearest Exit").  So rather than following the spy swap on the tarmac in Vienna, read some old-fashioned, well-written fiction that brings history right up into the present.  Who knows.  We just may learn something far deeper than who the Rooskie hottie really is along the way.

We're off to Santa Barbara for a week, as of tomorrow morning.  That will allow plenty of time for movies, family, reading and maybe even a trip to Disneyland.  We may even bring Maya.  Hope your own plans have plenty of cool wind in the sails today.  Rock on.

Louis and Lindsay - now there's a couple that would work

I was reminded by the first handful of minutes of today's "Fresh Air with Terry Gross" interview that I just love, love, love Louis C.K.  He's not everyone's cup of tea.  His shows are of very mixed quality, "Pootie Tang" lives on less as a movie than as a brilliant title, and now that he's divorced...well, there goes a ton of the best material he had to offer.  Right?  Um, nope.  He's still hilarious, even if now waxing on about being divorced and then waxing off how much of a screw-up he is as a 40-something self-deprecating schlub.  No one is better on the generally horrible late night talk shows than him.  Hell, I even watched him on Leno a few weeks ago.  If somebody can figure out a way to get me to watch Leno, he's frickin' Einstein.  Given the tenor and nuance of Louis C.K.'s comedy, that just might be true.  I've watched the first two episodes of his new sitcom ("Louie" on FX) - my rating is an underwhelmed but ever hopeful C.  But the poker game opening of the second episode is stellar.  Here's hoping the trajectory is continuing way up.

Anyone who writes anything today on the internets is apparently required by law to say something about Lindsay Lohan's 90-day jail sentence for being a bad parolee.  She's such a continuing flaming cartwheel that I just can't go there.  Instead, I must compliment the young woman on some seriously cool penmanship - check out the close-up of her notes that are meant to focus your eye on her snarky body art.  Seriously.  That's some cool amalgam handwriting.  I'd love to have an expert dissect it for me.  Very expressive, dangerously narcissistic, mature beyond her years envelope-pusher - I might guess.  But that makes me no better than TMZ, so I'll fall back to my original position and politely move on.

Seattle's gone summery today.  It feels like we're all on vacation in another dimension.  I give it 48 hours before everyone starts bitching about the heat.  Rock on.

Bathtime/Summertime Storytelling

  Even though the summertime temps haven't kicked Seattle's damp, unprepared tuchus (yet), summertime activities as they orbit around Maya are very much underway.  Soccer is key.  And her desire to properly jump rope provides an almost daily look inside her competitive mind.  But of all the new summertime activities that seem to crop up daily, none surprised me more than her desire for a daily story telling exercise.  Granted this has nothing to do with summertime in particular - hopefully, telling stories is a year-round activity.  Still, it was only a few days ago that I got assigned to do the original stories after a few weeks of Sarah pulling that duty.  It coincides with bath time, which requires a story to be told tub-side with the glare of the bathroom lights serving as an open-mike spotlight.  I've just gotten started, but I've happened upon an age-old parental epiphany.  Making up stories that your kid enjoys ROCKS.  Maybe there's a future in it.  Not that I'm looking to be Jamie Lee Curtis.  After all, I'd hate to see some small measure of success writing children's stories morph into becoming a spokesperson for dubious ass-curative yogurt.  I'm talking more about a healthy way of bonding with the youngin', and maybe recording said stories to pass along sometime and somewhere to be determined.  My first soccer-themed story was met with raves, as was Part One of the next still gestating story dealing with a magic beach.  I don't know how long I can keep up this version of the ActiveStoryteller Challenge.  But it's a new summertime development that has me feeling rather sunshiny.

Hope your holidaze celebrations include equal parts grillin' and chillin', sans illin'.  Rock on.