Song of the Summer

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My love affair with Smartwool; continued

noreply@blogger.com (Mike) — Wed, 26 Aug 2009 06:15:00 +0000

I'm flying* from New Orleans to Houston on a completely empty Southwest flight. There is plenty of space to stretch out, make yourself comfortable, and let the dogs breath. My dogs are breathing. And they are happy. Very happy. They have a pair of Smartwool light hikers on. That is my definition of happy feet.

*This passage really was started on the flight; I have no idea when it will finish itself, but it likely won't be during the 32 minutes of electronic usage time I am currently enjoying. (Note: I'm only talking to you because I left my new Scientific American at home. It is the Origins issue -- and I cannot wait to wade into it. Andy: have you read it yet; is it awesome?)

The light hikers haven't been the sock of choice for the past two years though. I actually haven't bought a new pair of light hikers* in at least that long. Why?, because I've been living in Houston. They came out today because I was going to have on the steel toes and wanted to treat the feet during the plane ride.

*Do you own a pair of Smartwool light hikers? I hope you do. If you are my friend, I sincerely hope you have a pair or eight. If I don't know you, I hope that you own a pair. Even if you are a jerk, I still hope that you'll treat your feet. Why?,** because they make your feet happy. Put on a pair and I defy you to tell me that your feet are not instantly happier. If you are a complete jerk, I defy you to not be less of a jerk wearing light hikers. (Can someone tell me if all those negatives came out the way I intended?) Seriously: they are euphoria in a legging. Light hikers are the crack of the hosiery world.

**The ?, is a bit of punctuation that has been needed for a while. First off: it completely baffles the grammar checker and you’ll notice your CPU speed dramatically dip as MSWord tries to figure out what’s going on. Second: if you are going to be running around asking me “Why?” in the middle of my story, then what makes you think your intrusion deserves any more than a fragment? The ?, allows the fragment retort with the disguise of a complete sentence. Perfect.

And my happy feet have me thinking about November; about the end of autumn and the beginning of winter*; about sitting next to a fire with a fleece blanket, a hot tea, and a book; about how my toes like to brag to their cousin digits that they will never know the warm embrace of the light hiker.

*Wait a second. Autumn, Winter, Fire? You live in two season Houston: hot and hotter. True. But that's going to be changing and it is going to be changing pretty soon. I'm looking to move to Providence, RI at the end of October. The why is a story that can be summed up by me telling you I will now be working out of my company's Massachusetts (Boston area) office. The office is actually closer to Providence than Boston; and after living in Texas for two years, this Delaware boy needs to find himself back in a small state. Daily border crossings that don't require air travel: Boo-yah!

But enough about job relocation and new work assignments - let's go back to talking about my feet. You know what they have all over greater New England? Hiking trails. It's true. Know what you should do when you set out to do some hiking? That's right - smack on the Smartwool*. Now you're getting the concept!

*I gotta be honest SK, a big part of me wanting to write this was piece was the thought of you laughing at my summertime volleyball wool socks. Don't fear; my feet have been in wool pretty much the entire time they have been socked in hot Houston. Plus, I'm not sure if the V’s know that I'm moving. Anyhow, I am.

If you just read that side note to SK, you've ascertained that I'm a bit of freak about the wool socks. You are also pretty nosy. Actually, I'm beating that you figure out the freak part by sentence three of paragraph number one; so, thanks for sticking around. I do love the wool sock – guilty, and I'd honestly prefer to wear nothing but. Wool socks and Tevas: yes please. Wool socks for a workout: yep. Wool in the hot & humid Houston summer? Yeah. What can I tell ya that you don't already know*: I'm a freak.

*You may not know that it is time to power down all electronic devices. Well, it is.

And with that, I am bringing this announcement that I’m moving to Providence (exact locale yet to be determined) to an end. No, it didn’t really seem like a moving announcement to me either. However, that was its original intention – inspired by my feet being happy. I hope to be in New England on a somewhat regular basis by the beginning of November 2009. If you are looking to get me a house warming present – I wear a size large.

2009 Song of the Summer

noreply@blogger.com (Mike) — Thu, 21 May 2009 01:36:00 +0000

Blog reader exclusive:
the 2009 Song of the Summer is going to be "Clocks" by Coldplay
I'm sorry Styx. I just am.

Please visit www.songofthesummer.com for full details.

Song of the Summer -- Artist Release

noreply@blogger.com (Mike) — Wed, 20 May 2009 19:46:00 +0000

We are not ready for the full Song release, but this pre-announcement (for blog readers only) is letting you know that the 2009 Song of the Summer is going to be a song from Styx (or maybe not). Get your radios ready!

edited: as of 6pm CDT the SoS for 2009 is still in Flux. Styx is still in the lead, but it may change radically. Stay tuned.

Bathroom Etiquette

noreply@blogger.com (Mike) — Sun, 19 Apr 2009 07:00:00 +0000

There are a host of unwritten rules (and steadfastly adhered to) of bathroom etiquette which dictate how men choose and act around bathroom urinals. For example, when you walk into a bathroom with three urinals, one unoccupied, every self-respecting man in the universe will choose the furthermost other urinal. This is innate knowledge; I was never told or instructed that I should/had to act this way.

However, I have no idea how to act when I encounter a urinal in a co-habitational bathroom. Here's what I just encountered: men & women's bathroom, one urinal, one stall, one sink. Everyone associated with this installation should be quarantined in an educational camp - like what the commies did with Jed & Matt’s father in the movie Red Dawn*.

*This is just occurring to me, but Patrick Swayze might merit consideration as the most popular actor of all time. Seriously? I'm as surprised to be writing this, as you are to be reading it. But answer me this: What actor has more movies that fall into the category of "I just cannot bring myself to stop watching it whenever my remote control finds it?" I can think of four or five off the top of my head. Whether or not you cannot turn them off may be highly dependent on your gender, but their ever-presence on cable TV evenings tells the story here. Let's examine the body of work:

Road House: “His name … is Dalton.” In what might his most readily findable (when is it not on TBS or TNT or Spike?) silver screen offering Swayze plays a cooler named Dalton. A cooler is bouncer who magically transforms your dive bar into a delightfully neon-glowing music destination. Patty boy does this by a) being nice; b) breaking tables in half with surly bar patrons heads; and c) befriending kooky all men that make references to elevators in outhouses. It is just how I’d do it. Naturally he also beds the local blonde doctor and disposes of the original source of evil & surliness so that all can live happily ever after. I’m sure you’ve seen it 50 times yourself. Here’s what I want to know: does he retire and live off the blonde doctor’s income the rest of his life? Because if all the town’s evil has been disposed, how’s Dalton going to make a living?

Dirty Dancing: Why, why, why on earth did Jennifer Grey get a nose job? Have you seen her lately? Jennifer I am sure you are tired of hearing this, but we weren’t kidding when we thought & told you that you were hot, hot, hot in Ferris & Red Dawn & this girly movie. Anyhow, in the DD (tragically not related to Dungeons or Dragons) movie that your girlfriend/wife insists on leaving on the tube, Johnny Castle weepingly insists that “we are going to do our kind of dancing!” Baby’s father becomes so distraught and disturbed at Johnny rubbing all over his little girl that he leaves the family and becomes a homicide detective in New York City.

Red Dawn: 1980's action epic where the Soviets invade America only to be thwarted by the Swayze lead band of Wolverine's. Wolverines! Girls, if you are reading this at the same time your fella is reading on a different PC, you can tell when he got to the "Wolverines!" since his right arm involuntarily extended high overhead with a half closed hand. Why half closed? Cause he's holding his imaginary assault rifle. In his mind, he’s ready for the pinko invaders. This knowledge should help you sleep better at night. Your home and family will be safe if the Cubans attack. But you might want to watch the movie again just to be safe.

Ghost: Why did the writers of Ghost and Swayze’s character Sam dislike Dave Brubeck? That one little line where Sam declares that they (Sam & Molly) hated the Dave Brubeck concert has always bugged me. And a lot. Was The Dave Brubeck Quartet a studio sensation and stunk the hiney on a live tour? It is possible, but it seems highly unlikely. I’m betting that these two characters just don’t get it. Don’t enjoy a good concert. But they feel like they should go or that it is the thing to do. Which just plain stinks, because these people make me wind up paying more $$ for concert tickets. I hope they never figure out that Robert Randolph and Luther Dickinson are gods. I know I should allow myself to get past this, but really I don’t think I want to watch the rest of movie anyhow.

The Outsiders: Rest in peace Ponyboy Curtis! It pains me to say this, but looking objectively at my life, I imagine that I’d have to fall into the Soc's category. Why then do I root and cheer for them to get their butts kicked? Where’s the cheering for the home team. Of course I realize that the Soc's would always loose, but I’m a Phillies fan & 2008 notwithstanding, I should be prepared and fully accepting a futile rooting interest.

Those are five movies that come to me immediately. Examining his IMDB page reveals some other gems and some that we just won’t mention**. But I’m saying that Swayze’s record, at least on a popularity of film basis, is incredibly strong.

**"I am an EFF - BEE - EYE Agent!"

After we are done re-educating and neutering the designers of co-ed bathrooms with urinals, we are going to need rules for how to handle the one stall & one urinal situation until these bathrooms have been eradicated. Here are my suggestions:

Guys: when entering an empty bathroom, you should opt for the stall regardless of business intent.
Guys: when entering a bathroom and you see the stall door closed you should immediately utter “excuse me”. A male response allows you proceed with to the urinal. If the other guy is done before you, he should give a ten count after exiting the bathroom to hopefully block the door and give you enough time to get to the hand washing phase.
Guys: seriously – wash your hands; with soap
Girls: if you enter a bathroom and find someone at the urinal, please do not engage in conversation. If you want to shoot straight into the stall that’s up to you, but keep the excuse me’s and hello’s to yourself.

I hope all this helps. I'm not sure how it will, but I'll hope it anyhow.

Boycott Organization through Google Status

noreply@blogger.com (Mike) — Wed, 07 Jan 2009 05:55:00 +0000

We are boycotting Chick-Fil-A. Why? Coupon Distribution Disagreements & Disturbances. More specifically, the Bel Air, MD Chick-Fil-A coupon distributors disturbed the Official Dad of the Song of the Summer. Dad was in the hardware store getting himself a new garbage disposal. It appears the coupon distributors caused a traffic backup outside of the hardware store parking lot. And you know you have no time for coupons or grabassing when you are in the midst of a plumbing project. Plumbing is not a time for foolishness*. It's a time for cursing.

*I'm in Texas and the sports fans down here love the foolishness - also known as college football. Currently everyone is debating who should be the national champion. This quote from a Salon article sums up the arguments nicely & shows why Tulane should be the National Champion:

"The Green Wave went 2-10 this year, but they made those wins count. One of them was over Louisiana-Monroe, so I think you see my point. No? OK: Tulane beat Louisiana-Monroe, who beat Troy, who beat Middle Tennessee, who beat Maryland, who beat Wake Forest, who beat Mississippi. Aha! Mississippi! What do you mean, so what? Ole Miss beat Florida. But that's not all. The Rebels also beat Texas Tech, who beat Texas, who beat Oklahoma. There's a direct line of losing from both teams in the BCS Championship Game to Tulane. That's what makes Tulane, last seen losing 45-6 to Memphis, your 2008 national champion."

Fortunately we also have lots of time for foolishness. That's why we are here. And really, it is the primary reason you'll join the boycott. I found out about the boycott via Dad's Google Status (gStatus*). I asked for clarification and that's when I received the above story. Then I changed my gStatus to "joining the boycott". Next time you don't feel loved or need a chat buddy - use that gStatus. Lots of people will come a knocking.

*Do you have a Gmail account? IF Answer=YES THEN Goto NextParagraph ELSE Response="What's wrong with you? Are you still pining for Pine? Are you a masochist? Were you not breastfed? Go get a Gmail account now. Yes. Right now. You may proceed reading this post later.";

Pretty soon I found myself explaining the situation to all my gBuddies. And then all their gStatus started changing to "Chick-Fil-A ruins lives" & "Done. No Chick-Fil-A for me" & "Down with Traffic and Down with Chick-Fil-A". It was turning into a movement. And now we are here - you are currently* boycotting Chick-Fil-A.

*Unless you are reading this on your iPhone or Crackberry inside of a Chick-Fil-A. In that case walk straight up to the counter, gather everyone attention, and sing** "Please don't block my car with coupons. I don't want your chicken today." And then march straight on out. (Steal/borrow the melody from Harry Chapin's "30,000 Pounds of Bananas" - "Yes, we have no bananas. We have no bananas today."

**Boycott movements pretty much mandate singing. It's pretty much been that way ever since Alice's Restaurant.

Now you might be thinking, "but I like Chick-Fil-A". Too bad. I mean I'm not mandating you join the movement, but you really have little choice. It is too silly to argue with. Are you really prepared to miss out on this foolish of an opportunity this close to the New Year*? I would hope not.

*Tennis BADLY needs a new PR firm. Or maybe any PR firm. Let me explain: people have been recapping the year in sports and are pretty much in agreement that the 8 gold medal Phelps performance takes the cake. I say hogwash. The best moment of the year; the best whole day of the year, was the entire day** Nadal & Federer crushed tennis balls on the lawn at Wimbledon. The greatest tennis match of all time.

**It really did go on all day. And I was sad when it ended. I remember talking to my sister, who also watched the match, and she asked, "Now what I am supposed to do?" We had watched the same match for a whole day.

The reason this match stands out as the best moment of the year (and one of the best I have ever seen) is the incredibly high level of play both players exhibited in the match. Someone is always going to win the trophy, the medal, the championship, 'that ring' at the end of your event. But it is a rare treat to see two people play better than maybe anyone ever has - in the same match. That was this year's Wimbledon final. I still get happy every time I think about it.

Maybe I'm wrong about the 8 gold thing - that was pretty impressive & I was glued to the TV. I'll give you that. (Nope: I'm sticking with the Wimbledon Final.) But can you drop the rest of the so-called candidates**? We are talking about quite possibly (it is) the greatest tennis match ever played. Not this year. Ever.

**If you are not going to talk about tennis (and you should), can I at least stop hearing about: The Helmet Catch. In last year's Super Bowl a wide receiver (David Tyree) saves his team's hopes by catching a last-minute pass with one hand and his helmet. It was cool. It was impressive. The very next play the same receiver drops a very catchable pass. He tried his best - but the truth is that he's not that good. That was fortunate for the Giants, because if he had caught that next pass, time would have expired and the Patriots would have won. The helmet catch was fun. It was also very lucky. Luckier still that he can't actually catch with two hands.

The opinion that it is the greatest match ever played is not just mine - the tennis media (if there actually is such a thing) is in pretty much agreement over it. But there is nary a peep in the 2008 year-end articles. The greatest match ever and sports writers have largely forgotten about it? You have forgotten/never knew about it? Try getting the word out a little Tennis. Just a little.

Enjoy the foolishness. Enjoy the boycott. I bet Rafael & Roger don't eat Chick-Fil-A. And I bet Giants* wide receivers do.

*May the Eagles give you a right stomping this coming Sunday.

Worst Day of My Life

noreply@blogger.com (Mike) — Tue, 02 Dec 2008 05:30:00 +0000

Have I reminded you lately that the Phillies won the 2008 World Series? They really did. And even better than just winning a World Series - they won one that is going to be talked about a lot. It included a game with a 50 hour rain delay. ESPN will be showing video of the rain soaked Cole & Company for the rest of my life. I'm still giddy.

The Phils winning the Series was fantastic. Not the greatest day ever, but fantastic nonetheless. I actually do not have an answer for the favorite day of my life. I encourage the Song of the Summer's most faithful players to enter suggestions. However, I do have an answer to what was the worst day of my life. Or more correctly, the worst day of my life that makes for a good & funny story.

I was in my junior year at the University of Delaware. For months, one of my roommates had been pestering me about going skydiving with him. I was in. I was young; given my youth, you may correctly infer that I was an idiot. I knew other idiots. We went off for a great time. Reddog, K-Pan, Coffee (the experienced one), and I headed towards Lancaster, PA to jump out of an airplane.

We were not interested in a tandem jump. NO. We wanted to take our first step towards obtaining our skydiving license*. We took a class. We signed waivers. We were put into a Cessna with all its seats (except the pilot's) ripped out. We were brave. The testosterone flowed. The jumpmaster opened the door. I was coaxed out the door and soon found myself using the strut of the aircraft as a pull up bar at 3000 feet. The bravery was long gone.

*I'm still on step one.

I know what you are thinking, but I was supposed to be hanging from that strut. It was part of the plan. We were all doing a static line jump where my only responsibility was to depart the aircraft. The static line attached to me would handle pulling out the parachute. The jumpmaster gave me the thumbs up which meant I was to let go of the strut. I too showed him a finger, but in my zeal this caused me to start my free fall.

The chute opened just fine. This is not that kind of story. What didn't work so well, was the steering. We had all been instructed that we were not conditioned to steer in 3-Dimensions*. I understood and respected this advice and was fully prepared to follow all the instructions that were to come out of the one-way radio strapped to my chest.

*That car you drive doesn't reallly change it's vertical state - I hope.

At first this informational system worked great. Using the groud based instructions, I found a nice line to the airfield and settled in for a relaxing float towards Earth. Around 500 feet I thought I had a problem:

I think I'm headed directly for a parked plane!

No instructions came from the radio man & we had been warned that our brains would trick us. "Do what the guy on the other end of that radio says." So I did nothing. At about 100 feet off the ground I fully re-entered my vector computational comfort zone & I was headed directly for that parked plane. My momentary glee over knowing I am capable of personal 3-D spacial relations was highly tempered by my fear of that large, immovable bundle of aluminum & steel.

Still no communications from that one-way radio. I couldn't wait any longer. I decided not to hit that plane, so I turned right. You pick up speed when you turn while under canopy. So now I'm going faster & I was about to reacquaint myself with the Earth's crust. And so I did.

My feet come immediately out from under me and my bum slammed down hard onto a taxi-way. I slide across that taxi-way and another 40 feet on the infield grass. I wanted to get up. I was happy that my legs worked just fine, which was important because I was hopping mad. Coffee does a great job of keeping me away from the delinquent radio man. And after about an hour the adrenaline started to wear off. I know how long it took, because that's when the pain set in.

I had broken my ass. My coccyx bone. And now I couldn't step forward three inches without shooting pain. Fortunately we had a nice bumpy, back road, 1.5 hour drive to campus. It hurt. I hurt. I bought an 8lb bag of ice and settled down on chair. In about 3 hours and 27 minutes, I would feel even worse.

That is when Joe Carter hit a three-run tater off Mitch Williams to defeat the Phillies in the 1993 World Series. Me. A broken ass. And a World Series defeat. Saturday, October 23, 1993 is a day I'll never forget. And probably the one day I have been asked to retell more than any other.

I didn't break my ass in October of 2008. Phils: when you make it back again, I promise not to jump out of any planes. That formula is working better for us.

Boondoggles in the Age of Mercantilism

noreply@blogger.com (Mike) — Mon, 01 Dec 2008 06:31:00 +0000

I'm in New Orleans (actually Belle Chase, LA). On Friday I'll be flying to Delaware*. Given the quantity of good food, live music, and the magic that is Delaware in December; you might think that I'm on a boondoggle. Why would you say that?

*Of course I'm not flying directly to DE. I'll be touching down in Baltimore and making my way north via I-95. Could someone please make the New Castle County Airport a commercially viable airport? That's all** I want for Christmas.

**I actually want quite a bit more. Like everyone else I lied a little when I made the grandiose statement.

You said it, because people love to say Boondoggle. Please take a minute to say it out loud. Did you say it more than once? Of course you did. It must be one of ten most satisfying words/phrases* to say out loud. Do you know what a boondoggle is? I've never bothered to look up a definition of the word in a proper reference compendium. My connotation is that a boondoggle is when someone takes a business trip for primarily personal reasons.

*I don't have a top ten list put together, but when I do I guarantee that Mercantilistic Idealisms will be on that list. Why? I'm so happy that you asked.

Mercantilistic Idealisms: One of my favorite high school compatriots, Stan Brunson, used this as his stock answer to any geopolitical question that might come up in Economics, Political Science, World Studies, and sometime even Physics. I think Stan enjoyed the confused look on our Physics teacher's face when he'd answer a question about free body diagrams with "Mercantilistic Idealisms".

Mind you, I don't think this answer was ever correct - even when were studying mercantilism during Political Science class. The key to the entire answer wasn't to get it right - it was generally to lighten the mood and get a laugh. If Stan was answering Mercantilistic Idealisms, then the chances were good that no one knew the answer. It was straight deflection & a bit more polite and engaging than "We don't know already; can we move the class along?"

If you want to try this at home, the delivery is also highly important. The first thing you need to be is 6'7". The second step is to lean back in your combo desk/seat with your hands behind your head and your feet halfway across the aisle. The third step is confidently answer "Mercantilistic Idealisms" and grin like you might have just said the most important thing of the decade.

By the way, I think I made up the part about Physics class. But I want to believe (it really isn't inconceivable) that he may have used this answer in Physics class. Stan may have also only used this answer about five times in four years of high school and I may have been the only other one that found it funny. But I still do.

It is my contention that the number of boondoggles actually taken are at least a factor of ten less than the number of times you hear the accusation of a boondoggle. (Remember this post is about boondoggles.*) I don't have sound math behind that number, but I know people love to accuse others of being on boondoggles. I think it is primarily because people really like to say the word.

*That sentence made me think about Arlo Guthrie's 'Alice's Restaurant' and now I'd just like to take a second to wish you a belated Happy Thanksgiving. I hope you had a meal & then a second meal that just couldn't be beat.

However, I don't want you to stop. I like saying boondoggle as much as next guy. Go ahead - accuse me of being on a boondoggle all you want. Just don't be surprised when I answer your question about the purpose of my trip with: Mercantilistic Idealisms.

Five Rules Worth Adopting Immediately

noreply@blogger.com (Mike) — Fri, 14 Nov 2008 05:14:00 +0000

By now you may have read that the Congressman from Georgia's 10th District, Paul Broun, has compared Barack Obama to Adolf Hitler:

"We can't be lulled into complacency. You have to remember that Adolf Hitler was elected in a democratic Germany. I'm not comparing him (Obama) to Adolf Hitler. What I'm saying is there is the potential of going down that road."

If you have missed this item, you may find editorials about it here and here. The Congressman has evidently apologized. Good for him; but I am here to suggest we all immediately adopt the five following rules (stolen from this Joe Posnanski's blog):

Rule 1: It is never a good idea to invoke the name of Hitler to make any unrelated point.
Rule 2: However, if you plan to bring up Hitler in historical context, see Rule 1.
Rule 3: In certain rare cases, when you are interested in using Hitler to prove a larger truth, see Rule 1.
Rule 4: The one exception to this is … See Rule 1.
Rule 5: Yeah. Rule 1. Always.

Joe Posnanski was writing about a quote from college football analyst Lou Holtz. It was a pretty stupid quote.

But here is the thing: you always look pretty stupid when you are use Hitler in any kind of comparison - unless you are comparing genocidal despots. If you cannot get your point across that idea/person "X" is bad/evil/sucks, then punt. Or set your head on fire. Or something else less dramatic than saying "he's/its like Hitler".

And Congress Broun, when you apologized for your comments why did you have to say, "I apologize to anyone who has taken offense at that." Anyone? That would be basically everyone on the planet; some will certainly have cause to be offended more than others - but really, you caught everyone with that zinger. Please see Rules 1 through 5 and apply immediately.

Stephen: You're Still Waiting

noreply@blogger.com (Mike) — Mon, 10 Nov 2008 05:14:00 +0000

On Sunday morning Ed* & I take a quick trip down to Einstein Brother's to grab breakfast sandwiches. It wasn't Einstein's greatest moment in efficiency. It was an absolute chaotic mess.

*Mike's neighbor in Houston, Texas

We wind up waiting for 20 minutes to get our sandwiches. Making matters more interesting, there was also the challenge of entertaining Ed's 2yr old* son for this duration.

*Like every other 2yr old on the planet Ed's son knows three emotions: complete happines; complete meltdown tantrum; and the transitional space between these two dichotomies. And like all 2yr olds he only occupies that transitional space for 1.7 minutes at a time.

These certainties lead to fantastic entertainment possibilities, provided you are not the parent responsible. When the 2yr old is completely happy chances are he is doing something hilarious. That something hilarious is almost guaranteed to include behavior you have to curb as a parent. That curbing induces the 1.7-minute walk to complete meltdown tantrum. Again that's hilarious, provided you are not the parent.

We are not the only ones waiting for their food, naturally. The Einstein's staff was in utter disarray. They are shouting out orders and asking if anyone is waiting for a bagel. Why yes we all are. And they busily get back to work.

Establishments like this tend to always have an employee that is exerting an incredible about amount of energy, but seemingly isn't really helping the greater cause. Fortunately there was one such employee working today and I was having a blast watching her work. She'd run the length of the counter 3 times while making a sandwich and when it was made - it would sit there for at least 5 minutes*. She ran off elsewhere.

*I'm certain there is an uneaten bagel with lox and cream cheese waiting on that counter right now.

Occasionally she manages to actually fill the requirements of an order and then your name is shouted an impressive decibel level. "MIKE!" But currently she is continuing her intensely caloric activities when she yells:

"STEPHEN!!!"

Stephen is on his cell phone. He was on the phone when he ordered. He's still on the phone while he waits. He informs the other end of the conversation he needs a second: "Yes."

"You're Still Waiting!"

Huh? For some reason at the beginning or somewhere in the middle of preparing his food she decided he needed to know that he was still waiting.

"STEPHEN!!! ... ... You're still waiting!"

I lost it. I burst out in full giggle mode. Stephen didn't appreciate it very much: the statement of the obvious or my laughing. The customer to the left of me thought it was equally hilarious, but she had much more restraint & decorum than I. Turns out that Ed's son wasn't the only one with etiquette issues. But I was happy like a 2 year old. And I think I still am.

Rain Delay Vindication - Finally

noreply@blogger.com (Mike) — Thu, 30 Oct 2008 01:55:00 +0000

The Phillies had to Win. Karma Demands it. I'm not talking about horrible handling of Game 5 by MLB. The Phillies should have won the World Series last year. At the very least, they deserved to destroy the Colorado Rockies in the playoffs. They didn't. Karma must have been taking a vacation.

Last season, the 2007 MLB season, the Phillies were playing the Rockies in Colorado. A storm sweeps into Denver that forces a rain delay. It happens. But the storm carried some impressive winds. Winds that were strong enough to whip some things around. So if you were carrying a sail - like say a tarp to cover the infield - you might find yourself no longer attached to the Earth.

Watch this video. Watch it again. It'll make you feel happy about sports. Happy about the Phillies having just won the World Series. Happy that these multi-millionaire athletes jumped right out of the dugout to help out the Colorado ground crew. The Colorado ground crew. Where were the Rockies? I don't know. The Karma Gods of Baseball (KGB) should have granted the Phils the World Series last year.

The KGB got it right this year. And they were good enough to remind you why you should love this team. Why you maybe should love baseball. Why the Flyin' Hawaiian shouldn't never be booed. The Fightin's are not even afraid of Mother Nature.

80 - 08. Way to go Phillies. . . Way to go Phillies!!!!!!!!!!!!

Think Blue; You're Not Fooling Anyone

noreply@blogger.com (Mike) — Thu, 16 Oct 2008 03:29:00 +0000

Have you been reading about how you should unplug everything you own - presumably when you are not using it - so you will not waste electricity? Some of it makes a lot of sense: turn off your computer; turn off lights in rooms you are not in; unplug the TV when not in use. I can get behind all of that. But why do I need to unplug my cell phone charger? I hear this one mentioned all the time. But where is the electrical potential that is going to waste electricity? I don't get it. But I do it anyhow.

I don't want to talk about any of that though. I come to you with a new plan to promote being green* and stop wasteful electricity usage: Stop trying to fool me that you are still at work. You probably work with a guy that leaves everyday about 10-30 minutes early all the time. The offender will invariably leave the lights on & computer screen on with an open Excel spreadsheet. It's always a spreadsheet. It all is meant to make it look like he might just have stepped out to use the bathroom. Well, you're not fooling anyone, so could you please turn off the lights and PC and save a kWh or two?

*Why do we call it green? I've never questioned this before, but really there is a heck of lot more blue that we are worried about: the oceans, the sky, those guys that make odd music out of PVC instruments. Plus, the Berkeley hippies already have green. We could start a new movement to be blue and then anyone those that doesn't want to be associated with Berkeley (think Code Pink) can just call themselves blue. Plus if you care to be snotty you could now say, "Well I'm blue, because I care about more of the planet than you do."

Last week I went to go visit a client. Evidently, he likes to get into work late. Who doesn't? I didn't mind at all waiting in his office for five minutes before the start of our meeting. But I didn't know he wasn't there yet. There were three, yup three, monitors actively displaying work like substances, the lights in the office were on, and a radio was playing -- country. So I ask the first guy who walks past if my client is in some other part of the plant. "Nah. He's just not here yet. He gets in late, but he stays late too." Good for him. However, if three monitors, lights, and top 40-esque nasty country music cannot fool a coworker, then give up. Turn the lights off. You'll sleep better at night.

Now go tell all your friends.

Orange Preferences

noreply@blogger.com (Mike) — Tue, 07 Oct 2008 02:06:00 +0000

I know I shouldn't, but dammit I like candy corn. At least I like candy corn in the autumnal season. And come to think of it, why shouldn't I like candy corn? Screw you anti-candy corn lobby, we are taking Halloween back.

Now I have question: Do you prefer a corn of candy that doesn't have all of its color parts? I'm talking about the piece that doesn't have the white part. That's the most common variant: yellow bottom and orange through out the rest. Of course, it is supposed to be yellow, orange, and white - from bottom to the top. But occasionally you get this malformed kernel, and for some strange reason I like that piece best. Why?

I fully realize that there isn't going to be a taste difference. Yet if I have five kernels to eat, I'm eating that abnormal one last. I'm saving it for last. It's like finding a four leaf clover, but better because it's candy corn and you get to eat it. Plus, it should be autumn and that's a pretty bad time to be looking for clovers.

Sure I'm thinking too much about this - someone has to - but I also vastly prefer my abnormal corns to be predominantly orange. What's up with that? I'm afraid if I ever got one that was greater than 38.5% white that I'd throw it back. A solid yellow corn I might be able to take. Solid orange - yes please!. Yet I'd be horrified to see a bowl* of just misfits kernels.

*For such a pedestrian food stuff you will see candy corn in the fanciest of dishes. Have a look at the bowl on the coffee table of the open house you are going to on Saturday. It'll be full of Brachs candy corn and you'd probably be able to buy your weight in candy corn for the MSRP of that Swarovski crystal vessel.

Well, I hope you are enjoying some October. I just got my pool back this weekend. My first dip, post Ike, came on 05-Oct. And if you have been following at home, my sister does have her power back. Suz regained power after being out of juice for about sixteen days. And I regained my apartment at the same time. It was great having some live in family & the cutest niece ever living with me. And you can thank the Official Sister of the Song of the Summer for providing the bowl of candy corn that inspired this piece. Thanks sis.

Keyboard Shortcuts Will Make You Happy

noreply@blogger.com (Mike) — Sat, 04 Oct 2008 15:41:00 +0000

If you are a geek like me, you love the keyboard shortcut. Even if you are not a geek* you ought to learn to love the keyboard shortcut. Death to the Mouse! Chances are you already know and love Alt+Tab (switch between Windows applications) and WinKey+E (open Windows Explorer).

*If you think you are not a geek, I would like to point out that you are reading my blog. The outlook for your non-geekness is looking pretty slim. However, we all love geeks here at the Song of the Summer.

Keyboard shortcuts really are fantastic - and I alway want to learn more. However, every now and again I learn about other PC fun that just makes me happy. It's not surprising that most of it comes from the good folks at Google. Well I just read David Pogue's NYTimes blog entry on PC Basics. And I picked up three little gems that I didn't know about:

You can use Google to do math for you. Just type the equation, like 23*7+15/3=, and hit Enter. {There is literally no need for this, but I find it fun anyhow.}
Google is also a units-of-measurement and currency converter. Type "teaspoons in 1.3 gallons," for example, or "euros in 17 dollars." Click Search to see the answer.
WinKey+D will show the Desktop. WinKey+D again will return you to what you were doing. {The return thing is the money part. And to think that I've been using WinKey+M all these years...}

By all means have a read through David Pogue's article, maybe there are new and good ones for you in there as well. In the meantime, I have pulled a few other gems out the comments section from this particular blog.

Special bonus features from the user comments:

In Microsoft Word - Shift+F3 makes a word change from all uppercase to all lowercase to just the first letter upper case and so on. (Big Fizz BIG FIZZ)
A tip for Texans on filling in the "State" box. Type tt and then Enter. Texas will be entered into the box. No more having to scroll down to the bottom of the list of states. (This one is a little Mike specific.)
In Firefox, CTRL+K or COMMAND+K will navigate your cursor to the Google search bar, so you can type in your searches without taking your hands from the keyboard.
Google Synonym Search - If you want to search not only for your search term but also for its synonyms, place the tilde sign (~) immediately in front of your search term. e.g. ~fast food

Comments I just thought was humorous:

…And thanks for not including the words "idiots," "dummies," "morons," "half-wits," "simpletons" or "Alaskan governors" in the title… Many regular, intelligent people don't know — and need to know — this stuff!
If you "run out of mouse pad," all is not lost! Just lift your mouse, reposition, and continue. [This, based on a real life experience with a work colleague.]

And finally from the angry anti-cell phone lobby:

When your cell phone is ringing in a public place, you should push any button on the side of the phone as soon as possible to silence the ringer. The call will still be there and ringing, just not audibly. You can then answer the phone at your convenience, or you can let it go to voicemail if it is not an appropriate time to answer the phone.

It never ceases to amaze me to see people who think their only two options are to answer the phone or to let it ring outloud until voicemail picks up. Letting your phone ring repeately in a public place is not acceptable.
— Posted by Mike

(Note: this last comment was not posted by Mike Lennon. However Mike Lennon does find it humorous that someone is upset enough to post a comment deep, deep on a NYTimes blog & maybe thinks he might find the intended recipient(s). Good Luck Mike. Good luck.

2008 SoS Champion: Shawn Kline

noreply@blogger.com (Mike) — Fri, 26 Sep 2008 01:44:00 +0000

At some point or another, the Song of the Summer Blog was going to have to address the actual topic of the Song of the Summer. This was number one on the list of topics that this blog has been avoiding - and for no good reason what so ever. Number two is giving credit to the Posterisk*. And now that the non-authenticity of food has been covered, I think that temporarily frees up the list of blog avoidance. However, JJ might remind me quickly that I'm forgetting a few.

*I completely stole this tangential writing device. I like to read a good bit of the blog posts from Joe Posnanski - and I cannot recommend the Stan Musial post enough. He frequently uses an asterisk to allow him to completely leave the topic at hand - such as avoiding talking about the Song of the Summer Champion. He calls the device a Posterisk. If for some strange reason you find my blog Mr. Posnanski, I hope this inset adequately gives you the credit you deserve. And I would like to point out that Leicester City** is enjoying a good start to the season.

**To all the soccer snobs out there that say that relegation is the greatest thing -- screw you. You try cheering for a team that keeps on getting relegated. Sure it's cute the first time. But then you get relegated again and you start showing up to work dressed all in black. {p.s. If Leicester gains promotion this season, I reserve the right to brag effusively and disavow ever writing this paragraph.}

You are at the home of the Song of the Summer website and this blog is the home to the official ramblings that come from a contest as silly as the SoS. If you need further explanation of the contest - go to the SoS main home page. And we are here to talk about the recently concluded 2008 Song of the Summer Season.

As you may have surmised from the title of this blog post, your SoS champion is Shawn Kline. Shawn had seven (7) listens of Tom Petty's American Girl. No one caught the legacy bonus this season - and many people were desperately trying. The Official Brother of the SoS came close to missing the legacy in the worst fashion ever: by only needing the actual Song. I cannot think of worse fate. (He also need Solsbury Hill.) Like many of you, I too heard way way too many American Woman's. It was beyond belief. Guess Who and Lenny Kravitz - it didn't matter. That song was everywhere. I have nothing against it, but seriously, why does it and not American Girl need to be played so much. Would someone please answer this vital question?

The Song of the Summer's favorite correspondence once again came from loyal SoS participant Tom Berta. Here is an excerpt from his email:

"My final SoS tally was 3 official listens. I also had four "American Girl" partials and more "Refugee"s than a war-ravaged country. I heard most of the legacy songs but never got a whiff of "Summertime" or "Sultans of Swing" and only had a partial of "Pride and Joy", so the number on which my 2008 SoS hand grenade will be lobbethed is THREE."

Shawn: don't you wish right now that your winning tally was FIVE? I'm sure everyone that does not believe you cheated* hopes that you enjoy your championship. I know this is at least your second title. Do you have more? I would like to compile an official list for website publication. If you see Shawn give him a high-five or pounds or some form of congratulation. If you know/meet a DJ tell him enough with all the American Woman's. Great honk!

*translates to no one

I hope everyone enjoyed their 2008 SoS season & your version of summertime. Send a shout and let us know how you're doing. -mal

Oktoberfest in East Hampton

noreply@blogger.com (Mike) — Wed, 24 Sep 2008 01:04:00 +0000

There exist important nuggets of information you pick up in life. Some of them you know how you picked them up: Say 'please' & 'thank you': Mom & Dad; Pound for pound the Korean BBQ Restaurant* is the best spot to eat in Newark, DE: Brad. However, there are other nuggets that are just as important, but you cannot remember how you learned about them: don't eat the yellow snow; or the uglier the tomato the better it is likely to taste.

*If you are in Newark or have ever been to Newark & you disagree, I defy you to eat the bulgogi there and tell me I'm wrong. You may want to bring Brad to maximize this experience.

I just spent the weekend in my East Hampton hideaway & let me tell you whatever you may have heard about Hampton tomatoes is absolutely true. They are delicious & they can be downright ugly. All of mine came from Alex's produce stand. If that means anything to you - then proceed there immediately and buy the ugliest one you see. Then buy eight or nine more. Seriously, what were you going to do with only one tomato?

Of course there are other pursuits in the Hamptons besides eating tomatoes: fishing for bluefish; eating corn on the cob*; lounging on the beach; drinking wine; drinking beer; and if you have the time, you may want to enjoy a cocktail. But if you have never been to the Hamptons - don't fret. You have likely been to a beach town that is its equal. You just didn't pay $85 for your souvenir t-shirt.

*I've been living in Houston and I'm terribly missing the concept of the Delaware roadside produce stand. I was longing for summer tomatoes and corn - and I'm currently filled up. But check back with me in a week or two.

When I wasn't busy eating ugly tomatoes I also found time to celebrate German living, Oktoberfest style, with the German side of my clan. We went to Rowdy Hall and got our fill of sausage & potato salad & sauerkraut. The sauerkraut there has too many caraway seeds. That's not just my opinion, but also the opinion of Tante Franziska. She's from just north of Munich and knows how to make a mean kraut & sausage & come to think of it is possible everything she makes kicks ass. Tante: the plum cake was ridiculous! Plus it is always nice to go to a event with a native - to point out what's not authenticate* & to make you feel more legit.

*It recently dawned on me there is no such thing as the authenticity of food. You may stop bragging or worrying or vexing over whether or not your Sesame Chicken is authentic. I guarantee it is. I don't care if you bought it in the freezer case in your supermarket - it really is food. It might be awful & you may want to avoid it, but saying that it isn't authentic is just silly. We (and I'm including myself with this) should all stop.

Here is what I mean: anyone who thinks that weisswurst they are eating today in Munich is the same as it was 100 years ago is crazy. Twenty years ago you could have hermetically sealed and deep (Walt Disney's head deep) freezed that sausage and then delicately & expertly brought it back to life so it was exactly the same -- there is no way that sausage enjoys an identical taste to the one today.

Everything changes. Generations change. Climates change. Peoples taste change. You now love sushi & somehow can translate LOL into a meaningful phrase. And our food changes along with us. Your Chinese food isn't just Americanified - so is your American food. Does you pantry look anything like June Cleavers? I doubt it. How often do you reach for a can of cream of mushroom/celery/chicken soup when you start cooking dinner? (Put your hand down Big Fizz.)

Things may be changing a bit quicker now, but food & language & everything else evolves. So I have stopped worrying if that little mom & pop Mexican joint produces the same stuff as their counterpart south of the Rio Grande. They don't. Carolina & Texas & Kansas City BBQ all taste wonderfully different. And I'm betting more than a few yahoos in Dakota** make a mean BBQ too. It's all American food - whatever that might mean. Japanese food - whatever that might mean - tastes different all over Japan too.

**The Song of the Summer supports North Dakota's wish to be officially known as Dakota.

So eat what you like; stop your worrying; and feel free to tell that blow-hard he/she has no clue what they are talking about when they tell your spicy meatball is not authentic. Tell them its not authentic in Tuscany either. It'll freak them out.

Happy Oktoberfest. Eat a sausage* & get a beer. I recommend Brooklyn's Oktoberfest over Spaten's. And whatever you do, get yourself to the Korean BBQ Restaurant in Newark, Delaware. And who knows - maybe it’s authentic.

*I haven't gone completely loopy here - get a bratwurst or a knockwurst and save the chorizo for another day.

Another Five Days Without Air Conditioning

noreply@blogger.com (Mike) — Tue, 23 Sep 2008 04:11:00 +0000

At 1:15am on 13-Sep the lights would have gone out in my house, if they were still on. I was half trying to fall asleep and half listening to the wicked storm raging around my bedroom. Hurricane Ike had come for an early breakfast. And the after effects are still readily apparent all around me.

For the next five days I got to do a little camping - whether I wanted to be camping or not. Houston in September without Air Conditioning would be an appropriate correct answer in a game of Clue; it is not the way one is supposed to live. Oh sure, you'll get by. But let me assure you: Houston would not exist as a city if it were not for the advent of air conditioning. I've never heard anything truer in my life.

But I'm not going to say it hasn't been without laughs. The upside to me regaining power is that I have gained a few roommates. My sister is going on two weeks sans electricity* at her home, so I now have three new roommates: my sis, brother-in-law, and Pants - my nine month old niece. That's a fun little perk for sure.

*I'm wrote this post on an evening flight coming into Houston. Flying over and seeing lots of dark patches where there should be light was a little trippy. You could see car headlights illuminating completely dark neighborhoods. It looked more like a scene from a movie than real life.

And there will be a slight upgrade to the swimming establishment in the backyard. We used to have a nasty, random foliage clad fence next to one side of the pool. Ike decided that would look better in the pool. I didn't completely agree, but I'm pretty sure I'll like the replacement better. And it looks like pool operations should return to normal shortly.

I'm off to buy something to put back into my freezer. I'll never forgive Ike for causing the ruination of my last three frozen Nic-o-bolis.

Space Aliens & the Election

noreply@blogger.com (Mike) — Fri, 05 Sep 2008 02:58:00 +0000

Do you remember The Simpsons "Treehouse of Horror VII" episode? It was the one where the two space aliens, Kang & Kodos, replace Bob Dole & Bill Clinton in the presidential election. I have to say that I'm reminded of that watching this Republican Convention.

I'm not saying that John McCain is a space alien. I'm theorizing Bristol Palin & Levi Johnston might be. I'm just saying they are Always holding hands. In every picture. In every TV cutaway. They are always standing next to one another & they are always holding hands.

In the Simpsons episode a reporter asks the two aliens (still looking like Dole & Clinton), "People are becoming a bit... confused by the way you and your opponent are, well, constantly holding hands." Kang responds, "We are merely exchanging long protein strings. If you can think of a simpler way, I'd like to hear it."

So I'm asking, is it possible Bristol & Levi are constantly exchanging long protein strings? Is it possible they are space aliens? And if they were, would it be acceptable to ask questions about that?

Eight Nights without Air Conditioning

noreply@blogger.com (Mike) — Thu, 04 Sep 2008 02:13:00 +0000

It's August. I live in Houston. And I've just spent eight straight nights sleeping without air conditioning. How did I do it? I left Houston. Problem mostly solved. The first four nights were spent in Wilmington, DE. Delaware may not get national pub about it, but August in Delaware is usually a hot & humid affair. I caught four great evenings - starting on August 24th. It was down right chilly for August standards. I was crashing at Toad's condo and I was happy to see the windows open. Sleeping with windows open has not been a reality for quite a while down here in Texas.

Of course, I was pretty darn giddy to be back in Delaware. But I was leaving Houston just when it became cool for a minute to be from Delaware. I didn't get to answer one Joe Biden question. Oh well. I had bigger fish to fry - and I did. I got to see Brad & Denise's new (to them) home; eat ribs out the new Turner smoker; caught up with my cousin JamesT; ate some Korean bulgogi in Newark, DE; and finally got to reconnect a bit of Wilmington.

But that was all before I Wednesday night. That is when I got to attend a proper Wednesday Night Crew (WNC) outing at the WNC International headquarters: the Washington Street Ale House. I was joined by el P, Bugs, Agent J, the Admiral, and the official hairstylist* of the Song of the Summer. How could life have been nicer? I was in Wilmington, DE; enjoying a Dogfish 90-minute** Pale Ale; and hanging out with some good friends. It was 11pm & I had a flight to catch at 7am in Philly - so I was now ready for bed.

*It should be noted that I don't actually use the official hairstylist of the SoS to cut my hair. She's much to expensive and talented for that trivial of an endeavor. However, if you need a proper quaff near the 19806 zip code, let me know.

**90-minute is simply my favorite beer. Delaware's little Dogfish Brewery has been getting pretty darn big. I know that their 60-minute Pale Ale is on draft all over the place here in Houston. But 90-minute is harder to come by. It'll be available in a 4-pack at your favorite place to buy beer (I suspect). And the 90-minute is the official beer of the WNC. But that's a tale for another time.

That is always when the Big Fizz* will say, "Let's get cheesesteaks. Mike doesn't have access to cheesesteaks. Let's go" So up I-95 North I went with Jayesh & Fizz. Straight to Pat's "King of the Cheesesteak". Turns out; the kid living in Texas is the best one for directions. Turns out I was also the only one waking up at 5am. And after the cheese whiz goodness, I was starting to stare at 1am.

*The Big Fizz is the most nickname-able of all my friends. Maybe of anyone ever**. His real name is Larry, but you'll hardly ever hear that. He's known as Toad & The Big Fizz*** primarily. But you'll also hear him called Two Hands, Mom-mom little fat boy, Lil Thome, and a few others. But I stick with Toad & Fizz and have no reason for skipping between the two. It just happens.

**Maybe that title should go to Idi Amin or Shaq; but aren't most of those titles/nicknames self-prescribed for shameless self-promotion. That cannot count. But I did get Toad, Idi Amin, & Shaq into the same thought - and that's got to count for something.

***If you ever get a chance to greet Big Fizz, the proper way to greet him is to say "Big Fizz" and then follow that immediately with a louder "Big Fizz". Like this: "Big Fizz, BIG FIZZ!" You'd be surprised how much fun this is.

And I did wake up at 5am. OK. I didn't. I got up at 5:20am -- and now I was late. Getting showered and throwing the PJs into the suitcase took me to a little before 5:40am. I was about 20+ minutes to the Philly airport. I needed to drop off the rental* car. Somehow I made it through security and onto my Continental flight.

*Never rent a car from Thrifty in Philadelphia. They are not "on airport" as they claim. They are nice 10 minute ride away. I didn't need that.

I don't recall taxi-ing or take off or a beverage service. I woke up on the descent. The girl next to me had just spilled hand lotion on my pants. Maybe it was turbulence. I don't know. All I knew is that she had a look of horror. I'm assuming she thought I'd take my pants off and throw them at her. I didn't. That didn't even occur to me at the time. I scooped the lotion and now possessed moisturized hands & pants - in a good way.

I needed 'em. I was off to Houston; to stay for about 4 hours. Then I went straight back to the airport bound for Denver & my next four nights of air conditioner free sleeping. Dry Denver. Moisturized pants were key. If you haven't been, Denver, CO is a great town. It seems there are few people that share this opinion, but as far as I know it didn't become a cool place to live until about 14 months ago. That's when my friend Katie Gaston moved there. I'd never been to Denver before: mainly because there was never a Katie there before. So I believe it may have just become relevant.

Katie & I & Katie's carnival of WNC-Denver* groupies tripped up to Steamboat Springs for a couple of nights of camping and soaking in hot tubs. The exact joint was Strawberry Park Hot Springs. The epitome of luxury camping. I was a luxuriously priced anyhow. My share for two nights was $70 -- and there were six of us! But the campsites were great. Really fantastic.

*Katie is straight kicking my butt by starting a wildly popular branch of the WNC in Denver. Good form Post Master General.

However, I had been lead to believe I was car camping. So had Katie. We were car camping, except the car was a solid 1/4 mile hike up an 80° gradient. (It may have also been only about 5%.) That may not have been that big a deal, except we had the car packed with about the same amount of stuff I had when I moved into my freshman dorm room*. It was car camping. You are supposed to bring luxuries. We did.

*My freshman door room number was 000. How cool is that? Answer: its cool. The best part is that the school's directory could not comprehend a 000 room number. So my name was listed in the directory with the number for the pay phone in Cannon Hall. I was incognito. If you can get your hands on 91/92 UoD campus directory you'll find "Mike Lennon / Cannon Hall". That's right. I owned Cannon Hall. I wouldn't mind having it back - I could walk to the ACE Delaware office.

However, there was a considerable payoff: lake sized, natural hot springs. Lake might be a bit on the embellished side of things, but the pools were big. And they were oh so nice. Plenty of temperature settings to choose from. There were hot water falls. It was a pretty fantastic experience. And the upshot to camping there, is that you were only a 5 minute stroll from camp to the pools. On top of that, campers were allowed to hang out in the pools until midnight. It didn't stink. It didn't stink one bit.

And we enjoyed those hot springs until about 3pm on Sunday when Katie & I took the 3+ hour drive back towards Denver and the Red Rocks amphitheater. We took a little brief stop to admire the Continental Divide*. And then we found our way to Morrison, CO. Parked the Golf and walked up the 836 steps to get into the amphitheater. Red Rocks is a must see venue - that's my official stance anyhow. When Katie moved to Denver, I decreed that I would make it to a show this summer. We settled** on Gov't Mule.

*This was my second trip to Denver, but I did not get the Rockies properly the first time. So this was actually my first time ever in the American Rockies. It wasn't my first time in the Rockies though. Somehow I made it to the Canadian Rockies before I saw the home grown version.

**Other contenders were Willie Nelson, Yonder Mountain, and Mark Knopfler.

Gov't Mule put on an insane concert. This being Warren Haynes that much was expected. But this being Red Rocks, Mule was up for having a lot of fun. So I got to hear great Gov't Mule tunes {"Soul Shine", "Beautifully Broken"} and they played ridiculous covers: The Beatles "Dear Prudence", Black Sabbath "War Pigs", Doors "When the Music's Over", and Buffalo Springfield's "For What its Worth". It all added up to a show that was easily worthy of being one's first Red Rocks experience. Oh, and Umphrey's McGee kicked some serious fanny as well.

That's where I've been. Now I'm headed off to bed in air conditioned bliss. Good night Denver. Good night Delaware. See you soon.

Wedding in Tuscany - Part V

noreply@blogger.com (Mike) — Wed, 27 Aug 2008 04:52:00 +0000

After the dream wedding in Tuscany, I was getting ready to travel back to the States. But first, there was a Sunday evening to enjoy in Tuscany. The Irish have a custom where everyone must do a "party piece" at their big affairs. A party piece can be anything - as long as it's entertaining to the masses. Sing a song. Do a card trick. Tell a story. Whip out some cardboard and bust out some 80's breakin' moves. Whatever you like. I lead the Irish in a rendition of "Deep in the Heart of Texas". I was Texas Mike after all. My Texas friends were big fans of me teaching them the song. I had to find an internet kiosk the day before to look up the words. I'm not that good a Texan. (Sorry Ed.)

The wine was especially good (and free) on Sunday. The villa had given everyone a bottle of red & white as a gift for staying with them. Most of the Irish had no need for these bottles & I was happy to help out with the Chianti. The evening proceeded with lots more fine stories and then concluded with lots of fine pleasantries. It was my last night in Tuscany. I was off to drive to Rome in the morning.

At least this time I had a travel companion in the Golf to help with directions. JJ did one better by fixing the GPS unit. JJ's good like that. We both decided it would be more fun to find some little towns than rush to Rome and see it maybe for 4 hrs. So we made a lot of stops.

My least & most favorite was the town of Pienza. I bought a fantastic chunk of cheese there, and we also found some great espresso & gelato. Very quaint. Very pretty. An easy walk all around it. And all that for only $160 in parking fines. Parking in Italy is not fun. I wasn't too happy to find the parking ticket. I was less happy when we got to Rome, asked Google about Italian parking tickets, and found out how they will track you down (sometimes by getting the rental company to charge your credit card for them). So we paid it. Cost of having fun I guess.

It was 9pm by the time we finally found our hotel in Rome. I was tired. I was the only one licensed to drive the rental. But neither of us had been to Rome and it really wasn't a question if we were going out. We did. Found an interesting restaurant in the heart of the city. Found the Coliseum. Found a good walkabout & finally a cab ride back to hotel. I was exhausted. A great trip. Only three flights later (Philly-Charlotte-Houston), I was back in big Texas. It was 11pm. I was working the next day. A one & half hour drive north of the city - to find a very high strung project installation. Yay.

I tried to soothe my customer with stories about cheese & prosciutto & wine & parking tickets, but he was freaked out and doing 50 different things at once. I was jolted back to reality & work life. There would be no bucolic sunset & sipping Chianti for me that night. However, I was starring at impending trips to Delaware & Denver. Fun times were not too far off at all.

Wedding in Tuscany - Part IV

noreply@blogger.com (Mike) — Wed, 27 Aug 2008 04:42:00 +0000

I attended Thursday night dinner at Fonte de Medici and got good & caught up with Ciarán. During that conversation, I told him that a good friend of mine was going to be coming in from Madrid. I told Ciarán the job Jayesh was working on, because I figured Ciarán would be familiar with it - he was; controls is a small world. I asked if it was OK if JJ (Jayesh) crash some of the party. He said sure. Now at this point JJ did not have an invite to the wedding. Not at all. He was planning on stealing the rental car & having some fun on his own while I went off to the wedding. (He had scheduled himself a flight home out of Rome the same day as me.) He didn't want to impose on my friend. That was the plan before he got to Italy anyhow.

But put yourself into his situation - you are a half step away from one of the best affairs you might ever get invited to. The reception is going to be at a castle. The wedding is going to be at a church in Florence that you may have gone to visit anyhow. You wouldn't have even entertained the concept a day before, but after getting drunk on Tuscany's excesses you are certain that you are going to have to crash this wedding. He told me his plan. (It simply entailed getting on the bus.) I said, "Good luck." JJ got to meet everyone at dinner on Friday night, but he also knew that he was flying without an invite.

On Saturday, Jayesh & I board the wedding bus bound for Florence. It takes us to Florence. This full size coach bus is somehow navigating the same streets that could Barely accommodate my little Volkswagen Golf. MC Escher is the only person who could understand this dichotomy.

I get off the bus and walk up to a church that was built in the 1500s. Yeah, those 1500s. It was, simply, sublime. The stations of the cross. The frescoes. The pipe organ. The ceilings to infinity. You've likely seen it's equal in Italy & other parts of Europe. But I went to a wedding at this one. Wowsers.

We exit the church and there is a throng of tourists waiting to take our pictures. I kid you not. I am in at least 50+ vacation photo reels marked Florence: 02-AUG-2008. It was an absolute trippy experience. The bus shows back up and whisks us away to a castle. Castello Il Palagio. This is where I would spend the next 8 hours of my life dining on superb food & imbibing fantastic wine. But before we eat, let's take a second to talk about the guest list.

You can imagine that this is not the kind of wedding you invite 300+ to. The courtyard of the castle was set up with tables in a horse shoe arrangement. I would estimate somewhere around 60 chairs at this table. That's it. Sixty. That's a small wedding. And not an easy one to just blend and hope no one notices. Especially when your parents are from India and everyone else at the wedding looks decidedly Irish. Tans, they do not have. JJ gets a bit nervous when he sees the table. He bites the bullet & goes over to ask permission* from the father of the bride. Allegedly the man paying for this affair. "You wouldn't mind if one extra shows up, would you? Namely, me?" is what I suppose JJ said. I don't know. I was hiding at the bar.

*There is something about weddings that sometimes causes people to forget they are otherwise fully functioning adults. I've overheard questions like, "How do we get to the reception if we are not going to take the shuttle you've provided for us?" or use the directions printed in the invitation - for that matter. How it's appropriate to bother a groom with this question 5.2 minutes after he's been married, I have no idea. Yet you see it. Somebody always has something for the groom. I assume the bride too - but I tend to be in more of the groom side of wedding parties.

So I stroll up to Ciarán late at the reception and ask him how the day has gone. He's clearly exhausted, yet still visibly happy. And he unloads for a half second about how he wishes people would just stop asking for things. That's when I put one hand on his shoulder, look him dead in the eye, and ask him, "Can you get me an elephant?" I really did say that. But he absolutely let me down.

Of course, these are the Irish we are talking about. I could have showed up with the party list for the Tom Summer Classic and they would have been OK with it. So we all ate and drank and danced the night away. It was insanely pretty in that courtyard and there was no way it could get any better. That's when the fireworks started. A full spread - just outside the castle walls. How fun is that. Answer: very.
{post originally written on 21-Aug}

Wedding in Tuscany - Part III

noreply@blogger.com (Mike) — Wed, 27 Aug 2008 04:32:00 +0000

Ciarán & I met in Leicester, England while we were both working on a controls project. We both do the same sort of engineering work. But there were loads of other engineers in Leicester for this project as well: Rob from England, Chris from Scotland, Gunther from Germany, Kristof from Poland, etc. I went home after the England portion was complete. The rest of these yahoos followed the project to Ireland. And with the exception of Chris*, they accepted Ciarán's invite to a wedding in Tuscany. Getting to see these guys again was an unexpected pleasure of attending the wedding. It was a huge added bonus when I thought the only person I'd know was the groom.

*The only reason I mentioned Chris Hyland is that he is one of my favorite characters from my England stay. He has the strongest Glaswegian accent you can imagine (think Brad Pitt in 'Snatch', but worse). I couldn't understand him for at least one month, but once I did I realized he was one of the funniest guys in the place. A few years ago I dragged some friends over to Ireland for Thanksgiving at Ciarán's flat. Chris was there. I tried to warn my friends that they weren't going to be able to understand him. They didn't believe me. They were wrong. They'll all admit it. I don't think they understood a single word he uttered all evening (and Chris is a bit of a talker). But they all believe he's one of the more fun loving people they've ever met. Chris is good like that.

But the other thing I had going for me, was that I was exotic. You don't get that feeling often as an American. But I was only person from the USA for miles. Ciarán & Eilish introduced me to their friends and families as Texas Mike. Texas has a bit of reputation and they were all excited to meet a cowboy - I think. I didn't want to disappoint & confuse them by saying I was actually from Delaware. Delaware doesn't really have a reputation (even in Pennsylvania, yet alone Europe). After getting over the fact that I was not adorned in a ten gallon hat, boots, or a giant belt buckle, the lads settled in and treated me like one of the gang. Of course, I was asked to explain America's policy on just about every subject you'd expect an Irishman to care about: Iraq, the church, the drug war, Hannah Montana, etc.

I've come to expect these questions. The Irish (and probably just about everyone else) believe that Americans are in constant contact with our State department and are ready at a moments notice to discuss foreign relations any news item from the past six years. The key in these situations is to speak authoritatively & resolutely - and make up lots of stuff. Unfortunately, they are not likely to ask you about the hitting statistics of Albert Pujols. A person I'm vastly more knowledgeable about than the President of the European Commission*. So making stuff up is paramount.

*President José Manuel Barroso. I had to look it up.

But so is making sure you've had plenty of wine. Personally, Chianti is one of my favorite wines - and I was living in the heart of it's home for 5 days. Beer in Italy would cost you an arm & a leg to drink. Chianti was about the cheapest thing one could buy. Thank goodness. Finding something affordable was a plus.

This was the crux of my evenings for four straight nights: Thursday to Sunday. The wedding was on Saturday & at this fantastic little castle (more on that later), but the other evenings were all at the villa Fonte de Medici. Destination weddings, I suspect, are nice in the fashion that for four straight nights you get to lounge with all your guests. It gave me a huge amount of time with Eilish & Ciarán, and I can say that I'm now pretty well acquainted with a few of their friends as well. This is probably my favorite part about the affair. However, the wedding itself was stunningly spectacular and I helped a friend of mine crash it.
{post originally written on 20-Aug}

Wedding in Tuscany - Part II

noreply@blogger.com (Mike) — Wed, 27 Aug 2008 04:21:00 +0000

So a proper sleep is evidently going to have to wait. I did grab a little nap on the plane, but that may have done more harm than good. I hurried off to bed when I returned to my home. Only I didn't sleep. I hate that. Finally I got up. Too tired to read, unable to fall asleep, and I turned on the TV. Olympics re-runs. Misty May & Kerri Walsh are winning again on the beach.*

*I do not know that it was actually a re-run. They've won 107 straight matches. Everything looks like a re-run at this point. But they sure are darn fun to watch.

My eyes grew heavier and I slumped off to bed & proceeded to not fall asleep. I repeat this process until 3:30am. The worst. My alarm goes off this morning and I'm convinced it is an argument the Russian official over a gymnastics scoring decision. This disagreement takes about 5 snoozes to resolve & I am now starring at 07:50am. I have an 08:30 meeting that I'm not prepared for in this slightest. Fortunately, I've read the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Universe, so my first reaction to this situation was "Don't Panic"...

Florence, Italy. I get back into my rented Golf with a sense of confidence, vigor, and wonder. I'm going to a place I've never seen before. I'm going to a place that has statues. The statue. That David. The statue of the fabulous quote: "I just removed all the parts of the stone that was not the David." Or something similar to that. There are going to be frescoes & espressos & olive oil soaked tomatoes. Mike's traveling happiness was to obtain peak output in t-minus 30 minutes.

Have you ever thought about driving in Florence? I gotta suggest you don't. I spent 1/2 hour looking for parking. I'm sorry, I was looking for parking for about 2 minutes. The next 28 minutes I spent trying to find my way back to something that wasn't a cobblestone alley way between buildings. That's what passes for roads in Florence. Normally I'd be stone giddy at that realization. Normally, I'd be on foot.

But I was in a car; I was alone; the female British voice had stopped communicating hours ago; I was stuck. Literally. At one point I thought I may have to just park the car and leave it there for eternity. There was no where to go. This is not the situation you want to be in when you have slept for 4 hours out of the previous 60 or so.

I got out. I'm still not sure how. No scraps or hit pedestrians or ruined national treasures. I also never stopped to look at the frescoes, drink an espresso, or eat an olive oil marinated tomato. I finally found a sign that indicated Siena "that way" & I followed it. Got lost again. Saw another sign. Got lost again. Repeat. Then I finally found the Firenze (how the Italians spell Florence) to Siena highway and got on.

From there my directions back to the bed & breakfast took over. Fortunately, I noticed a good number of cute restaurants on my way to the B&B in the daytime. It was dark now. But I found a great meal of prosciutto & melon and then a salmon farfalle main dish. I was ultimately off to my proper bed. I needed sleep and I got it.

When I woke up, I really wanted two things: coffee & a map. My B&B was awesome. Not only did I get a map, but the lady that runs the place looked up where the bride & groom were staying (I only knew the villa's name). She gives me great directions once again and I'm again armed with knowledge. And the coffee was superb.

I had all day to fart around before I was due at the wedding party's villa. So I went out and found a neat little small Tuscan town: Radda in Chianti. It's my favorite town in Italy. For no reason other than it was the first I went to. It has two streets to speak of and you can walk around it in less than an hour. I did just that. And I took 2.5 hours to do it. Because that's the more Italian way to go about doing things.

At around 3pm or so, armed with actual directions & a map, I set off to find the Fonte de Medici. That's where the wedding party was staying. That's where my friend (the groom) was to be found. And I won. I still can't believe it - but I started to understand that little corner of Tuscany. By 4pm I was talking with my old friend Ciarán and we immediately started making fun of one another. It's what we do.

And I had now found my Tuscany mojo. Wake up; coffee; get lost; small town lunch; eat an amazing meal a breathtaking villa; and wine the night away while swapping stories with the Irish. The later we'll get into in the next chapter.
{Note post originally written on 19-Aug}

Wedding in Tuscany - Part I

noreply@blogger.com (Mike) — Wed, 27 Aug 2008 03:31:00 +0000

I'm starting my first ever blog post while drinking a Hop Devil* in the Philadelphia Airport. I'm actually on my way home from a visit in Delaware, but if you'll permit me, I want to talk about my first trip to Italy. I was going to attend Ciarán's wedding in Tuscany. It didn't suck.

*Victory Hop Devil is just one of my favorite beers. I may be a complete homer (guy that just roots for the home team), but Victory & Dogfish Head are my two favorite breweries - anywhere. Dogfish is from downstate DE: Rehoboth Beach. Victory is actually closer to my Wilmington, DE -- Victory is in Downingtown, PA. I just had my first Victory Hop Devil from the tap in about 10 months. Yum.

On Wednesday 30-JUL I landed in Rome. This is when things started to get dicey. Normally I kind of attack vacations. Somehow I never really viewed this trip like it was a vacation. I viewed it a lot like I think about traveling for a wedding. Just go & have fun. There's no sightseeing over a wedding weekend. There's no need to study languages. There's no need for guide books. You land. Someone picks you up. They take you to where you drink & eat. Start having fun.

The thing is, I wasn't landing in Houston or St. Louis or Philly, I was landing in Rome. That's in Italy. It's a place that has a few guide books written about it. It's a place that doesn't speak English (or at least not with the fluency required for tricky transactions). And no one was there to pick me up to take me to that land of food & wine & fun. I needed to get a rental car. After taking 20 minutes to figure out that would require me to get a ticket number (like I was at the deli or Japan*), I proceeded to acquire a Volkswagen Golf and a GPS unit that would talk to me with a female British accent.

*Japan loves tickets. You need a ticket to do anything in Japan. For example, you need a ticket to ride the ferry from Fukuoka to Busan** (South Korea). That stands to reason. It's a legitimate mode of transportation. However, after you get to the ferry terminal and redeem your online purchase voucher for a ticket, you'll be directed to kiosk that will sell you a terminal usage fee ticket. Why don't they just wrap up the cost for the terminal usage fee (think about the myriad of fees in your last plane ticket) into the cost of the ferry ticket? Answer: the Japanese love tickets. This allows you to have two tickets for one ferry ride. How cool is that? Trust me, it's cool if you're Japanese.

**Depending on the time of day, which direction you are facing, and what country you are currently standing in; this city is known as Busan or Pusan. With a B or a P it's a groovy place with awesome food.

Everything was working out for the first 2 hours of my 4-7 hour journey to Tuscany. I was a tired, tired pup after the flight (I barely slept) so I stopped at least four times between Rome & Florence. At my last rest stop (where I grabbed a little nap) my GPS unit decided to stop working. Have I stressed enough how I did no planning for this trip? I was armed with sparse emailed directions written by an Italian woman; these directions were no more than five sentences long. Besides knowing that Rome was south of Florence, my geographic knowledge was limited. That GPS wouldn't work again until Monday - when Jayesh fixed it. I had no maps.

Fortunately, I've read the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Universe, so my first reaction to this situation was "Don't Panic". I'll have you know that I vehemently disagreed with myself over this course of action. Amazingly, the directions with which I was armed did an admirable job of finding my bed & breakfast. This was a massive win and really set me on a confidence boost. After finding the most picturesque accommodations I've ever seen or imagined, I grabbed a nap and my car keys for a white knuckle driving adventure in Florence.

But right now I've just returned home and I'm finishing the post after a long commute to Houston. I'll start back up after a decent slumber.
{Note: post was original written on 19-Aug}