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?