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But the Hat Came Back

I got a text message today basically saying, “Come get your crap.”

OK, it wasn’t quite like that. My parents have been doing a lot of work on their house this year, which has led to a lot of cleaning out of rooms and closets.

Those areas have quite a bit of random items left behind by me and my siblings during our various moves over the years. Fortunately I only had a TV and a winter hat to pick up. Oh and Mom made me dinner, so I can’t complain too much.

I’m actually quite happy to have the hat back. It’s a sweet New York Giants hat I got somewhere around the 7th or 8th grade. I didn’t exactly need one when I lived in Florida, so I guess it was easily overlooked when I was packing up to leave.

Here it is after its long journey (roughly 5 miles) to my current abode:

My most vivid memories of this hat are from my time running track my freshman year of high school. The winter track season was my first–and only–appearance on a school team. Though we competed indoors, the practices were all outside, thus necessitating having a sweet winter hat on hand.

Of course, it was only useful to have that hat when it actually stayed on your own head. As a sprinter, I spent 99 percent of my time running on the track while the distance runners went out into the surrounding neighborhoods for their workouts. There was one day I was finishing stretching as the distance kids were heading out for their run. I was facing the fence with my back to the track when a hand snatched the hat from my head. I barely had enough time to turn around by the time I saw my hat on top of a much shorter person’s head, with a few inches of blond hair sticking out the bottom.

I had a decision to make–expend some effort to get it back, or just risk some potentially cold ears. The hat went for a 5-mile run without me. I don’t remember how my ears fared all exposed to the cold, but I do recall being somewhat bitter when the hat and its thief finally returned. Her name is being withheld for her own protection.

Nobody likes a hat thief.

August 25, 2009 fashion football running Uncategorized
A Yoga Class for Cats

Continuing the trend of digging through the CD archives, today I rocked out some Our Lady Peace on my drive to work.

It took about three seconds for me to think about when the band played at Susquehanna University during the fall of my sophomore year. Here’s my ticket stub:

If you’re not paying close attention, you may have missed the beautiful error I assume was made by someone working the Weber Chapel box office. Apparently Our Lady Peach was supposed to play. The question is, was it a bored work-study student who just made a mistake, or an adult who had never heard of the band in the first place? Hard to say. Unless of course you worked at the box office at the time, then please enlighten me.

“The sign said: a yoga class for cats” is a line from the song “Carnival,” which unfortunately was not played that night. My memory is not that amazing–I actually was able to find a set list from the show online. How did people live with those sorts of minor questions without the Internet? I think my head would have exploded with all of the “I wonder…” types of questions I’ve had over the years that would have been unanswered.

I do remember when they kicked into “Starseed.” I’m not sure it was actually on any of their albums, but it was on the “Armageddon” soundtrack. I also defy you to listen to it and not enjoy yourself. If you’re not familiar, here it is courtesy of our friends at YouTube.

According to the set list, it was the last song before the encore. That would have been a pretty good way to end the evening, but they decided to come back and drop some “Somewhere Out There” and “4 a.m.” on us. Good times.

It’s unfortunate that the opening act was so so so very bad though. You know you aren’t seeing Van Halen when only a few years later the band has changed its name and is no longer with their record label. They were Greenwheel. Apparently now they’re Go Van Gogh.

The next year things were a lot better. Fuel came to Selinsgrove, and brought Breaking Benjamin to open. Now THAT was a good time. Better than when Michelle Branch came? Hard to say really…OK, not that hard to say. Though the MB concert was entertaining for the fact that about 75 percent of the crowd was college students more interested in seeing opener Pat McGee Band, and mixed in were tweens and their moms there for Michelle Branch.

Good times.

August 24, 2009 music Susquehanna Uncategorized
It’s Blues Clues, Blues Clues

Sometimes you read a book and you and the author are not on the same wavelength.

Your eyes move over their words, but there’s something between you that just doesn’t click. I do not have that problem with Malcolm Gladwell.

“Whenever I look at an unopened bar of Ivory bath soap, I flip it over and burst out laughing,” Gladwell writes in his book “The Tipping Point.” “In the midst of all the product information, there is a line that says: ‘Questions? Comments? Call 1-800-395-9960.’ Who on earth could ever have a question about Ivory soap.”

If you’ve spent any time whatsoever reading this blog, you’d know that about half my entries are about just those sorts of questions. But while I mention the potential craziness of such situations, Gladwell is off being smarter than me. He thinks about why that’s actually a brilliant thing to put on the box.

It all comes down to what he describes in the book as “mavens.” These are people in our society who spend more time thinking about and researching products than the rest of us. They are the ones we would go to when we have questions–because we know they will always have good advice. So if you’re the Ivory Soap Company, you want to make it easy for the mavens to get their questions answered, since they’re really the only ones calling about soap. Then when I ask Joe Maven about soap, he’ll tell me Ivory is where it’s at.

Gladwell also taught me a lot about important things like “Blues Clues.” I had no idea Nickelodeon played the same exact episode of “Blues Clues” for five straight days. Because of the way kids learn, that turns out to be a pretty brilliant strategy and one Gladwell explains in detail. You can enjoy that when you read the book yourself–which you absolutely should.

I also learned that Paul Revere wasn’t the only midnight rider trying to warn colonists about the advancing British. It turns out he was the one who effectively spread the message because of his personal qualities. Revere was an example of what Gladwell calls “The Law of the Few.” He says that in order for social epidemics to spread, it is important to have the message in the hands of the right people. It’s more effective to tell five Revere types who can reach a wide range–with a sense of authority–than to reach a thousand people who don’t have a connective power.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go call a guy about some soap.

August 22, 2009 books Uncategorized
So That’s Where I Left My Cocaine

There are news stories, and then there are news stories.

What makes a truly interesting story in my book is one in which there is a detail nobody would expect.

Take the recent news that researchers found traces of cocaine in 90 percent of their U.S. dollar samples. Read this version from the Associated Press via Yahoo News.

About two-thirds of the way through the story, the article quotes a spokeswoman from the Bureau of Printing and Engraving. We all know by this point how the cocaine got on the money–there’s no question.

But the spokeswoman gives us a quote to make things absolutely, 100 percent, crystal-freaking clear. The writer sets it up by saying nothing in the money-printing process “would taint the paper with the drug.”

“When it leaves here, it does not have any cocaine in it,” the spokeswoman said. Who read two-thirds of that article and said, “I wonder if there’s a chance the cocaine somehow came from printing the dollar bills? I wish they would ask the Bureau of Engraving and Printing to address this possibility”

Only after this helpful quote does the article lay everything out for the sheltered crowd: “Money can become contaminated with cocaine during drug deals or when users snort the substance through rolled bills.” Ohhhhhhhhhh. Thanks for clearing that up.

On another note, someone should give lots of extra dollars bills–tainted or not–to the person who invented Smiley Fries. I had some of these tasty delights for the first time in forever tonight.

How can you go wrong with a food that is smiling at you? I can think of two–the fries and goldfish–and both are fantastic. Maybe Teddy Grahams smile too. I defy you to find a food product with a smile that isn’t delectable.

August 19, 2009 Uncategorized
Can You Tell Me How to Get…

The post office in Reston, Va., is located at 11110 Sunset Hills Rd. I wish I knew that an hour ago.

I went for a run this morning, planning to head down the W&OD Trail but ended up making a last-second change. I wanted to do a loop with a few more hills that I haven’t done in a while. That’s what brought me to Sunset Hills Rd.

As I was going down one of the hills, I saw a girl on a bike riding up the street. She was working the pedals hard as she tried to make it uphill while wearing flip-flops. We met about halfway up the hill as I went to just say hello and she stopped me to ask directions.

“Excuse me, do you know where the Reston post office is?”

I thought for a second. I’ve lived in Reston since April, and in this area for most of my life. Yet I hadn’t the foggiest clue where to find the Reston post office.

“I know where the Herndon one is, but not Reston. Sorry.”

I felt extra bad when I thought about the fact that we stopped in the middle of the hill–meaning she had to work that much harder to get going again. Plus the fact that I have meant to look up the post office about 18 times since I’ve lived here, and never did.

Hopefully she kept going straight and found it about a half-mile from where we were.

The whole scene reminded me of my first semester at grad school. In the Maryland journalism program you can finish in a year if you start in the summer session. That’s also when the university hosts tons of summer camps and special classes. Not a good mix.

I lived just off campus, which meant I had a pretty pleasant walk to the two buildings that housed my classes. The walk took me across the massive parking lot area, which only served to put me in more contact with lost people.

The problem was, I was a grad student who had attended the school for roughly 8 minutes. My only classes were in two buildings–two of the first ones I came to when I got to campus. So when people asked me where to find the physics buildings, one of the libraries or even if they could park there as a visitor, I had no clue.

The truly sad part is that halfway through my time there–when I did actually know where a lot of the major things were located–people stopped asking.

Maybe I should start carrying around a map of everything.

August 15, 2009 running Uncategorized
Have Cash, Will Travel

The U.S. has scores of unemployed workers. JetBlue announces a special one-month, $599 all-you-can-fly deal. Someone flies to all 56 of JetBlue’s destinations in one month.

Those first two are real–the third, at least now, is only a dream.

If you’re unemployed right now and need to do something awesome, why not spend Sept. 8 through Oct. 8 criss-crossing the country on JetBlue just because you can? Every morning you head to the airport and take off for a new city. You spend the afternoon there, have a nice meal or two, go back to the airport and catch a flight to the next city.

By the end, if you’re doing two cities a day, you’ll have enough time to revisit some of your favorites. Actually I think you have to book it all in advance–thanks for taking the fun away JetBlue. It would be a lot cooler to just go to the airport each morning and evening and choose your next city on a whim. Think about how that flexibility would allow you to skip practically any weather/mechanical delay by just choosing a different destination on the spot?

This actually makes me think of the book “You Shall Know Our Velocity!” by Dave Eggers. This is the point where readers of the last two years of blogs say, “Hey, I bet this is related to his reading list.” You’re onto me. I don’t remember what number it was this year, but I think I read it back in February-ish.

Anywho, part of the story involves two guys traveling the world without many firm plans–just a basic idea that they want to give away a bunch of money. When airport issues crop up, they use their freedom to just make different choices. If I won the lottery, I would definitely spend a period of time traveling like that.

Hopefully in a few months we’ll be reading about someone who was unemployed and used the JetBlue offer as a springboard to relaunch their life.

August 13, 2009 Uncategorized
Now That’s a Rivalry

It’s strange to look back on a goal that was really a struggle to accomplish just a year ago, and think that I’m demolishing that effort in 2009.

Last year I wanted to read 20 books, and had to muster an epic run in the final two months to reach that level. This year, I’d be shocked if I don’t hit 20 before the end of August. In fact, if I do that I’ll be more than doubling my pace at that point in 2008.

Today I polished off No. 17, John Feinstein’s “A Civil War: Army vs. Navy, a Year Inside College Football’s Purest Rivalry.” At 420 pages, it’s another in a long line of books this year that are not only fantastic, but also longer than their counterparts in ’08.

It’s also one of the cheapest books I’ve ever purchased–$0.50–thanks to the Susquehanna University bookstore. If you’re a fan of college football, or sports in general, it’s certainly worth your time even though the events took place in 1995. It culminates in the yearly battle between the two service academies, but builds to that point by giving you an thorough understanding about why football there is different than anywhere else. Feinstein sums it up best by saying football practice is by far the easiest part of those players’ days–and the hardest part for players at other Division I schools.

In my time at Susquehanna there wasn’t a football rivalry that came close to Army-Navy, or even Chips Deluxe-Chips Ahoy. In basketball we had a good stretch against Elizabethtown College, including this gem.

The book stack so far:

I’ve also been catching up on my “This American Life” podcasts. If you’re not familiar, go to iTunes and subscribe (free) right now. Check out the first 8.5 minutes of this show from a few weeks ago. Highly entertaining.

August 12, 2009 books Susquehanna Uncategorized
A Rose by Any Other Name

I promised an update on the brother names situation (see previous post) and here it is!

I talked to Pat–my younger brother–and he says he would use “middle brother” and “oldest brother.” So there you have it.

While driving to Raleigh, N.C. yesterday I saw a sign on I-85 that said “Eisenhower Insterstate System” with a ring of stars. Like this one:

Now I know Eisenhower was behind the creation of the interstates, but do we really need that sign? Are people getting confused and thinking they are on the Truman Interstate System, or the Coolidge Interstate System?

August 8, 2009 family Uncategorized
What Did You Just Call Me?

The human mind can be a random thing–some a little more so than others.

For reasons that cannot be explained except possibly by a multi-year study involving teams of anthropologists and neurologists, I wondered today what my brother calls me. Specifically, I was curious what my older brother, Ben, says when he has to differentiate whether he is talking about me, or his other brother, Pat.

This thought occurred to me as I was driving home along Centreville Road in Chantilly, Va. None of these things has anything to do with my question, thus making it pretty random.

So I did what any good journalism school graduate would do; instead of wondering, I called a source and asked.

The issue is pretty simple, but for those who don’t know my family that well I’ll take a second and explain the dynamics. I am the middle child (sort of) with an older brother and a younger brother. Not to confuse things, there’s also a twin sister, but she is in the same boat as me. A photo, albeit a few years old, to help you visualize:

From left to right (facewise): Mal, Ben, Pat, Chris

If I say “My brother is going to the beach.” You might ask which one. I can either use his name (if I think you would know it) or say either “the younger one” or “the older one.”

But Ben can’t say that. He has a younger one and a younger-er one. His answer? He said he would use “the middle one” and “the younger one.” That seems like a pretty good solution. I guess technically he has a brother who is older than the other, giving him an “older brother” and a “younger brother.” But I guess in common usage that would get pretty confusing.

I haven’t asked Pat–my younger brother and Ben’s younger-er brother–what he says. But I’ll see him tomorrow and provide some sort of update.

As I was talking to Ben during my drive, I went past a group of townhouses with an empty parking lot. Empty, that is, except for one little girl having a blast driving her remote-controlled car.

There are several reasons this sight made me happy. It was a summer afternoon and a kid was outside playing. The kid was not handcuffed to a parent, but allowed to be playing independently, presumably within view of her home. There was a remote-controlled car involved.

I can only hope she had something as sweet as this ride:

August 6, 2009 family Uncategorized
All I’m Askin’ is Please, Forgive Me

CDs, no matter how much you may like them at one point in your life, will inevitably be forgotten and stashed away. You pick up new ones, fight with the tight plastic wrapping and rock out to the latest sounds.

While the new ones are the same size and hold the same amount of music, they don’t come with one thing the old ones all have–memories.

I defy you to put in a CD you haven’t listened to in a few years and not think back to the time it was a mainstay in your rotation. Think about the car trips it gave a soundtrack to, and the people along for the ride.

Lately I’ve been bringing one of the old favorites to my car each morning. Between my morning and evening commutes, there is just about enough time to get through the whole disc.

After listening to a dozen of them, I have yet to experience one that didn’t bring me back to when I first hit play. With most of them, this is the first time I have played them in my current car, which I’ve had for five years now.

One thing is clear–the current ride has a FAR better sound sytem than the 1993 Pontiac Grand Am I drove in high school and the first three years of college.

But the Grand Am was the beginning for CDs from bands like SR-71, Incubus, Lifehouse, Beastie Boys, Good Charlotte and Barenaked Ladies. It was also the ride responsible for transporting my carpool cohort from Copper Crossing (our neighborhood) to Oakton High School and back.

There were four of us–Myself, Kristen, Becky and Dave (or David if you like). I think I picked everyone up in that order, though I just spent five minutes trying to remember that detail from something I did at 6:30 a.m. in 2000-01. It’s the most logical order based on where they lived, so I’ll assume that’s how I did it.

The music seemed to be sort of my choice, but it quickly became clear that there were some favorites among my collection, and others that weren’t quite as welcome in the CD player. I can’t even begin to describe how many times we listened to SR-71’s album “Now You See Inside.” Ditto for Lifehouse’s “No Name Face.” Not that I was complaining–they were my CDs after all.

But poor Dave. He was more into bands like MXPX, The Get Up Kids and of course, JEW. You haven’t heard of JEW? Well neither had I until early on Friday morning. Fridays were Dave days–that meant he could pick the music and we had to listen. It seemed like a fair system for someone who didn’t complain the rest of the week and even gave up any desires to sit in the front seat.

So there we were, sitting in Dave’s driveway as he settled into the back. I reached my hand back to receive his chosen disc. It’s label? JEW. Naturally, I asked about this mysterious band only to be chastened for not knowing the now-ubiquitous Jimmy Eat World.

In the afternoon, I’m confident I dropped off Dave first, then Becky and finally Kristen. I know this for a fact because of SR-71’s song “What A Mess.” It was by far Kristen’s favorite, and it was the soundtrack for the 30-second drive from Becky’s house to hers. She didn’t have to ask if it was OK, or even the track number. Once Becky got out, my stereo went “beep beep beep” the appropriate number of times to get us to track No. 3. Sometimes we’d even skip forward to the chorus, since, you know, 30 seconds isn’t that long.

I bet even Dave remembers the words to that song. Maybe I should get him a copy–only $8 on Amazon right now. A small price to pay for those memories.

July 29, 2009 music nostalgia Uncategorized