It's a gray day today out there. And it feels kind of gray in here. There is so much work to do today and so time and then there is the motivation question. What motivation question? Well, I'm typing this aren't I instead of the Civil Appeal Pre-Argument Statement I should be knocking off, right? So, there must be a motivation issue somewhere. Maybe it's just overtired. Or overextended. It's just another day when I think that I am not doing as good a job as I should be anywhere, practically. Set phasers to whine! No, I'm not having a little self-pity party, I am just sort of recognizing a fact -- I am not performing anywhere at 100%. I hope what I am putting out in terms of effort and quality is good enough, but I'd be lying to myself if I said it was 100%. I don't like to lie and I especially won't tolerate my lying to me.

So, what to do? I've taken small steps this week. The creation of a to do list every morning with the most pressing items and a desire not to carry any of them over to the next day, although that has proven to be a tad over-ambitious.

I think that what I really need is a vacation. I'm putting a lot of hope into this coming weekend for some recharging. I hope, weather cooperating, to spend it playing with my kids at the beach. That should go a long way, and I need it to, because it is shaping up to be a crazy summer at work. Usually things slow down in the summer, right? Well, not this one. I think it's going to be real hot at the office with, probably, a lot of weekend work. My wife will hate that.

I will try to tune in later with something a little lighter. You can't be gray all the time, right?

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What to believe about Iraq? Well, one thing that the war has done is thrown up into stark relief the fact that I am significantly less trusting of the major news organizations. None of them seem to report the news without attempting to score a point, one way or the other. For awhile, I was more comfortable with the Fox approach because it seemed that there was no conservative point of view being communicated and, while I might not automatically trust/distrust one point of view over another, I liked having the choice. Best is when I could compare points of view by getting both the Fox side and the NY Times side of the same issue. But that gets old and besides, who has time every day? 9/11 was a major turning point for me and the American news system. I started to turn more to the web as I think many others have. I still read the NY Times on a daily basis, but I find I trust it almost not at all. I tried to read the Christian Science Monitor every day for a three month period, but I perceived that they had a huge anti-Israel and pro-Palestinian point of view and the reporting was slanted. I cancelled that subscription. I tried the NY Post, more conservative with a better editorial page, but ultimately less interesting than the Times. So what do you do if all you see in the media are tales of defeat coming out of Iraq? You turn to primary sources, as you were taught to do in historiography classes in college. And you seek out letters from soldiers in Iraq to find that their view of what's happening in Iraq is very different from the editorials passed off as news articles you get in the press today here. I found that letter to be very interesting and much more hopeful than the "news" (as I borrow the scare quotes from Reuters).

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Who out there writes with fountain pens anymore? Besides me, I mean. I started writing with them in law school, which feels like it was a million years ago. In dog years, by the way. It's not so easy for a lefty to write with a fountain pen. You generally drag your hand across the page when you write with your left hand and you risk smearing the ink. So, I use fine point nibs and tend to prefer the Waterman ink as it dries relatively quickly.

I like fountain pens for two broad reasons. The first is practical. I write with a very bad hand. I always wanted nice handwriting and have always admired people who do have that. Fountain pens force me slow down and increase the chances that I will be able to read what I just wrote later when I need to refer back to it.

The second reason is aesthetics. First, generally, fountain pens are beautiful to look at. I have probably six or seven I've acquired over the last 15 years. They range from the expensive Montblanc type to the $2 plastic Waterman used by French school kids that I bought in Paris. They each have a different style and I like them all. They feel different in the hand, too. They are all heavy, with the exception of the $2 one. Second, writing with a fountain pen is a sensuous experience -- the rasp of the nib; the resistance on the page as your hand angle changes; seeing the ink flow from the nip; and seeing how much darker and more beautiful the fountain pen ink is. Even your daily to do list looks better with the fountain pen. And slowing down to write your list helps you concentrate and think better about what you're doing.

When's the last time any of you wrote with a fountain pen?

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Today is the last day of school for my daughter. It was her first year at school and she's grown there. My wife took the morning off from work to take our daughter to school and the little one was so excited that her mommy was taking her. My wife is going to stay for the little celebration picnic afterwards. I have court related obligations I could not get out of so I could not attend, much to my great disappointment.

It seems like her little school year has flown by. I was so sad when we took her to school and she was so excited. I remember that the school had social workers standing by in case there was separation anxiety and I went up to one to see what she could do about MY separation anxiety! I was only partly joking. I was not ready for my little girl to leave the house.

And now the year is over. I don't think that she understands what it means, that she won't see her friends or teachers anymore, if ever again. I wonder how she will process this change and how she will integrate it into her life. I believe that she was popular among her class mates because other mothers kept calling to say that their kid wanted to have a play date with our child.

She changed there, from parent teacher conference in the fall to the spring. In the fall, her teachers said she never spoke and was shy. That she preferred to play by herself. My wife and I were mystified because at home she was a chatterbox and very outgoing. By the Spring conference, it was totally different. She came out of herself and never looked back. She become talkative, voluble even. One story her teacher told us went something like this. She came over to the teachers to tell them that Jeffrey, a class mate, was throwing sand out of the sandbox again. The teachers asked my daughter to tell him to stop because they had tried and it didn't work and maybe if my daughter tried it would. My daughter then put her hands on her hips, looked at the teachers, looked at Jeffrey, looked back at the teachers and said, "well, I doubt it" and walked away.

So, another milestone is reached. It matters much more to me than to her, I think.

In some ways, this blog is turning out to be an extended love letter to my children. In other ways, it seems to be a way for me to mark and comment on the little and larger changes in my life. Either way, I'm comfortable with the direction this is taking. Are my readers?

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Got today rejected for a new job I had applied for. Of course, I only know that because I called the human resource idiot to follow up. I had a screening interview, was told that the hiring manager would definitely want to meet with me, and then was told today that there "were more qualified individuals" in the pool. I sort of doubt that but think that it was a shitty way to tell someone. I have been toying with a career change of late and this would have been interesting. So, I am a little disappointed.

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Why you should not put your picture on the internet.

Via Michael Darragh

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This weekend, my daughter actually garnered an advantage from speaking Norwegian. We attended the third birthday party of one of her little friends. It was held at a place called "Art Farm" in New York City. By the way, we scored the holy of holies: a parking spot right in front of the door to the place on the street in NYC.

The party was cute. There was a guy with a guitar and then art projects and then, in the basement, a little petting zoo. I'm not sure how much I approved of the petting zoo in the basement thing -- how much natural light do any of these animals see? Be that as it may, the two people in charge downstairs were Swedes. And when they heard my wife and daughter speaking Norwegian, they were delighted to have fellow Scandos there. So, they kept letting my daughter hold all the cool animals first because they'd speak to her first, in Swedish, and she'd answer them in Norwegian. First time I've ever noticed her gain an advantage from Norwegian language skills.

I asked one the Swedes later if they had birthday parties like this in Sweden and he said no with a sort of funny, almost judgmental, tone in his voice. So, I remarked that these kinds of parties are common in NYC because people have very small apartments and don't have the space to have 16 children over to run around and play. He looked kind of surprised at that, as if a reasonable explanation other than American excess hadn't occurred to him. I just smiled and left it at that.

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Perhaps this is a condition confined to the North-East, but, while driving around this weekend, it seemed to me that if I saw a car festooned with bumper stickers those bumper stickers conveyed a strictly liberal message. In fact, except for very seldom sighted Bush-Cheney 2000 sticker, I can't recall ever seeing a conservative bumper sticker. Why is that? How did the bumper become a platform for exclusively one point of view? Also, the cars most likely to carry the most bumper stickers here -- the Subaru or the old Volvo.

Still a big fan, by the way, of the "Nuke the Gay Whales for Christ" bumper sticker of the late 80's.

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After work Friday night, and after calling the plumber, we all trooped off down the street to see a house that just came on the market. When we were looking to move out of the City, this was the first house we looked at and we had even made an offer that was accepted on it. Then the owners refused to go to contract since they could not find another house in town. So, it fell through and we bought our current house. We were always kind of bummed though. In our memories, house #1 was always bigger, with a mansion sized plot of land, an airplane hanger sized kitchen, and a bathroom around every corner.

Our memories were very strong, and like as not, probably distorted as memories always are. But they were hard to deny. So, when the agent called to tell me that the house was back on the market, I was happy to go and check it out, as was my wife.

I think, in part, that this house represented close to the iconic image of a house. For all Americans, the house plays an important role as something much greater than merely shelter. A house as a man's castle, and so on. Briefly, even if you don't aspire to own a house, you understand this because you have been inculcated with it and because it runs through all of our history. Some of our first bill of rights items concerns are ability to be free from government interference inside our homes --- no right to quarter troops. Then, we have always venerated great homes -- Monticello, for instance, was justly celebrated even at the time of its creation. It is a theme of many television programs and was the driving impulse behind our settlement of the West, which you may recall the great historian Turner viewed as the single greatest event that formed the special American character. But that impulse was really to get land and house.

By the way, one more digression, do you also hate it when a real estate agent talks about showing you or selling you a home? Bullshit. I have a home. You want to sell me a house where I can put the home. The home is my family and the house is the place that holds it.

So, in any event, we went and saw that first house. And it put memories to rest. Which is good because I think we were ready to put our house on the market to try and buy this first one. The rooms were smaller, the flow/plan of the house was less favorable, the garage was smaller, the street was not as nice, and, frankly, it would have required some real money in renovations. I walked out liking my house better than when I went off to see the first one again, plumbing problems included. So, we stay here for awhile longer, I think.

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My wife was off on an appointment all morning yesterday and I had the kids. One of the things we did was put on some music and we listened to music and danced and played for about an hour and a half. For 45 minutes of that, my son wanted to sit with me and be held. He had just gotten up from his morning nap and may have not been totally awake yet. Anyway, while his sister jumped around and continued to demand "Jump in the Line" by Harry Belafonte, he was content to sit in the crook of my arm and cuddle. It was terribly sweet. Cuddly babies are the best. It touches you in a way I can't really describe but is very elemental. We did that until required to dance by my daughter. I have to say that I really enjoyed having the kids all to myself. Sometimes I think that if we had to choose one of us to stay home with the kids, I might be the one who'd want to do it more.

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I stole some time this morning before the kids got up to write a little bit. Although, I could have done anything I wanted with it. Read the paper, drink coffee, and kick back is the usual choice. No one is up and I love being by myself before the house starts humming. I hope everyone has the chance to experience this kind of solitude and peace today. Pax tibi!

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We have a plumbing problem. Got home on Friday to find the basement doing an imitation of a swimming pool, well, a wading pool, and a pipe making a noise like a faucet. If you have a problem picturing what that must sound like, take a handful of money and pour it from your hand to the floor. The plumber, a lovely guy by the way who lives just down the street, was over in about 45 minutes. We shut off the valve on that pipe which means that the only part of the house which gets cold water is the bathroom next to the master bedroom. And so it remains until Monday. If any of you thought lawyers were expensive, you've never had a plumbing emergency.

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I give you Fund Race, a site where you can punch an address in and see who gave how much to which Presidential candidate, where these people live, and what they do for a living. Very interesting and huge time suck potential. Where did that last half an hour go?

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If you are all not reading this serial by John Bruce entitled, "Killer App", you ought to be. It is a riveting story about, inter alia, corporate greed, ineptitude, political machinations, frustration, and one man's integrity. It's a must read. I check it out every day.

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Just got the update from my wife. The girl "liked Buddy and would see him again". Success! This is what happens when you combine charm, unlimited amounts of wine, and social pressure to drink as much of that wine as possible. I have advised Buddy to contact her immediately because she is clearly still drunk and he needs to strike while her mind is still clouded!

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I made notes on the wines I tried last night and thought I'd share them for those who might care about these sorts of things. It was a tasting of Australian wines. I was not overwhelmingly impressed.

Preliminarily, I deplore the trend in wine making to amp up the alcohol content in wines. I blame the Wine Spectator and their ilk. When your wine is going to be tasted in a group of 200, you need it to pack more of a punch to have it stand out and one way to do that is to push the alcohol content higher. So, when I saw a Wine Spectator rating in the 90's on any of wines I tasted last night, I went back to check the alcohol percentages. I favor the French view, that reds should not exceed a range of 12.5% to 13.5% of alcohol. Otherwise, it seems to me, that first taste is akin to pure, raw alcohol and I find that to be unpleasant.

I tasted the wines by taking several glasses at a time within a style to make my own flights so that I could compare within styles and still try to evaluate them on their own merits. Except for the whites, where I just had one glass.

First remarks: Please note that each wine was fruity yet pretentious, they all pulled my pants down and mocked me. They made me feel like a little schoolgirl in the first full bloom of freshness. With that out of the way, on to the tastings.

(G# means Glass #).

White:
Chardonnay, Stonehaven "Reserve", Padthaway, 1999 ($35): produced by Australia's biggest wine producer, the Wine Enthusiast said: "Peach and vanilla aromas and flavors take the lead, with buttered popcorn and alcoholic warmth. . ." My view: it was merely ok. That was all I wrote about it.

Reds:

Cabernet Sauvignon:
G1: Barton Vale, "The Lazarus", Eden Valley, 2001 ($65)
G2: Yalumba, Clare Valley, 1999 ($32)

I tasted them in that order. G1 here, my notes say, was too fruity and had no depth. The overwhelming impression was berry fruit, mostly blackberry. It was intense and stayed throughout the finish, even overlaying the tannins at the end. It had no balance but a big mouth feel. G2 had better balance and less fruit but was thinner and had less of a big presence in the mouth. I tasted apples in this one. Overall, I liked neither very much.

Shiraz (or Syrah):
G1: Reilly's "Stolen Block, Clare Valley, 2001 ($40)
G2: Brown Brothers "Patricia" Reserve, Victoria, 2000 ($30)

G1 got a 92 from Robert Parker who called it "sensational and stunningly proportioned". I disagree. This was, not a surprise here, 15% alcohol. The first taste was raw alcohol and then the fruit comes through afterwards. The fruit was not worth waiting for. G2 had a 14.3% alcohol content and consequently, to me, had better balance with more fruit and was pleasingly dry. I give the nod to G2 here as the better tasting wine.

The Blends:
G1: Haan "Wilhelmus", Barossa Valley, 1999 (1.5L) ($40) (40% Cab, 28% Merlot, 18% Cabernet Franc with a bit of Malbec and Petit Verdot)
G2: Turkey Flat "Butchers Block", Barossa Valley 2001 ($30) (44% Mataro, 36% Shiraz, 20% Grenache)
G3: Keasler "Avignon", Barossa Valley, 2002 ($30) (58% Grenache, 31% Shiraz, 9% Mouvedre and 2% Viognier)

My favorites were here. Of course, by this time I'd had a fair amount to drink and probably had my taste dulled by the high alcohol content of some of the other wines. G1, at 13.5%, was spicy with a lively mouth feel. It had good fruit and was still dry. I liked it. G2, at 14.5%, was dense, thick and chewy. Parker gave this one a 91 and I'm inclined to agree. G3, at 15%, was surprisingly yummy to me, although I might have been numbed at this point by all the alcohol. It was supposed to be a Rhone style wine but it lacked the spiciness I associate with Rhone wines. Still, it was really jammy with a punch of fruit that tasted like sunshine in a bottle. I liked it a lot. I think that I choose G2 as my favorite here. It was interesting to try three wines, from the same valley, from different years, with different grape makeups and see if I could discern anything from the location. I was probably too drunk at this point to know, but I think that they all had a lot of body and great fruit.

Dinner:
I ordered a French Burgundy, 13.5%, to go with dinner ($55). I wanted to compare it to the Aussie wines generally and, in the opinion of everyone at the table, it was superior to everything we drank at the tasting. It was just a better wine with better balance.

Conclusion:
I still prefer the French wines to the Australians I tried last night. All in all, though, it was a lot of fun.

Hope I didn't bore anyone who managed to get this far.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 09:52 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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The NY Times has run a story concerning the "sport" of extreme ironing. Words fail me but they may not fail you, gentle reader.

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We did the group date last night at the wine tasting, as I posted yesterday. I will post later about the wines. The date was successful. No one ran screaming from the room or tried to leave early to go home to "wash their hair" or "walk the cat". They seemed to like each other. I doubt it was love at first sight or that anyone swooned but I think that this was at least a qualified success.

The woman was easily as advertised. She was blond, athletic, tall, pretty, smart, and interesting to talk to. The total package. A lot like my wife, actually, except for the tall part.

We drank and compared wines and they all made fun of me for being a wine nerd and actually taking notes on the wines and trying to taste them in flights. I didn't mind since it immediately gave them something in common to share -- teasing me.

Once I was sure that conversation was flowing, I tried my best to flit off for long periods to give privacy and allow them the opportunity to get to know each other. Also, I had a bunch of friends at this thing who I wanted to catch up with.

My wife and her friend had arranged a signal in case the date was going poorly. So, when I felt that 9 glasses of wine constituted an elegant sufficiency, I asked whether people wanted to go have dinner. I know that I needed something to eat after 2 hours of drinking. The signal was not passed and we adjourned for dinner.

Dinner was fun. Buddy and the girl shared an appreciation for bad old television and movie trivia. The girl did her best Muppet imitation and Buddy replied with his best Muppet. It was just that kind of evening. Both of them have cats, did I mention that? It seemed significant to them that they each had a cat.

We broke up to catch a 10:00 train home with the girl joining us as she lived farther up the line from us.

I await a report from my wife as to whether her friend would welcome further contact from Buddy, at which point, I will bow out.

Sorry if this post lacked it's usual polish, but, I am feeling every syllable of the immortal advice of Dean Vernon Wormer, in Animal House: "Fat, drunk and stupid is no way to go through life, son". I'd have been ok if my daughter had not favored me with a 2:10 wake up call this morning to go to the bathroom and then a 3:00 request to fix her blankets, which were all twisted.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 08:59 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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Random interesting coincidences in world transportation history. Today in . . .

* 1506, Christopher Columbus died in poverty in Spain.

* 1927, Charles Lindbergh took off from Roosevelt Field in Long Island, N.Y., aboard the Spirit of St. Louis on his historic solo flight to France.

* 1932, Amelia Earhart took off from Newfoundland for Ireland to become the first woman to fly solo across the Atlantic.

* 1939, regular transatlantic air service began as a Pan American Airways plane, the Yankee Clipper, took off from Port Washington, N.Y., bound for Europe.

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As you faithful readers may recall, my wife and I are in the process of trying to fix up one of co-workers -- Buddy. I have posted about this before, first here, then here, with the conclusion of the first fix up over here. The introduction to the newest date can be found here.

Tonight is the night for date #2, an attractive, blond, athletic, co-worker of my wife. Buddy has gotten himself ready by getting a hair cut yesterday. Looks good. As I mentioned before, the date will be more of a group thing at a wine tasting of Australian Wines. Actually, having been to wine tastings at this place before, you should know that they do not serve you just a thimble of wine which you are supposed to suck through your teeth while looking thoughtful and maybe moved by the experience. Nope, this place serves you a whole damn glass of wine "to taste". These evenings usually end with at least one guy putting another guy in a headlock, rubbing his head with his knuckles, and saying: "I luv you, you little fucker, I really luv you". I've never done that, of course. Nope, not me. Anyway, get the idea? If this event cannot break the ice and knock down social barriers, I don't know what will.

One memory I have of one of these evenings, before I became a responsible father (read: too tired to stay out drinking], was wandering over to the pool tables after to watch some guys shoot pool. One guy made a really terrible break and his friend looks at me and says, "he breaks like a woman". [Which, if you watch ESPN2 at all, you know is just ignorant]. I replied, "yes, but he cries like a little girl."

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