squeakybuddha

For reasons which currently surpass my understanding, seasons have grown more important to me. Maybe it's the Fella's influence, having grown up in Hawaii and lived in California, real seasonal changes were rare or non-existent for most of his life and therefore he loves when fall brings a chill to the air and winter coats the ground with snow. Maybe it's my own aging process, or my occasional lapses into sentimentalism. Whatever the reason may be, I'm happy that it's fall.

At this moment, I'm changing the music in my iPod to reflect my new fall-ish mood. It's time to stop the drums and belting rock voices of summer and switch to guitar and piano soloists, warm vocalists, and music that has a little more maturity and complexity of emotion. So long Coldplay, My Chemical Romance, and Michael Jackson's "This Is It" (although I've gotta give it to Jackson, his final performances were something truly amazing). Welcome back Audra McDonald, Tony Bennett, Lindsay Smith (hey Linds!), Francis Cabrel, Linda Eder, and Van Cliburn.

It all started earlier tonight as I sat to dinner with the Fella. We opted for music instead of TV, and I put on k.d. lang's Live concert performance (she transforms Orbison's "Crying" into something altogether transcendent) and Barbara Cook, Live from the Met. We ate bulgogi and drank a 11 year old Virginia cabernet-merlot blend (which was pretty good, particularly for a Virginia red!), I explained to Wayne about Audra McDonald's Juliard transformation from opera singer to musical theater star, and I sang along with Cook and Josh Groban as they sang Sondheim's "Move On" and I washed the dishes.

We're starting to plan meals with slow-cooked soups and roasted meats and vegetables, and I've switched from gin and vodka to whiskey and scotch (although I'm still training my palate on scotch). After my transformative visit to "The Gibson" last week, I think I'm getting devoted to a properly-made rye whiskey Old Fashioned as the quintessential fall cocktail. Unlike the standard citrus-tinted Old Fashioned you can normally get, the Gibson prepares it old-school, and the drink has notes of cinnamon, clove, and woodsmoke. Gorgeous, and of course I'm going to start hunting for the "perfect" rye soon.

I'm loving these changes this time around - the crispness of the air and the scent of fireplaces being lit, the crackle of the bright yellow leaves falling into Lafayette Square as I walk to work.
Maybe I'm being too sentimental about all this, but I don't really care. I'm going to be listening to Francis Cabrel singing "Je t'aimais, je t'aime, et je t'aimerais" and making my Mama's vegetable beef soup tomorrow and that, my friends, is going to be something wonderful.

Last night, I was reminded of why I love my friends so much.

My buddy Erik was in town from Portland for some sort of Hill/White House event on clean energy technology. I'd been moving stuff with Wayne and had just sprayed my oven with Easy-Off to clean it, when I get a phone call from the call-box downstairs. It was Erik. "Hey buddy! Put on a clean shirt and some shoes and come down! We're going out!" So, what the hell, right? I change quickly and head downstairs where Erik and his co-worker Nat Parker were waiting in a nice dark BMW. "We're going to Johnny's On The Half Shell!"

So, whoosh, off to Capitol Hill we go. Everyone's in suits (except me, but I looked fabulous in my embroidered white Banana Republic shirt and jeans, with gray and magenta plaid Pumas) and we start talking with folks. Erik and Nat are working the room, talking to politicos and colleagues and clean energy dorks, and I'm having a nice Bacardi 151 and coke. Erik had one too, but he thought it was too strong. Pathetic what happens to a man after he gets married.

Schmooze, schmooze, schmooze. Then we add Jeffrey Cramer to our little group, and also some guy from the White House who'd been (evidently) kind of a jerk to our boys all day long. Johnny's closes and the polite but tired bartender tells us to scoot, so we pile into the car and go to this place called Lounge 201, which was a nice little bar just past Union Station. Another round of cocktails (this time I have a gin and pear schnapps martini, which was yummy) and playful badinage with the boys. They're laughing and joking and rowdy, and I learn that Erik's been texting with Nat's girlfriend using Nat's phone, so she thinks it's Nat texting her. Erik's been getting increasingly naughty with the texts, allegedly with the goal of "helping" Nat with his love-life. It was funny and stupid and a completely frat-boy type thing to do, which was so funny for me to see. I felt like a gay David Attenborough, observing the behavior of the "free-range hetero douchebag" in the wild. It was really fun, and the truth is that I liked being with a bunch of straight guys. The vibe was slightly different than being with my gay friends, but still happy and playful. Later, we decide to ditch the White House guy while he's in the bathroom. Erik called it "the Irish goodbye," which I find hysterical, I'm gonna use that term at some point.

I offer to host at my apartment, so off we went to my place. I made Sapphire gin and tonics for everyone, then Jeffrey finds my guitar. He picks it up, tunes it in very short order, and begins to play. I got that guitar when I had the wild idea that I'd learn to play, but I never got past lesson 3 in my book. Jeffrey starts playing and singing, BEAUTIFULLY. He, Nat and Erik start singing this song I had never heard, then they move on to Bob Dylan, Bob Marley, Paul Simon, and Johnny Cash. I joined in on the songs I knew (by the way, we rocked the four-voice harmonies on "The Boxer") and I just sat back amazed at what was going on in my apartment. According to Erik, Jeffrey plays in bars and clubs in Portland on the weekends, and did he sound good! His technique seemed very strong and his voice was clear and had a range of coloring and emotion to it. I basically had a private concert in my living room last night.

My guitar was singing out, sounding wonderful in the hands of someone who knew what he was doing. I was planning on selling it before I moved, but I just can't even think about that now. My guitar transformed, from a little embarrassment gathering dust in the corner to something beautiful, resonant and playful on the big chords and light and tender during the quieter moments of the songs. She SANG last night, and I finally heard her. So, she's coming to the condo with me, and now she has a name: Dulcinea. It means "a woman who is a man's sweetheart."

Shortly after, the boys departed to get some sleep before their meetings on Wednesday. I cleared away the glasses and got ready for bed myself, but with a huge smile on my face. Sure, the night sounds like one of countless nights on a college campus, but I'd never really had an experience like that one. An impromptu night out with the boys followed by a sing-along in my living room late at night? How many Tuesdays like that come along in one's life?

I've still got a smile on my face, and I've been humming "The Boxer" to myself all morning. My god, life is extraordinary.

If Felicia Day (from "Dr. Horrible's Singing Blog") isn't geek ROYALTY by now, I don't know what's wrong with the world. Check out my new favorite online goofiness at www.watchtheguild.com

I recently discovered an interesting blog called The Art of Manliness, which focuses on the nature and culture of masculinity. Some of the site has practical information (how to shave properly, how to unclog a toilet, etc), some more motivational info (e.g., how to make a decision like Ben Franklin, how to apologize like a man) and some of it is kind of silly masculine-themed consumerism (their article on letter writing devolved pretty quickly into a fetishized ad for stationary and fountain pens). Overall though, it's been fascinating to read because I myself have periodically explored what it truly means to be a man in the modern era and this blog has really triggered that contemplative impulse again.

One of the best parts of the sites multiple groups and content trends has been the need for a man to examine his core principles and know, in his heart and mind, who he really is. It's absolutely essential for a man to undergo this process at least once in his life, but I think it's even better to periodically reexamine your core beliefs from time to time. Because, as men grow, their choices (and indeed the criteria for making those choices) will also change over time. I'm not the same man I was when I was a teenager, or a college grad, or after my first layoff, or after my first relationship. I've changed, and so have my beliefs.

I'll post more on this later, but I plan to go through the "Define Your Core Principles" exercise this week. Hopefully, it will be an enlightening endeavor.

Good evening, dear readers. Or at least any readers I have left after such a long interlude.

I apologize for the long caesura. I've been living my life, not writing about it. That's not meant as a dismissal of my blogging brethren and...sistren (?), just a statement. Writing a blog seemed less important to me since last year, but whether that was laziness or subtle internal motivation is unclear (to me at least).

So, I write this little note to warm things back up on this blog. Just a little pre-heating of the blog oven, before the real work resumes.

Tonight, the Fella and I had a little chicken fajita dinner with a nice Tempranillo/Shiraz blend. It was a 2006 Tempra Tantrum from Spain which we both enjoyed, particularly with the spicy peppers and chicken. Evidently, and I say evidently after a few minutes of searching Google for the label and reviews, this particular wine is marketed to "Millenials," those people who were born in or after 1982. This strikes me as an odd marketing approach. After all, are they deliberately marketing their wines as training wheels for inexperienced palates? Such is not the stuff of oenophiles. But then again, what is these days?

You should ignore these ramblings. After all, it's just the warm up. We'll get to meatier stuff later. Until next time, I raise my glass and say "salud."

Ladies and Gentleman...the man who COULD NOT WIN.




Congratulations, Mister President.

The Empire is DEAD. Long live the REPUBLIC!!!!

Great video, and a great way to think about how we've been partying since 1999.
http://www.americablog.com/2008/10/wassup-2008.html

Watch them both. Watch them with a Bud if you want. I was nostaligic, then depressed, then elated.

OK, this is going to sound weird, but I've figured out why John McCain's new "throw everything including the kitchen sink at Obama" campaign struck me with such deja-vu. I've seen this scenario before...

In Star Trek II, The Wrath of Khan.

I know, I know, but stay with me here...







Khan is an older man, once flush with power and a will to dominate who's been driven insane by his need for vengeance and revenge on the man who's robbed him of what he sees as his just reward.  OK...so, that's McCain.














So, here comes this younger, more talented guy who's basically taken Khan/McCain's Superhuman self-image and run circles around it.  Khan's a genetically engineered superhuman.  But this young punk's beaten him.  BAD.  Because the good Captain is more evolved, more experienced in the modern world, and understands how things work in the future.  So...Barack Obama is Captain James T. Kirk.  






So, using that analogy, the McCain campaign is the USS Reliant and the Obama campaign is the USS Enterprise.  They fight, and the Enterprise is roughed up quite a bit by the Reliant/McCain sneak attack.  But then they find the Mutara Nebula, which in our case means the Financial Market Nightmare of October 2008 (October Surprise!).  Shields are useless, sensors won't function. It's really scary and dark and complicated and who the hell knows how to get out of the damn thing.  So...Khan starts fumbling around the nebula.  But Kirk's got Spock (who's probably David Axelrod) who points out that Khan's not too good at 3-dimensional thought (read, complex policy analysis and critical thinking skills).  So the Enterprise/Obama lowers down and waits for the Reliant/McCain to fly blindly overhead, because Kirk/Obama CAN think 3-dimensionally.



So, the Reliant/McCain flies over trying to figure out what the hell to do, then suddenly the Enterprise/Obama pops up from behind and starts firing everything they've got.

• Your "suspended campaign" stunt crap didn't help out at all! (BOOM! There goes the Reliant's aft torpedo launcher.)
• Your bailout strategy lets CEOs get GOLDEN FRIGGIN PARACHUTES (Wham! The Reliant's port warp nacelle gets reamed all the way hollow.)
• You don't have an economic plan AT ALL, you DOLT! (KABLAMMO!  The reamed out warp nacelle gets blown CLEAN OFF THE SHIP.)

So, after the Economy Nebula and the Kirk/Obama attack have done their work, Khan/McCain's pretty much dead in space.  In fact, his face has been pretty much burned off.  Khan's beaten, and he knows it.  Everyone around him is pretty much dead (see ya later Republican Senate candidates!) and his ONLY chance of taking out his hated enemy is by using his ultimate weapon, the Genesis Device.  It'll kill him too, in fact, it'll pretty much wreck the entire joint for everybody.  (Read: Unstable Genesis Planet = a really seriously fucked up USA if McCain and Palin get in charge.) But he's GOTTA KILL KIRK because he hates him so fuckin' much.  So, screw it.  Flip the switch, turn on the Doomsday Weapon.  Reverend Wright starts coming back out into the public discourse.  "For hate's sake, I spit my last breath at thee..."  William Ayers comes out.  Palin (she doesn't have a parallel in Star Trek, because the Trek women are at least intelligent in the show) starts talking about Obama as a terrorist.  Everything gets really nasty, radiation starts spilling out, and we've gotta get the warp drive back online or this shit will kill us all.  William Ayers is the McCain's campaign's Genesis Device. 



But here's the good news.  The Obama/Enterprise is at full power.  Spock doesn't have to sacrifice himself to save the campaign, and the Obamaprise warps out to safety while the McCain/Reliant blows up in the coldness of space.  WOOHOO! 

Tired, but vindicated, Admiral Kirk feels rejuvenated and ready to face the challenges ahead.  He feels...YOUNG. 

Ladies and Gentlemen, may I introduce President Barack Hussein Obama, victor of the Battle of the Mutara Nebula.

Sometimes you just gotta feel the funk...