The Best

Since the post about Starbucks has been so seemingly popular, at least in terms of garnering comments, I offer this little tidbit that all B&E readers will surely appreciate...

Today, the Mets have the best winning percentage in baseball.

Serve that up with your homogenized coffee, and suck it down, bitches!

And on that note, I will probably be silent for a few days again. Nothing personal, B&E readers. It's just that I need a break away from the preppies riding the 7 train out to the US Open.

There Goes the Neighborhood For Real This Time?

starbucks
Originally uploaded by dangunderman.

Rumor has it that Sunnyside is getting a Starbucks. We held out for more than a decade longer than the rest of New York, but 2006 marks the end of the silent battle. I think that Starbucks waits until a local non-chain coffee place opens in a neighborhood and then figures that their time has come. The local place has, after all, already taken the risky first step of testing the waters.

That place in our divine neighborhood is, of course, The Grind, which I simultaneously support and bad-mouth. I really do want it to succeed. The Starbucks will be opening about eight blocks from The Grind, so I suspect it won't have too much direct effect on its business.

But there's still that matter of the hole in the ground. You know, the cursed block that was once the finest pub around, then a giant fire, then the cause of cracked foundations, and now a hole that's slowly filling up. I fully expect whatever retail space is being created to become a Starbucks. And that's the Starbucks that will kill The Grind.

The Grind makes good coffee, but most of the other problems persist. I don't understand why some things take so damned long. The music is still too loud. The food just isn't terribly good. Why (oh, why) do they insist on serving fondue? I fear the newfound competition in the neighborhood will cause The Grind's infinite crappiness to be temporary. Yet, in theory, I would rather support a locally-owned and operated coffee place than a Seattle-based chain.

But Starbucks, in its cookie-cutter franchising, has mastered the formula of coffee service. The food items are good. The lighting is pleasant. The music is in the background. Most importantly, you order and the coffee/brownie/etc. is in your hand almost immediately. Even when a half-dozen people are waiting for complicated half-caf-half-decaf-soy-chai-lattes, they're not waiting long. At least not as long as I've waited for a simple damned iced coffee at The Grind.

The Grind better work out its kinks fast. If Starbucks is moving in they don't have much time. I'll still go to The Grind over Starbucks. But I will be alone.

Unless, of course, this is all part of a nefarious plan. Virgil thinks, perhaps, that Starbucks opened The Grind. Open a crappy coffee place, you see, so that when the efficient chain moves in, people are already fed up and primed. No one complains about homogeny in an otherwise diverse neighborhood. They just go in and get their frappuccino like the good American consumers that they are.

Hey, what's good for General Bullmoose is good for the U.S.A.

Holy Calamari!

It's an age old question: What does one do if it's raining squid? Fortunately (and finally), Ali has an answer.

Weenie Dogs Are an Inspiration to Us All

dachshund
Originally uploaded by dangunderman.

It has been one year since Hurricane Katrina destroyed New Orleans. I will let the media commemorate and the politicians politicize the anniversary. I will instead talk about dachshunds.

On Friday, The New York Times featured an article about Pablo Picasso and his dachshund, Lump. Lump means "rascal" in German, and Lump turned up in several Picasso paintings. Lump died one week before Picasso. Was it Picasso's sadness at losing Lump that killed him? We may never know.

My family, too, had a German-monikered dachshund: Hanswurst ("Johnny Sausage" auf Deutsch). We called him Hansie for short. He barked and dug around trees and stood on his hind legs and smelled bad. We loved him so.

Hansie died at the ripe and ripe-smelling old age of 12-almost-13. Like most dachshunds, he had some back problems, followed by some bowel problems, followed by a miraculous recovery, followed by a rapid health decline. I was 14, and couldn't remember life without a dachshund.

One day, a couple of years ago, while sitting with a friend in Washington Square Park, hundreds of dachshunds arrived, seemingly out of nowhere. There were dachshunds in tutus, dachshunds in Harley jackets, dachshunds in oversized hotdog buns. They were barking, chasing squirrels, smelling each other's butts, poking their nose into cameras at their level. Then the owners sang, "The Dachs Song." I swear to god I wasn't high.

I have come upon the semi-annual Parade of Dachshunds three more times since, twice by chance, and once on purpose. If you're a New York-based B&E reader, go. There is nothing in the world that will make you happier. Unfortunately, I'm going to be out of town for the fall parade. So I'll see you there the last Saturday in April.

The Times article refers to Lump as a "self-assured little dachshund," as if that's unusual. I challenge you to find a dachshund that's self-conscious or suffers from low self-esteem.

"No, hey, come on, don't sniff me there. I'm dirty. And shy."

Dickhead of the Week - Ladies Edition

katherine harris
Originally uploaded by dangunderman.

A few months ago, Condi Rice was the first woman to win B&E's exclusive Dickhead of the Week Award. She has remained the only female recipient. I would therefore like to present a few standout female Dickheads from the past week. None are runaway winners, although that Katherine Harris has had it coming for a long time, so she gets pictured.

Katherine Harris
We all know that Katherine Harris stole the 2000 election. The Dickheadedness did not, however, stop there. She is now running the most spectacularly awful Senate campaign in history. She has more staff turnover than a temp agency. It's been a fun spectator sport, watching her campaign implode. This week, she said that separation of Church and State is a lie and that God chooses our rulers. The whole article makes for a pretty good read. Perhaps it's unfair to give her a Dickhead honor. It's probably more accurate to give her the Bat-Shit Crazy Tammy Faye Look-Alike Award.

But I'm a big fan of the photo (taken from her own campaign website's photo gallery). Her arm's around the child, and yet she can barely stand to touch her. Bask in the glow of Katherine Harris's warmth, dear B&E readers.

Elizabeth Dole
Often considered one of the not-so-bad Republicans, Liddy now heads up the Senate Republican Campaign Committee. So when Conrad "My Best Friend is Jack Abramoff" Burns said that he checked the immigration papers of his gardener, "a nice little Guatemalan man," Liddy came to Conrad's defense. No, he was not being condescending. The Guatemalan man is, in fact, short in stature. That Guatemalans are short is a stereotype Conrad had no intention of perpetuating. That's why he immediately turned around and ordered a "tall Guatemalan" from the nearest Starbuck's. (OK, I made that part up.)

Anyway, Liddy called it "a silly thing" because, as we all know, racial stereotyping is totally silly. As silly as the chicken dance at minor league baseball games.

Jean Schmidt
I recommend keeping an eye on Jean Schmidt. She first came onto my radar while running against Paul Hackett in Ohio in a special election for the House of Representatives last year. It was closer than it should've been in the Republican district, but she beat him. Her first order of business in the House was to call Vietnam Veteran Jack Murtha a coward, shortly after he recommended troop withdrawal from Iraq. Now it looks like she might be lying about her athletic exploits. Can she really run a marathon in less than three-and-a-half hours? Who knows? But if the photo is truly doctored, it will be one of the most awesomely stupid lies ever concocted to get elected.

Vote for me! I run fast!

Yes, it's true. Even the dickless can be Dickheads.

A Clean, Well-lighted Blog

As I'm continuing to do the work required by my soon-to-end part-time job while simultaneously looking for a job that will continue into the forseeable future, I'm short on posting time today.

Instead I direct you to one of my links. Virgil is a long-time link over to the right (although it hasn't been updated since its "Ballpeen Hammer" days), and I feel he's on a particularly good roll recently with the quality posts. He's clearly feeling inspired by the Dutch people's Nethers in Holland.

I miss his presence in my 'hood for this prolonged absence, but his blog is making me happy during the dark days of my job hunt.

While I'm at it, here's a long overdue shout-out to one of the finest snack reviews I've ever read, also from among the links to the right. I shall never eat the Nobby's, thanks to the muscular prose of Titivil.

A Whole Lotta Carlos

walk off
Originally uploaded by dangunderman.

It's been weeks since I've discussed politics or baseball. So let me address the more important of the two first: baseball.

I took another trip to Shea last night and witnessed what might have been the best game I've ever seen live.

The Mets were being personally pounded by Albert Pujols, who hit three-run and grand slam home runs to put the Cardinals up 7-1. Oh, but Carlos (of the Delgado sort) was not to be outgunned by Albert. He hit a grand slam of his own (his second home run of the game and 400th of his career) to bring the Mets back to within two.

And then, in the 9th, Carlos (of the Beltran variety) hit a two-run walk-off home run to win the goddamn game.

My goodness, but it was a thrill. I think it was my first live walk-off experience. I'm still buzzing this morning.

So with that and the pickup of Shawn Green, and the good news about Tommy Gun Glavine's shoulder, it's almost like I don't mind that I have to look for work some more today.

Almost.

Bald Street Marketing

bald bridge
Originally uploaded by dangunderman.

I loathe street marketing which, on top of being invasive in our everyday lives, is also getting all "viral" on our asses. "Look, hot guerilla marketing stranger, I don't care if the new mixed cocktail from Captain Morgan's Original Spiced Rum is the most refreshing drink of the summer. I want a seltzer with lime. And I want you to leave me the hell alone."

Recently I learned that my primary source of income would be drying up at the end of September, so I did what I usually do when I need work -- send out resumes, email former freelance contacts, tell all my friends I'm looking. Still, when I was forwarded a "street team needed" Craig's List posting, I recoiled in horror.

And yet I had that certain something they were looking for, and they promised a nice walk through New York City with like-headed individuals.

The company is Bald Guyz. The products are grooming/personal care items specifically for the bald man's needs.

Well, now, for obvious reasons, this is something I can get behind.

We met at 7am, put on our bright orange shirts, which had the Bald Guyz logo on the front while the back said, "Bald Guyz get better head," and made our way across the Brooklyn Bridge. The WB (soon-to-be CW)-11 and Fox-5 morning shows featured our walk from their choppers (the Fox-5 chopper was being piloted by two bald fellas). As the bald men walked, hot women wearing "Bald Guys are sexy" t-shirts handed out free head wipes and coupons to the baldies we passed.

We had great weather -- not too hot, not too humid -- and from the Brooklyn Bridge we headed uptown through Chinatown, Washington Square Park, Union Square, Herald Square, Rockefeller Center (the tourists loved us), and back down to Bryant Park, where we had lunch and ended our day.

All in all, it was probably about a six-mile walk. Decent exercise. It had been a long time since I'd gone on a long walk through the city, and it's nice to have the occasional reminder of how great New York is. I was walking with an amateur historian (and actor -- lots of actors do street marketing to supplement the acting incomes), and while that may sound boring and/or torturous, it was great, actually. We shared lots of tidbits about what we knew of the city, and how it's changed since we arrived in the early 90s.

There were a total of about twenty bald men. Three were older dudes, one of whom had a thick beard and kept referring to himself as the only "bear." I spent much of the day trying to figure out if the gay implications of his "bear" comments were intentional, but by the end of the day, I was no closer to an answer. I don't know if the Bald Guyz guys just took all the bald men who replied to the Craig's List ad or what (some of the dudes were funny looking), but I was impressed with the diversity of the group they found. Taking out the three or four older white dudes, the rest of the bald dudes were a pretty even split between white, black, and Latino. The hot women were pretty evenly split, too. Shortage on the Latinas, perhaps.

As was inevitable in New York, we passed a bald woman, who looked totally great. One of the rambunctious Latino dudes gave her a head wipe. She looked somewhere between amused and annoyed.

Bald men love their fellow bald men. Many of the baldies we passed would see our shirts, holler "BALD GUYS!" and give us all high fives, ask where they could get t-shirts, graciously accept their free product samples, etc. Then, of course, there was the inevitable bald guy who just wanted to be left alone as he was walking down the street. And on two or three occasions, a bald man approached didn't want to think of himself as bald. Denial won't protect your scalp, buddy!

We were particularly popular with cops. Three equestrian cops doffed their helmets to reveal the domes underneath. Lady cops got free samples for their husbands. Cops inside cop cars used our presence as an opportunity to bust the balls of their bald junior partners, who sat in the passenger seat, sheepishly accepting the coupon.

A homeless dude promised to shave his head if we got him a t-shirt, but I think he struck out. The t-shirts were already on their way back to the office.

And around East 4th Street, I ran into Hil, who'd seen the group but not me (until I shouted at her). She was just arriving at her office, and her first order of business was going to be to email me about the Bald Guyz. Alas, I was already one of them.

Where baldness is concerned, I tend to be a step ahead of others.

My Summer Vacation - Lodging

b-n-b
Originally uploaded by dangunderman.

Vacations with the missus almost always include family. That's not necessarily a bad thing, and in our case can often be a great thing. Her family lives in Scotland, for crying out loud, and we get free places to stay in one of the most beautiful countries in the world. And my mother is fond of covering solid portions (and sometimes all) of the costs involved in family vacations.

Plus, of course, the missus and I love our families. Our parents, siblings, in-laws, nieces, nephews... all totally rule.

Which reminds me... the missus and I were hanging with her brother and teenaged nephew a few weeks back, and the nephew was telling us about a girl who asked him out. When he said no, she asked, "Is it because I'm a slag?" He told her it wasn't, although he admitted to us that she is "a bit the town bicycle."

Town bicycle... I love the Scots.

But anyway, we all know that a vacation without family feels more like a real vacation. And it better. You end up shelling out shitloads on lodging. The missus did all the research on accommodations, and she did a wondrous job. I can highly recommend the following three places:

Adobe on Green
This Santa Cruz B&B is conveniently located in the downtown area, near all the shops, restaurants, and crank addicts. (Crank is what we used to call crystal meth, right? And wasn't it free-based out of broken light bulbs?) What's terrific about Adobe on Green is the privacy. Keys are left for you in one box, and you leave them in another when you leave. Not once did we see proprietors, nor were we forced to socialize with other guests over breakfast. It was self-serve and fresh. Delicious pastries and/or granola and/or fruit, etc. We had a private entrance to our room (the smallest they had), the place was artfully decorated, and featured spectacularly comfortable beds. Seriously, this place was great. And it's so private, you could carry on an extra-marital affair there without ever getting caught. I would never do such a thing. After all, the place is in California. Not terribly convenient. Oh, yeah, and I love my wife.

Evergreen Lodge
Located just outside Yosemite National Park, the Evergreen Lodge is a campsite for those who don't particularly feel like roughing it. We had one of the new lodges, an enormously spacious one-room cabin with giant bathroom. It's an all-inclusive type of resort without feeling like an all-inclusive resort. So they've got a bar, a restaurant, a general store, recreation office with public space for board games and puzzles, evening activities (including film screenings and ping-pong tournaments), and the like. I was a little afraid that once we were there, we'd be bilked at their whim. "Here's a crappy ham sandwich for $45. If you don't like it, you can go hungry." But instead, the slightly overpriced restaurant was actually doing a more upscale menu, so you can at least pretend you're getting what you pay for. And, as mentioned in the post about my burned eyeballs, the Evergreen offers guided hikes. Our guide and the other recreationalists were terrific. They offered lots of of information about Yosemite in general when we had questions. And you don't have to participate in the social activities.

The Sanitarium
We knew we wanted to drive up the coast to get to the wedding, so we needed a destination a couple of hours south of Santa Cruz. It was going to be the missus' birthday, so she found the place she wanted to stay. It was our big splurge on the trip. The Sanitarium in San Luis Obispo. And it was truly the most beautiful B&B I've ever stayed in. (It's also the one I've pictured.) Owned by a couple of painters, they even offer free art supplies to guests. Private decks, large bathtubs, fancy-pants bathrooms, some great art on the walls, some art of questionable quality. And yes, it's a former sanitarium, where people came for wellness treatment in the late 1800s. Good times. While we were there it was being run by a young woman in her 20s. The missus and I suspect that she and a friend were getting high downstairs that night (familiar smell through the floorboards), but she made some goddamn mean strawberry pancakes in the morning.

San Luis Obispo, by the way, is also where I found my cop shades. Bad ass.

Now, of course, we're back in our overstuffed one-bedroom apartment in Queens. It ain't much, but it's home. And only slightly less expensive than vacation accommodation.

My Summer Vacation - Santa Cruz

dipper
Originally uploaded by dangunderman.

Here endeth the sunburn lessons.

Our Summer Vacation began and ended in Santa Cruz, California, because the missus and I were attending a wedding there. No one's interested in weddings of people they don't know, so suffice to say, the wedding was beautiful, the couple attractive, their families lovely, and the whole event about as pleasant as can be.

Right, so Santa Cruz...

Santa Cruz has a lot going for it. On top of the coffee places and restaurants that one would expect in any self-respecting college town, there's also a beach and a boardwalk, and the Giant Dipper (pictured), an old-school wooden rollercoaster. The Left Coast's answer to the Coney Island Cyclone. Minus the freak show. A great ride. You leave thrilled and bruised, the way you should feel after any good rollercoaster ride.

You can enjoy playing and sleeping seals, go on whale watching tours, swim, surf, shop, and go to the Mystery Spot, which is both incredibly cheesy and a total blast. We ate super-delicious tacos at a number of different joints, all of which were cheap and awesome.

Demographically, it's probably what you'd expect from a college town, too. Some rich people, hippies of all ages, college kids, angry locals...

And one of the most thriving crystal meth addict scenes I've ever witnessed.

Young, white, at-first-glance healthy, and seemingly homeless near-hipsters dominate downtown Santa Cruz. An attractive woman sits on the sidewalk asking for change, smiling a charming-yet-toothless smile. Her boyfriend stands nearby holding his skateboard with a blank expression on his face. A 20-year-old dude fights a case of the nods from behind a sign asking for help. Groups of youthful vagrants keep their eyes peeled on passersby for a potential score.

I've lived in New York City since '94, and the missus has worked in some shitty neighborhoods throughout the boroughs, and we agreed that we felt less safe at times in Santa Cruz than we've ever felt in New York. Addicts present a bit of a wild card where safety's concerned.

Obviously, I'm aware that there's a nationwide crystal meth epidemic, but nowhere had it been so thrust in my face. And it seems like a new enough problem that there's no help for addicts yet. Santa Cruz is a progressive town. One would think that it would be ground zero for addict outreach. Maybe it is. Maybe it's unfair for me to assume that there's no outreach just because I didn't see any in my two whole days in downtown Santa Cruz.

But the whole scene left a bit of a lingering bad taste.

Insert meth mouth joke here! Zang! ZzzP-POW! Wocka wocka wocka!

Oh, boy...

My Summer Vacation - Burned Eyeballs

granite
Originally uploaded by dangunderman.

While in Yosemite, the missus and I splurged on a guided hike, which turned out to be one of the best investments we made. The guide was great, and he took us off the path over the granite mountain pictured here. (A glacier left those boulders behind about ten thousand years ago!)

For the hike, the lodge (through which we booked the guide) recommended plenty of sunscreen, good shoes, water, lunch, snacks, and the like.

The final item on the list was sunglasses. I didn't happen to own a pair of sunglasses, so before we reached Yosemite (while in Santa Cruz), we stopped in many shops looking for good shades. They were all pretty awful. And not just for vanity reasons. They were overpriced and crappily made. In retrospect, I feel as though I should've forseen this, considering they were sunglasses available for purchase in a beachfront town. I got to the hike without having found any sunglasses. The guide wasn't overly concerned. It was a matter of comfort over necessity.

Right. So notice how there are only a few trees in the picture? The hike took place between 8,300 and 8,800 feet. Thinner air, fewer trees, and little sun protection. But, you know, I was lathered with SPF 50 Ultra Sweatproof, so no real worries.

Yes, the hike was simply amazing. Spectacular landscape. A series of lakes, one of which had granite stones that allowed for "walking on water." We waded out more than 100 feet from the shore on the stones. The water was cold. Snow melt. But it felt great.

I squinted my way through without sunglasses and blissed out in nature. We saw three other people the entire day, and it felt like we had Yosemite all to ourselves.

When we got back to the lodge, my eyes were bothering me. Sort of like when my contacts irritate, and yet decidedly different. It hurt to take the lenses out. I took a close look at my eyes, and I saw pink horizontal stripes going across the whites. Except in this millimeter-sized area that my contacts had previously covered.

To confirm my suspicion, I squinted in the mirror as if the sun was shining in my eyes. The stripes matched up. My eyeballs were sunburned.

I thought maybe the pink stripes were just a remarkable coincidence until I remembered a day of snow skiing about twenty years ago, during which I had forgotten to wear sunglasses for half the day. The same thing had happened.

So, dear B&E readers, the sun will burn your eyeballs. Apparently, instead of lathering your eyeballs full of sunscreen, you should wear sunglasses. I bought a pair the day we left Yosemite. By then of course it was too late. But my eyeballs recovered relatively quickly, and I love my new sunglasses. If I add a mustache, I'll look like a cop.

My Summer Vacation - Burned Scalp

ruddy head
Originally uploaded by dangunderman.

The missus and I went on vacation, and all I got was this lousy sunburned head.

The photo washes out the ruddiness somewhat, but rest assured, my bald head is effectively burnt.

I've often said that burning your head is something you do exactly once. It's a mistake you just won't repeat.

Unless you're in California. For the bulk of the nine days we were there, I was vigilant about the sunscreen. Seriously, I burned my head once years ago and swore it would never happen again. I burn easily anyway, so I just lather up the SPF-50 Ultra Sweatproof, and I'm good to go.

Well, after days of surviving sightseeing, shadeless hikes, and outdoor weddings, it was a brunch that finally did me in. The morning of the day we came back, we went to a post-wedding brunch at the home of the bride's family. Boy, they're lovely people. But I'd made the mistake of assuming it would be an indoor affair. I'd also made the mistake of trusting that northern California cloud-cover to stick around. And then there was the mistake of succumbing to vanity. I'd bought a new pair of sunglasses, and they just didn't match the baseball cap I had with me. Stupid vanity.

About halfway through the brunch I knew I was in trouble. I kept trying to find shade, but by then it was too late. Plus, in our hour-long effort to say goodbye to people, I managed to spend another hour in the sun during the sunniest sun of the Sunday. Standing around with my hands on top of my head provided little relief. I had to remove them during the goodbye hugs. Stupid hugs.

The trip was good, by the way, and I'm sure you'll read and see more. But while boarding the red-eye last night, I realized that my bald head had beat my eyes to the punch.

Although I managed to get a sunburn on my eyeballs, too. But that will be a story for another day, dear B&E readers.

Expect a Lag in Postings

Here it is, dear B&E readers, that requisite and predictable post explaining what could and probably will be a lapse in writing. Upon my return to regular programming, you will almost certainly be inundated with a B&E version of a slide show entitled, "My Summer Vacation."

Just as a final pre-vacation observation... As I finish packing this morning, the missus and I have the PBS Bill Moyers' series "Faith & Reason" on the tube. Today it features a Buddhist nun and Bill Moyers in a blue sweater. Channel 13 is doing its pledge drive, and between segments with the Buddhist nun, they cut to a give-to-PBS interview with Bill Moyers, who was wearing the very same blue sweater.

Bill's about substance, not wardrobe.

Mmrrrrr...?

hastert
Originally uploaded by dangunderman.

I've always been of the opinion that Speaker of the House, Dennis Hastert, looks like a character from Blazing Saddles. You know, one of the many Johnsons in the town. But you've gotta have respect for Dennis. He's a Fat Cat in Washington, old-school style. Bow down at the altar of his jowls!

The Labor Department released its latest job creation findings, and it's not so good, as only 113,000 jobs were created in July, and unemployment is as high as it's been in five months.

So how does Hastert greet this news? With a press release praising the creation of 113,000 jobs. Patting his belly and shaking all four cheeks for emphasis, Hastert announced, "Our economy is robust, like those two bottles of '82 Bordeaux I consumed with my 32-ounce ribeye at lunch. Pass the Percocheese: I think my gout's acting up again."

So fresh off his success of linking a raise in the minimum wage to a cut in the estate tax, Dennis Hastert's first order of business is to put out the Dumbest Press Release Ever.

I'm a Convert

chicks
Originally uploaded by dangunderman.

Yes, dear B&E readers, I've re-accepted Jesus Christ as my personal savior. That Mel incident really got me thinking...

The Dixie Chicks totally rule.

The Chicks played Madison Square Garden Tuesday night, and via my brother-in-law who's currently touring with them (thanks, brother-in-law and a shout-out to my sister for marrying a badass), the missus and I got some free tickets. Kick ass. Totally kick ass.

Obviously, with my own personal need for Bush-bashing, I've been aware of the "incident" that got the Chicks shunned by the country music establishment (many stations still refuse to play their music). But I'd never made the leap to hear the music. Generally speaking, country music ain't my bag. Classic country I like quite a lot, but I had assumed that the Chicks were sort of like Garth Brooks and other country "artists" that make me cringe.

Dude, I was so wrong. The Chicks can play, their songs are catchy, and their backup band is tight tight tight. Their keyboardist once "played for some TV thing Elvis was doing back in '68." Yeah, that would be the legendary Elvis comeback concert. They did a few bluegrass numbers that had my mouth agape.

Apparently, The Chicks have been canceling shows here and there because of lagging ticket sales. Mostly in the south and midwest. So instead they're focusing on the places they're particularly popular right now -- the northeast US, Canada, and Europe. If they come to a city near you, go see them play. It will please you. Seriously kickass.

The missus was also impressed by their shoes. They were all in spike heels, and the banjo player had red soles on hers. And on stage they're all totally hot.

By the way, I think that's my brother-in-law in the left-hand background of the photo. Those curls look vaguely familiar.

Oh, Never Mind...

I was working on a "Lessons from Kansas" about the pro-Creationist Kansas School Board, and it was so completely uninspired, I got bored while writing it. Plus, there was no real lesson.

So rather than continue with that mind-numbingly dull post, I refer you to this article instead. The wackadoos have lost control of the school board.

Maybe the lesson is to stop electing wackadoos to any organization, committee, panel, or other governing body that has any say about what our children should learn.

See? Uninspired post. And this one's better than the other bullshit I was writing.

Fuck this. It's too hot.