new music tuesdays

i always enjoy the "new music tuesday" email from amiestreet each week, though this week the blog post title has as much to do with finally loading across all my amiestreet downloads into my itunes database, and, hence, into my slick 80-gig ipod as anything else. i'm serenaded by the mix of my favorite "everything i love" playlist in the background here as i write this, and every song is a joy to rediscover. it's amazing how much new and wonderful stuff i've found there, and for such short money. (i think i'm well less than $300 all-in to the amiestreet folks over the past years, and the list of music that i've found that i cannot live without would likely be into the thousands if it had been accumulated the old-fashioned way, one cd at a time).

so, today only, (though they've run this promotion once before as well), they're crediting 2-for-1 into the amiestreet bank for everything that you put on account. i promise it will be the best music investment you've ever made. but you've got to make it.

think about your next 5 cd purchases. how long would that take you? a few weeks or a month or two or half a year? and how much in total for 'em? $60? $75?

now think about amiestreet.com. for $50 today, you get $100-worth of credit, and you won't be paying anywhere near $10 apiece for each collection. most of mine that i adore are snagged for pennies, and, at most, a couple of bucks. (i just bagged the doughboys for $3.50, though they might be up closer to $4 by now, and they're *still* a bargain). even at such exorbitant rates you'd still be talking 30+ cd's-worth of music for the same $50. (more likely 50+). and you could be listening to something new every week for a year, not just every once in awhile.

does the $50 sticker shock have you feeling cheaper? $25 gets you $50. they've even got one deal for $15 that bags you $30-worth of tunage. crazy not to get ahead of your wastrel music ways, and save yourself the cash, while putting the vast majority of it straight into the hands of the artists instead of the parasitic record labels. and you're going to *love* what you find.

promise.

the weepies

deb talan and steve tannen (mr. and mrs.) weave tapestries of sound that defy convention, description, and emotional resistance. that they're largely unknown to the world spinning madly on is a marvel. tell me, listening to these, what else there is to music, if not part of these:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L4sa2HoXpsE

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0FRP0IvPis8

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Iq28YdKdh4A

and there's so much more. amiestreet.com isn't running the $5 promotion on their latest collection anymore, but even at $8.98 the records are a bargain. or you could come over and listen with me. it's to share.

two at a time, to the top

i was matched, stride for stride, two at a time, to the top of the stairs yesterday. 10 flights. all the way. it was wonderful to be fully out of breath together, and when i say out, i mean OUT of breath--fighting to make words between eager gulps of air. it's a piece of the magic of leaving a soccer field victorious after everything was put out on the pitch. (which, for the record, i experienced yesterday as well).

there doesn't have to be anything that comes next, because it's that moment that's everything. i know it invites comparisons, and i have no idea why we must be so comparative and competitive with others when it comes to our selves, but it shouldn't. it's a prime moment to crack a beer, or pop a cork, or have a coke and a smile, and just to share our humanity. it's a moment to marvel on the sight, sound, touch, scent and taste of beauty--to be alive.

it's an invitation, too. moments like these are meant to be shared. widely. joyfully. openly.

taste

interesting how sight and sound can often conspire to blind and deafen us to the fuller world that surrounds. i find it instructive to note that we encounter those closest to us, and especially those to whom we yearn to move closer, in ever-nearer proximity, driven to fill our more emotional senses of touch, scent and taste. we embrace. we breathe in. we kiss.

of all the compliments i've received, "you smell good" lingers longest. am i handsome? is my voice pleasing? (of what abiding value is either?) i know these are fleeting loans of youth, and repayment long since overdue. but as eyesight fades, and words are lost to murmurs that once were clearer whispers, i still understand that i will be known by my scent, and the map of my body, and the taste of all of me.

yet there is still something compelling about the simple line of the jaw... when it's smooth and clear and true... complemented by the drama of a cheekbone, and arched just that little bit in search of that scent, and embrace, and taste...

"five tool player"

baseballers like their jargon. usually intended to describe abilities to hit for average, hit for power, run the bases, field, and throw, "five tool player" is likely in need of redefinition now that we are in the middle of experiencing julio lugo's 2008 season.

dissatisfied with merely GIDP'ing his team out of ballgames, (beside being o-fer last night in a close game, he, of course, hit into one when the game was there to be won in the 10th), julio lugo is developing his all-around abilities and has now taken to booting routine inning-ending ground balls with runners on third base, essentially costing MY MAN WAKE another win, and putting the sox where he could keep 'em by sheer plate futility until the bullpen could eventually do their job and cough up the inevitable run.

no, i'm not really as bitter as all this sounds, but you have to admit that it's becoming painful to watch. worst part last night was watching casey go down and then not even having the circumstances to backseat-drive the manager about his line-up as the miscues piled up.

alex cora, we miss you.

the silver lining

the underdog of all underdogs this year, the washington capitals, overcame a heinous season start that all but eliminated them from contention before christmas. then, after firing their manager, they reeled off a season-long comeback for the ages and qualified for the playoffs on the final day of the season. down the very same 3 games to 1 against the flyers, (who are #2 or no lower than public enemy #3 on any b's fan's list, depending on how you rate the rangers), they've done the improbable and wrestled the series back to 3-3. the best news is, due to a quirk of playoff qualification fate, (they finished first in the worst division in ice hockey, so gained the #3 seed in the conference), they get game 7 on home ice.

it's on tonight, along with the sharks' 7th game against the flames, too.

there is life after, after all.

everybody say ay-oh.

the hardest words

and it won't get any easier to put it off...

congrats to montreal and their ticket through to the next round. a better goalie will generally win the day, and, tonight, it was pretty clear carey price is the real deal.

hats off to the b's who gave it their all, and then some. this will be a team to watch in the fall, for sure. i have no idea what i'm going to do to distract myself until then, but hopefully there'll be some baseball and some soccer and then it'll be october before we know it.

104 to 81

from my earliest memories of boston sports, i loved the bruins best. ("he shoots, he scores!"). contemplating the environment in which i came to my awareness, i marvel that the celtics won each and every championship available until i was 7 years old (coincidentally the year bobby orr brought the bruins the first of 29 straight playoff appearances) and then two more after that, and yet i never really identified myself with the team. "havlicek stole the ball" may be my most indelible aural memory of the period, (thank you most appreciatively and sincerely mr. most), and i did love the celts in my way, ("jo jo white, bringing the ball up, he fiddles, he diddles..."), i just never fell in love with them, if you can understand the distinction.

my first championship was truly the 69-70 boston bruins, (and i'm purposefully eschewing google on this one to show off), of bobby orr, phil esposito, gerry cheevers, ken hodge, wayne cashman, johnny mckenzie, johnny bucyk, fred stanfield, ed westfall, dallas smith, eddie johnston, ted green, johnny pearson, (whose daughter went to my elementary school), rick smith, don awry, derek sanderson, ace bailey, don marcotte, gary doak, wayne carleton, and i'm guessing about five or six more it's unfortunate that memory has lost. (though google is our friend on such things). westfall to sanderson to orr into history.

the then-boston patriots were my *secret* pleasure. when clive rush moved his family in up the street for his short and calamity-prone tenure as head coach, i already knew nance and parilli and capelletti by name and by reputation, and though they never amounted to much through those years, (some day we'll recount the buffoonery that was billy and patrick sullivan), i have to say, after mr. orr, that stanley morgan remains my second favorite boston athlete of all time, even including wake. adam vinatieri's autograph on a photo of his miraculous snow-bowl kick hangs in my personal hall of fame, right next to big papi swinging 'em home during game 5 of the '04 alcs.

yes, we can't forget the sox, and their (for what seemed like forever) impossible dream. tony conigliaro, yaz and his triple crown, and the epic series against the cardinals was something for the ages. i could probably do almost as well on the '67 sox roster as i can the '70 bruins, but not important, as many more can recite it and it's almost become too popular to matter.

i am for the underdog. (though i still love the pats because they have decades of underdoggedness to keep their karma balanced for the foreseeable future). i appreciate that the celts have set a record for a season-to-season turnaround, and they've been pitiful for a long, long time so this new renaissance should earn them some love, but i'm still with my bruins every face-off, check and shot of the way.

tonight it's yet another epic chapter in the storied rivalry between my underdog boston bruins and their archest nemesis, the montreal canadiens. forget the yanks, the canadiens are the most successful sports franchise in north america, and though the new yorkers don't like to admit it, anyone who looks up the records can't deny that the habs are the standard for excellence. the fact that the bruins, who hadn't held a lead for more than 17 minutes during almost a dozen regular-season games, are there to steal it all on the habs' home ice is the most marvelous heart-in-my-throat rooting opportunity i can imagine. and i get it all tonight.

all that's missing is the ventures' kitschy cover of the overture to the nutcracker suite.

na nananana, na nananaNA (na nuh na na) na nananana na nanananNA

the supplemental draft

if anyone can tell me which of the '04 cash addicts (free agent turncoats?) bequeathed the pick in the '05 supplemental draft that resulted in the happy acquisition of one mr. jed lowry, i'd be much obliged. his first big league game resulted in 3 game-changing rbi (and a win for wake), and this afternoon's clutch double to knock in the rally-sparking jacoby ellsbury was instrumental in wake's most recent win as well.

AND!!!

he plays short.

need i say more?

epic

10/2/87 - 2 of 'em.
7/2/87.
6/7/88.

phil kessel, vladimir sobotka, milan lucic.

the futures of the franchise.

oh, and the class of 78, marco sturm, with the coup de grace.

see you at the bell centre, and always know that real men wear black. go bruins!

"for god's sake, men, fire"

the regulars were out and ordered for a fight, almost a hundred of them, in street-firing formation, commanding the narrow way to and over the bridge. arrayed against them were the untested colonials, whose numbers could be of no advantage across that narrow span. only courage (per isaac davis, one of the first to fall, "i have not a man who is afraid to go") against the most fearsome standing army in the world.

in answer to the volley that felled davis, buttrick commanded: "for god's sake, men, fire", and the volley from the colonial left cut into the british rank, killing or wounding nearly every sergeant and lieutenant in the british column. without those who could command good order, it was a simple test of courage and will, to die for an ideal, or upon the order of men simply doing their honest duty for king and country.

to the true patriots on their true patriots day: we remember.

for want of a nail...

epic struggles often turn on the simplest of circumstances. carey price, he of the dryden-esque stone wall of the up-'til-last-night playoff-naive bruins, inexplicably dropped a live puck directly in front of his own net during a tie game, (guy carbonneau wishfully described it as "an error of youth", but tsn more accurately nailed it as a "reckless turnover"), and all of a sudden the heavens opening and it poured goals down on the disappointed and disillusioned bell centre "faithful". (who were all streaming for the exits at 3-1, let alone at 5-1 the way it ended). it was as if the curtain had been pulled back, and the smoke and mirrors of the habs' entire season was cleared away to reveal a bunch of undersized speed-only skaters in front of an all-to-young rookie tender.

game 6, with it all on the line once again, is saturday night at the gahden.

epic.

nantucket and the bomb

david e. kelley introduced a fascinating premise on this past week's Boston Legal, that let viewers contemplate the issues were a municipality like nantucket petition the federal government for permits to create their own municipal atomic weapon.

but kelley whiffed the meatball.

the script as it was aired played out the rationale for bringing suit as a hackneyed left-wing opposition to nuclear proliferation. really???

i'll tell you that any self-respecting gadfly lawyer would never have gone into court without armoring themselves heavily with the 2nd amendment. and, if you asked me, it would be a perfect argument.

we carry responsibility, declared to us clearly by our founding fathers, to check any burgeoning power of government by maintaining and bearing our own force of arms. back when, muskets were the weapon du jour. but these days, with fissionable material made easily available around the world, it's clear that we need to go beyond small arms if we're ever to hope to live up to the spirit of our own constitution.

if there's any government threatening our lives, liberties and pursuits of happiness, it's our own. in honor of those honored by our upcoming Patriots Day celebration, it's about time that we developed our own capability to resist such tyranny, and stand up for our birthright as citizens of this great nation.

by the rude bridge that arched the flood...

arrangements

it's fair to say i've not yet completed the "moving in" part of my new condo. no, that's not to imply i'm not 100% settled, because i am. and it's neither to imply that i'm not 100% happy, because i am. maybe even 200%. but the finer points haven't been put on the decorating, and i'm still re-arranging many of the surroundings to best suit me.

these past couple of days i've changed the location of my "office" twice, both times cognizant of the fact that there's space not yet occupied by my sons that is otherwise easy upon which to encroach. the expeditious choice upon move-in was to co-opt some of their bedroom, but it hasn't been sitting well with me that way, so it's time to put it right. first option was to add to my bedroom, but though it fit extremely well and snugly there, there was an odd sense of retreat implied in pulling more of me into that space. it made me aware that i need to fill my space here, not just make maximum use of particular square inches of it, which then led to the immediate re-location of the office equipment to what used to be and still remains my dining room.

see, i'm not much of a diner. oh, don't get me wrong, i'm very much into my food, its just that ambiance isn't one of those elements that matters much to me once a certain level of comfort is achieved. there's room for the table, as well as for the desk and credenzas in the corner and along the walls, so this sort of compromise doesn't feel that way to me. i'm guessing others who will be invited to eat here may feel the encroachment of other things while they chew, but, honestly, that's their challenge, and i don't care for it to be mine. hospitality springs from sharing what is mine, not fulfilling external expectations, so folks will just have to learn to deal with it.

of course, that starts the dominoes tumbling everywhere else, and not in a bad way. the boys room is now crying out for their personalities to come and fill it, and though there's a risk of my sadness if they don't embrace the opportunity, it's still the way it needs to be. there's a lot to be done with it. as there is, as well, with mine. the bed nearer the window was necessitated by the itinerant office furniture, but even with the office stuff vacated, there's still a discovery there. by the window is nice. nicer than before. perfect, actually. i'm glad i've found the right place for the bed. which, happily as well, opens up a wonderful space nearer the hallway. exercise mat space. bureau space. maybe even big comfy chair with reading lamp space, if i can find the right comfy chair. spot for the guitar. maybe even a little table for the music and speakers. books. a right proper bedroom.

so, as things come together, the last battle will soon need to be fought. what, i must ask myself, is to be done with the walls...

the alex cora watch

in the day, people used to stand watch for many things. our culture shortens our attention span, and these days very few have the patience for it. but here, today, i'm starting the campaign.

alex cora at short.

dustin's put a headlock on second base, and youk fills the corners like your foot in your most comfortable shoe. lowell, casey--you tell me who's ready to take the field on the other side. but when it comes to the nine hole, (or even the seventh when cash and lowrie make the card), i don't want to see anybody there but alex.

ever watch a guy go three-for-four and still put up the game's most impressive argument for goat? i could have punched the tv when delcarmen plunked home the tying run, and costing my man wake the win, but when last night's seven hole grounded into a double play with the bases loaded and one out in the eighth with the game on the line, all i could feel was the knot in my stomach that there's a guy on the bench who should have been up in that spot.

alex cora.

for short.

there's no excuse he's not in there each and every day.

time to declare the latest shortstop fat contract roulette spin a failure, and move on.

o-cab, we hardly knew ya.

hanley, we wish you were here.

but, puh-leeze, theo, help terry pull the plug. it's only going to get worse from here.

the hardest part of predicting with your heart

i think people get married with the same fervor and hope for the future that hockey fans reserve for setting aside all reason in order to root for the best. a 1-0 playoff hockey game is the classic test of resolve and will, and, hats off to carey price and his very best ken dryden imitation, because the boys in black and gold are staring into the abyss.

as deals with god or with the devil will be made, i don't even need them to win the series if i can just see le habitants faithful denied one last time at home. bring it back to boston, boys, for your fans. we're just not ready to let go of the dream just yet. i know you're not either.

GO BROONS!

one

"i knew at one point they were going to beat us".

so said habs coach and legend guy carbonneau. no, it wasn't decided according to the scorekeepers until almost 10 minutes into overtime, but to those with eyes to see, the boys in black and gold came to play, and play they did. in the not quite dozen games so far this season, (that's well over 11 HOURS of ice hockey including overtimes), the bruins have held a lead for exactly 17 minutes. which is to say, for over 11 HOURS of ice hockey between these two clubs this season, the montreal canadiens have never broken a real sweat. until last night. until marc savard jumped onto the ice as an extra skater during a delayed penalty, and swatted home wideman's pass to earn the victory. and for two days the habs will have that to think about while the home town boys look forward to more on tuesday.

it's on.

remember where you heard it first.

alexander pope

i'm not usually one to go ga-ga over long-dead poets not named poe, but this morning's quote reminds me that poetry is never dead that is so true, nor a poet whose words have become such elemental parts of an entire language. "hope springs eternal in the human breast, man never is, but always to be blest".

oddly enough, shakespeare gets credit for all his lines, which is the thing that started to notice pope to me. (i'm an underdog kinda guy, what can i say). "hope springs eternal" is something that would have certainly gained notice among bill's best, but "to err is human" might just well be the best of all, and how many people do you know who would know it was alex's pen behind it???

so who doesn't know how to finish these lines?

"to err is human"
"a bird in hand"
"fools rush in"

yes, i know it's a style to trash pope nevertheless, but dr. sam johnson always seemed to me to be the kind of guy who "got" things, and if pope was good enough for him, then who am i to argue with that? whether it's in description of beauty ("for her, the lilies hang their heads and die") or to observe that some things need to be just so ("the vulgar boil, the learned roast, an egg") there is much owed to pope.

"a little learning is a dangerous thing", "the ends must justify the means", "wretches hang that jurymen may dine" and "one murder made a villain, millions a hero". (yes, i'm thinking of iraq, and i dare you not to). "if stupidity got us into this mess, then why can't it get us out?" "but if we have such another victory, we are undone". "to attempt to work upon the vulgar with fine sense is like attempting to hew blocks with a razor". "zeal is very blind, or badly regulated, when it encroaches on the rights of others".

if only there were praise faint enough to damn such folly... (yes, "damn with faint praise" was pope's too). "hope springs eternal"...

hope springs eternal

pope rarely gets credit for all/any of his expressions of simple human truth. (why is that?) hope does, indeed, spring eternal, and, in the spring, there's no better way to put it. new season, new hopes, new day.

i cannot wait to put it all out on the field.

i'm not happy

a friend sent me a net joke about a guy crashing his car into a dwarf's, ("the little guy stormed out of his car, screaming 'I'M NOT HAPPY', so i say, 'so, which one are you then?', and, as the punch line goes, 'that's when the frickin' fighting started'), and the linchpin line has me this morning over last night's bruins heartbreak. great comeback to tie it late, but they're still not where they need to be, yet. yet. home ice now, and time to put it all together.

east of eden

james dean is as photogenic as they've ever come, and you can project onto him your entire life. i'm really not sure i liked all the performances, (even his had it's misses in spots), but east of eden is a cinematographical tour de force, and i could stare at the eye candy all day. (and i did). shot after shot is a breathtaking marvel. steinbeck sure had his way with family dysfunction and tragedy, and kazan the images to portray it, too. from the land of nod, east of eden...

denny crane

besides spending portions of this week's episode not wearing pants ("i spilled something on them--if it were you, would you rather look like an idiot, or an eccentric?") shatner got to deliver one of the sweetest inside lines i've heard in a long time. spader's character is troubled by childhood demons, and is compelled to ask his friend if he ever murdered any of his toys as a child. denny's response, perfectly on cue for character and full local Boston flavor, as any good writer would ensure, was:

"well, i shot my flat screen super bowl sunday".

didn't we all wish...

i love shatner. i love denny crane.

Ok, the second season starts SATURDAY

oh, those habs are a vexation and a curse.

was it because i didn't catch the first half of the game to be watching black and white, subtitled foreign films at the library? did they need me that much?

i can't risk the question a second time. 7pm. the dubliner, i think. (did you know that gervais and his movie people have already adopted my neighborhood bar?)

a perfect world will be the one in which tina fey comes in for a drink and confesses to the tall, dark and handsome stranger at the bar that the whole jeff richmond thing is really just a cover to protect her privacy, and that she's been a boston bruins fan since childhood, too, and doesn't beating the canadiens make the world's most perfect aphrodisiac?

yeah, that's the ticket.

the sons of bobby

this year's patriots had the team, just the same way this year's celtics and red sox have the teams, to go all the way. maybe tito and doc can do better than mr. bill (oh no!!!!!!) when it's all on the line. but the team i love the best this year is doing it all without any of those advantages, and doing it the old fashioned way, with determination and not style.

their goalie wasn't good enough to get out of the minor leagues until he was 30 years old. their two best centers are out with injuries. from top to bottom they are names that nobody else in the league knows, let alone respects, and they're facing the best team in their conference, the third best in the entire league, who also happens to be their oldest rival and perennial masters.

well, montreal, give us your best, because i say you're going to need it. this year's black and gold only have heart and grit to speak for them, just like it always was meant to be. underdogs, overachievers, and the only team in the conference never to have beaten the habs all year. but that all doesn't matter now, because it's four games to win and move on.

the legend starts again tonight.

life is hard

good times, bad times, you know i've had my share. (nods to mssrs page, plant, jones and bonham). there seems to be no limit to the fury of a woman scorned, and it's a good thing that hell hath--or how would they ever rig anything to contain it? and you can't just say "i give", because the answer would be "no, i take", and then take again.

i'm chastened by the consequences of my own selfish actions, and so profoundly sad to see that there is no antidote for genies let out of such bottles, yet powerless to do anything to stop its mad, inexorable rush towards futures unknown. all i can say is that my first, last and only advice to those married poorly is to take stock, read the textbooks on the subject of sunk costs, and accept your losses as cheerfully as you can manage while you liquidate your position. (kudos to john baumeister for his vocabulary lesson on the topic of "sublimation" in this weeks "the economist", as in, "the process by which assets considered solid evaporate without first passing through a liquid phase, as in 'oh, no, my stock in bear stearns just sublimated'.) trust me, your losses will prove far less than you'll find on the other side of where you're headed.

i can still hear my accounting professor chanting the words--totally depreciated, with no salvage value... yet, worst of all for me, an absence of salvage value would be so much better than the debt i'm forced to pay, and for which no estimate is yet available to guess it's final extent.

yet!

fenway was perfect. life is good.

it just isn't easy.

spring training

the detroit tigers can tell a few stories about the perils of starting over, and the sox' trip across continents and oceans hasn't left them any more sanguine about international travel, either, eh. but today, as with any other day, there are new beginnings and old friends, and it's up to us what we will do with them. still, the grand hoax of both hollywood and major league baseball is that there's anything even closely resembling a clean slate.

maybe the analogy in baseball is the contracts that pervert the pecking and the batting order, where someone will be optioned to the minors to start the season so to save the ownership a year of free-agent eligibility without the slightest regard to a player's true potential on the field. (or, maybe, it's really out of complete regard to the player's true potential on the field, since a lesser player wouldn't even warrant the bother). i wonder, if jacoby ellsbury wasn't indentured to his employer for seven years, (ironic that number, eh), whether they'd have been so quick to shuttle him to left field, and even to the bench, despite his promise as the future of the franchise. (what, you thought jason varitek might be getting any younger?)

but all that is simply cafe table gossip in the grand scheme of opening day. they take to a freshly-green field, to the adoring ovation of their legion of admirers, and can do no wrong, at least for one day. (if only...)

lots in my life to put right. grateful to have the chance to start over, compromised as it is. looking forward to the possibilities.

one for me, and one for my new/old friend, bartender.

best served cold

i won't go into detail, because i'm frankly too tired of it all to bother, but i will say the ex sure outdid herself this week with her petty obsessive compulsions. there was a moment when i was compelled to answer the bell, but, thankfully, it passed without my having committed the indiscretion. (helpfully, at my weakest point, she wasn't able to answer calls anyway, so i was saved the decision).

what i'm looking forward to today is the cold dish i'm earning with every passing slight, sling and arrow. where once was compassion, there is now only a bemused taste for schadenfreude. luckily for me, her inability to help herself means i won't even have to do anything to achieve it. she just keeps digging her own holes, and the simple fact that i no longer need to extend a hand down to help her out is sufficient. yes, she can still rankle me from within her own self-tormented world, but respite from that is completely within my own power to give me.

the summer weather is on its way. life is good.

and where do you go for a dog at 3am after the brewery closes?

bad dawgs just opened their downtown lowell location, (within the old mossie's sandwich shop), and they'll be open til 3am thursday through saturday. what's not to like!

"they laughed when i called it shangri-lowell"

the beer works people are coming, the beer works people are coming!

you can see the ballpark from the front door, and along with capacity to brew and tap 16 different flavors simultaneously, and watch everything you can dream from 20 foot projection tv screens in the mill-sized sports bar adjacent to the kettles, this is the dream everyone has been dreaming. they're even going to start bottling operations--my own official local brewery, staging area before and after expeditions to the park, and social mecca.

as craig ferguson likes to say every night, "it's a great day for america, everybody".

threes two

it's been pointed out to me that saturday night's abortive tmbg expedition might just qualify as the third three and hence put me out of the proverbial woods. it's a long story, beginning early last year before the whole divorce s*** hit the fan, when my membership to the music hall in portsmouth entitled me to early purchase of tmbg tickets, which i promptly executed, without waiting for further word to leak out that, because they later planned an afternoon "kids" show, they wouldn't be letting anyone under age 14 into the evening show. (they being the might be giants, not the music hall, though the music hall bears some responsibility for not reminding early purchasers that the policy had been put in place). anyway, me and three teenagers showed up at 8pm along with one rightfully indignant 11 year old that the whole thing had to be written off as a bust. yeah, they refunded the tickets, but nobody's helping me out with the $50 rental car and $30 worth of gas. murphy. but it's a sunny day today!

threes

if everything happens in them, then i'm going to need to buckle my seatbelt when i actually have one again. monday morning my favorite IT person (to be treated with the ultimate in respect and appreciation every day of the year) sent me a note letting me know that my machine had lapsed out of their supported setup configurations, and would i be able to get my manager to approve a new one. well, you know how i feel about new electronics, so that was turned around within an hour or so, and i thought i was way ahead of the game. but, wouldn't you know it, the note must have triggered something in the cosmos and my hard drive was crashed by that evening. kaput. basically my laptop had become just like my car. which would be, dead. died. gone.

good news is that the replacement was pre-approved and already on its way from the central distribution point. better news is that it's really a sweet machine. not so good news is that all my files need to be retrieved from the central backup server, which is profoundly slower than just copying them off the old drive. but you know the story on that, right. dead. died. gone.

so here i am in the office (yes, as craig ferguson likes to say, i KNOW!!!) and waiting on a process that, extrapolating from current progress, is likely to take all night and well into tomorrow to complete.

so what's the other cosmic shoe, do you think? car... computer... i hope it's not a leaky roof.