2010 YearEnder

It's been a few months since I posted anything here.  In the past, I've always put up my YearEnder for public consumption.  It just seems appropriate to still do so.  All the family stuff has been taken out.  This is the meat in the sandwich.  I hope a few things ring true for you.  Or at least that the points I scatter somewhat all over the map hit the occasional mark.  Rock on, 2011-style. 

2010 As a Series of Snapshots

• BP unleashed an underwater oil volcano that erupted for months, yet has already been mostly forgotten.  Proving that with a few ads and some rudimentary misinformation, 50 million barrels of the crudest oil can be miraculously turned into fish food and corral fertilizer.
• Sandra Bullock managed to win an undeserved Oscar and a nation's misplaced sympathy almost simultaneously.  While Jesse James' inexcusable infidelity managed to at long last give Nazi-friendly, goth tattoo models/strippers a bad name.
• Sarah Palin’s achieved what for some was a stunningly irksome degree of financial success.  Which was only dwarfed by every single person working on Wall Street.
• Tiger Woods spent a whole lot of solo time working on his swing, while Elin Nordegren finally got around to reading Stieg Larsson's Millenium trilogy in the original Swedish.  In so doing, they each found their bliss.
• Afghanistan became the Larry King of redundant, soul-draining foreign entanglements.  And even Larry knew this year was the time to say that enough's enough.
• A plucky bunch of Chilean miners came up with a unique but ultimately unsuccessful way to avoid the Great Recession.
• The political fulcrum story of the year was the "big C" conservative shellacking of the "shrinking L" left.  And the most vocal part of that Teabagging, pendulum-swinging movement is only going to demand more attention in the next political cycle.  Be careful what you wish for, America.  Check back in a handful of months from now and we'll see how this latest hopey, changey thing is working out.
  
• Conan O'Brien was forced to trade in a barely drivable talk show vehicle with three former owners for the equivalent of a 1992 Ford Taurus SHO with 212,000 miles - a late-night gig on TNT. 
• Elena Kagan joined Sonia Sotomayor as the two Obama appointees on the U.S. Supreme Court.  They both bat left, throw down the middle, and impress the scouts entirely.  Although their lackluster contributions to this year's Supremes Secret Santa gift exchange left plenty of room for creativity and studiousness.
• Glenn Beck, Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert held rallies in our Nation's most storied public park. Beck claimed to gather like a billion people on the anniversary of Martin Luther King Jr.'s "I Have a Dream" speech to tell them something unintelligible about George Soros. Subsequently, Stewart and Colbert proved little more than it's still too early for a Father Guido Sarducci comeback. 
• Haiti, the poorest nation in the hemisphere, suffered an earthquake that severely damaged well over half of the nation's structures and left over 200,000 people dead out of a population of 9,000,000.  Followed by the usual aftershock of our collective brief attention span and a distinctly human inability to know what to do about such tragedies.   
• Spain won their first ever World Cup, held in South Africa (the first African host nation).  The biggest stars of the event turned out to be a (murdered!) octopus in Germany and a cheap plastic horn with an pornographic sounding name.  Oddly enough, precisely matching one of the predictions from my last YearEnder.
• Barack Obama got popped in the kisser while playing basketball, requiring an array of stitches.  The other elbows he took all year long left no such visible marks.  But they'll prove much harder to repair.
• Our troops began to leave the active theatre in Iraq, moving toward the expected full withdrawal date of 2011.  Aside from the tens of thousands of military trainers, supporting personnel and diplomatic staff required to operate our fancy new Embassy - the largest maintained by any nation in any other nation on the planet.  Not that anyone's counting anymore. 
• Blogging ended.  For me, anyway.  Been there, overdone that.
  
• George W. Bush's memoir fell a bit flat.  He even included that ol' "miscarried fetus kept in a jar to scare the kids as they struggled with adolescence" chestnut.  Please give a curious public something they haven't read in every other Presidential autobiography next time, won't you?

Comeback of the Year

Brett Favre's shamelessly returned in the worst shape of his career for his final NFL season.  Controversy ensued when poorly staged and not at all flattering self-portraits of his, um, Little Quarterback emerged.  Forever replacing jokes about his wavering retirement decisions with ones that pivot upon sexting pictures of his junk.  In other words, not all comebacks are good ones.

Lexicon Addition of the Year

LeBron James' NBA free agency decision was boiled down to his proclamation of “I’m taking my talents to South Beach”.  Unsurprisingly, whenever a derivation of that phrase is now used, LeBron gets a cut.  So think carefully before you tell your manager at Cinnabon that you're "taking my talents to the Verizon kiosk".

Trend of the Year

The troubling reality behind mining “rare earth” elements.  These gnarly bits are essential to manufacturing everything from cell phones to green energy technologies and have names that sound straight out of a James Cameron movie (dysprosium, terbium, neodymium, europium, yttrium). Add in that they're crazy toxic, much of the mining is done illegally by criminal gangs and the fact that China has the market locked up like a hooker in Charlie Sheen's hotel suite.

A Few Picks for the Best of 2010

This year with an added honorable mention in each category, hereafter tagged "the UnderDoggie".

• TV – I'm left standing behind “Mad Men” as still the best show on TV.  This season’s effort by Jon Hamm as Don Draper was the most twisted, beguiling yet.  The episode ("The Suitcase" - regarding a Samsonite campaign) where Don got drunk with a fearlessly ambitious Peggy (the amazing Elizabeth Moss) equaled the best hour of filmed entertainment offered this whole dang year.  And the UnderDoggie goes to “Louie" on FX, orbiting closely around the actual life of my favorite comedian, Louis C.K.  The series started very small.  Then grew a massive pair and went far out beyond the margins of what's been seen before in a sitcom format.  Find it.  You're welcome.
• Movies – “Black Swan” was the very best I've seen thus far. The director, Darren Aronofsky, is the scariest and most surprising thing to come out of Dallas since Jerry Jones’ last three facelifts.  That pesky voice in my head desperately wants Natalie Portman’s fabulous scarves collection. She's also destined in the very near term to become the biggest female movie star on the planet.  UnderDoggie – “Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World” - the most underappreciated movie of the Year by miles.
• Sports – The San Francisco Giants and/or the New Orleans Saints.  Hard to bitch about sports with stories like these around.  UnderDoggie - Canada's impressive job hosting the Winter Olympics when Vancouver appeared to be hovering somewhere in the mid-60s.  Fahrenheit.  I haven't the foggiest idea what that would be in celsius, eh?
• Music – Kanye West’s new album "My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy" was far and away the best, most album-y, album of the year.  The arrangements, the beats, the featured performers, the flow.  This one’s for the brilliant douchebag.  UnderDoggie - the adorably dour, Dylanesque Swede stage-named The Tallest Man On Earth (Kristian Matsson) stayed in our CD changer more than anyone or anything else this year.  His full album, "The Wild Hunt" is the best of his stuff you'll find out there.
• Books – “Super Sad True Love Story” by Gary Shteyngart was the freshest thing I read all year.  A near future dystopian novel hardly stands alone these days.  But Shteyngart's unique timing and playful humor lightens and lifts the set-up perfectly.  His was also the best reading of the year I saw (at the Tractor Tavern in Seattle's increasingly posh yet still hilariously Scandinavian-dominated neighborhood, Ballard).  Rest assured, there were plenty of others that would have been brightened considerably by a drunken crowd and at least one accordian.  My UnderDoggie goes to Tom Rachman's "The Imperfectionists".  His darkly drawn characters working to stay afloat in a sinking, stinking newspaper stuck with me like no others encountered this year.
• Killer App – Wikileaks.  After only 4 years old, they're already on the brink of taking down governments. Let's see Google try that.  Or, please, let's not.  UnderDoggie - Groupon.  If your city doesn't offer them yet, those days are coming soon. 
• Radio/podcast – After years of not paying much attention to them, the rock 'n roll culture program "Sound Opinions" became a podcast that I absolutely never miss at least part of.  Jim and Greg's recent interview with James Murphy from LCD Soundsystem was the best chat about music I've heard all year, and they never fail to pick great stuff out of the bins I'd otherwise pass by.  The UnderDoggie goes to "The Moth" - the inconsistent storytelling podcast that is more hit than miss.  And sometimes a total homerun (Michaela Murphy's "All Star Game" being the best example that comes to mind from this year). 
• Journalism - General Stanley McChrystal lost his job as our top commander in Afghanistan for, as best I can tell, not knowing that "Rolling Stone" magazine was in the business of writing down the stupid things he said.  The other game changer scoop offered was McChrystal's affinity for Bud Light Lime.  Talk about a case of "don't ask, don't tell".  UnderDoggie - Ken Auletta's piece ("Publish or Perish?") in "The New Yorker" about the arrival of the iPad and what the competitive differences between it and Amazon's Kindle might mean for the future of publishing.
• Celebrity flameout – It seems almost unfair to pile onto the keeled over mess that is Lindsay Lohan.  But she's absolutely in a class by herself.  Aside from spending half the year in rehab and jail, her gig appears to now only be method acting prep (heavy on the "meth", but pretty equallly focused upon the "odd") for a starring role in her own autobiography.  She makes Joaquin Phoenix and Christian Bale look like they're mailing it in.  Sadly, Lindsay's also my dead pool pick for 2011.  In spite of all that, if she had a Farrah Fawcett-equivalent poster, it would be hanging above my bunk bed.  Right next to Lee Majors in his red track suit.  The UnderDoggie is awarded to Miley Cyrus.  In advance for 2011.  And 2013.
• Person of the Year – Dan Savage for initiating the inspired public service campaign for young gay people that served up proof that “It Gets Better” in the face of daunting, classless idiocy.  And the UnderDoggie goes to former JetBlue flight attendant, Steven Slater, for offering proof that in those cases where it won't we should all consider options that typically say "don't go there".

 TwentyEleven’s Largely Baseless Predictions

• The next Presidential election is already boiled down to two remaining Republican challengers before the first Primary vote is cast in early 2012.  A robotic re-election campaign for President Obama prepares to face either the Former Governor/Current Curmudgeon George Pataki or the Current Senator/Former Skull Model John Thune.  My money's on the skull guy.
• Taylor Swift steps up her ravenous trophy hunting by bagging a Timberlake, a Clooney, a Nicholson and a Bridges (Lloyd, which is all the more creepy given that he’s been dead since 1998).
• A new form of creative American austerity becomes all the rage, driven in part by Lady Gaga’s game-changing meat dress worn at 2010's "MTV Video Awards" show.  Consumers hungry for deals will eschew designer labels, choosing instead to make their own clothes with whatever they find lying around the house. 
• Kate Middleton and Prince William's royal wedding becomes the most watched televised event in history, surpassing the Apollo 11 moon landing and the finale of "M*A*S*H*".  Even during Prince Harry's 20-minute best man toast where he jokes about William's hair loss and some of Kate's "experimentation" in college.  The world feels a bit icky for like a week.
• A retro mania for the Muppets sweeps the Nation.  Once more, characters with vivid, unnatural skin tones and exaggerated, childlike emotions warms the hearts of kids young and old.  Until people begin to realize how similar they are to the new Speaker of the House John Boehner (R-OH). 
• The trendy embrace by kids of SillyBandz is replaced by the new gotta-have-them craze – HamHandcuffs. 
• Facebook fails in its broad assault meant to combine all our disparate forms of messaging.  If I'm to believe their current plan, my next YearEnder might be automatically pulled from all my emails and texts, along with possibly all the long forgotten notes scribbled on cocktail napkins stuffed in the pockets of old coats dating way back to the elder Bush's Administration.  I may not have rowed crew at Harvard, but I think I also have a case for why Facebook might lose on this one.  Too much, too soon.
• The cast of “Jersey Shore” is kidnapped by North Korea's new leader, Kim Jong-Un, to feed their tasteless, limitless cheese output to a hungry nation.
• Justin Bieber defies expectations and records a polka album.  You get it as a joke birthday present, but end up really liking it.  Then you hear it playing at a Starbucks while you're waiting on a caramel latte.  You cry just a skoch.  Then walk out, totally forgetting your drink order.  And the rest of the day pretty much goes like that.
• And the anniversary of 9/11 becomes a moment for all of us to pause and consider just how much - or how little - can be accomplished in a decade.

Whew.  So let's just call that my spin on 2010.  I wish y'all the best in the year ahead.  Be most excellent.

Ever -
E.

The Big Sign Off. No, really. I mean it this time. OK...one last thing. Or maybe three. But then that's it. I promise.

Before I move on, a few last reviews are pleasantly stuck in my craw that simply must billow forth.  Three reviews total.  Jonathan Franzen's new novel, the film "The Social Network" and the generally undisturbed state of the State of Wisconsin.  On some level I will do a great disservice to everything I've written here over the last nearly 6 years unless I offer something on how I experienced them all.

Franzen's novel "Freedom" has received more advance blather and inspired more critical backflips than any book in years.  I can only imagine what sort of team of publicists his publisher employed on this roll out.  No expense has been spared, no media placement seems too far afield, no advertising crossover will be neglected.  Hello, Orpah.  On steroids.  Yet none of that means a damn thing when it comes to the book itself.  I'd be wasting everyone's time if I tried to sum it up better than the masterful Michiko Kakutani did back a few months in the NYTimes.  But I will offer my own rating - a larded and fried yet not especially fulfilling C.  Skill counts for a lot.  There should be no surprise in my concession that Franzen has skill up to and coming through every available orifice.  Yet in the end, there's only one way to judge a book outside of all the out-sized praise and obligatory book club choice-worthy guilt applied in heaps.  In effect, any reader must ask whether the book was a pleasure to read - no matter what form that pleasure might take.  In that, "Freedom" is most certainly a disappointment.  And given all the bunk piled on top of Franzen's efforts which I surely hope he did not ask for, I don't expect his work will do any good for the field from which novels spring.  If anything, such poorly-paced, over-stuffed compendiums of properly topical references bore the snot out of readers and probably make it tougher for unnoticed writers to get traction in even a small way.  Just imagine how many editors and assistants had a hand in this puppy.  Not that I begrudge Franzen his stranglehold on the zeitgeist.  I just hope people take the time for pleasures that don't require a front-page spread in "TIME" to break through.  If you have limited time for reading, don't bother with this one.  Oprah makes mistakes, too.  Oh...am I still typing out loud?

"The Social Network" is equally everywhere, although in a totally different realm of exposure.  The subject (Facebook, of course) and the world's obsession with it makes this film the least surprising hit since the invention of fried dough.  I will concede that it is truly entertaining and paced with the sort of bracing mastery that movies just don't bring all that often.  My rating is a snarky B-plus.  The only cut against the grain of praise from me comes in the form of that moment when I realized how much of a trifle this whole Facebook obsession represents.  Namely (spoiler alert, without details) when Justin Timberlake's character gets in trouble.  If you haven't seen it, you won't be surprised in the least.  But the point of my snark is that when the bloom comes off his rose, the whole doggone movie looks about as epic as a six-month dental cleaning.  There's no denying that Facebook is a killer, ubiquitous app - worth bazillions and growing everyday.  And somewhere out there right now, there's another complex prick working on a better next-biggish thing in his dorm room that will also become a verb in just a handful of years.  That thing will be worth two-plus bazillions.  The people behind it will do stupid crap.  We'll be told that the mere existence of "it" says something about all of us.  And on and on and on.  I'll just bring it around and say that as far as popular entertainment goes, "The Social Network" is the full hoot.  Harvard hasn't looked this sexy since the invention of beer.  Still, the movie's the artistic equivalent of a full run through the tasting menu at a smoking hot new tapas bar along with a few pitchers of awesomely strong sangria.  The next day, you can't stop talking about it while knocking back coffee after coffee with an unhealthy mix of Advils and vitamins.  Then something comes up.  Life goes on.  And you forget what the big buzz was or even if you really remember what happened.  Still, go see it.  It's delicious.

Finally, some of you who've read what I've put up here over the years might care that I had a recent week-long spin through my homeland - the often time-capsule authentic seeming State of Wisconsin.  I saw loads of good people, most of whom seemed surprised to see me looking leaner yet not at all meaner.  I hung out in all sort of old haunts.  In effect, I had a just-long-enough trip down memory lane without anything like a bucket list or totally killer mix tape personal soundtrack swelling in the background.  It was just great to see Sconnie in the fall.  So there's no better time for me to fully acknowledge that I'm moving on.  This is truly it for andthefamilybuick.  I've done what I wanted to do here.  After today, you can continue to follow me in perpetuity at my website - don't laugh, there's not been much focus on the there there.  Thus far, at least.  Don't expect to see another blog from me.  I've sometimes loved the gig.  I've also sometimes hated the gig.  But the gig is up.  Thank you so so much for reading.  The archives will stay up so long as there's a Blogger (thanks to them for all the hosting over the years!).  So please search what I've done here before.  I hope you'll look for what I do in the future.  The books are coming, I promise.  One last thing - please know that I do this for you.  I'll always try to remember that.  Come what may.  Rock on.

Timm's Hill as seen from Hill of Beans

Timm's Hill as seen from Hill of Beans
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Back home in Ogema in the fall, there's no place better to see than Timm's Hill. And on a morning like the one I saw earlier today, I'm left wondering if there's a more beautiful place in the world. If you do destination travel, you can't do much better than staying with the Blombergs at High Point Village. My highest recommendation. And not just in terms of Wisconsin elevation.

Forest canopy on the trails near Timm's Hill

Forest canopy on the trails near Timm's Hill
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Our newly listing Swedish barn (built in 1890)

Our newly listing Swedish barn (built in 1890)
Originally uploaded by emaggie

The business end of the family farm's barn, certainly looking the worse for this year's wear.

The business end of the family farm's barn, certainly looking the worse for this year's wear.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Hoping the barn won't add a new obstacle amidst the curves of Forest Drive.

Hoping the barn won't add a new obstacle amidst the curves of Forest Drive.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Seeing the barn's tilt from the emergency anchoring side.

Seeing the tilt from the anchored side.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Moving on. But not before seriously looking back.

I've been in a bit of a culture vacuum over the past week.  Or maybe lazily pushing one around.  I won't say that what I've been reading and listening to sucks.  But another stretched vacuum analogy might apply (not much worth picking up has appeared before me).  So instead of reaching too far, I'd like to digress and give an update on other things.  Especially since this will be one of my last posts here.  For real and forever.

If you've paid attention to what I've written here over the years (dating back to the beginning of 2005), you know a few themes dominate.  The personal side has always featured Maya, from before birth to the now fully dynamic life of a proud kindergartener.  The opinionated address of all things political has always been fair game.  And cultural notes of particular interest to me get reviewed.  Like countless blogs, I don't get paid except for a pittance of advertising.  Some very limited (but appreciated) notice has come my way.  But blogging is a largely one-handed juggling act.  After a while, you sort of run out of tricks and have trouble keeping it fresh for those kind enough to stop by and watch.

I've had other concurrent blogging projects - most recently my running blog that has tracked my day-by-day kvetching about training for the Twin Cities Marathon.  The energy that goes into each and every of these outlets doesn't spring eternal.  So the waxing and waning is probably what has driven my traffic up and down over the years.  With that as an awkward pivot, I've decided to shut it all down.  Leave the archives up for posterity.  And move on to the projects that really deserve my attention.  I've got two novels to edit and sell.  Ideas for two more, plus a grand non-fiction history that I've been researching for most of my life.  Plans, I tell you.  Glorious plans.

Before then, I have a slew of things to see and write about here.  Tomorrow morning, I leave for a solo week-plus trip through Wisconsin and the Twin Cities.  A trip down memory lane, plus a wide range of new trips along that path.  I plan to take lots of pictures, ask lots of questions (or others and myself), and soak up as much of the autumn landscape as possible.  I've always adored the fall in Wisconsin.  So please check back for some fresh stuff.  I think it will be worth your time.  And thanks for doing so.  Rock on.

From St. Paul to "Lisbon"

It's way too easy to join the eruption of literary praise surrounding Jonathan Franzen's new novel.  Just as it's equal parts self-promoting laziness to piss all over what Franzen's accomplished.  I'm still in the middle when it comes to this event, er, book.  Mainly because I haven't finished "Freedom" and I've not exactly felt driven to devour it whole.  And while I'm still a big big fan of Franzen's talents, I'd like to take a slighter different tack.  One utterly without plot spoilers.  Namely, I need to say something about what Franzen offered up for his authorial lecture in Seattle earlier this week.  In short, it was a gawddamn travesty.

Big books, thankfully, still can garner big spotlights in the right places - no matter how much that list of places is dwindling.  Nonetheless, that was the case in the way Seattle Arts & Lectures promoted Tuesday evening with Franzen at Benaroya Hall.  It was my first visit to that symphonic wonder.  Gorgeous, filled with warm wood and all the glitter of money donated from the largess of what's now a different economy.  Franzen remarked himself after being bathed in a typically laudatory intro that "wow, this is a big room."  And Seattle's book-thirsty population (real or imagined) really showed up in its best dress fleece and tweediness.  You could practically feel the intellectual lust dripping off the seat backs and gumming up the floor throughout.  Bookish horndogs are so adorable.  So all Franzen needed to do was give a coy turn of the shoulder or bare a subtly original angle.  In which case, he could have serviced every single sizable IQ in the place simultaneously.  Instead, he read (from old, unedited notes) a "talk" he'd delivered in Germany last year.  Some won't fault the dood - he admitted as much himself, making the obvious joke about how Seattle's so full of bibliophiles that he couldn't do a regular book tour event here.  But I can't be so kind.  As much as I admire Franzen's work and the exposure he brings to the general craft of novel writing, he couldn't have underwhelmed the room more if he'd cinched up the chastity belt wrapped 'round his wit and sprayed us all down with an ice water firehose.  Well, maybe that's a bit stretched.  Let's just say that a full price ticket general admission ticket ($30 frickin' bucks - still a chafe at half price) proved about as stimulating as a handjob in a glove factory.  I'll come back to review the book next week.  His work should merit this double billing.  But that SAL event was a disgrace, dood. 

On another level of satisfaction, the new album from The Walkmen ("Lisbon") has offered up one of those rare surprises that keeps me going back to my record store week after week.  These guys know how to tunefully kvetch and lament.  They also know better than most acts how to craf compelling songs and deliver them with full gut emotion.  I'm intrigued by what they've done here.  My rating for this album - an impressed and curious B-plus.  Heading north, I expect.  

Everyone say "Moosepuke"

Everyone say "Moosepuke"
Originally uploaded by emaggie

So it's over. Parenting done, dood. Maya started kindergarten. Sarah and I never looked back. She's the public schools' problem now. At least until this afternoon. A few pics follow. As you'll see, it was a fantastic first day.

Keeping up appearances for the teacher. We don't really spend much time together in real life.

Keeping up appearances for the teacher. We don't really spend much time together in real life.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Too busy? Nah, it all goes together.

Too busy? Nah, it all goes together.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Showing off the boots. On both counts.

Showing off the boots. On both counts.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

"Should we walk?"

"Should we walk?"
Originally uploaded by emaggie

For the first day, we just gave her two bricks. Adequate simulation.

For the first day, we just gave her two bricks. Adequate simulation.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Time for one last picture before school.

Time for one last picture before school.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

I told Sarah not to start doing Maya's homework already, but...

I told Sarah not to start doing Maya's homework already, but...
Originally uploaded by emaggie

It's all so much clearer now

The past week featured a few '90s time warp trips for me.  And I'm still trying to digest how it all makes me feel.  So here's a few stabs at my reaction to both the end of a Kurt Cobain-inspired exhibit at the Seattle Art Museum and the Pavement reunion tour that traipsed through the Paramount Theatre.  

I'll start with the latter.  Pavement is a favorite touchstone of mine.  I fall in general agreement with the shorthand claim that their fuzzy sound and ironic slouch only masks bushels of worthy wit.  And hearing Stephen Malkmus talk earnestly about this tour as a one off deal was refreshing (don't expect to see them keep trying to cash that check in the future).  You have to go back more than 15 years to really find their hopeful peak.  So the easy money is on them being less than vigorous in concert.  I went on my own, watched on my own, and decided on my own that...it's time for even the most ardent fan to move on.  They still bring a good show.  Two hours, including a 4-song encore that a more cynical band wouldn't have done at all given the bland, obligatory ovation they got as encouragement from a crowd that I saw as seriously underpacked.  It was the sort of crowd you could see doing the same thing I did beforehand - fixing a nice dinner for the family AND doing the dishes before hitting the town.  I saw a few pregnant women.  The line-up at the merch table afterward was way deeper than that to the bar, at least while the opener was playing (Quasi, a Portland band everyone respects who packed a few decades worth of experience into a tight 40-minute set).  Everything Pavement did was fine.  That's the problem.  The extended moment when these songs mattered has passed.  When I got home, I saw the handful of CDs I'd put in our stereo's changer.  When I look at my iPod, I've only bothered to upload this year's newly released (and wonderful) "Quarantine the Past" compilation.  That's a wounded metaphor, but it works for me.  I love Pavement.  I won't say "loved".  But now I can move on. 

The Kurt Cobain exhibit at the SAM was pulled yesterday after a handful of months.  Far more local ink was spilled on it than I ever thought worthy.  It always just seemed like a tourist crowd draw, especially considering how close the SAM is to the Pike Place Market.  But it was First Thursday Gallery Walk night last week.  What better time to see what for.  And the verdict?  Of course it was forced nostalgia.  Creepy and almost entirely devoid of wit.  Yet the point that I saw was actually pretty brilliant, albeit unintended.  I'm speaking of the people watching, most of which seemed to be infinitely entertained by its own internal divisions.  The partiers jostled by the gallery types, the tourists mingled with those in effect demanding acknowledgment as true locals, the stripes mixed with the solids.  Where I fit in doesn't matter a hoot.  But like anyone that lived in Seattle when Kurt killed himself, I've got my own stories to tell and images to share.  Spending that Friday at Two Bells in Belltown with friends after hearing the news.  Seeing a pile of afternoon Seattle Times issues brought in and passed around.  Hearing how a friend who's office was in the same building as The Rocket had to get out of there as the media frenzy heated up.  Those images are what I'd hang on the walls of the SAM.  And they'd probably look just as stupid.  The personal decontextualized and writ large is doomed to fail.  Time and time again.

Where I sit now is altogether in a different time and mental space.  Maya starts kindergarten tomorrow.  We're going to head out now to do some last school shopping.  That's the show I can't wait to see.  Call me past prime or whatever suits your taste for snark these days.  But know that I'm still looking backward as I focus on what's to come.  It's just that those things in the rearview mirror are no longer closer than they appear.  Thankfully.

Let the debate begin. Seven and a half years late might be better than never.

Like much of the World, I'm trying to calibrate my reaction to President Obama's prime timer last night on the end of combat operations in Iraq.  And since what is blogging if not therapy writ wide open and unedited for everyone to go rooting around in, here's a few thoughts.  

Most importantly, it's about time we started debating what our 7+ years and $1Trillion+ in Iraq truly boils down to.  Or whether we're truly at long last on our way "home" from that War.  Every available metric paints a lousy current picture - the best rundown I've heard was on Harry Shearer's "Le Show" this weekend.  Save the only one that everyone in support of going to War still mentions straight up - no more Saddam Hussein.  Instead of getting stuck there, I'd suggest that we all should think back to the actual "debate" that came prior.  Take the ol' chestnut defined as the "Pottery Barn" rule attributed to then Secretary of State Colin Powell.  Supposedly, "if you break it, you own it."  Set aside the fact that no such rule exists at Pottery Barn and you're still left with us shattering that "rule" even beyond it's false meaning.  So here we are as combat troops are redeploying.  And over there?  We did, indeed, break it.  And now we do not actually own it.  Much worse, we had to pay for the cost of doing so.  Those that do now own it, I think, could be defined as exactly the sort of people we would have preferred not have possession after said breakage.  I believe that Nuri al Malaki, Ahmed Chalabi and the others still wrangling over the results of an election from six months ago don't care about democracy.  For them it's the spoils of victory that are still worth fighting over.  And thanks to the grand wisdom of Richard Perle (ooh, I just got a chill), Paul Wolfowitz and Donald Rumsfeld (to touch on just a few obvious raw nerves), that's who we've now got to work with in place of Saddam in Iraq.  So yes, now let's at long last have that enduring historical debate.  Oh, and we will.  For decades.

In terms of Obama's speech, I think he struck the tone that we should expect from him.  Elegiac.  Frustrating in its willingness to give up too much to the presumed opposition.  Painted deep deep into a policy corner.  For all his obvious intellect, I'd bet Barack plays crappy poker.  In the past I've claimed he's a chess man.  But it's more obvious - he's a baller.  Put up your best defense and he'll shoot right over the top of you.  He uses deception only insofar as a fake pass or the political equivalent.  No cheating and if he's bluffing about how strong he feels or where he's going, a smart opposing player will see it telegraphed.  Right now, Obama's legs are still strong.  And the opposition should be seen as a joke.  That, however, might be exactly the wrong lesson to take into halftime of this term.  These midterms are going to be almost as brutal as the prevailing momentum's forecasting, I think.  Calling this play right now is a baller move.  Because no one's on the lookout for a finesse game right now.   But it could show that the game Obama's playing isn't nearly as dominant as people thought just last season.  Enough with the basketball analogy.  It does, though, still constitute my assessment of where this speech and this policy choice fits into the larger picture for the Obama Administration.  They may truly be a one-term Presidency.

My only other comment right now is to say that no family that's had to endure a deployment wants to be told that we owe Dubya some credit now.  Or ever.  Hearing that revisionist crap tumble from the Bushies, John McCain, John Boehner and all the lesser chickenhawks is just salt in the wounds that aren't going away.  And there are lots of wounds out there.  A million and half military personnel have been deployed in Iraq.  The ballpark number I heard reported this weekend of post-action mental issues is 30% of those people.  So over 400,000 people would have something to say about the wisdom of giving Dubya credit for what he did to them.  'Nuff said about that.

Well, like I said - this debate is just starting.  I hope we all get a chance to let some of it out, while actually taking the time to listen across the divide.  Be well.