Sometimes You Win, Sometimes you Lose, Sometimes, it Rains. Think About That...

Why am I channeling Nuke LaLouche today?  Because sometimes "mixed bag" pretty much sums up life.  Take my professional pursuits.  (Please?)  Yesterday, I had two work things in two separate cities (Philly and Balt'more).  Without going into ANY detail, the Philly thang went good, the Baltimore thang...not as much.  But, the train rides were all superb.  See?  Silver lining y'all!

I am taking this philosophy to my rooting interests today.  First to the very, very good.  The Red Sox have opened their wallets once again to acquire the services of one Carl Crawford.  The terms of the deal haven't been released fully as of this writing, but it's in the neighborhood of 7 years, 140 million.  Which is probably about right for this guy.  I could not be more excited about the 2011 Red Sox right now.  Well, truth be told, I actually COULD be a little more excited about their bullpen.  They need some help there.  But, all in all, everything else is looking pretty good for Boston come opening day.  Here's their projected batting lineup, according to...well, me:

1) Carl Crawford--LF
2) Dustin Pedroia--2B
3) Adrian Gonzalez--1B
4)Kevin Youkilis--3B
5) David Ortiz--DH
6) JD Drew--RF
7) Marco Scutaro--SS
8) Jason Varitek/Jerrod Saltalamacchia(sp?)--C
9) Jacoby Ellsbury, CF 

Solid.  Real.  Solid.  Should be a real good defensive club as well, did I mention that?  Up the middle, on the corners, you name it.  Can we start playing tomorrow?  Clear the snow off the infield, I'm ready to shell peanuts, inhale hotdogs and buy another "American League Champions" hat come October!  Eat it Yanks!  Eat it!

(C'mon...it's just a few flakes.  Who's got a snowblower?  GAME ON!)

(taking a deep breath...om....om...)

(NOTE TO WASHINGTON NATIONALS FRONT OFFICE: Carl Crawford is a 4 tool player who is as durable as it gets.  A guy who comes as close to being "Ricky Henderson" as anyone has since that great player's retirement. THIS IS THE GUY YOU BACK UP THE BRINKS TRUCK FOR AND GIVE A 7 YEAR DEAL TO.)

On the minus side of my sports obsessions, Newcastle United have signed Alan Pardew to be their manager.  You know, the guy that ALMOST got relegated while managing West Ham in 2006, with Javier Mascherano and Carlos Tevez in the lineup.  I'm pretty sure Newcastle doesn't have that kind of talent coming out of the locker room each week.  (Looking...)  Nope.  Not even close.  Jonas Gutierrez has got "Tevez 2006" like hair, but even that's a stretch:

                              (Yeah, I know--not really that close)

I'm too depressed to offer any kind of in depth analysis on this subject, except to add that I HATE.  HATE.  HATE what has happened this past week in NUFC-land.  The last time I remember feeling this way about any of the teams I root for was when the Bruins traded Joe Thornton for Marco Sturm and a bag of pucks in '05.  It took me all of three years to get over that.  I just hate rooting for the team that is obviously going in the wrong direction. 

So, in other words, Red Sox: I am REALLY looking forward to a season of watching you play with joy and verve and poetry this coming spring.  (Must. Stop. watching "Bull Durham" every time it's on.)

Welcome to the Semi-Monthly Sports Related Breakdown

So much to discuss, dear readers, so much to discuss.  I am like a kid in a candy store, if all the candy in the store was shaped like sporting equipment, and smelled like freshly mowed grass.  Or something.

First to baseball:  The hot stove has been...well...hot, what with my beloved Red Sox making a big move in the past week, by trading for Adrian Gonzalez.  Let me be the 1 millionth person to say that I LOVE this trade.  Love the fact that the Sox got it done in the off-season, instead of waiting for the trading deadline when the price would have certainly gone up. Love the fact that he fills the hole in the lineup left by Victor Martinez.  Love the fact that he plays gold glove caliber defense. Did the Sox give up value to get value?  Of course.  That kid Casey Kelly will be a star someday, especially pitching in that canyon of a ball park in San Diego, where home runs and doubles turn into long flyball outs.

Welcome to Boston, Adrian!  While you're here, feel free to take that outside pitch to left-center, you'll be glad you did. (AP Photo/Josh Reynolds)

Before I move on, I must comment on the Jayson Werth deal made by the local DC nine.  I believe the terms were 7 years, 126 million.  This deal prompted me to write an open letter to the Nationals--here's a quick reprint of said letter:

"Dear Nationals Front Office:

You just overspent for outfield help.  Not just by a little, mind you, but by a whole, whole lot.  Jayson Werth for 7 years?  Are you insane?  Jayson Werth is a good player, not a great player.  Sure, the Yankees or Red Sox would have paid him this much, but in NY or Boston he would only have been a piece of the puzzle, and not expected to be one of the two pillars that carries your entire offense.  And he wasn't getting 7 years anywhere, not even in the Mexican league.

This is why the rest of the GM's at the winter meetings cannot look you in the eye without smirking.  They are not, as they maintain, "thinking about something funny they saw earlier."  Nope.  

Oh, and I'm not sure you've heard, but he's injury prone.  Congratulations, you just signed the free agent class of 2010's version of J.D. Drew."

Sorry, i felt like I needed to get that off my chest.  Twice.

Now, to Soccer: Newcastle United have sacked their manager, Chris Hughton,  this week.  This is same guy that got us promoted into the Premier League last year with a record number of points, and who brought some much needed stability and dignity to a club that is regularly chided for their soap opera antics and irrational decision making.  Plus, the players in the dressing room LOVED playing for him. 

Look, all I wanted from the Toon this year was a quiet season of consolidation.  NUFC are newly promoted, after all.  I was looking for maybe 53 points this year, and a comfy 12th place finish (they currently sit 11th in the table).  But NO...Our fat, clueless, idiotic owner has to go rocking the boat.  Were there inconsistent, poor results this year? Sure.  But that's to be expected--the season is a marathon, not a sprint, and judging by the overall standings, it was plain to see by all except NUFC management that the club was trending upwards.  Twelve months ago, they were playing AWAY at Scunthorpe for God's sake!  This year, they've already beat Arsenal away and DESTROYED Sunderland.  Some perspective would be nice, is all I'm saying.  

The smart money is on Martin Jol to replace him--the former manager of Ajax, who quit his job in Holland six hours after Hughton was fired.  That seems too fishy to be coincedence.  Listen: Jol is a good manager, and I hope he gets the job.  But how much improvement is he expected to give to a club that ain't all that talented to begin with?  Maybe up to10th?  And is that worth throwing away 18 months of stability for?  I don't think so.

Until there is a change at the top, this kind of nonsense will continue, and I'll continue to have to take crap from all my EPL loving friends. Can anyone out there with 100 million laying around do me a solid and buy this team? Anyone?  (Note to self:  Make friends with more millionaires).

(One of these guys is the owner of Newcastle United Football Club.  No. Seriously.)

FIFA=IOC.

Listen, I'm not a conspiracy theorist kind of guy.  I tend to think that most things that people think are conspiracies are really just the result of gross incompetence meeting perfect timing.  The result looking like a tangled web of intrigue, when it's really, really not.

However, I must admit, even I was sure the fix was in during today's awarding of the 2018 and 2022 World Cup Bid Decision by FIFA.  You see, like the IOC, FIFA holds a competition for the privilege hosting the most watched sporting event in the world.  The winning host country, aside from earning the prestige of hosting such a wonderful tournament, also get the privilege of spending millions and millions and millions of dollars to host a one month competition.  (Dry Cough)  After which, most nation's need to figure out what to do with the three brand new stadia they have built for the competition.  (drier cough).  One COULD argue that it is a curse to host either the Olympics or the World Cup given the outlay of money that can never be recouped after the tent comes down, but maybe another time for that thread. 

Having said all that...today's decision regarding FIFA's awarding of the 2018 and 2022 world cups to...wait for it...Russia and Qatar? just smacks of payola and corruption.

Okay, I'll admit, selfishly I was hoping for Spain/Portugal 2018 and USA 2022, because it would give me TWO opportunities to see this competition in person. So maybe I'm bitter.  Scratch that.  I'm really bitter.

Listen, Russia.  We all know you bought this one.  England were the clear choice--they have the infrastructure, they have the stadiums, and they invented the damn game besides.  And Qatar, I can't even look at you.  You, a country the size of London, are going to host the World's competition over the USA, who has the infrastructure, the security, and the stadiums available to host the World Cup TOMORROW.  Never mind in 12 years.  My god FIFA.  I know you want the World Cup to be hosted in EVERY part of the world, and I applaud that, but it is clear to me that someone drove a truckload of money to FIFA's house in order to push both of these bids through.  I mean, why bother having finalists, if all FIFA is going to do is pick the most exotic location with the most resources available to pay off FIFA voters?

So, I guess this process is no different than the IOC circus.  So...fine then.  But won't anyone think about how this affects ME?  I, who will never know the joy and spectacle of this event taking place in the District?  Or of waking up at my sister's place in Lisbon in 2018 and heading down to the Alvalade to watch the USA hoist the World Cup...third place trophy?  (I'm a realist).

Damnit.

My Veins Now Contain More Gravy than Actual Blood--in a Good Way.

Happy Cyber Monday, all you cats and kittens! You'll have to excuse me if my usual babblings are especially incoherent this fine late November day--the Velogirl and I just completed an 1,867 mile roundtrip Tour de Turkey in a rented Mercury Mariner SUV.  Which, has to be said, is by FAR the nicest Mercury I have ever been in.  Or stood near.  Or heard about second hand.  In any less of an automobile, the trip may have left me a babbling, drooling, incoherent fool for an entire day after touching down in the District.  As it stands, I only drooled for 2-3 hours this morning, tops.  Way to go Ford Motor Company!

Here are some quick observations from this past "Weekend of Thanks":

• Chicago is COLD and beautiful.-- Like a diamond.  Or Superman's Fortress of Solitude.

• Two Dogs are More Fun than One --Watching the Wonderdog play with his cousin, I couldn't help but think how much fun it would be for him to have a brother.  Of course, I'd probably go insane from the sheer neediness.  But it would be fun for the first 10 days, I'm wagering.

•  Western Pennsylvania Sucks -- C'mon, we're all thinking it.  After sitting on the PA Turnpike in bumper to bumper traffic for close to 4.5 hours, I came to a decision:  Even if it adds an extra 17 hours, my next road trip to Michigan and points west will not take me anywhere near the PA state line.  Aside from the constant construction, shady rest stops and white knuckle truck congestion that makes every trip a living hell through that toilet of a region, I just don't want to give them any more toll money.  I feel dirty every time I cough up the $10.30, like I've just paid to watch "Deuce Bigelow" in an IMAX theater for the 29th time, when it would be easy to argue that once was more than enough.

• Thanksgiving Should Come Twice a Year, Minimum --  Duh.  This year, I got to eat TWO separate Thanksgiving meals, one on Thursday, and one on Friday.  I kinda want to make that a tradition going forward.  Seriously.  The excitement, the smell of turkey in the oven, the wonderful sides to choose from, the inevitable turkey coma afterwards--why only go through that once in a four-day period, when it's SO good?  Plus, it would give people a chance to add on some alternate sides on day two, or maybe even shake up the stuffing recipe.  I can tell you from personal experience that it works.

• Family, You Know? -- I am one lucky SOB, there's no doubt about that.  I like spending time with 99% of all family I am either: a) blood related to, or b) are now affiliated with due to prudent marriages.  (The one sticky wicket is my sister's cat, Lily.  We just can't seem to find common ground.)  To those people, and you know who you are, thanks.

NEW Feature: Places to Meet New Englanders Outside of New England

I know what you're saying: "Why would I want to actively seek out ANYONE from those 6 random states up in the Northeast part of the country?"  A fair question.  And, to be honest, I can't answer that for you.  Just think of this post as field guide.   You know, so that in case you find yourself at one of these places, you will be able to identify those dirty swamp yankees that have the audacity to try and pass themselves off as decent members of society in your own community. And contact the proper authorities if necessary. Much in the same way a birder uses Audubon's to tell a warbler from a sparrow:

(You can't tell me which one you're looking at, can you?  Betcha wish you had a field guide, huh?)

Today, we will highlight one location where New Englanders may be seen, as well as highlighting the distinguishing characteristics of a New Englander in said habitat.

Location: DUNKIN' DONUTS ("DD")

Best Time to View New Englanders: ANY TIME, DAY OR NIGHT, DRIVE-THRU or COUNTER.

Comments:  Nowhere outside of the actual region can so many New Englanders be viewed in an authentic New England habitat.  It is no secret that New Englanders love their coffee, but Dunkin' Donuts holds a special place in our hearts, and the nostalgia factor is off the charts. Much in the same way someone from SoCal would stop at an "In and Out Burger" in Montana, or someone from Chicago would dine at a "Hot Doug's" in Akron.  Plus the coffee is delicious.  It's not Bess Eaton delicious, but bankruptcy took that beloved institution from Southern New Englanders years ago...sigh.  Moving on...

Identifying Characteristics: One of the reasons that this is such a great place to meet New Englanders is that they feel so comfortable in this most familiar of surroundings.  This leads them to revert back to their roots in both style and mannerisms.  Plus, as the Velogirl has observed, nowhere outside of Dunn's Corners, RI can New England pieces of flair be worn in such a consequence free environment.  Here are some things to look for:

• Red Sox/Patriots Hats--It's a scientific fact known to all New Englanders that coffee tastes 35% better while wearing a Red Sox cap or a Patriots Touk.  In fact, it is not uncommon for both male and female New Englanders to have a hat that they ONLY wear while drinking coffee.
  
• Individuals holding a Large Dunkin' Donuts Coffee Cup--The rest of the country, when first confronted with the large coffee from DD, almost universally and immediately realized that a large (which comes in an approximately 85 oz. cup), is way too much coffee for one individual to safely consume.  However, New Englanders have long ago written off the rest of the country as a bunch of caffeine fearin' pussies, and this mentality is reflected in the fact that 99.8% of the large coffees sold by DD are sold to New Englanders and ex-pats. The other .2% are ordered as part of fraternity hazing rituals in the Southwest.

•  LL Bean Outerwear--New Englanders, if they had their druthers, would order everything from a catalog, including fresh vegetables and automobiles. This especially applies to clothing, where LL Bean is the official gear of late summer through early Spring for most of those folks I would call "true" New Englanders.  Lifetime guarantee to boot on all of their clothes, which appeals to yankees and their frugal puritan nature. Sure, there are some folks in Boston or SW Connecticut that dare to wear North Face outerwear, but these people are simply wannabe New Yorkers and, as a result, are worse than Mussolini.   Look for the telltale markings on the left chest area.

Happy Hunting!  Let me know how it goes.

City Life--Spanish Accordion Edition

What I'm about to say will officially make me the largest, hairiest, ugliest hypocrite in the history of people talking out of both sides of their mouths:  I HATE living next to people who are learning a musical instrument.  As TIACAICTG studios is located in one of those there DC row houses, this issue has finally raised it's ugly head with my neighbor: stage left.  He is teaching himself the Spanish accordion for a few hours each morning.  And I'm thinking about jamming toothpicks in my ears as a result.

What makes the Spanish accordion Spanish, you ask?  I would say, played properly, it sounds like THIS.  And it is featured in lots of latin american songs.  Truth be told, I have a soft spot in my heart for the accordion: It makes me think of polkas, which makes me think of dancing, which makes me think of prancing around a wedding reception dancefloor half-cocked, which makes me smile.

However, there is NOTHING more painful than listening to someone try to learn the goddamn accordion.  It's all wheezing and random clusters of notes.  It sounds like a Alban Berg mashup. (DAMN YOU 12 Tone Technique!) In fact, I have ranked the instruments you DON'T want your fledgling musician next door to ever try and learn.  The list looks like this:


INSTRUMENTS THAT SHOULD ONLY BE LEARNED WHILE SITTING IN A SOUNDPROOF, UNDERGROUND BUNKER 1500 FEET FROM THE NEAREST PERSON:

5) Guitar--I would say that the guitar CAN be learned peacefully without disturbing one's neighbors.  But Leo Fender screwed us all when he invented cheap, accessible electric guitars that your local 15 year old can pick up and play in his garage at all hours of the day/night.  The rule of thumb being, the worse you are, the LOUDER YOU WANT TO BE WHILE TRYING TO LEARN.  So crank it up and run through "Smoke on the Water" again why don't ya?

4) Piano--We all love the piano.  It is, in my opinion, the perfect instrument.  But not when some asshole is banging out "The Entertainer" for the 700th time, and (s)he only knows the beginning part, and (s)he keeps FUCKING it UP!  So, into the soundproof cave until you can play the Charlie Brown walking theme.  That is all.

3) Any brass instrument, including the trombone, tuba or trumpet--loud and boring all.  At least at first.  Plus, the trombone tends to be wildly out of tune, and a new tuba player usually just makes sounds reminiscent of a fat asthmatic after climbing a flight of stairs.  At least, while they're learning.

2) Drums--I know what you're thinking..."how can drums only be number 2?".  Well, it's true. Drums suck to live next door to, for sure.  But, your saving grace as a neighbor is this: the other people living inside that house with the drummer are in the same circle of hell you are, times 10.  This usually leads family members to quarantine the newbie fairly quickly. That's why all unused drum kits can always be found in the farthest reaches of basements, surrounded by walls covered with egg cartons and tapestries.  Scientific fact. 

1) Accordion--Just awful.  Sen.(ita) is playing right now as I write this.  I need to take an anti-anxiety med and go lay down.

And yes, just so you know, I'm completely aware that TWO of the instruments I learned to "play" in my boyhood home, with my entire family downstairs watching TV, are on this list.  I'm not entirely sure how anyone who I put through that hell (TWICE!) is still on speaking terms with me, to be honest.  But, no one ever complained.  Not even my sister, who, at least in those days, was annoyed by the mere mention of my name.  Never mind while enduring the musical abortion that was me trying to learn "Crazy Train".  Loudly.

So, thanks family.  You truly have the patience of saints.  Or, you jammed q-tips through the eardrum membrane in 1987 to preserve your sanity.  Either way, I really appreciate it.

Recipe Corner--Sardine Edition

I am ashamed to admit that I was once strongly anti-sardine, in both theory and in practice. Fish rolled up in a can? Eww! A kid's NIGHTMARE! Also, in many ways, I just assumed all wee fish tasted the same, and so I always compared them to those hairy, salty, good for nuthin' anchovies. Even though I had never actually, you know, EATEN one.

All that changed last April. I had what is commonly referred to by clever food enthusiasts as a "Green Eggs and Ham moment", where I was confronted by sardines on a plate while visiting my beloved sister in Portugal. Technically, they were not on my plate--the Velogirl had decided that sardines were a good lunch choice, and had ordered them for herself. As I watched her eat those 7 little fishies on her plate, I had the overwhelming urge to try one. Maybe I was simply channeling the pioneer spirit of Henry the Navigator, or the free kick ability of Ronaldo--we'll never know for sure. (actually, it probably wasn't the latter, come to think). As I nibbled around the edge of one, more as curiosity then expecting any kind of taste reward, an alarm went off on my palate. I distinctly remember this conversation between my tongue and lips:

TONGUE: "This tastes AWESOME! How have you not let me try this before, lips?"

LIPS: "Don't look at me, I just bite whatever the fork holds up to me. What have you got to say for yourself, FORK?"

FORK: "Eu não falo Inglês."

So, needless to say, the Velogirl went hungry that afternoon as I scarfed down her entire plate, then licked the plate clean, all while giggling madly. One of the best parts about being an American abroad is that the locals expect you to act like an animal, so plate licking doesn't even raise an eyebrow, I've found.

Since that day, I have prepared sardines on several more occasions. However, not until this weekend did I discover my favorite way to eat this most delicious of seafood. Brace yourself for the "Alton Brown Sardine and Avocado Sandwich". Apparently he lost like 50 pounds eating these for lunch everyday. So, good on him. But, you should eat them because they are EFFING AWESOME! Here's how to make one (Courtesy Alton Brown and Food Network):

Ingredients

• 2 (3.75-ounce 2-layer) tins brisling sardines in olive oil
• 2 tablespoons finely chopped parsley leaves, divided
• 1 tablespoon sherry vinegar
• 1/4 teaspoon lemon zest, reserve the lemon and cut into 4 wedges
• Freshly ground black pepper
• 4 (1/2-inch) thick slices crusty bread, such as sourdough, country loaf or rye
• 1 ripe Hass avocado
• Coarse sea salt

Directions

Drain the oil from 1 tin of sardines into a small bowl and set aside. Drain the oil from the other tin into another small bowl and whisk in 1 tablespoon of parsley, vinegar, lemon zest, and black pepper, to taste. Add the sardines, stir to combine and set aside for up to 1 hour.

After 45 minutes, put a rack 3-inches from the broiler and heat the oven to the broiler setting on high. Brush each slice of bread on 1 side with the reserved oil. Put the bread, oil side up, onto a cooling rack set inside a half sheet pan and broil 2 to 3 minutes or until golden brown and crisp.

Halve the avocado and remove the pit. Smash the flesh in each half with a fork.

Spread the avocado evenly onto the toasted bread. Top evenly with the sardines. Pour any remaining dressing on top and garnish with the remaining parsley.

Season lightly with sea salt and serve with lemon wedges.

So. good. Listen, you'll just have to trust me on this. Go make yourself one of these these as soon as humanly possible. I wouldn't lie to you.

The Songs that Never Get Old--to me.

At the risk of sounding like Peter Fonda in that TimeLife commercial for "Flower Power" CD compilations, some music just don't get old. Too bad that doesn't apply to Mr. Fonda himself, who, although he looks good for 70, should NEVER be allowed to wear a motorcycle jacket again. It just looks sad, like a pleather toupee or something. I mean, "Easy Rider" was 41 years ago. That means he had 41 years to make other movies to diversify his image. Look no further than the late Dennis Hopper for instructions on how to do this.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to change my clothes in order to get in the mood to write this next part. Let the record show that I am now wearing my flannel shirt, which I will leave unbuttoned so you can see my Pearl Jam Lollapalooza 1992 T-Shirt. I also have a killer pair of doc martins on, and some of those there carpenter jeans--relaxed fit is where it's at. (dry cough)

I haven't really been feeling musical as of late. However, I have recently restrung the ole guitar (the electric one that only had 5 strings on it since the second Reagan Administration), and have been, for better or worse, playing more frequently.

Let the record show that a fountain of songs does not flow from my fingers to the fretboard. I am more of a slow, annoying drip coming from an improperly sealed faucet. If that faucet came from 1996. And was formally located in Geddy Lee's bathroom. The point being, every time I start to play, certain songs seem to come out.

Here they are, in no particular order:

• Sweet Child o' Mine--If there is an electric guitar in my hand, this song comes out within 5 minutes. I especially like the opening (reason number 1 million why Les Paul guitars are so effing cool--what a tone), and the breakdown "Where do we go?" part.
  

• Cannonball--Damien Rice may only had a cup of coffee on the radio here in the States, but this song makes me happy in spite of it's melancholy message. Plus, it's SO effing fun to play--right up my alley. As a bonus, the melody lends itself to my "all neck" falsetto style. Michael Anthony would be proud.

• All Your Love (I Miss Loving)--If I had one wish, it would be to be able to sing like Otis Rush. I guess I'll just have to be satisfied with murdering his wicked cool guitar part with my fat white hands. Sigh.

• The Dutchman--Liam Clancy and I are in agreement. One of the most touching love songs ever written. And the guitar part is perfect to accompany it. If you can listen to this song and not get a little well-eyed, than I'm not sure I want you to read my blog, you soul-less wretch.
  

That's pretty much the list. Sure, there are other songs that occasionally work their way into the rotation. Honorable mentions go to Dreamline, Dancing Nancies, Jessica and of course, The Holy Ground.

The point is this: I wonder if this habit is peculiar to me, or do other musicians do this? I suspect it's not, and that they do. Taken further, do other amateur artists do this? I mean, do painters who like to paint trees paint more trees to warm up? Or do mystery writers type 20 pages from an Agatha Christie novel to get warmed up? I'm not so sure. Can anyone out there shed any light on this?

Did I Just Watch a Balanced "Bicycle vs. Car" News Report? I ALMOST Did.

I noticed over the weekend that the local ABC affiliate was going to run a story detailing the "rising tension" between Cyclists and Motorists on our fair city streets. Anytime a local news team decides to do some half-baked investigating for a three minute filler piece, to be broadcast on a Monday afternoon, there is almost always going to be trouble. You see, usually stories like this go one of two ways:

1) Bicycles don't belong on the road, that's why accidents between bicycles and cars end so badly.

2) Bicycles have a right to the road, but routinely flaunt the traffic laws and are, on the whole, a menace to our safe streets.

To be fair, this mindset does not apply to 98% of people who usually drive their cars. But, like all news topics, your local broadcast does not care what the rational middle has to say--after all, balanced stories taking into account all the factors just don't sell ad space to failing car dealerships these days. Nope, it's the folks that yell the loudest while wearing the brightest colors that get the coverage, regardless of whether they actually, you know, make a coherent argument. So, flame on, you topic flamers!

This piece (Featured Below), ultimately falls into the second category. But boy, this is as close as I've seen to a real news story covering both sides of the debate. Why, the young reporter even goes as far as to suggest that cars are not allowed to stop or park in bike lanes! Edward Murrow is proud of you, son. I think that's the first time I've seen a report suggest that cars may have a small role in this "rising tension".

Oh, and by the way, the whole piece is decidedly without tension. I mean, they throw some stock footage of two angry a-holes getting into an argument, and they throw some scary stats at you, i.e. that over 700 people are killed on a bicycle every year. (Compare that to traffic fatalities, if you want a grim reminder of the price some people pay for being able to go 50 miles an hour while drinking coffee and listening to their satellite radio). But, this piece is more of a "can't we all just get along?" type of deal. Lots of folks saying " Yeah, I just don't want to hit any bicyclist." Which is the view I almost always support.

I mean, they got so close, but didn't quite finish their work. For all you aspiring journalists out there, I thought I could help you write the story on this topic that I would applaud, along with where this story gets things right/wrong:
1) Talk about how bikes and cars have the same right to the road (Check)
2) Talk about how cars and bikes each perform illegal functions routinely on our city streets (Check)
3) Delve into the reason why bicycles do not stop at lights or stop signs (Crickets)
4) Stop shoving the whole "Bicycles are dangerous, so wear a helmet" fallacy down my throat. (Crickets)

So, they got halfway there. Well done ABC 7. I mean that. This is as close as I've seen anyone care to get. (ha!)

Listen, people on bicycles run red lights/stop signs for a variety of reasons, and it is NOT the cause of the majority of bicyclist fatalities. Don't make me pull up study after study on this--just take my word for it. I know that motorists watch us cyclists do this on a regular basis and just don't understand it. Or maybe they're just thinking, "man, I wish I could do that!" But, guess what? You can't. So don't hate on the human powered vehicles that can go through stop signs, because we as cyclists have the advantage of stereoscopic hearing and a full 180 degree view of the intersection. You don't. So, just relax, sit back, take another sip of your latte, and enjoy the things that make car travel such a pleasure. You know: like heated seats, enclosed cockpits, and room for more than one bag of groceries. All of those things are hella-awesome, too. Just not quite as hella-awesome as riding a bike.

Canada--Part Deux!

I hear there is a saying that goes: “When in Rome, do as the Romans do.” It probably sounds a tad less condescending in Italian. I mean, it’s not like most people are going to stand on the Spanish Steps and yell “DOES ANYONE KNOW WHERE THE MCDONALDS IS? I WANT A CHEESEBURGER!”

In any case, as my travels have taken me to Toronto this week, I thought I would amend that sentiment just a tad to fit what was my experience in this fair Ontario city: “When in Toronto, visit the Hockey Hall of Fame and Insult Don Cherry in an elevator.” Not exactly Bartlett’s worthy, but it’ll have to do.

Part One: The Hall of Fame

I strategically placed m’self in a hotel within three blocks of the building, so that I would have no excuse to not visit. On a scale from one to 5, I consider m’self to be a level 3 hockey fan—I know most of the players and a little about the history (mostly to do with the Bruins), but I’ve never played (Level 4), nor am I Canadian (Level 5). So, I guess you could say I was reasonably excited to visit.

Because this Hall of Fame is a shrine to a Canadian game invented in Canada, I eagerly expected a different experience. And so it was. First of all, the entrance to the Hockey hall of Fame is in a mall on the foodcourt level smack dab in the middle of downtown Toronto. A really, really nice mall? You bet. A really really lovely foodcourt? Bien Sur! However, if you weren’t looking for the place, you would probably mistake it for either : a) a movie theater or b) a Maple Leafs themed gift shop.

(As an aside, the mall entrance and architecture was eerily reminiscent to the Oriente train station in Lisbon. Given that Toronto has a “Little Portugal” neighborhood, I’m probably not the first one to make that connection. But still…neat!)

The Hall of Fame itself did not disappoint. The first display one sees when they first walk in is Bobby Orr’s. Not Gretzky’s, but Orr’s. So...interesting! Got this picture:

(The skates he was wearing when he scored the cup winning goal in 1970...NEAT!)

I also managed to grab a picture of Pat Verbeek's Whalers jersey (that didn't come out), which was located in the "gone but not forgotten" display where they showed all the jerseys from NHL teams in the past. I was never a Whalers fan, but I liked having ONE professional team in the nutmeg state. And they even had their own fight song, which my 8th grade English teacher would play before class. Small towns kind of rule sometimes.

So, in true TIACAICTG style (this week): Here are the ups and downs of a day at the Hockey Hall of Fame:

Ups:

• The Collection of Sticks--It was really, really fascinating to see the evolution of the hockey stick. To me, hockey screwed up when they allowed sticks to be made from anything besides wood. The composite sticks are just not as impressive, and they make the modern players look like cheating wussies.
  
  
• Proximity to a REALLY great Food Court--I mean, when you're finished touring all the history, there is a deli, and a really complete fruit stand, and a greek restaurant...just choices all around. I went with the deli, and was not disappointed.
  
  
• Lots of interactive displays--You can even try to score against an electronic goalie, which was pretty neat. I hit the post. I'm okay with that.
  

• The International/Olympic Collections--I mean, I REALLY liked seeing Vladislav Tretiak's jersey, and going through all the years of the Olympic hockey competition. I spent most of my time there, to be honest.

• The Original Stanley Cup--I didn't realize that the Stanley Cup has been built and rebuilt several times. Also, the cup on the top of the modern cup is NOT the cup Lord Stanley donated--that cup is located in a separate display. (inside of an old bank vault, actually, which was a great space). So, it really was something to see.
  

Downs

• The Phony Stanley Cup--Okay, I understand that most people go to the hall of fame to see the cup. And I understand not wanting to leave those folks disappointed. But, to put a doppleganger cup on display and try to pass it off as the original? BOO! I would rather NOT see it than to look at a replica. Maybe it's just me.
  

• No Champions Exhibit--When I went to the baseball hall of fame, they at least had a collection of the rings from each team that won the World Series. I think it would have been really neat to have a jersey from each team on display or something. Nope. They mostly just concentrated on the dynasties, complete with a replica of the dressing room of the Montreal Forum. A nice touch, but incomplete. I mean, a signed team puck display? Something?
  

• Construction of a New Guest Shop--Half of the hall of fame smelled a little like turpentine, as they were constructing a new place to buy your "I was THERE!" memorabilia. Not really the olfactory connection I was looking for.

In conclusion: I spent 2 1/2 hours in there, and felt like I saw everything. So, if you're planning a trip to Toronto JUST to see it, you may want to pencil in an afternoon activity.
Part Two--Don Cherry

After my work "thing" last night, I was dragging my weary American bones home to my hotel. Pressed the button for the elevator, and who should be standing there when the doors opened, but this guy:(Batshit crazy Don Cherry)

He was coming up from the parking garage to his room, and so I had eight floors worth of one on one time (okay 3 on 1, there were other people in the elevator) with the flamboyant, controversial, and generally insane broadcasting giant. Of course, he was wearing a "subdued" black pinstripe suit with a HUGE Canadian flag patch on the jacket pocket. How else would you know it was him, right?

Before I go any further, I need to give you some context. My father was, at one time at least, a level 3.5 hockey fan in the 70's. He fell away from the game in the 80's in no small part to Mr. Cherry (getting to that), so at this point he's probably at the 1.5 level, in that he's interested only if Bruins are in the cup final, and certainly not interested in giving his heart back to them for an entire season.

However, a conversation with my father about the game will uncover more than a few scars from those days. The one that is by far the deepest cut took place in game 7 of the 1979 semi-finals against Montreal, (the Hammer to the Bruins nail for years and years and years.) Leading by a goal with 2 minutes left in the third period at the the old Montreal Forum, this happened. A "too many men on the ice" penalty, which then Bruins head coach Don Cherry later admitted was his fault.

"That was my fault," Boston coach Don Cherry said. "They (his players) must have thought they heard me say something. I had to grab two other guys or we'd have had eight out there!"

Let it be said that I heard the story a little differently, and with a little more colorful phrasing, shall we say? Even as a lad of 10, I knew that something had happened to my pa that day, that he may never have enjoyed hockey the same way again. Or maybe I'm just reading too much into it now for the sake of this story. You be the judge.

So, maybe it was my exhaustion from the travel and work. Maybe it was all the hockey on the brain from my visit to the hall of fame. But I felt like I needed to say something to this man, so that he would understand that some things are gone but not forgotten. And so, I felt myself turn towards him, and then heard this come out of my mouth:

"You know, Mr. Cherry, my father still has not forgiven you for 'too many men on the ice'."

Cue the sound of a surprised old man Cherry bursting into laughter. His response was gracious and befitting of a man who had long let go of his terrible, unforgivable error: "Everywhere I go, I still have Bruins fans give me a hard time about that!"

By this time, I was laughing too. I got off on my floor, and wished him a good evening, which he returned to me. The whole exchange lasted all of 10 seconds.

What? Do they just plant famous figures from hockey's past in hotel elevators throughout Toronto? Probably.

Weekend Wrap-up: Or Why I can never have enough Sanity and/or Candy

So, I bet you’re wondering why I didn’t post my weekend wrap-up yesterday. You know, because, in all honesty, it probably would have made the most sense. Since when have I done the sensible thing? Ever? (I’ll get back to you on that.) But, you’ll be happy to know, there was some sort of a seedling of a half-thought that factored in my decision to wait a day. Mostly, I wanted to give you my rally experience after I had thought about what it meant to be there, and not in the excitement of the moment. In the spirit of the rally, I thought it best not to immediately contribute to the white noise that usually follows an event like this on every facetube, Whyspace, and tweeter accounts. You know, fresh perspective and all that jazz. (cue fosse hands). So, don’t club me too much, ‘kay?

So, before blathering on about what it was like to be in a crowd of 215k plus, let me give you the takeaways. Short answer: it was awesome, inspiring, and thought provoking. The Velogirl and I were joined by super-fun Velogirl kin (her pa’s sister), which was an immediate advantage. She was the one who suggested we get to the rally no later than 8:30. This decision will, no doubt, run away with the “Best Idea that Immediately Bore Fruit” category at this year’s International Forethought Awards. The award statue depicts a person looking both ways before crossing the street. Or so I’m told. I’ve never been anywhere close to even knowing someone who’s been previously nominated. Until Saturday.

Needless to say, we were able to spread out a blanket, set up our chairs, and just generally have a birds-eye view of the going’s on. It was pretty sweet. Lots of folks dressed up, lots of witty signs. Here’s my three favorite, that I feel captured the spirit of the day:

• “I’m Mad as Hell and I’m…going to count to 10 and then probably feel a little better about things.”
  
  
• “Ain’t no Party like my nana’s Tea Party” (HEY! HO!)

• “I’m already regretting the decision to carry around this sign all day.”

So, the rally entertainment had its ups and downs. First, let’s start with the ups:

· The Roots w/John Legend—HOLY CRAP! That band nearly started a riot when they hit the stage at noon. Here’s a little advice: If you always wanted to go see P-Funk, but were too young to see them in their prime, do whatever you have to do to see the Roots live. You will NOT be disappointed. Not only did they play an AMAZING set, but they also were the backing band for EVERYONE that followed. One of those moments when you realize that there are Musicians, and then there is everyone else, who just make sounds with their voices and instruments. HUGE difference.

· Jon Stewart’s Speech—Awesome. Read the speech here. If you’re a moderate liberal type, it’s like he reached into your mind. I pretty much just nodded my head for 10 minutes straight while he spok

Yusef, AKA Cat Stevens—Yeah, I know. He didn’t get through his entire song because of some sort of Stewart schtick. But, he sounded GREAT! I would love to go see him again.

And now, the downs:

· The Mythbusters—I love their show. But I didn’t love their opening act experiments, as they were half-baked at best. Kind of felt like they didn’t know what the fuck to do. I guess blowing something up was out of the question, given the location. Maybe they could have just filmed their segment and showed it on the screens? I dunno. I just didn’t feel it, dog.

Kid. Rock.— I mean, there was wide speculation that Jon Stewart would get Springsteen to be his finale musical guest. I mean, Stewart is a HUGE Springsteen fan, and since WHEN did Bruce turn down an opportunity to sing at a rally? So, you can imagine our excitement when Jon Stewart started the build-up with “When this person played me his new song, I knew he had to be a part of the rally…” I mean, who writes a better song than BRUCE for troubled times such as these? It’s Woody Guthrie, Bob Dylan and Bruce Springsteen. End of list.

So, as he builds up to the announcement, Jon continues with, “Please welcome, performing with Sheryl Crow…”--and the whole crowd is thinking, “OMG! the guest HAS to be bigger than Sheryl Crow…GOT TO BE…SPRINGSTEEN!”-- Stewart finishes the sentence with , “ladies and gentlemen…KID ROCK!” Cue the sound of air being slowly released from a balloon, followed by the most polite, restrained applause I’ve ever witnessed in person. Um…just a fail on all accounts.

Well, I can’t speak for the rest of the folks, but what I was struck with was the need to be a more critical thinker, not just in politics, but in all areas of life. So, if that was your intent Mr. Stewart, than well done, I say. Well done.

Oh, and Halloween was pretty awesomes this year as well. I don’t know about you, but we saw a lot of costumes with wings—more bugs and fairies then you could shake your magic wand at. Although, it was not all roses. Here at TIACAICTG studios, we managed to give out six bags worth of candy in about 45 minutes. (that’s one piece per be-winged kid, and no, I’m not sure how many kiddos that adds up to). Considering that’s all the candy we purchased for the day, and considering that it was only 7:15 when we ran out, we did what anyone would do at that point: we turned off all the lights and sat in the dark watching TV like criminals on the lam.

Next year, I’m purchasing 150 bags of full size candy bars. Or maybe we’ll be the Ferrero Roche house, or, damnit, I’m handing out gilded truffles. Halloween Game: consider yourself raised. I mean, parents must get sick of stealing the same kind of candy from their child’s punkin’ shaped bucket every all soul’s day, right?

City Life--My Week with Jon Stewart Edition

DC and her residents are generally immersed in national politics and her ugly stepsister, the pundit, throughout the year. Which, shouldn't surprise anyone. You know, because it's the national capital or something that's perceived to be equally important. For the most part, it becomes a normal thing for locals to see these talking heads having a sushi lunch on 19th street, or getting take out from the Spy Museum cafe. And, for the most part, these folks are just left to their stuffed shirt, hyper-reactive ways.

But then, Jon effin Stewart hits town with his "Daily Show". Cue the liberal half of this town (read: the folks who actually live IN the District) going absolutely batshit crazy. Like, wait in line for 4 hours so they can sit in the front row of the taping nuts. Count the Velogirl and I among the batty. As I am a tree hugging socialist, and the Velogirl is a little more left wing and radical. So, imagine our excitement when we were able to attend Tuesday's taping. WOOT!

(Welcome to DC Jon!)

Not to bore everyone with the details of what goes into the taping of the show, but it was really interesting to see how all the lighting and staging were put together, how the cameras all move around, and how effing FUNNY Jon Stewart and John Oliver are in person. I mean, legitimately laugh out loud funny.

I mean, I consider m'self to be a funny sort of chap. But, there's a HUGE difference between professional funny and "make your drunk friends sort of smile at one of your inane observations" funny. I am, by all accounts firmly in the latter camp, in what I dub the "Gentleman Comedian" category. For, like more than a few turn of the century sportsmen, who deemed playing a game for money to be a coarse and vulgar activity, I am content to maintain my amateur status in comedy. Plus, I don't, you know, have any experience in ACTUALLY making strangers laugh. Moving on...

In a nutshell, Jon Stewart has taken this town by storm. Not since Mr. Obama moved into the White House has there been this much "holy SHIT, he's HERE!" excitement surrounding anyone in this town. This excitment will no doubt lead up to his "Rally to Restore Sanity and/or Fear" which is taking place this weekend, and which, you guessed it!, the VeloGirl and I will be attending. I am hoping that Colbert is dressed like Dracula.

Fall--Classic!

I'm not sure what happened this weekend. Maybe someone slipped an optimism pill into my "Roy Rogers" this weekend (exactly like a shirley temple in every way, but for BOYS. I'm a Boy.), but I am feeling a fresh start coming on. Look out world, here I come!

Of course, anytime the weather starts to change, I seem to take on some new perspective and/or optimism. Plus, I start to notice parallels in society that echo this change. Take the World Series for instance. I mean, Texas v. San Fran? Now that's a FRESH match-up, wouldn't you say? I can't remember the last time we had a situation where both leagues sent darkhorse candidates to battle for that ugly ass trophy. Hmm...thinking...thinking...maybe that White Sox v. Houston series in 2005? Texas kind of reminds me of that White Sox team--they are on the magic carpet ride, getting great pitching and timely hitting. I dunno, it's not a perfect metaphor. If you want real analysis, I think ESPN may have a website or something, so maybe type those letters into your google machine and see what comes up.

Anyways, I think Texas wins, and wins pretty easily. I'll say Texas in 5. Cliff Lee is the MVP, and he wins games one and four. Really going out on a limb, I know. Anyways, I'm excited to watch. I kinda like both teams, but San Fran just seems a little too patchwork in the field to be champions. I know my Philly relatives would disagree with me today.

Lest you think it's all going to be roses all the time from here on out, there is one fall related item that I am not too thrilled with. It is the amount of scary movies on TV and in the theaters at this time of year, hoping to cash in on that halloween fad. Let me make this clear: I am a scared-y cat. I hate scary movies, they give me nightmares. There was a time in my life when I was scared of the board game "Clue". And no, I don't think I'm less of a man because I don't want to pay someone to frighten me. I get enough fear and anxiety in my everyday life, thank you very much. No need to pile on more just for fun.

For those of you who love to be scared, why not just go whole hog, follow Inspector Clousseau's lead and hire a manservant to hide in your house every night when you come home?


Now, to go hone my judo skills.

The Thursday List of Grievences

I know I ain't been writing real regularly lately. I need to set my editorial schedule, and I just haven't yet. I know, I know...it's been 4 months since I started this thing, but to be fair to me--I'm real flaky. But, expect regular posts on both concrete and absurd topics starting on Monday. Moving on...

I LOVE fall. But, even the crisp air, combined with the abundance of sweet, crunchy, in-season apples can't keep me from calling out certain areas in society I feel aren't pulling their weight. So, without further ado, here's my semi-random, caffeine fueled list of nouns that bug me more than they really should:

• Glee--Not the entire show. Just one little thing. During all of their singing montages that take place in that rehearsal space, they never, NEVER close the door to the hallway. That means, the whole school can hear them all the time. No wonder Sue has a grudge against them. Writing as someone who has spent many high school and collegiate hours in practice rooms, etiquette dictates that you CLOSE THE DAMN DOOR! I don't know why this bothers me. It's not like this show tries to be realistic. But, can you imagine trying to teach English across the hall while that one raven-haired oversinger of a she-wolf warbles out another Barbara Streisand song so loudly that it feels like she's in the room? It would be gun-in-mouth time.

• Wayne Rooney--The star of Manchester United now wants to leave Old Trafford for...anywhere else. Let me be clear: I don't like him. Never have. And, I don't care if he ever plays football ever again. But, he's clogging up all the analysis and headlines on all my favorite soccer related websites, and that DOES grate on my nerves. So, here's the deal Wazza: you make a decision on where you want to go as soon as possible, and I promise NEVER to read another word about your accomplishments, nor mention your name in any conversation I may have in the future. Deal?

• Tim McCarver--I love baseball. I love the baseball playoffs. But, I can't watch any televised game that features that partnership of Joe Buck and Tim McCarver. Un-listen-able. Just absolutely makes me regret watching the game. The mute button would be an option, but part of the fun of watching playoff baseball is the crowd. So, in other words, I'm screwed.

• Bill Simmons--It's not the "Sports Guy's" fault. He just loves NBA basketball. And I would mostly rather have my eyes rubbed with a Tabasco soaked rag than be forced to watch an entire regular season game. Yet, I check in with him from time to time, hoping that he won't have any 100 minute, two part podcasts that break down each individual NBA team in detail. But, that is just simply naive and foolish on my part. Yet I still get angry, because I remember all the times we used to have when he would write about the Red Sox more than once a year. Ah well.

• Ricotta Cheese--I still like lasagna, but the last few times I've had a slice in the past three years, I've been struck by how much LESS I like the ricotta in there. It's a little grainy and gloopy. Maybe it's just the cheap-o brand I buy. Who knows.

This ends this month's list of grievances. And, feel free to add your own in the comments portion. Let's be cranky together!

I am Karma's Main Squeeze

Sometimes, life throws you a series of seemingly random, fantastically depressing happenings. But then, after you look back at the big picture, it turns out that it all fits into a larger, comically pleasing frame. Or, at least, it makes JUST enough sense. So that, you know, you don't start internalizing all of life's little failures and end up punching a random stranger in the face to alleviate some stress. Not that I've thought about striking anyone in particular. Today.

Take this past weekend, par example. The Velogirl and I have really been feeling the back of our fair city's hand as of late. So, we decided to treat ourselves to a day trip in the country. The plan was to take a trip out to Gettysburg, walk through the park and watch the leaves change with the Wonderdog, maybe pick up a punkin and some cider at a roadside orchard on the way home. Pretty much your quintessential fall experience. We even mentioned our nerdy itinerary to our less nerdy yet understanding friends on Friday. But, as Al Swearingen once said, "Announcing your plans is a good way to hear God laugh."

(The man himself in one of his quieter moments. I miss that show. So. Effing. Much. Photo Courtesy of UGO.com)

You see, there was this issue with the automobile. Because we are a carless tribe, we decided to rent ourselves one of those compact cars, the kind that get 40 miles to the gallon and you can park in the city. In other words, the kind of car I would own if I wanted to count a gas-powered wheelchair among my possessions. (ZING! Take THAT, car culture!)

So, we went down to our local AVIS to pick the car up on Saturday morning. There is no place on EARTH more depressing than a car rental counter on a beautiful weekend day. When we walked in, we were greeted by two staff members and their dead, soul-less eyes. You know what i'm talking about. The kind of eyes that say, "I don't give a shit WHAT kind of great day you have planned and are excited to start. You get what I say you get, when I say you get it. My life sucks, ergo, YOUR MORNING WILL SUCK!".

Or, at least that's what I got from them. I could only bring myself to look into them for a second.

Well, the Velogirl heads up to the counter, announces we have a reservation, hands over some ID, and then is told to have a seat. The only seats available are across from the only other guy waiting for a car at this point. So we sit. And wait. And wait. And wait. And I have a birthday. And we wait. You get the picture.

Finally...Finally! The guy calls our name. He says, "They just pulled your car up, it's the first car in the row around the corner." So, we head out there, turn the corner, and see this:

What. The. Fuck. This isn't a compact. In fact, of all the cars in the universe, this may be the one that would be most diametrically opposed to a compact car on the wheel of transportation. On top of that, it's so goddamn ugly I can't even imagine sitting in it. It looks like the car that took second place in the "design a whale" contest at the Rhode Island School of the Blind. Closer examination reveals that it is a late model Mercury Grand Marquis. My mistake then.

The Velogirl looks at me, and I start laughing. Then, we head back to the AVIS folks to let them know their horrible, funny mistake. Turns out, it's "the only car they have." I LOVE it when rental car companies pull that shit. Reservations mean nothing--Seinfeld pretty much knocked that thought thread out of the park, so I'll leave that point to the professional.

So, what can we do? We've waited so long for this car, that if we don't take it, our entire weekend plan is shot to hell. So, we load up the Marquis and head for God's country. Only, by this time, it's too late to really make a day of it in Gettysburg, so we decide to head out a little closer to home and to do some hiking near Catoctin Mountain. It's a beautiful day, sun peeking through the trees as we walk, and the Wonderdog is about as happy as I've seen him since, well, his last walk. That dog loves his walk the way a sailor loves his rum.

We finish our hike and head back to the (dry cough) car when we spy a family of 4 sitting at the trailhead, looking confused and bewildered. Maybe even flummoxed. Turns out, they hiked 6 miles in the wrong direction, and are pretty much out of ideas as to what to do next. After all, it ain't like there's a bus out there waiting to take dipshit hikers who can't figure out how to walk in a circle back to their Chevy Astro's.

If only we had room in our compact to take the Dad and one of their pasty white sons back over the mountain to fetch their car and save the family outing. Wait a tic...we DO have room! In fact, we have room for them, us, the dog, and the entire Indiana University Marching Band. But, the "Marching Hundred" are smart enough to bring a compass with them, even on day hikes, and thus made it out in one piece. So, just Mr. Woodsy and son then.

Best moment of the car ride? When the dad tried to assure the Velogirl and I that him and his were "savvy hikers." Umm...you walked 6 miles in the wrong direction! You would think that someone in this Huron tracker party would have noticed that the sun was on the same side the entire time, even when they were supposed to be walking home. Or that NOTHING looked familar. Not so. not. so.

NOW...if we had gotten a compact, I'm not sure we would have been able to help this family out and get so much schaudefreude comedy gold to boot. So, even though the MAH-KEY was absolutely the wrong car for us, it was the right car for those lost, slightly directionally challenged folks. So, way to go karma.

Oh, and we TOTALLY got a great looking pumpkin on the way home. It is the "Lord of All Pumpkins." Perfect size, perfectly round shape, and a bright orange hue. I would take a picture to show you, but I believe photographing pumpkins takes their soul away. Call me old fashioned if you wish.