Early spring in New England means only one thing: street sweeping.

It does not mean one can ride their bike without gloves. It does not mean that one can walk around without a jacket of some sort. It does not mean that it is warm enough to even think one could plant a garden.

But it does mean that folks start getting tired of being housebound and they pack up their cars and drive up to Maine for the weekend, which is even colder, and see a band play (Pete Miller and friends) and eat a great meal (Fore Street, all the rave of Portland right now), and walk around wondering how it can still be so cold now that the days are 15 minutes longer and the clocks have changed.

I also built my frame for our garden. It's going to be 56 cubic feet of organic goodness. So long as it warms up enough to plant the little seeds.


The real crisis.

I started getting Newsweek a few months ago for no apparent reason. (Which isn’t to have the publisher cut my subscription off [from that fine piece of journalism], but to give this little blip some context.)

I dreamed that I bought a pizza and took it to a very stressed out Timothy Geitner. Dude was totally rough looking and I am glad I showed up. Cause if that man can’t eat, whole world is going to crumble.

Isn’t that jacked up? When was the last time anyone (spouses excluded) dreamed about the Treasure Secretary? I’m sure it was because I read this story about how he’s having to go at it practically alone because no one can get approved to fill any spots because they had a parking ticket or were a lobbyist or are just not good enough.

This is what I’m more afraid of than living in a Depression. It’s not being able to expunge the words credit default swap, “in these tough economic times” and Madoff from my brain.


The other other other white meat.

Last Saturday was National Corndog Day. Or What Food Could Be Less Flattering To Eat Day. Or How Embarrasing Are Those CornDogs On Your Door Day.

Nevertheless, yours truly became official co hosts of an unofficial corndog party. We got the party pack , which entitled us to tons and tons of boxes of dogs and stickers and the tator tots and beer weren't included but Pete got them. And we've got about 30 dogs left in our freezer if anyone would like to come up and grab them.

And I was blown away at how many New Englanders have never eaten a dang dog dipped in coenbread.

Witness the section of corndog virgins:

And the corndog regulars:

So we watched basketball games, saw brackets get destroyed, saw a very rare triple double (10 corndogs, 10 beers, and 10 servings of tots at 10 tots a serving).

And we saw off our friend Kay Bradley, who is moving to Chicago. And at this point, on Tuesday night, she's already there.

Other things that happened over the past week: I got a new bike. Traded my old snowboard for it. We finally got our selves out of bed to go and volunteer. It feels great to do something for someone else every now and then. We're going to try and do something like that monthly. Hold us to it. We had lunch at the #2 restaurant in Boston yesterday for Restaurant Week. L'Espalier. I love the week beacuse we can't afford to eat at places like that much at all but for a $20 lunch I certainly can justify. And then had to fight off a desire for a nap all afternoon. And I'm driving to Maine tomorrow for a business meeting. Woot.



We made it last night to the new House of Blues to see Bloc Party last night. Turns out the first HOB was actually in Cambridge. But that was years ago. This new one is across the river in Boston and big and fancy and needs more seats. We're old now. And could use seats.

Then we had a going away drink with our friend Kay who is moving to Chicago. She somehow scored a job while she had a job. So if there is a statistic for those who are doubly unemployed, that's the column she'd be in. I'm sure it's a lonely column. But the lonliness is dulled by the paycheck.

Kay is not the guy nor the Elvis in the picture. Late nights make for happy hearts.

Oh, and it's Restaurant Week here in Boston. We pulled on our fancy pants hit up No. 9 Park for date night last eve. It made it to #3 on the best restaurants in Boston, as rated by Boston Magazine. I had a drink called The Hunting Party. What's not to like about that?


Things. March 10th Edition.

Things I'm down with:
The Electra Amsterdam
Washing my car in flip flops on Sunday, inches of snow on Monday

Things I'm not down with:
The phrase "In these tough economic times"

Things I'm down with in theory, but not in practice:
Smoked Tea
Unisex Hair Cutterists
Daylight savings (the version in which we lose an hour of sleep)

Things I haven't formed an opinion on:
Crossing guards with guns



I'm it.

No, seriously. I made some tags for the new Johnston and Murphy vintage luggage collection, and I saw one in the window today. It was flattering that they chose to leave the tags prominently on the display.

As to say Yeah, this is a legit piece of design work. Buy the tag, use the bag kind of thing.

Look for it in your local airport or mall J+M store.



I was looking through a book today.

And saw me.

And then I freaked myself out thinking if I go home and there is a bar graph painted on my wall. I will flip out.

And then
I thought if I never actually paint this, will I undo the photographer's clever time machine photography ruse? Who am I to put a perfectly good time traveling photographer out of business? What right have I?

So I guess I'm going home to paint at lunch.


59.5 Years Away

We had the pleasure of going down to Wilmington to help celebrate my grandparent's 60th wedding anniversary (two weekends ago).

Enroute, we had a quick layover in Philadelphia where we celebrated being further south by Chick-fil-A. Since there are none accessible in our neck of the woods, it was quite the fast-food treat.

We got in late Friday night. Saturday day we had lunch with our friends Hal and Jen. And then we took a quick excursion to my most favorite beach in the world, Wrightsville. We've been going there forever, long before the replaced the family-owned places with things like Wings and the like. My grandparents had a house on the ocean, until I was about 4, before they moved inland and into Wilmington. It was chilly, but a good 20 degrees warmer than Boston. It seems all my beach pictures these days are of us bundled up with warm clothes and sunglasses.

The party was a black-tie affair at the country club that evening. They even had a band playing music, and there was lots of dancing. Well, as much as a group where the average age is probably somewhere in the mid-70s, which turns out, is actually a surprisingly high amount. It was amazing to be there and congratulate them on the rare 60-year-marriage feat. They've been married 120 times as long as we have. That's a long way to go. I hope they'll be able to give us some pointers on how to do it right.

The next day we had brunch at my grandparents house with cousins and aunts and uncles. It was low-key and a fun way to spend the morning. After that, Caroline and I boarded a plane (after roughly 36 hours down south) while Hal and Jen collected Micah from the condo for another day of relaxation.

The Griffins took care of me and let me drum on their drums and sleep in their guest bed and took me on a walk in the Airlie Gardens and ate sushi with me and caught up on old times and then took me to the airport.

Snow Emergency!

I like exclamation points because they mean excitement!

That excitement, this morning, was a boatload of snow, with up to 15" expected. Woot!

Of course, would could have used the snow this past weekend while we were in Vermont on the mountain. But the the drive would have been crazy. Excitement!

My favorite part about these storms is that a) I realize how out of touch we liberal Massachusettsians are - in that we can walk on the street (on the streets!) to work b) blue lights flash everywhere alerting us to not park on the streets (on the streets!) unless you want your car tagged by a snow plow c) it feels like a little village, because there are few cars out d) my wife gets so excited that she dances and sings about snow all day (on the streets!).

Snow snow snow!

“The snow doesn't give a soft white damn whom it touches.” ~e.e. cummings