Enjoying the rapturous tones of Mr. Concertina's accordian.

Enjoying the rapturous tones of Mr. Concertina's accordian.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Herb's successful candles extinguishing reaction.

Herb's successful candles extinguishing reaction.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

My old childhood clubhouse (converted from a windmill frame), now ruled over by a nest of ospreys.

My old childhood clubhouse (converted from a windmill frame), now ruled over by an amazing nest of ospreys.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Herb's amazing restored buggy - sans horse - that my great grandparents bought from Montgomery Ward in 1890.

Herb's amazing restored buggy - sans horse - that my great grandparents bought from Montgomery Ward in 1890.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

For anyone familiar with Sundance Channel's documentary series "Nimrod Nation", Maya suggests a nearby even more hilarious mascot to love (from my Mom's hometown).

For anyone familiar with Sundance Channel's documentary series "Nimrod Nation", Maya suggests a nearby even more hilarious mascot to love (from my Mom's hometown).
Originally uploaded by emaggie

"Go Sweden!"

"Go Sweden!"
Originally uploaded by emaggie

And the Swedish Chef only won twice...

Two reviews for a Monday - not a bad way to start the week. Locally, I went to the Capitol Hill Block Party on Saturday. The CHBP is your standard issue cool city outdoor fest in the summertime. 5 stages, none of which are denial or grief. My primary draw was The Hold Steady, who regular readers will recognize as one of my faves. But I gotta say, I'm sadly kinda over them after Saturday. They're still a great show. Fun anthems. Goofy, engaging band members who can play the crap out of a song. Especially the lead singer, Craig Finn. Who, by the way, I randomly saw walking down a bordering street 5 hours before his band's set began, looking like a dentist heading to Starbucks in the same shirt he wore on stage. I worked the crowd like a zen master to get a great vantage point for their set - back a half-dozen rows of people, front and center. They played basically everything everyone wanted to hear with glossy verve. But the thing that threw me was fully half of the people surrounding me and an equally well-schooled friend were obviously teenagers. I'm not saying that to be a grumpy old man. It's just that I can't imagine a 16-year-old kid with a $300 digital camera has any idea what they are talking about when it comes to careening, albeit hook-filled, audaciousness. My rating - a surprisingly bored B-minus.

One thing that isn't boring at all is the hunky new star of HBO's killer summer mini-series, "Generation Kill". His name is Alexander Skarsgard (son of the actor Stellan). He plays Sergeant Brady Colbert, based on a real soldier thanks to the reporting of Evan Wright who was embedded with his Marine unit. Skarsgard is actually Swedish (voted the five-time Sexiest Swede of the Year, beating my crown by an astonishing four). Yet his American accent is flawless. He will be a HUGE star. "Generation Kill" was written and produced by the same geniuses that did the same with "The Wire". Thus far we're 3 episodes into a 7 episode run. My interim rating - B-plus with an upward trajectory. Watch it. Even with the wall-to-wall military lingo, there's something special going on there.

Don't know what to say about last night's premiere of the second season of "Mad Men". I oozed praise constantly for the first season. But after this first date, I'm not thinking I'll go all the way this time.

Hope your own summer isn't spent in the desert scandalously shooting camels. Rock on.

Plus, Brett will arrive in a biofuel pickup truck running entirely on oil recovered from Bud Grant's illegal Idaho fry operation

A few supa quickies. The Brew Crew swept a four-game series in St. Louis last night with an heroic 9th inning homer by Ryan Braun. That young man possesses the sweetest swing ever to grace a Milwaukee uniform. Sorry, Stormin' Gorman. The Cubbies come to Beertown on Monday for a four game series. Before that we've got the Astros for a weekend of sure-to-be sellouts. Oh, how I love it when a plan comes together...

All sports' journalists are currently stumbling over the headline that Brett Favre is going to report to training camp in Green Bay on Sunday. Unless, of course, Big Cheddar steps into the fracas, ya know, and has him whacked. Yea, yea - it's the biggest football summer soap opera since Joe Montana and Roger Staubach shacked up in Mexico for a stolen month of passion way back in '79. Still, funnier than a bag full of cats getting dropped onto a dogfood assembly line. My prediction remains the same - the Pack screwed up royally and will rue the day that they didn't make every effort possible to get Brett back on the Reservation.

Big music weekend for us here in GrungeCity. Sarah's heading to the first night of the Capitol Hill Block Party tonite with a friend to see Vampire Weekend, among others. I'm making the same trip tomorrow to see The Hold Steady and DeVotchKa, among others. Expect copious reviews. Maybe a few pics. Hope your own tickets were pre-purchased and came with a free bobblehead. Rock on.

"Did I hit him or just Swift Boat him?"

This very morning on K Steet in DC, Robert Novak hit a pedestrian with his Black Corvette. I know, I know - stop laughing, America. Notice the buried lead in that reportage` - Robert Novak drives a BLACK CORVETTE. He claims to have done so since 1961. Decades before the invention of Viagra. The still-to-be-named victim purportedly had the crosswalk light and still hit the Dark Knight's windshield. I, for one, blame it on a long history of wanting to drive through a point that everyone else disagreed with.

Dubya gave a fundraiser speech that was surreptiously recorded in which he detailed his intention to relocate to Dallas. Thank Gawd. For years and years, Sarah and I have been debating whether or not we actually hated living there. Now, there is no remaining concession. Dallas sucks.

The Brew Crew took another in Saint Louie last night on late inning heroics by Bill Hall. CC Sabathia takes the mound tonite. As our friend visiting from Cleveland, Goldy, intoned this weekend (I'll paraphrase) - "I'm glad he went to a team I can appreciate." Damn straight, Michael. May your leadership in this national struggle toward finding a Nation to appreciate lead us to the promised land. And by us, it was totally a Brewers comment.

Hope your own Park Cities real estate tours take you through some really fine foreclosure opportunities today. Rock on.

First pitch on a stunning Sunday @ Safeco. The Mariners still suck (Cleveland won 6-2).

First pitch on a stunning Sunday @ Safeco. The Mariners still suck (Cleveland won 6-2).
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Gravitas comes from a joke about Tim Conway being cast in your role as a maverick?

Barack Obama hit the international road - today he's in eastern Afghanistan, close to the border with Pakistan. Great pick to get his rhetorical ball rolling. Last night John McCain went on Conan O'Brian to joke about his age. Not so great pick, even though he didn't totally embarrass himself. Obviously, what we'll be seeing in the months ahead are two campaigns in punch-counterpunch mode, as is always the case. But this time around, the Dems have the advantage of reach and endurance. Polls are worthless at this point. It's all about perception. And I predict that unless Obama makes a major gaffe (minor ones should be expected with as many stops as he's scheduled), he comes back home to the States with some major wind in the sails. Everyone dropped the story way too early that Obama outraised McCain by $30Million in just the month of June and has an unprecedented $72Million in the bank. Fundraising stories are the stuff of pre-primary punditry fluff, I suppose. But that advantage (McCain's got $27Million in his coffers) and a really well-choreographed foreign tour is just the sort of bump to shoot for as the nation turns its annual focus toward summer vacations. I believe that the constantly belabored "flip-flop" storyline is a dead end for both sides this cycle. That will forever be the albatross hung around John Kerry's massive head - inappropriately, I must add. So I imagine the endless stream of take-out food tastes much better in Obama headquarters these days for all those sleep-deprived 20somethings. And the after-hours hook-ups are probably a lot more fun, too. After all, that's why many of those folks play the game. The pay sucks, the hours are terrible, you live like a meth addict stuck in a cubicle. But you're surrounded by fellow addicts who are endless fun to hang out with when you stumble outdoors for a ray or two of sun.

Maya had her third ballet lesson this morning. I didn't stick around for the whole show as Sarah and I did the trade-off on watching from the window seats, but the routine for summer Saturdays seems pretty well set. Up early. Challah french toast. Extra syrup. Don the tutu. Get fired up. Hence the extra syrup. Play shy for a few minutes. Join in the gaggle of impossibly adorable girlie compatriots. Rock out, ballet style. Refuse to take off the outfit for hours. Collapse into an afternoon nap. Not a bad gig, for all concerned.

CC Sabathia pitched another complete game last night as the Brew Crew smoked the Giants in San Fran, 9-1. He's 3-0 as a Brewer. Yummy.

Hope your own Saturday features hours and hours of dancing. Rock on.

"I mean, it's not like I can tell people to power the internets with that passing wind power."

Dubya held a presser this morning - his first since the end of April. He was his usual petulent, winking, evasive persona. Yawn. But two things stuck out for me. One, the only time he sounded like he knew what he was peddling was when he was talking about off-shore drilling for "product" and the capital expenditure required to make it all happen. Far too little is made of what a failure he was as an "oil man" - aside from Joe Conason's seminal reporting way back in the run-up to the 2000 Election. But BOY was he trying to make it seem like he knew what he was talking about in that realm today. My prediction - his ex-Preziduncy will feature a victory lap similar to what Cheney exploited at Haliburton. Secondly, his dismissal of his obvious ability to encourage Americans to reduce their energy consumption was a dismal fraud. Instead, Dubya believes Americans are "smart enough" to choose how to conserve and that they can "balance their own checkbooks". Really? REALLY? This is the country that got seduced by adjustable-rate mortgages and Hummers. Unreal. Dubya couldn't be more out of touch if he were whiling away the last year of his disasterous reign listening to Ray Price 8-tracks echo around an empty basement White House bowling alley.

For my birthday today, the National League front office appropiately chose to give Ben Sheets the starting pitcher nod. They're so sweet. The first time ever for a Milwaukee Brewer, by the way. Hope your own home field World Series advantage gets nailed down today. Rock on.

The Great Grandkids with their really Great Grandmother

The Great Grandkids with their really Great Grandmother
Originally uploaded by emaggie

We've been in Santa Barbara for a few days with the extended family celebrating Maya's Great Grandma's 95th birthday. The weather was lovely, the company was charming and the kids were adorable. Of all generations. None moreso than Dorothy, of course.

Maya gives her new bud Cousin Luke a bruising hug and back pat.

Maya gives her new bud Cousin Luke a bruising hug and back pat.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Maya's purple butterfly shades. From the new Deep Purple/Jimi Hendrix/Iron Butterfly collection.

Maya's purple butterfly shades. From the new Deep Purple/Jimi Hendrix/Iron Butterfly collection. She's a huge fan of 60s early heavy metal.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Morgan Freeman saying "M&%$^@f+?ker" adds at least a half-grade, in my book.

We're in Santa Barbara for a family weekend, which can guarantee only one thing. Movie Review Catch-ups!

Yesterday's matinee was "Wanted" with James McAvoy and Angelina Jolie. Solid, hilarious, bloody punches to a happy summertime face. My rating - big B-plus. Soooo close to an A-minus. But I caught the over-the-top Rooskie director seemingly cheating off the papers of his obvious influences - Tarantino, the sadly insane and discredited Wachowski Brothers, Danny Boyle. Nonetheless, we laughed with appreciation throughout. The train crash near the end is the most unintentionally hilarious disaster since Jamie Lynn Spears recently gave birth. But so much more easy to watch. I recommend that you watch a two-dollar theatre mid-week showing sometime later this summer. You will only be disappointed if you believe in physics.

Our beloved Milwaukee Brewers head into the weekend before the All-Star Break a mere 4 games back from the somewhat sputtering Cubbies. Who gave up 7 home-runs in a convincing loss last night. Corey Hart got the last slot on the National League All-Star Team yesterday, probably because he's a dead-ringer for a young Brett Favre. 6 weeks ago the Brew Crew were 4 games under .500. Now they're 10 games over. No cockiness, just pleasant surprise. Watching this young team get better is more fun than seeing Angelina Jolie's back torso tatoos glistening with dripping bath water as she seductively slinks away. Seriously. Well, maybe not SERIOUSLY...but I'm trying to belabor a point here.

Hope your own weekend matinee schedule includes a "Hellboy", some "Hancock" and maybe even an Edith Wharton adaption. Just kidding about that last one. Rock on.

Mine's on vibrate, Ted's getting the finger...

To continue the Wisconsin sports theme from yesterday (Brew Crew won last night in CC Sabathia's first start). Brett Favre. Is he indeed still retired? The jury's out. For those unaware, Brett's been playing a bit of a PR game the last handful of days testing the waters of what those of us who claim to know what's what expected all along - his retirement was premature. But the reaction from the Packers - specifically Ted Thompson, the single most tone-deaf major sport GM since George Steinbrenner got sent to Guantanomo Bay - is simply infuriating to this lifelong fan. If Brett Favre sent a text message to the Governor of Wisconsin and said he'd like to redraw the map of the State, we'd all be getting new almanacs in a week. If Brett Favre sent a text message to the Pope and said that he'd like to spitball a few ideas for a new Saint or two, the Vatican would be ordering in brats and searching for jambalaya recipes post-haste for the meet and greet. If Brett Favre...oh, you get the point. You don't just give the Heisman to one of the greatest players to ever put on the uniform because you're sipping a pinot noir with your dooshbag cousins on the Oregon Coast. Which is where I imagine Ted Thompson vacations. Stunning locale. But totally dooshy. Bring Brett back, Dooshy. If you don't, you'll be forever branded as the one person that denied Packer fans a final chance at Favreian grandiose disappointment/drama. And your house will be egged every day for what I estimate to be, oh about, the next 17 years.

Hope your own Hall of Fame legends at least merit a call back today. Rock on.

Don vs. Carsten - you decide who's a bigger deal

vs. ?

Greetings, Brewers Nation. I'm sure y'all are feeling pretty excited these days. For the handful of Americans not yet aware, the Brew Crew picked up a prized pitcher in a trade from the slightly-less lovable Cleveland Indians. Carsten Charles Sabathia. CC, for short. Last year's American League Cy Young winner. Big boy (6'7", 290). Surprisingly good hitter (.300 career average - almost unheard of for a pitcher). Huge strikeout master. More intimidating than a calculus pop quiz. On fire and ready to win so he can boost his free agency value after the season. I remember being excited when the '82 Brew Crew picked up Don Sutton in a well-timed trade. The trade for Sabathia makes that old school rap look like Barry Manilow. Kudos to my boys back in Milwaukee. Sabathia starts today for the first time as a Brewer. I think I just broke a sweat smiling.

Hope your own overly eager forecasts today roll all the way to the Series. Rock on.

"Happy Birthday America, from us bikers."

"Happy Birthday America, from us bikers."
Originally uploaded by emaggie

We had a fun Fourth in the 'hood. Some industrious neighbors got the kids on the block together for an impromptu parade. As you can see, Maya rode tall in the saddle. Hope your own fireworks were also homemade. Rock on.

A Hitch calls for a gettiup.

The stunner from today's media banquet is Christopher Hitchens' piece in the new issue of "Vanity Fair". And by stunner, I mean something that has been said a bazillion times but is still amazing to hear uttered by one of the most conservative defenders of the War on Terror and its tactics. The Hitch had himself waterboarded at the behest of his editor. Without irony, he broke like a candyglass mirror. His description of his conversion is chilling. I've always admired The Hitch's erudite style no matter how much I find his point of view to be utterly abhorrent. But since he now agrees in earnest with what I have always believed gives me limited hope for the debate over torture. Waterboarding is torture. If you think otherwise, you need to schedule a trip to North Carolina to test your theory.

Hope your own "simulated" torture is limited to watching anything remotely associated with "The Hills" today. Rock on.

Maya gets in the mood for her first ballet lesson with some low quality "Food Network" shwag

Maya gets in the mood for her first ballet lesson with some quality "Food Network" time.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Ballet lessons started this morning for Maya. She loves the outfit but was a bit shy about the whole show. Nonetheless, a few pics from the morning follow.

Oh, and the "Food Network" reference will be explained more fully later, for those that are interested. Hope your own cable networks have broad demographics. Rock on.

Maya sizes up her classmates and ponders if black is indeed the new black in tutus.

Maya sizes up her classmates and ponders if black is indeed the new black in tutus.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

"A room full of mirrors. Is this heaven?"

"A room full of mirrors. Is this heaven?"
Originally uploaded by emaggie

"Wah wah wee wah - I thought those shoes were disposable. Couldn't they add a heel or something to not confuse a kid?"

"Wah wah wee wah - I thought those shoes were disposable. Couldn't they add a heel or something to not confuse a kid?"
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Because you can't spell "Unity" without a big "Unit"

The indisputable lead story of the day - hell, maybe the month - was the Obama-Clinton lovefest in New Hampshire earlier today. It will certainly go down as the best stagecraft of this entire campaign. Thus far. Those Obama folks are on frickin' fire. McCain's campaign just ordered in pizza because, man, it's gonna be a long night. But, where credit is absolutely due, Hillary was unbelievably good today. She erased 16 months of vitriol in a half-hour of prideful asskissing. And Barack followed right up with his casual brilliance in returning said asskissing. So here's my theory, not that it's gonna surprise most people. There's absolutely no way she'll be picked as his running mate. Sure, every baby-faced pundit is ready to start dropping fake old school rap about "chemistry" and "the crowd's reaction" and maybe even "lack of sexual awkwardness". But what I read from the whole show boils down to one thing - Hillary's out. She's got bigger issues to address and she knows it. Like an $11.4M overdraft in her joint account. And her off-the-reservation Hubbie who's conveniently in Europe while this whole Unity deal goes down. And the prospects of by not being the most magnanimous loser since Al Gore she'll get sent back to the Senate without the slightest chance of leapfrogging the 28 other Senators in her Party that have more seniority. No, Hillary's out. With class. Kudos to her for the fiesty, brainy, humanish way she did it. That chick's got a huge brass pair.

Hope your own inappropriate sexist postings are especially long and hard-hitting today. Rock on.

George - this fondly offered "woolybooger!" is for you

Our Nation lost another hero of mine over the weekend. George Carlin died of a heart attack. When I saw the first report this morning, I uttered almost his entire brilliant list of "Seven Words You Can Never Say on Television" ("tits doesn't even belong on the list"). I still remember discovering and then endlessly listening to his comedy albums on high school bus trips for various activities. Especially when my punkrock friend Crito and I dominated the far back seat and got to choose what would play on the one allowed boombox for really only the cool kids within limited range to hear. I also remember once getting said boombox confiscated by one of the ubiquitous overly-churchy bus drivers and feeling as Constitutionally attacked as any fan of Carlin's hard-core wisdom ever felt. He was more accesible than Lenny Bruce, slightly less self-destructive than Richard Pryor, every bit as essential as both and even more on point when it came to censorship. I will miss him.

Hope your own classic comedy albums get dusted off today for the first time in years. Rock on.

Today's bonus rating - if "Mad Men" ain't on the A-List again this season, I'm totally voting for Goldwater

For a Friday, here's a few glancing blows.

Barack Obama isn't taking public financing. For those that find offense in this, consider the last time you filed your taxes and refused to donate the $3 to said public financing system. This issue is, thereby, less than moot.

Scott McClellan has been testifying this morning before the House Judiciary Committee about the Valerie Plame outing. Can't say I care, mainly because I've seen where this bread gets buttered from way back when. But the fact that he's out there has to piss off those loyal Bushies and that's worth something to the nation. So kudos, Scotty.

On Father's Day I caught a matinee - "The Happening". My rating - a pissy C-minus. Dumb concept, horrible marketing, just dumb dumb dumb crap that no one should feel obligated to see. Spoiler alert! There's no surprise ending. Consider yourself warned.

Hope your own weekend plans get you nowhere near a multiplex showing "The Love Guru" (I haven't seen it, but my rating is a D-minus). Rock on.

If that Pantera shirt's not scoring you the chicks anymore...

First up - a big plug. A graphic designer in DC has put together a beautiful Tim Russert tribute.



Consider it a concert t-shirt for dorks. Or rather, dorks that care about politics instead of emo or Radiohead or (insert your own stupid migratory musical genre reference here). After seeing a quick blurb this morning I ordered one. The proceeds go to Tim's favorite charity in DC - the Boys and Girls Club, as mentioned on Sunday's "Meet the Press" tribute during the end titles.

Closer to the home front, we fondly said goodbye to Maya's visiting friend, Penelope, yesterday morning as she and her mom, Alix, prepped for the flight back to Boston. It was a rare Seattle weekend, especially for this year - sunny in June. That window of summery bliss, however, disappeared this morning under a low slung hammock of drizzle and temps in the 50s. We're glad to have had our summer while it lasted. Hope your own sandbags and/or air-conditioners are getting little use today. Rock on.

A legend lost

Tim Russert was a hero of mine. I loved his style (frumpy, old-school, appropriately dickish, willing to ask the toughie). I remember reading a magazine profile in, I'm pretty sure, "Esquire" while I was still in college. It detailed his ascendance. But moreso, his loving courtship of his wife that to this day sticks in my mind as a display of the ultimate newsy nerd (they read the NYTimes Sunday paper together after a date before ever getting close to sleeping together). I will honestly miss him. I'm so sad he wasn't able to see this election cycle play out. My best to his family.

"Not to mention that Barack would never know how to split one of those Bloomberg Onions."

Three quick swings. Maya's doing great - thriving, learning small engine repair, saving small spiders whenever her Mom freaks out at their presence. But a comment from yesterday must be preserved. Maya loves the FoodNetwork. LOVES it. Her standard line in the kitchen is "let's watch a cook" just before she gets up on the counter and messes with whatever sort of actual prep I've got underway. I try to then mute the commercials, partly because Maya always says "I want to watch another cook" and partly because I hate capitalism amidst food porn purism. Yet the point of the story was a small window of commercialism that Maya caught and the follow up. A GEICO commercial. Maya's reaction as I turned away from the cutting board - "I didn't know lizards could talk?" My reaction - "well, it's actually a gecko and if you helped Daddy more around the house, they might." This morning, Maya detailed the Volvo.

Worst political story of the day - Mark Penn (that horrendous bag of glop that had been Hillary's top strategist and solitary pollster) has given a must read interview to GQ. Must read if you must read every piece of crap out there trying to justify incredible hulking incompetence. Penn's main point - he wanted to attack Obama before it wasn't cool. Oh, and I think he also said that Katrina and vagina rhymed and should be used in a campaign song. That guy's BRILLIANT!

Turdly, nobody can doubt the import of the Supremes ruling today that Gitmo detainees can appeal via American civilian courts. Chief Justice Roberts has shown just what sort of jib he's got on under his robes (hint: worst lynching costume EVER). And Justice Kennedy continues to delicately parade his transformation (hint: we still have some laws on the books, right?). Fascinating scrum. I'd love to hang out with David Brooks at Applebee's and discuss it all over a working class plate of greens sometime soon.

Hope your own salad bar today is heavy on the bar, light on the salad. Rock on.

If ever there was a snarky academic that needed to get stranded in Gary, Indiana with a flat tire at 3am...

Two quickies today. Can't say that I'm ready to synopsize the same extended speech my wife's been hearing all week about why Hillary lost, but the 8-minute video that Slate Magazine produced today pretty much nails the timeline of the Dems march toward inevitability. Please watch.

And while there were years and years seemingly decades ago when I would quote Paul Krugman ad nauseum, his post-mortem column for Hillary today is the worst thing he's ever written. Smart guy. Great ability to subtly talk down to all of us morons when it comes to economics. Horseshite political analyst. Please take a vacation, Krug.

Hope your own campaigns are sailing along as if last week never happened. Rock on.

What better remedy for a missed flight exists than...a bouncy house.

What better remedy for a missed flight exists than...a bouncy house.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Our return from Santa Barbara got delayed by a day for Maya and me. Luckily, few places on the planet are more fun to spend an extra day in than this sleepy seaside burg. We hope y'all appreciate just a few shots from our time away. Rock on.

"Who knew my Mommy was part Wookie?"

"Who knew my Mommy was part Wookie?"
Originally uploaded by emaggie

A strut worthy of a "Sex and the City" premeire.

A strut worthy of a "Sex and the City" premeire.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Maya reconsiders the value of Santa Barbara's famous "Buried for the Summer" kids' beach course.

Maya reconsiders the value of Santa Barbara's famous "Buried for the Summer" kids' beach course.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

If this ain't a summery shot, I'll eat my camera.

If this ain't a summery shot, I'll eat my camera.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

"Holy moly. I think I see Bradgelina sunbathing topless."

"Holy moly. I think I see Bradgelina sunbathing topless."
Originally uploaded by emaggie

A Square Peg in roundly fun fashion.

Contrary to most reviews that I've thus far seen, I must weigh in on last night's premiere of "Sex and the City". My rating - a somewhat generous but honest B. The only thing more rare than a big movie from Hollywood that features women over 40 looking great and talking sweet is a big movie from Hollywood making frat guys look like tender-hearted, bookish individualists. Sure, this movie could have been made 4 years ago to equal and/or more lasting effect. Sure, the absurdity of the glamour heaped upon these characters is beyond comprehension. Sure, a cynical tone would be the standard response you might expect from me. But there was something in play that I didn't expect. Something like romance. If you want to escape this summer, it appears that big-time movies offer a few options. Aside from the witty gem that is "Iron Man" this movie is a great place to find silly solace for a few hours. People that weren't fans of the HBO series be warned - it's probably not for you. Awareness of the backstory is somewhat necessary. Regardless, I recommend y'all see it in the theatres if you're on the fence before the bloom comes off the rose.

Hope your own rules committee meetings deal primarily with who gets to bring guests to the pool today. Rock on.

Do you really want this woman answering that 3am phonecall?

Let's get a few things straight. Michigan and Florida suck. They broke the rules. Even Hillary said so not so many months ago when she'd self-determined she couldn't be beat. Florida's election commission was unduly influenced by Governor Charlie Crist (a much-rumored John McCain Veep pick). Everyone aside from Hillary took their name off the Michigan ballot in protest of their cynical move to change the Dems' primaries process. Yet tomorrow we're all about to be beat about the face and ears with every imaginable argument from the Clinton camp that everything's changed now that she's losing by an everstill insurmountable margin. How is Obama dealing with this crap? He's talking foreign policy hypotheticals toe-to-toe with McCain. How's Hillary dealing? By getting blotto on her campaign plane with a much drunker bunch of cynics in the press section. I will reserve judgment until tomorrow, but I expect we'll all be appalled by how her supporters act in DC tomorrow. I'll be tuned in to C-SPAN. So you don't have to. Get outside and play.

Speaking of playing outside - NEWSFLASH! Golf is fun. I won't say that I'm refuting decades of prior denouncements. But after a few expected groaning mulligan holes yesterday, I actually settled in and got my game on while having some serious fun with our friend, Sameer. He won by a wide margin. Still, if we'd decided to play 72 holes instead of just 9, I'm pretty sure that I'd have instead won the beer I gratefully bought him. Tip to fickle fellow lovers of the links - keep your head down. Oh, and imagine Karl Rove bending over whenever you tee off.

Hope your own par scores today take into account every single swing, even if only imagined or unintended. Rock on.

Up next - Colin Powell tells us all that the vial of anthrax was from Dubya's private "forgotten" stock from those wild days

Santa Barbara is so gorgeous that I'm even slated to go play golf this afternoon. For those keeping score at home, this will be my first official outing on the links since just before my wedding. So I'm due for a killer round. Define that however you'd like. Regardless, I'm looking forward to describing my efforts soon for y'all.

While we're loving the vacation atmosphere and catching up with friends and family, DC is warming its cockles over the burning phraseologies lit by Scott McClellan's new book. Like every other pundit and unemployed Bushie, I've got an uninformed opinion to offer. Here goes - SO? Dubya's reputation is set in stone. A soggy self-cleansing weepy like McClellan's won't change a single damn thing. If this changes one single uninformed opinion of this Administration's tenure, I'll eat a Chicago Cubs hat. But, if as I expect, no one will benefit from this aside from McClellan in terms of book sales, Tucker Carlson and Karl Rove must eat a Milwaukee Brewers hat. On camera. Wearing a diaper. So the challenge is out there. Do with it what you will.

As we always love to do on vacation while ample babysitting options abound for Maya, Sarah and I have seen a few movies. Two quick reviews. "Indiana Jones and the Overwrought Pseudo-mystical Bank of Crap Metaphors" - a despicable D rating. Worst movie of the summer. It pains me to say that because I fondly remember seeing the first Indy movie in Ann Arbor with my aunt during a junior high summer and falling in love with the spectacle of this form of event movie. George Lucas is obviously insane. Again. Harrison Ford looks amazing. But if I was asked to pay to see a two-hour pilates class, I fear it might have been more compelling than this mess. Avoid it, if possible. Secondly, as we await opening night for "Sex and the City" (yes, I bought advance tickets for Sarah and me) we played catch-up by seeing "Forgetting Sarah Marshall". My rating - a fun B-minus. Definite rental quality. Better yet, hit the dollar theatres that it's surely bound for in the next month. Jason Segal is sweet, Mila Kundis is surprisingly good for anyone that struggled through the weekly torture that was "That 70s Show", the Judd Apatow cast of hilarious misfits is on its game as always. Silly fun should always be this silly.

Hope your own tee times don't require anything more than a shirt and shoes in the bag today. Rock on.

Santa Barbara beach time. Sorry that I didn't capture a shot of Sarah buried up to her neck.

Santa Barbara beach time. Sorry that I didn't capture a shot of Sarah buried up to her neck.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

We're in SB for a week, surrounded by family and fun. Expect more pics. But for the time being, here's a taste. Rock on.

"Does somebody here own a cat?"

"Does somebody here own a cat?"
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Maya and Momoo saying goodnight on our first night in Santa Barbara.

Maya and Momoo saying goodnight on our first night in Santa Barbara.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Buh-bye.

We're heading out of town for a roundly anticipated week away. Hillary Clinton's headed out of the Race, given the single stupidiest self-delusion in the history of modern politics. As if she's Hubert Humphrey after her expected upcoming assassination of Barack Obama as the reincarnation of Robert F. Kennedy. I've said it before. I'll probably not stop saying it. This woman knows no shame when it comes to the trench warfare that she - and she along with her ilk - define as fair game politics. I believe people will turn the corner on this tag.

Hope your own Memorial Day weekend ceremonies are half as well-attended as my hometown's (due props out to the Town of Hill cemetary). Rock on.

"It's the economy, stupid. Oh, and how you spend a few hundred million dollars that people gave you."

Last night's Primaries were a disgrace. A penultimate dry hump. No one was satisfied. Yet everyone's looking forward to the next date, working on their lines and hoping for a real dam breaker. But since I'd prefer to end the metaphor above all, here's my most recent take on it all. It's over. It was over a month ago, but Obama's too much of a gentleman to tell Hillary to take a seat off the stage. What do we have coming up at the Rules Committee meeting for the Dems on May 31st when they'll decide what to do with Florida and Michigan? A televised mass suicide. I'm not saying this because I've been an Obama supporter since before he entered the race or as a Clinton fan from my early 20s. I'm saying this as someone who listens to the rules as they were set before the tip-off. Please, PLEASE - let's not forget the karmic damage done to this nation via Bush v. Gore in late '00. If the Clinton camp believes they can win the nomination via rhetorical and legal manuevering, they should be ashamed of themselves. If Hillary steals the nomination, I will not only leave the Party. I'll steal some coats and wallets on my way out.

But the real story today is the money. It's a tangle to decipher, given the difference between primary and general election funds and debt versus cash on hand. CBS News has the best breakdown today, after a few other outlets (the LA Times, most notably) blew the accounting. Bottom line - Hillary's mired in massive debt ($20M) while Obama's got money in the bank ($37M) for a few months of unimpeded spending before the General funds start flipping after the Convention. The biggest surprise is how much better McCain did last month ($22M on hand). Who's most electable? Screw that straw horse argument. Recent campaigns have proven that cash wins. Using that cynical metric, Hillary's screwed.

Hope your own bottom line has enough room for a jet-ski purchase today. Rock on.

So what CAN this dope actually still do?

Dubya's galavanting through the Middle East, lobbing shots at Obama and seemingly working off the hangover from Jenna's wedding. And then today he got together with the Saudis to "encourage" them to raise oil production. Only problem - the Saudis don't listen to the Bushies anymore. As much as I think people should fixate on Dubya's horrible "Nazi appeasement" speech to the Knesset, this one's gonna resonate. In effect, gas prices are going through the roof, the allies we've spent hundreds of billions to cultivate couldn't care less, and nothing our current Prezidunt says can do anything to mitigate those facts. I don't watch oil futures on the commidities exchanges. But if I did, I'd do whatever one does to say I'm done with this whole oil thingie. It's like backpacking through Europe this summer with a handful of dollars. Poor planning.

Two quick mini-reviews. The new album from the moment's indie darling, Bon Iver, is spectacular. My brother, Jake, and one of my favorite friends of all time, Jug, both recommended him to me in April when I was back in Minneapolis. Think of a sweeter sounding, slightly-less suicidal Elliott Smith. Just beautiful music. Recorded at a cabin in Northwestern Wisconsin. Seriously. My rating - an A-minus. Too few tracks for an A-rating. Secondly on the opposite end of the spectrum, I must admit that I am a closet Kid Rock fan. If I could pick any show to sneak into this summer, it would be Kid Rock's current tour. Gimme a few 40s and a pair of mirrored aviator glasses and I'd be a pig in whatever pig's dig. Guilty pleasures sometimes are the most hilarious and authentic.

Hope your own gas tank is filled with daisies today. Rock on.

"And what's your all-time favorite Gus Van Sant movie?"

If the weatherhandicappers are to be believed, Seattle's about to heat up considerably. Highs near 90 Friday and Saturday. Today's still overcast with hopes for the 60s. I can't say that I'm looking forward to the heat. But after an especially chilly late Spring, we're certainly overdue for a hint of global warming.

Wait a minute...I'm leading with the weather? Well, it's still more interesting than dissecting West Virginia's Primary. Or the lead up to Oregon and Kentucky next Tuesday. The campaign has become so cam-painful that I'm just plain tapped out. For example, a Portland alt weekly (Willamette Week) used the opportunity to interview Barack Obama to ask what sort of tattoo he would get. He tried to respond with wit ("If a gun was put to my head?"). The interviewer persisted. Obama offered that he'd have Michelle's name "put somewhere discreet." How much you willing to bet that Hillary won't get that same question. She's more of a piercing fan, anyways. But please, America - make it stop.

Hope your own endless torture session at least features a moment of levity today. Rock on.

Losing Feith

Seeing Douglas Feith interviewed on last night's "Daily Show" was amazing on so many levels. First of all, Feith is an epic tool. That much has been obvious for years. Yet to think he would agree to be fleeced in public by such a superior mind is the best indication of his poor judgment. To hear him stumblin' bumblin' through his new book's justifications was utterly without grace. Jon Stewart outdid himself and was surely better prepped for this than any recent interview. They've posted the extended version online, and it is the essential version for anyone - either pro or con - looking to understand the thinking of the neocons with regard to the Iraq War. I will certainly never buy the book. Just like I'll never buy Rumsfeld's. I won't even steal a copy. But to hear Feith in this case synopsize, twist and dangle...well, that's just great insight. If you have 22 minutes, please check it out. And as a bonus - the ending comment from Jon about how Feith's book "makes for sloooow reading" was the best rip I've heard in ages.



West Virginia votes today. Yawn. Expect a huge Clinton rally tonight. She'll claim the "Joe-mentum" once again. Maybe even raise a half-million bucks online tonight, which she'll laud as the greatest validation of her candidacy to date. West Virginia. The future of our nation hangs in the balance and we're going to be bludgeoned for the next handful of news cycles about how a few hundred thousand voters and 28 delegates will unsettle this already settled race. Wake me up when it's over.

Hope your own book tour takes you primarily to shows like "Wake Up, Peoria!" today. Rock on.

Yours truly, riding the short horse through Jackson Square.

Yours truly, riding the short horse through Jackson Square.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Sarah snapped this shot before dinner in the French Quarter Tuesday evening. What follows are a few other choice shots from our visit to New Orleans.

My favorite ramshackle, classical, converted New Orleans mansion. Now an unintendedly ironic statement on the state of New Orleans architecture

My favorite ramshackle, classical, converted New Orleans mansion. Now a complete, ironic piece of architectural crap.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Located at the corner of Bourbon and Esplanade on the East edge of the French Quarter. Close to the coolest local bar in the area (Port of Call). I expect it almost entirely split into small apartments. But I couldn't love the gothic look of this building more even if Anne Rice made it the unembodied subject of a vampire novel.

The tradition of the JazzFest Indians. I don't know much about it. But it's cool no matter how you frame the tradition of the display.

The tradition of the JazzFest Indians. I don't know much about it. But when they march by, everyone pays attention.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Anyone who knows New Orleans knows the Indians. I won't claim to understand the traditions of the Indians. But they are astonishingly beloved and always sought out doing the circuit around the Jazz Fest fairgrounds. Like everyone else that attends, I took a few pics of my faves. Hope you enjoy seeing them second-hand half-as-much as I did on Sunday. Rock on.

A strong Indian, in full pose.

A strong Indian, in full pose.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Marching to a powerful, communal beat.

Marching to a powerful, communal beat.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

A proud young Indian.

A proud young Indian.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Hangin' with James and Mary, while respecting their privacy. Until now, of course.

My second day of Habitat for Humanity was cancelled without much of a reason, which is something of a bummer. But even more of a bummer is just how things look in those areas most brutalized by Katrina. We rented a car for a day starting yesterday afternoon and drove around the Ninth Ward leading up to those famous failed levees on Lake Pontchartrain. Some areas look to be heavily rehabilitated. Others are filled with house after house of windowless, tattered shells of former homes. I drove around some more this morning and noticed dozens of now equally-worn FEMA trailers parked beside houses that are obviously under varying degrees of repair. Most noticable to me, however, is how the grasses and trees have essentially grown back fully, often lending a feeling of marsh land to certain neighborhoods. If you didn't venture out of the French Quarter or Central City it would be hard to imagine that life had not returned to normal. In short, I'm glad to have taken a bit of time to see just how much of a dichotomy that is when you compare it with life in the flood zones. I can do it no justice through description and, sadly, I didn't do much to help this week as it turned out. But a little bit of education goes a long way.

On a much brighter note, Sarah and I splurged on a classic New Orleans restaurant last night. K-Paul's Lousiana Kitchen in the French Quarter, owned by Chef Paul Prudhomme (a dead ringer for Dom Deluise of the "Cannonball Run" era). The food was very good, even though we're convinced yet again that even the exceptional versions of this style of cuisine ain't exactly our fave. But midway through our delightful meal, we got a surprise celeb sighting that added a star to the rating. James Carville, Mary Matalin and their kids sat down at the table next to us. For me, it was like seeing Miley Cyrus plop down next to me in the high school cafeteria. But Sarah - as a credit to her infinite wisdom - convinced me to not approach them and just let them have their family time. After a while, two pharmaceutical reps from a large table across the room approached and asked to have a picture taken with a make-up-less Mary. She declined. Graciously. I got to overhear James order a "double order of gumbo". I gained new respect for them given that it was a big Primary night and they chose to skip watching the results and have a meal with their kids. I didn't even see one check of a Blackberry or the like, even as we lingered over dessert. Maybe James saw what was coming for Hillary and just wanted to escape. Regardless, we finished our meal and walked around the French Quarter. Sarah swore that she saw James checking me out. That was reward enough. My rating for the restaurant - a solid B. With a gold star for the company (wink, wink).

After that, we headed to "Iron Man" with a friend who grew up here and moved back from Austin a year ago. The same friend (Peter) who the night prior brought us to Cooter Brown's for super po'boys and Dos Jeffes for cigars (don't ask). My ratings - Cooter Brown's (B-plus), Dos Jeffes Cigar Bar (B-plus), "Iron Man" (A-minus). Good times in all three cases. In the case of "Iron Man", Robert Downey Jr. is having more fun than anyone on the planet at the moment. The movie is perfect blockbuster fare, satisfying in every way. The design is pitch-perfect and really fun to watch. I couldn't imagine a better way to start the summer movie onslaught. See it.

Hope your own trips back home today feature an extra seat and double bags of almonds. Rock on.

The burn's not nearly bad enough to keep me from typing a good review.

Like most of New Orleans, I spent yesterday at JazzFest. The day was absolutely perfect - near 80 degrees, humidity unusually low around 60%, not a cloud in a true blue sky. One day tickets run way spendy - $50 at the door. But it couldn't have been better timed for the last day of the Fest to enjoy such delightful aesthetics. I saw a few great acts (The Raconteurs surprised me by rocking wholly without pretense, the Mahalia Jackson tribute was powerful and touching especially when Irma Thomas was on the stage, everyone is still raving about the varied and extended gatherings of Nevilles and Santanas). The food and beer were great. Walking around today you can see all degrees of sunburn. Thankfully only my forearms took a hit. I won't say that I'd come back just for JazzFest. But after a day like yesterday, I might think about it.

From the campaign trail I see nothing but overstated understatements. Obama on "Meet the Press" yesterday was lackluster, Hillary on "This Week" was equally uninteresting. They're just tired. And we're just tired of them. Yet I'll offer one small volley toward Hillary's minions - this mailer from Hillary sent to folks in Indiana and North Carolina is meant to attack Obama's stance on guns.

Only problem is that the photo on the mailer is doctored (reversing a 60s-era German-made Mauser to make it appear that it is a left-handed gun). Small point, maybe. But not only does that "sportsman's gun" not exist, if it did it would go for over two-grand. Or as I prefer to think of it - at least one individual tax rebate check ($600) plus a tax holiday benefit where you'd need to buy 7609 gallons of gas between Memorial Day and Labor Day (saving $.184/gallon). Snark snark. You're welcome.

Hope your own sunburns comes with good memories today. Rock on.

Baby steps into Bywater

With much preview notice and little actual information, today was my first scheduled day to do something with Habitat for Humanity here in New Orleans. Jimmy Carter's coming in a week for the start of one of those marquee events when everyone wields at the very least a hammer, if not tremendous self-satisfaction. But for me? Work in an out of the way warehouse, teamed with two other out-of-towners, a three-legged-dog and a single employee that wanted nothing more than to shut up shop and head to JazzFest ("Steel Pulse plays at 3, and I'm so out of here before then.") Not to mention that a true thunderstorm front bore down on the City starting around an hour before our designated "start time" for "work". I'd planned to walk there. I decided to take a cab to expand my carbon footprint while avoiding an accidental drowning. My friendly cabbie asked lots of questions, all with a disbelieving tone seemingly meant to echo a belief that I was either lost or should be questioned further for heading to said address. I finally convinced him that I had the right address, which as it turns out lies in an interesting arty neighborhood known locally as Bywater. Bywater is actually in the Ninth Ward, but it didn't suffer much flooding at all during the post-Katrina period (or "post-K", as I've seen it termed here in the Times-Picayune - a great paper, by the way). The warehouse was a well-organized tangle of stuff torn out and donated by builders to Habitat for Humanity. So well-organized, as a matter of fact, that there was nothing for us to do. Except talk for a while about what it's like to be on the opposite end of the PR spectrum from the Musician's Village, or Bradgelina, or anything dealing with new showcase construction projects. What you have in the ReStore is a place for people to get greatly reduced prices on generally good but somewhat ramshackle items. Some cherries were in the mix - the employee pointed out a brand-new kitchen stove that "some a**hole" donated that was nicer than our own back in Seattle. McMansion upgrade, we mutually surmised. But all snark aside, it was mainly an operation that amazingly facilitates building supplies needed at a cut-rate for those that couldn't otherwise afford a renovation.

There was nothing for me to do. I thought about taking the three legged dog out for a skip around the block. But not even Tripod (not his real name) wanted to venture into the rain. One couple eventually came and walked around the aisles of windows, screens, doors, cabinets, tiles and random crap. They thanked us and left. Pretty soon I ran for coffee and a cinamon roll on a drive-by recommendation from my cabbie for a great neighborhood bakery at the corner of Spain and Chartres Streets. The crowd in the cafe was decidedly arty. And conversant. White. But, hell, even Jeremiah Wright would have felt at home given the energy in the room. I read some of the local paper. Including the Saturday Real Estate section that features an absolutely astonishing extended listing of transactions they call "Transfers". Broken down by Districts of the City and bordering Parishes, you can see how many homes were bought by whom and for how much. It wouldn't have caught my eye were it not for the prices. $50K was about the norm. A few over $100K. Many around $30K. For homes in a metropolitan area. I don't know enough about it (yet) to judge. But there's a story there that I'd not heard of previously. An exodus. And not a happy or chosen one by hundreds of families, just this week alone.

After a healthy linger, I took my cinamon roll and walked back through the French Quarter toward our hotel in the Warehouse District. I didn't return to ReStore, which is just as well. I was an out-of-towner looking to cleanse my soul in some way. And that doesn't fly when there's JazzFest to get to. Even I can understand that aspect of the local mentality. As I approached the French Quarter, tourists decked out in garbage bag-quality rain slickers festooned with French Quarter street signs began to appear with alarming regularity. I can only imagine how many of those plastic sheets will end up in Louisiana's landfills now that the late afternoon has turned sunny and the forecast is for a number of consecutive days of summery weather. On a different note, I've decided to rent a car one day and drive out to the neighborhoods I know I need to see. Then I've got another Habitat for Humanity volunteer day on Wednesday. JazzFest ends tomorrow, which I hope to attend. Please check back for more observations. Or don't. No worries.

Hope your own days brighten as considerably as the afternoon here has today. Rock on.

Hangin' with Tommy Lee. For a few seconds. Before the Sheriff's Department shoved a beignet in my mouth and put me on a streetcar.

My first impression of New Orleans after arriving this morning is that we ain't seen nothing yet. It's Jazz Fest, which means the city is awash in hipster tourists and alcoholics wandering around the City spilling all over the rarely sighted locals. The areas of the City in lingering disarray are far from the hotel we're staying in and the French Quarter where I've been wandering for a while. I expect I'll see something worth commenting on tomorrow when I head to a first day of volunteer work with Habitat for Humanity. But I do have one scene report. Imagine Jackson Square where Dubya delivered his infamous speech a week after Katrina made landfall. Kitty korner to Cafe Du Monde - the famously necessary visit for any out-of-towner looking for beignets and horrible chickory-flavored coffee. And just across Decatur Street toward the Mighty Mississip in the elevated park with the cannon statue...Tommy Lee from Motley Crue and various sex tapes fame filming something for yet another lame reality show. This time it's about the environment, kids! If ever there was a signal that the ironic debauchery was back home in N'awlins, I think I've just seen it being staged. Personally, I'd prefer to see a thousand frat guys throwing up on each other just a few blocks away along Bourbon Street and then gathering forces to add it all to a compost bin for disadvantaged gardens.

Hope your own fests are equally jazzy today. Rock on.

Beignets, Jazz Fest and tool belts

We're heading on the road again tonight aboard an insane red-eye flight that will eventually get us to New Orleans tomorrow morning. Another work gig for Sarah. I'm going to drive some nails for Habitat for Humanity and check out what the devastation looks like as we approach the third anniversary of Katrina. Expect a bundle of pics and hopefully a few insights. Maya's staying back here in GrungeCity. At a kennel. She's such a trooper.

Hope your own May Day Parade has columns upon columns of hybrid Hummers today. Rock on.

"And joining me on the accordian, a topless Miley Cyrus!"

After an extreme Passover Break for Maya's daycare (TWO WEEKS!), we're back in the regular groove as of yesterday. So I'll catch up with y'all by offering a few quickies.

We saw Dan Zanes and Friends over the weekend perform at the Moore Theatre downtown. Maya's been excited for months to soak in a live show yet again. But once we got inside, she wasn't able to deal with the noise and essentially forced Sarah to do laps around various corridors until the show ended. Which gave me some time for a few observations. In no particular order.
1. White women still continue to dance considerably better than white men, even after childbirth.
2. Aging male musicians cannot not surround themselves with increasingly younger, hotter female bandmates, no matter the genre.
3. The soundman for Dan Zanes and Friends should be sacked immediately for gross negligence (even kids can tell you generally how to mike a tap dancer or guest vocalist with a set of bongos).
4. If 3/4ths of the African Americans at the show are on-stage, and the other one is sitting across the aisle from you - you're not exactly seeing a cross-over act.
5. Concert t-shirts are cool. Dood.

On an entirely different level, I'd be remiss if I didn't pile on the Reverend Jeremiah Wright media tour of the last few days. What. A. Trainwreck. If Barack Obama had done what everyone expected and thrown Wright under the bus many many weeks ago, it would have been ugly. Instead, Obama gave what I still believe to be his greatest speech in choosing not to do so. But then the media poked and prodded this obviously egomaniacal Pastor like a caged tiger ad hominem. The result? Ladies and Gentlemen - meet this election's Willie Horton. I watched the Bill Moyers interview and went to bed thinking Rev. Wright was trying to be dignified and still help out one of his past parishioners. Then I saw the NAACP speech. Then the DC Press Club speech. Oy vey. So I must now say that I was wrong. Throw this baggage under the bus. If Obama can't bring himself to do so, he'll end up carrying this distraction around for months and months.

Hope your own baggage is surprisingly light today. Rock on.

The business end of a bowling alley. Or, actually, the non-business end.

The business end of a bowling alley. Or, actually, the non-business end.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Sunset Bowl in Ballard recently shut up shop and sold the property for $13Million. High-price condos will soon replace this beloved Seattle relic. Yesterday was the auction of all the balls and pins and detritus. I took my dad, who was visiting from Wisconsin. It was my first auction. His many hundredth. It was astonishingly insightful to walk around the back of the alleys and see what a mechanical operation a big alley represents. What follows are a few faves from a bevvy of pics.

A pin polisher, a urinal and a water heater. Sadly, only the urinal wasn't listed in the catalog.

A pin polisher, a urinal and a water heater. Sadly, only the urinal wasn't up for auction.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

If you're looking for fancy furnishings, I expect the back of an ancient bowling alley is the last place to start.

Taking pictures of people taking pictures - a personal favorite irony.

Taking pictures of people taking pictures - a personal favorite irony.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

I often irritate my wife/family/countless mistresses by taking pics of people taking pics. But in this case, this meta moment has a doppleganger out there in the Seattle mainstream media. Enjoy.

Maya and Grandpa check out the piggy bank in the Market.

Maya and Grandpa check out the piggy bank in the Market.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

I'm catching up on well over a week's worth of pics. Family in town, crazy Seattle weather, blah blah blah. Hope you have loads of shots in the can today. Rock on.

Donuts from the Daily Dozen in the Pike Street Market - you don't need to be a tourist to dig it.

Donuts from the Daily Dozen in the Pike Street Market - you don't need to be a tourist to dig it.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

"Snow! Global warming? Confusion?! Fun."

"Snow! Global warming? Confusion?! Fun."
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Maya checked out what was a wholly crazy late Spring snow cycle for Seattle. It melted. Oh, but the memories...

"Nixon rode on this thing? What a piece of crap."

"Nixon rode on this thing? What a piece of crap."
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Maya vamps in the Museum of Flight on an open display platform. I didn't get a shot of the security guards beating us into submission thereafter.

Maya vamps in the Museum of Flight on an open display platform. I didn't get a shot of the security guards beating us into submission thereafter.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Playtime snacktime with Marine, Maya's favorite school chum.

Playtime snacktime with Marine, Maya's favorite school chum.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Elephant. It's what's for dinner.

Elephant. It's what's for dinner.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

"Happy Thirtysomethingth, Mommy!"

"Happy Thirtysomethingth, Mommy!"
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Cake baking for Sarah's birthday

Cake baking for Sarah's birthday
Originally uploaded by emaggie

"The next question is a two-parter - when did you stop beating your wife AND do you think doing cocaine helped you understand your family better?"

Like most observers, I was appalled after last night's Dems debate. Obama got punked constantly, stumbling occasionally along the way. Hillary was willing to say anything, as usual. Charlie Gibson is officially now a swear word around my house. George Stephanopoulos still is. And the result? Bupkis. Big ratings, no real results. Yawn. With a sneer.

So I'm not about to focus on this whole showdown for the next few days. Sort of. Which should be easy since my parents are coming to town from Wisconsin. Please check back for some fresh pics as they get re-acquainted with Maya.

Hope your own debate analysis deals primarily with podium height today. Rock on.

Grey day, great view of downtown Minneapolis from the Walker Art Center

Grey day, great view from the Walker Art Center's tower of downtown Minneapolis.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

I hadn't visited the Walker in years and years. It's even more vital than ever. If you ever go to the Twin Cities, don't miss it. I'm glad I didn't this time out.

A totally cherry view of the downtown Minneapple from the Sculpture Garden

A totally cherry view of the downtown Minneapple from the Sculpturre Garden.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

The Rush to the ballot booth?

Without my usual prior notice to anyone checking in, we're on the road again. My apologies to the NSA for not calling. This time we're doing another couple days of work thingie for Sarah in Minnysoda. Downtown Minneapolis, to be specific. Although I was enjoyably forced to take the bus way up to Roseville this morning to get another waterproof layer at the local REI which is oddly placed in the industrial-ish hinterlands. Now I'm taking a late lunch break at ancient yet unchanged Big 10 Subs near my undergrad college campus. I think I still have a few of these greasy things stuck in my colon from the early 90s. At least this time it will be a half turkey, no mayo.

Two quickie campaign stories - USAToday does some early legwork on the surprising spike in new voter registration in the remaining Democratic Primary states. My bet? A whole bunch of Rush Limbaugh-inspired switch-overs looking to unscrupulously vote for Hillary. It ain't over folks. Well - it's actually over. Yet certain overanalyzed misdirection still lies before us. Ah, democracy. Love it or leave it.

Also, Dubya appears to be prepping to add to Mark Penn and Hillary's woes on the subject of an utterly unimportant Columbian free trade agreement. Just imagine if Bush the Elder had introduced a Columbian trade deal during his struggles to define his own still unresolved endless struggle (War on Drugs, anyone)? Dubya really has been a prick of a son. Certainly less than he has been a sonofaprick. But I digress - Mark Penn got bounced from Hillary's campaign for meeting just LAST WEEK with the Columbians. I envision him doing so at Tony Montana's disco in "Scarface" with a hooker on his lap and an aide that looks amazingly like Robert Loggia taking notes in a pile of cocaine on the glass table before them. Well, now it appears that Dubya's going to try to force Congress to vote within 90 days on his proposed deal. McCain supports, Obama doesn't, Hillary doesn't, Mark Penn makes it one of those tabloid dealiebobbers, doncha know. As I said, what a prick of a son.

Time to head onto other things. Hope your own college reunion tours today feature more foie gras, less wilted lettuce. Rock on.

When geldings attack...

Everyone's going to pile on Bill Clinton's latest not-so-private outburst, so I must join the scrum early on. According to the political columnists for the San Francisco Comical (Matier and Ross - the primary reason I occasionally got that paper when we lived there), Bubba went off amidst a gathering of superdelegates after someone cornered him on James Carville's "Judas" comment about Bill Richardson's endorsement. We've all been told for years that Bill's got quite the temper, temper. But this just sounds like Crazytown. Compare Bubba's flame with yesterday's very temperate WashingtonPost op-ed from none other than Bill Richardson. I'm sure we all can draw our own opinions, I'll nonetheless try to influence yours. So here goes.

Bill Clinton is utterly out of control. I can maybe excuse James Carville for sounding like a crazed wombat. He's a hired gun without a legitimate holster at the moment. But Bubba was Prezidunt. Even if yesterday's meeting in California wasn't as bad as what's reported, we all need to ask if we want this man anywhere near the Oval Office any longer. Don't misinterpret my motivations - I was until this campaign the biggest of big Clinton promoters/excusers. But an actual race for the hearts and minds of the Democratic Party has shown the Clintons to be worse than what their worst detractors claimed - outsized egos willing to say and burn down anything if it meant they could get seated back at the head table. It makes me sad to say/type this. But I have come to loathe Bill Clinton.

Hope your own admissions of personal change are limited to finally liking the look of your ass in the mirror today. Rock on.