Poetry Thursday

On Foot I Had to Walk Through the Solar Systems
By Edith Södergran (Translated from the Swedish original by Stina Katchadourian)

On foot
I had to walk through the solar systems,
before I found the first thread of my red dress.
Already, I sense myself.
Somewhere in space hangs my heart,
sparks fly from it, shaking the air,
to other reckless hearts.


Till Fots Fick Jag Gå Genom Solsystemen
-Edith Södergran

Till fots
fick jag gå genom solsystemen,
innan jag famm dem första tråden av min röda dräkt.
Jag anar ren mig själv.
Någonstädes i rymden hänger mitt hjärta,
gnistor strömma ifrån det, skakande luften,
till andra måttlösa hjärtan.

Age and the Inexorable March Towards Death

Did you know that, next year, there will be young men and women graduating from high school that weren't born until 1988? I remember 1988! I turned 9 shortly after Bush was elected president. That's George H. W. Bush. You know, Dubya's dad? Could 1988 really be 17 years ago? I also remember being 17. That was just back in 1996. Almost 10 years ago! Holy mackerel that's a long time ago. I can only imagine how it must feel for those of you that are actually old!

On a related note, as the brickfamily and I were leaving McLean Community Park last night on the way to Bed, Bath, and Beyond at Tyson's Corner (wow, I sound old and boring in this sentence) we saw a girl leaving the McLean Library. I said "Oh, that's cute! That little girl is spending some of her summer at the library." Then, said little girl walks up to a car and open's the driver's side door, gets in and drives away! Ouch!

And finally, this leads me to my conclusion: old is a state of mind. I'll be twenty-six in a few months. So will a lot of my friends back in WA. So why do I feel so much older than them? Brickbaby. Having a child brings so much joy it's almost unbelievable. But it aslo brings crushing responsibility. You are responsible for raising this child into a decent human being and, if you buy into a lot of the parenting books/magazines out there, you're on the brink of permanently ruining his life every second of every day. DON'T SCREW HIM UP! This is something that my friends without kids (those that got out of Yakima after high school, seriously, since just about everyone I know that stayed ended up having a kid within two years) can't really fathom. I'm not saying that they don't understand, it's just that they don't, well, understand the magnitude of it. And no, unless you could leave your baby at home alone with a bowl of food, having a dog is not even close to the same thing. So I guess that's why I seem so much older to myself than other people my age seem to me. Of course, in terms of life development, I've almost always been ahead of the curve: married at 20, real job at 22, child at 23, mortgage at 25, etc. But hey, I still love my life and I don't regret getting old. It was bound to happen eventually.

List Tuesday

Top Ten Letter Combinations that are Almost Words, But If You Use Them in Boggle They Won't Count

1. Weel (You're thinking of weal)
2. Prax (Sorry, it's a proper noun, as in the Prairie of Prax)
3. Nie (So close, you could almost say the right answer is nigh)
4. Meed (You might think this means a fermented drink. Well, you're wrong. UPDATE! Sources have confirmed that Meed is a word. One point will be given for this word in all Boggle games in the future)
5. Doar (Shouldn't that mean something????)
6. Tetht (Well, what is the past tense of teeth? Oh, yeah. Teethed.)
7. Floud (You know, a floating cloud?)
8. Plie (I think you mean "ply." Wait, what's that? Plie is a ballet term? Well I'll be damned!)
9. Shud (Isn't that what a shudder does?)
10. Fmpotunks (Not really close to a real world, but it would be worth, like 100 points! Or 11 points! Whatever!)
    

When trying to ride the bus at non-rush hour times, I will often see two, or even three "Not in Service" buses before one "In Service" bus comes along. Why is this? Why are there buses driving up and down the route (especially the 30's route along upper Wisconsin Ave.) but not stopping to let anyone ride? If the buses are going to drive the route anyway, why not pick people up? Isn't that what buses are supposed to do? You know, take people from one place to another, not cruise by in air-conditioned comfort while we wait wearily by the side of the God-forsaken road? This is especially important in January when it is about 5 degrees out.


Maybe the buses are going somewhere important. Perhaps, by driving the route without stopping, the bus is able to arrive at the start of another route sooner, thus increasing the overall efficiency of the MetroBus system. If that's the case, then so be it. But I still don't like that initially-hopeful, inexorably-crushed feeling that happens every time I see a "Not in Service" bus go by.

Back in the Saddle

Okay, I know it's been a long time since I rapped at ya, but I've been busy, ya know? My parents are coming into town this week, so we've got to make our house all ready. I think we'll get there. Anyway, on to today's interesting post.

A Philosphical Discussion of the Physics of Two 80's Time Travel Movies

In this post, we will examine the different time travel philosophies of Back to the Future and Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure in order to try to determine the feelings of the both the audiences and the filmmakers.


Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure (Not B&T's Bogus Journey. That never happened, do you hear me. It. Never. Happened.) is a fine example of the fatalistic philosophy of time travel. Everything that you can do has already been done. You cannot change the future by changing the past, since everything you did in the past is already reflected in the future from which you came. Did you follow that? For example, in the movie, there is one scene in which Bill and Ted meet the Bill and Ted of the day before. You know, the scene in the parking lot of the Circle K where the old Bill and Ted are talking to Rufus? Well, anyway, the future Ted reminds the Past Ted to wind his watch, but we already know that the past Ted will forget anyway, since the future Ted forgot and changing the past won't make any difference, because the past has already been changed and is now the present or future. Right. Basically, what this is saying is that there is only one space-time continuum and that all actions are reflected in that same continuum. No alternate universes for this movie. Anyway, that whole philosophy is used to excellent effect throughout the movie with keys, and presentations and the like. I also think that this philosophy fits in well with late 80's Cold War Fatalism. It seems to say that everything is how it was fated to be. Going back in time in order to change the future is fruitless. Mankind will always make the same mistakes. Fortunately, by the end, though nobody knew it was the end at the time, of the Cold War, we, as Americans, were able to laugh at this fatalism and enjoy the movie, even though we knew that Bill and Ted would succeed. I mean, how could that future world in which Bill and Ted are world heroes exist if they failed back in the 80's? Exactly.


Back to the Future, on the other hand, takes a totally different approach to time travel. The whole movie is plotted around that point that changing the past must necessarily change the future. If Marty's parents don't hook up, his family will cease to exist and he himself will disappear. Well, you know how the story goes. This has very interesting implications for physics. It seems to say that every action can create a seperate, but parallel universe. Apparently, though, time travel lets you exist, at least temporarily, in more than one universe. Actually, I think that Back to the Future's time travel philosophy is kind of lame. I mean, changing the past changes the future, all right, that's fine, but how come the time traveler himself doesn't change? I mean, now your past has been changed too, so shouldn't your future self reflect this change automatically? But it doesn't? How could McFly move from one universe to another? Why, when he went back to the future, did he go to the universe in which Biff was McFly Sr's lackey and not back to the one that he came from? It's crap if you want my opinion. There are inconsistencies with time travel in this movie. For example, Marty plays Johhny Be Good at the 1955 Under the Sea dance or whatever and Chuck Berry hears him over the phone. But back in the 80's, Marty learned Johhny Be Good from old Chuck Berry recordings. If past actions affect the future, where did this song come from? In the 80's there would be no Johnny Be Good since Marty had never gone into the past thus Chuck Berry never heard it, so thus there is no way Marty could know it in the future. The only other option is that the song was just created out of the ether by no one, and we know that can't be true. I think that Back to the Future's philosophy reflects the good we like to see in ourselves: one person can make a difference. We can pull ourselves up by our bootstraps. Classic 80's Reagan philosophy.

All in all, I hold with the Bill and Ted version of time travel. Not that I think time travel will ever be possible, but if it is, who cares since our current world is already the result of that time travel.

Ahh, feels good to be back with another nonsensical, rambling post....

Bad Poetry Thursday

Today's genre is Angsty Suburban Teenager Melodrama/Misunderstood Genius Poetry. Enjoy!

I Am Echoes
by Schuyler

My parents can
Not comprehend me
I am
To them
I think
A mirror
Of what they once
Wanted to be
And which they
Now can see
Quite clear
I am
Youth
Fire
Strength
I scare them in
Their old age
Their boring jobs
The end of the world
They must keep
Me at arms length
Or fear
My wrath which
I lay down when
Others claim me
As their own.
This house will
Falter when I
Am gone.
They are alone
And sad
Distraught
That I have seen fit
To leave this hole
That they
So lovingly
Claimed as home.

Poetry Thursday

The Red Wheelbarrow
by William Carlos Williams


so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens.


Also, in the future, be on the lookout for Bad Poetry Thursdays in which I will present ridiculous poems of my own composition. Expect horrendous results. Watch for the first one later today!

An Offer I Can Refuse

Warning: The following story is true, but may be a little blue for my younger readers (are there any?). Don't say I didn't warn you.




Harken back, if you will, to late January, 2003. The brickwife and I had just moved to Moses Lake, WA so I could start my first real after-college job. We were young, childless (though potentially pregnant at the time, I'm not sure), and carefree. In order to properly furnish our new apartment, we decided that we'd probably better have a couch and a dining room table. To that end, we spent the weekend in Yakima, WA (about 100 miles away) shopping and taking stuff from my parents' house. All in all, we bought a table and four chairs, a media storage cabinet, and scored a totally sweet couch that folds out into a "bed" free from my parents. In order to haul all this stuff back to Moses Lake, we needed a U-Haul. So we rented one. Pretty good story, huh? Psyche! It's not even close to over yet. (Why doesn't anyone say "psyche!" anymore? I miss it. NOT! And why doesn't anyone say "NOT!" anymore? I mean that one never stopped being funny. Am I right? But I digress...)

It's early Sunday morning, and the brickwife and I are about to head out on the road for our 90 minute trip home. I'm driving the U-Haul and she is following behind me in our newly repaired brand new car (that's another story I'll share someday). After getting gas, I get out of town about 10 minutes in front of her. It's an easy drive. There are a few big hills (mountains I think they're called back east) and a big river to cross, but since it's Sunday morning, there's not much traffic. Not that there is ever much traffic on I-90 east once you get past Ellensburg. So anyway, I'm cruising along about 15 miles from my final destination. I look to my right at the county road that runs parallel to the freeway and what do I see? I see a big ol' early 90's Dodge Ram. It's an ugly gold/tan color, which in itself is not weird. What is weird is that it's flying down this little county road at the same speed at which I am driving on the interstate. Weirder still is that the driver seems to be trying to get my attention. He's a typical central Washington farmer guy. Dirty blond hair, mustache, etc. So I look confused, give him the old shoulder shrug to say "Whaddayawant?" We starts waving more vigorously, apparently trying to flag me down. Now I'm worried. I've had a bad experience with a moving truck before so I start to think that maybe the back came open and I dumped a couch out onto the freeway. What if he floored it to catch up to me because he saw the brickwife get into an accident a few miles back and she told him to catch me and tell me? "Whew," I think, "there's an exit just 1/2 mile ahead. I'll take it and find out what is the matter." So I take the exit, turn right towards where I can see the truck sitting at a stop sign waiting for me. The following conversation ensues.

Me: Is something the matter?

Him: Can I interest you in a blowjob?

Me:..............Ummmmmmmm..................What??????

Him: Can I interest you in a blowjob?

Me: No! (while simultaneously flooring it)

At this point, my mind is reeling. What just happened? Am I dreaming? Did I fall asleep on the road? All the while, I'm driving the wrong direction on the little county road. After a couple of minutes I decide I'd better turn around so I can get back on the freeway and get home. Luckily, the truck is no longer at the stop sign so I avoid getting accosted again. Fifteen minutes later, I pull up infront of our new apartment to meet a confused brickwife.

"How did I get here before you?" she wonders.
"I'm not really sure how to explain it......"

I never saw that truck or that guy again, but, to this day, I still wonder if there is some kind of weird anonymous gay subculture among the farmers and cattlemen out there in the middle of Red country.

And honestly, "can I interest you in a blowjob?" Who says that????

List Tuesday

So, to further my theme of, um, themed days, I present the first "List Tuesday" post. Look for new, possibly stupid, lists every Tuesday.

11 Things I've learned about DC since moving here nearly one year ago

1. It's not the heat that gets you, it's the giant bugs.

2. It's okay to wear my misanthropic feelings on my sleeve.

3. Anti-socialism is a badge of honor that marks me as true Washingtonian.

4. Most indie bands are indie for a reason: they suck. (actually, I already knew this)

5. Honk and the world honks with you. Fail to floor it within 0.5 seconds of the light turning green and the world honks at you.

6. My taxes are through the roof, but DC schools can't even maintain working HVAC systems.

7. Mocking tourists is fun.

8. Wearing an iPod on the subway can make you part of an exclusive iPod club with only, oh, a million members on the same train car as you.

9. Just because the Tenleytown Safeway deli counter is open until 7 doesn't mean that it's actually open until 7:00.

10. The black squirrels that can be seen in various places in the district, especially in the northwest, are not indigenous to the area. Although they are the same species as the common grey squirrel, the black variety were originally brought down from Canada around the turn of the 20th century. Much like the all-too-common Labatt's Blue.

11. The whole region runs on a totally money-based economy.

12. The federal government employs a lot of people. No, seriously. A lot of people.

13. The Vatican Hides Pedophiles.

14. BORF.

15. When in Rome... (example: when in Virginia, make fun of the way that DC and Maryland people drive. When in the district, laugh at the suburbanites, etc.)

16. Not having Jack in the Box makes me sad.

17. Going way over budget is just fine, thanks.

Thanks to the brickwife for giving me the idea to start List Tuesday. Unless you think the list sucks, then no thanks to her.

Random Thoughts from a Tired Mind

People always laugh when someone orders a Big Mac meal with a Diet Coke. "What's the point?" they think. Well, by getting Diet instead of Regular Coke you can reduce your overall caloric intake at the meal by more than 20%.

Parking in the District is so much easier if you don't have any qualms about stopping wherever you want and turning on your hazard lights.

Why is it that almost every employer in the country provides free coffee? How did this start, and did the coffee cartel have anything to do with it?

When coffee is available for free, why do so many people insist on buying a Starbucks (or similar) coffee every day? At $4 a day, it can be a pretty expensive habit.

I think ending a sentence with any more than six exclamation points is overkill. Wow, really!!!!!!! See? Too many.

Yesterday at church I got to do the announcements (and a few other things). This is a post my father has held at his church for as long as I can remember. I guess it must just be in my blood. Come to think of it, I wouldn't mind turning out like my dad. He's a pretty good guy. I think I'm going to avoid the bushy beard he had when he was my age though.

Nothing makes my day as much as when my son wakes up looking for me to give me a kiss.

I think mixing up old proverbial sayings is fun. Watch. Never beat a gift horse in the mouth. A bird in the hand is worth a pound of cure. A stitch in time spoils the broth. See how much fun that is? Okay, now you try.

Even if I became the most famous blogger in the whole wide world, I would still never write a book related to it because, come on, that's just stupid.

The new Harry Potter book was simultaneously unputdownable and disappointing.

It's practically impossible to go to Chipotle and not eat way too much. And no matter how many times you go there, eat too much, feel ill afterwards and swear never to go back, you'll do the same thing again.

When I was younger I used to play hackey-sack with my friends after school. What was I thinking? That game is so dumb!

No matter what anyone else says, I still think So I Married an Axe Murderer should be considered one of the top three comedies of all time. The other two are Some Like it Hot and The Jerk.

The worst comedy ever is definitely Master of Disguise, which is too bad because Dana Carvey had so much potential.

I think the best way to answer the phone is by saying "ahoy!" but I always chicken out and just say "hello."

Pirates were so two years ago. If I hear somebody over the age of 15 say "Aaargh, matey," I think I might not be able to stop myself from punching them.

Appetite for Destruction is a really, really good album.

I really love my wife.

Yesterday, on the way home I saw a guy standing a few feet from me with a sickle and hammer tattoo. I'm not one to take offense in most instances, but this pushed me over the line. I don't understand how the emblem of one of the most murderous regimes in the history of the world could have become acceptable to adorn your body with. If one had a swastika tattoo, it would get one abhorred and ignored and thought to be a true boor. But with a hammer and sickle tattoo the reaction is likely to be "cool, man. That's awesome!" But let me tell you, no it's not cool. It's disgusting. The Soviet Communists murdered around (nobody really knows the exact number) 40 million of their own citizens. The number of Jews killed in the Holocaust pales in comparison to that (please don't take this to mean that I think the Holocaust was not a big deal. Nothing could be further from the truth.) but somehow, it's acceptable, nay, celebrated in some circles to remember fondly the regime that carried out those atrocities. For what it's worth, I doubt most people who would get such a tattoo, or wear a similar t-shirt truly understand the meaning and emotions behind that emblem. Just be glad that political dissidents like yourself are not sent to gulags and murdered here. There are some things to still be proud of in the USA. So next time you say "ha ha, check out this awesome communist stuff," think for a minute about what that symbol means and whether or not you want to associate yourself with the world's worst mass murderers.

On a side note, it really sucks that such a beautiful symbol was ruined so. Most graphic designers, I'm sure, would kill to create one such beautiful, simple, and elegant logo. Oh well.

The lady is a champ

I honestly don't know how she does it. I really don't.

The brickbaby and I went over to our friends Mike and Stacy's house for a little socializing and stuff. The brickwife stayed home for a little peace and quiet for once. And let me tell you, being in charge of my son all by myself in a somewhat unfamiliar setting is exhausting. You have to maintain CONSTANT VIGILANCE! Plus, having him there is really isolating. It's hard to carry on a coherent conversation when your son is constantly craving your attention and/or wandering off to check something out.

And she does this every day. Granted it's often at home where things are baby proof so anything he can get into is fine for him to get into. But still, the lack of human contact must be totally stifling. I need a drink (or two) just to recover from three hours alone with him.

Brickwife, you are a totally amazing woman and I really hope our son doesn't exhaust you as much as he did me tonight. I can't even imagine what your life must be like every day. I love you, so please don't go crazy on me.


Finally, an aside on the "cookout" at Mike and Stacy's. I usually go to "cookouts" expecting a few bratwursts, a few burgers, maybe some steak or something. What do I see as I'm walking up to the door of their place? Why it's Mike (in his swimming trunks, but that's a whole 'nother story all together) pulling four whole roasted chickens off the grill. He then proceeds to slice them up and Stacy serves the pieces over arugula salad, papaya, and mango, and then tops it off with a nice mango chutney. What??? That's not a cookout, that's fine dining! I mean, I wasn't upset or anything, it just looked like a lot of work. So guys, next time, if you just want to make some hot dogs and serve them on paper plates, that is perfectly all right by this guy.

Perception

I think the one thing that brings us all together, in this giant crazy world, is that each and every one of us thinks we're better (morally, spiritually, culturally, financially, whatever) than at least one other person. In most cases, especially here in the land of plenty, we think we're better than almost everyone. Let me explain.

I spend entirely too much time worrying about what other people think of me. When I ride the train in the morning I worry that everyone on there is thinking that I'm just another yuppie who thinks he's hot stuff. A big part of this worry involves looking around and finding people that are even worse. "Well, at least I'm not like that guy," I think. And there it is. In that one little second I've decided that, somehow, that guy doesn't measure up to my idea of a good guy. I think "he probably drives a beemer, the jerk. He thinks he's better than me, but what he doesn't know is that I don't care if he thinks he's better than be because he's really not."

Does this all stem from my own insecurity? Probably, but I think there's more to it than that. Here in the US we like to claim we have a classless society and anyone can make it with enough hard work and if you don't work hard enough, well I guess you don't deserve it (Social Darwinism I think this is called). Part of this pervasive insecurity manifests itself in our judgments of others. We need to know where on the food chain we are in comparison to them. If we find them below us (I can not believe she is wearing that! Where are we, Alabama?) we marginalize them in order to make sure they know that we know we're better. If we find them to be above us, well that's when we bring out the old "yuppie" or "elitist" denigrations. That way we feel better about ourselves and we can say "Well, when I have that much money and/or power, I sure won't act like that!" But how much are we just fooling ourselves? I used to say that too. "Oh, I'll never spend so much money on something I don't need. It's stupid!" So why, now that I'm being paid more money than I really thought possible, do I find myself avidly browsing catalogs from Pottery Barn, or Williams-Sonoma, or other peddlers of over-priced folderol? On a side note, do you know how much I have given to charity this year? Actually, I think they have given me more than I have given them, what with all the free address labels I've received.

Why is it so hard to avoid falling into the consumer cycle? I honestly think that I'm pretty savvy about it and I still let it happen. At least I'm aware of it, that's something, right?

And to think that this post started off in my head as a social commentary on why yuppies and hipsters are so stupid. Maybe next time I guess.

Fort Reno #1 and miscellaneous

I have too many topics on which to write posts and not enough time to write them all, so here are a few...

Fort Reno concert, Monday the 11th. First let me talk about the Fort Reno concerts in general. Dischord Records sponsors a free concert series every summer at Fort Reno. Every Monday and Thursday! How cool is that? Plus it's only 3 blocks away from my metro stop! I love the whole idea, and I can't believe it happens twice a week, and it's free! Also, if you haven't been, Fort Reno is a really cool park with a lot of open space and a cool old fort. A+++ WOULD DO BUSINESS WITH AGAIN

Now the bands that were there on Monday are a different story. Actually, we only stayed for the first bad. I mean band. Wait, no I really do mean bad. The shows start at 7:15 and end at 9:30 but since we had a 40 minute walk to get home, we checked out at 8:15, shortly after the second band went on. The first band, Caution Curves (what a horrible name, but more on that later), was only marginally a band. One girl played the drums, one girl held a guitar (she might have played a couple notes, I can't remember) and one girl sat at a laptop. Now don't go thinking "Oh, cool. Computer music, like Kraftwerk or something." because it wasn't. What came out of the laptop was noise. I can't think of a better description. And it must be hard to drum along with noise since the drummer was totally disconnected with everything else. It was like free jazz with all of the freedom and none of the jazz. I warned Brickbaby that this is what happens when you take too many drugs while going to art school. I think the message got through to him since he was actually scared by the "band" a couple of times. Now back to the name: Caution Curves. This has led the Brickwife and I to develop a mathematical axiom relating band names and music quality:

Now this doesn't always apply. For instance, Pearl Jam is a terrible name, but their music isn't nearly that bad. I'm sure there are other exceptions, too. I just don't want to think of any more.
Final Notes from Monday night:

Number of animal noises produced by Caution Curves' lead "singer": 2

Number of hipster kids in too-tight ironic t-shirts: >50

Number of songs in which CC's lead singer moaned "Lassie come home": At least 1, it may have been two or three.

Only band that should be allowed to use a flute: Jethro Tull


Now, I was going to write a post about Moses Lake, WA. But I don't really have time, so I'll just provide the link to the newspaper story. This a perfect snapshot of what is cool in Moses Lake. Note that the protagonist has a child with Danger for a middle name. Get it? Danger is his middle name. I am so glad we left that place. For more Moses Lake related entertainment, just browse the Columbia Basin Herald website for a while. The writing is atrocious.

Poetry Thursday

This is the first post in a series of Thursday based poetry posts. I encourage everyone post poems on their own blogs, or just in the comments here. It can be an original poem, a favorite of old, basically anything but song lyrics. So here goes the inaugural post!

Miniver Cheevy, by Edwin Arlington Robinson (1910)

Miniver Cheevy, child of scorn,
Grew lean while he assailed the seasons
He wept that he was ever born,
And he had reasons.

Miniver loved the days of old
When swords were bright and steeds were prancing;
The vision of a warrior bold
Would send him dancing.

Miniver sighed for what was not,
And dreamed, and rested from his labors;
He dreamed of Thebes and Camelot,
And Priam's neighbors.

Miniver mourned the ripe renown
That made so many a name so fragrant;
He mourned Romance, now on the town,
And Art, a vagrant.

Miniver loved the Medici,
Albeit he had never seen one;
He would have sinned incessantly
Could he have been one.

Miniver cursed the commonplace
And eyed a khaki suit with loathing:
He missed the medieval grace
Of iron clothing.

Miniver scorned the gold he sought,
But sore annoyed was he without it;
Miniver thought, and thought, and thought,
And thought about it.

Miniver Cheevy, born too late,
Scratched his head and kept on thinking;
Miniver coughed, and called it fate,
And kept on drinking.

Maybe I missed the memo, but judging from what I see on the train, flip-flops are now acceptable business attire. Approximately 40% of the women I see on the train are wearing them every day. Now some of these floppy shoes are pretty fancy, with rhinestones and embroidery, but the bottom line is that they are still flip-flops. This phenomenon is almost strictly a youthful one. Rarely will I see a women over, say, 35 wearing this footwear. Is it that young women today don't understand what's acceptable? Are they all carrying real shoes in their ubiquitous oversized, strap-covered bags? Or have the rules really changed? Don't get me wrong, I'm not offended by flip-flops or anything, I just didn't know they were acceptable.

To whomever is in charge of this kind of thing: what are the chances that it will ever become acceptable to not wear a tie? I mean, come on, aren't they just a little silly?

Six of one.....

So, I recently bought six (6) new CDs. Which brings the total number that I have purchased for myself in the last year up to (wait for it) 7! The rest I just copied from either family, friends or random people on the internet. Four of the albums I just purchased I already owned in pirated form, but I felt bad about the stealing thing so I bought them anyway. To cut to the chase, here are quick reviews of each album:

Coldplay – X&Y
I can sum up my feelings about this album in one word: disappointed. In my opinion, A Rush of Blood to the Head is a fantastic album. It’s cohesive, it’s thoughtful. It may not be all that original, but the music is good. Unfortunately, I think the popularity of AROBTTH ruined X&Y. Throughout the new album I got the feeling that Coldplay were writing songs for their fans, not themselves. When you do that, it’s really easy to fall into the trap of using a what-people-like formula to make your music, and then every song sounds pretty much the same. And that is exactly what happened here. There are still a couple good songs, but not enough to make it a great album. 3 bricks out of 5

The Postal Service – Give Up
A little bit downer, a little bit techno, a lotta bit catchy. This is a good album by Death Cab for Cutie frontman Ben Gibbard. Yay for me. I know cool bands! Watch this! The Shins! Dntel! Bloc Party! The Mars Volta! Modest Mouse (before last year)! Slayer (wait, are they uncool enough to be ironically cool yet?)! But still, it is a good album. 4 out of 5

Snow Patrol – Final Straw
Sounds like Coldplay had a baby with, well, Coldplay at a slightly higher tempo. Snow Patrol play some darn good brit-pop, if that’s your cuppa tea, which it is mine. If not, I wouldn’t bother with this one. 3.5 out of 5

Kings of Leon – Youth and Young Manhood
First off, if I hear one more person say that KoL are the “Southern Strokes” I will punch them in the head. I’m serious, I will. Now that I’ve got that out of the way, I love this album! It’s messy to the point where, at times, you’re not sure if they can finish a song without totally falling apart. But they never do and that is what makes it great. The whole thing rides the knife-edge between melodic pop and total cacophony. Basically, it sounds like the Allman Brothers got into a drunken brawl with The Stooges and Tom Petty, and beat them to death with some lo-fi instruments. On the flipside, I’ve heard reports that KoL kinda suck live. At least when they’re in a big stadium opening for U2. But the real kicker here is the album name Youth and Young Manhood. That name rules! The only two that I can think of that are better are Public Enemy’s It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back and Dinosaur Jr.’s You’re Living All Over Me.
5 out of 5

Oasis – Don’t Believe the Truth
I used to be an Oasis fan. Heck, I still think Definitely Maybe and (What’s the Story) Morning Glory are awesome. The thing is, they are also 10+ years old and the intervening stuff from these feisty Mancunians was, let’s just say, lacking. But then, about two months ago (in Phoenix) I heard a song on the radio and thought to myself “Wow, this song is good. Why haven’t I heard it before?” Then the DJ comes on and says that it’s the new Oasis single Lyla from their forthcoming album. And then I thought to myself, “Oasis? Really? I may have to check that out!” And check it out I did, and glad am I that I did. It’s nothing fancy; it’s just good old rock (what’s with me and brit-pop?). The best songs on the album are Mucky Fingers and Lyla. Check em out.
4.5 out of 5

Secret Machines – Now Here is Nowhere
What can I say? This album is incredible. Hands down, my favorite album of 2004, and probably the best one I’ll buy in 2005. Imagine Keith Moon hooking up with OK Computer era Radiohead and then moving to Texas and being staunchly anti-war. And then you punch Keith in the stomach. No, wait, that isn’t right. He slaps you silly? No, that isn’t right either! I’ll never be a rock journalist if I can’t come up with good analogies that make use of other bands and fighting! Here’s what I think I meant to say: the drums are really good. I mean, the guy is no Bonzo but the propulsiveness and the production of the drums really hit home. The drums on this album are to the drums on most albums as getting hit in the stomach with a baseball bat is to watching someone else get hit in the stomach with a baseball bat. Big, big difference. Just listen to 9 minute opening epic and you’ll see what I mean. 5.5 out of 5

And now, to end this long-winded nonsensical second-review-post-in-as-many-days post, here are two of my favorite lines from the Secret Machines album. I don’t really know why I like them, they are just AWESOME!!!!

Maybe the rain will stop following me
With millions of colors
Reflected in daylight
Right on the kick drum
We’re turning the sound up
From "Now Here is Nowhere"

We were dressed in uniforms left over from the war
A tourniquet, an iron vest, our emblem was a star
The younger ones looked frightened
Left unguarded by the clouds
While sons of fire with trembling hands
Burned heroes to the ground
From "Pharoah’s Daughter"


There are 25 links in this post.

Diary, by Chuck Palahniuk: A disjointed review

Okay, first things first: raise your hand if you have read either Lullaby or Invisible Monsters by Chuck Palahniuk? You have? Okay, then here’s the review: this one is pretty much the same (goto nextpost). If you haven’t read either of the two aforementioned books but have read one of his other novels (Fight Club, Choke, Survivor etc) I’m betting you can skip this review, too (goto nextpost). But for you newbies I’ll go into the gory details.

Diary is written in the form of, you guessed it, a diary. The entries all take place over a single summer and are written by a failed art school student named Misty Marie (Kleinman) Wilmot. She’s now a waitress at a resort hotel. Pretty true to life isn’t it? Sorry, I can’t help taking cheap shots at art school folk (see this link for how I feel about it). Anyway, Misty's husband apparently went crazy and tried to kill himself after screwing up a bunch of rich folks' houses by writing crazy threatening graffiti all over certain rooms, and then walling the rooms in so they were not accessible. All this "makes sense" in the end.

So as the book progresses, weird things start to happen with the diary. For example, Misty's mother-in-law reads future entries that turn out to be true two days later. This gets us to one of the main themes of the book: destiny vs. free-will. Mr. Palahniuk falls squarely on the side of fate. In quite a nihilistic way as a matter of fact. He's so heavy handed about it that the end is totally telegraphed from a mile away. No suprises here. I'll let you read it for yourself to find out what happens, but it involves Stendahl Syndrome, crazy island maniacs, rich people, poisoning and art.

We have now arrived at the part of the review where we compare the book being reviewed to other books and then talk about the writing style and why we did/didn't like it.

What this book most resembles is......other Chuck Palahniuk books. It has all his hallmarks: avaricious soul-killing consumerism, a "counter-culture" group that is intent on stopping the consumers, ham-handed focus on individual vs. society, and questions of personality and identity. What is always a little unclear in Palahniuk's writing is how he feels about rampant consumerism. First, he makes the consumers out to be mindless automatons bent on consumption to the point of global destruction. But then he makes the "anti-consumerists" out to be total nutjobs who have no qualms about murder and slaughter. Nobody comes off well in his books, but that's nihilism for you I guess.

Now, to get all literary on you, there are parts of this book that evoke echoes of Gabriel Garcia Marquez and his "magical realism" in which strange and supernatural things happen, but are not treated as such. A statue comes alive and starts walking around? No biggie. But here, it comes off more as just bizarre instead of enlightening, almost as if Palahniuk has a formula for strangeness that he follows for each book (hmm, that actually sounds possible...)

Plus, if you were planning on understanding everything at the end, look somewhere else. Diary is also a little heavy on the annoyingly cloying lyrical affectations, for example, the repeated phrases "Today, the weather is..." and "Just for the record..." But strangely enough, even though I expected all this going in, I still enjoyed reading it. It's short and makes the perfect bizarre companion for a train or plane trip. Does is stick in your craw like a GREAT book? No, but it sure will keep your attention long enough to finish it.

Diary: A Novel, by Chuck Palahniuk. Three out of Five (insert pithy and offbeat rating unit here).

Well, one outta five ain't bad...

So the fifth and final Worship for Justice meeting took place today over by the White House. We missed it. And this time we didn't even have a good excuse, but I'll give a few anyway.

We didn't leave Vienna until after the meeting had started.

We couldn't find a parking spot near Lafayette Park.

Brickbaby fell asleep on the way and he looked too cute to wake up.

It was hot.

Hey, we went last week, what more can we do?.

Unfortunately, none of those excuses make me feel any better. I mean, people are suffering and dying and I can't even make it to a "rally" to support them and un-support their tormenters? Ahhhhh, America. The land freedom not to give rip if you don't feel like sitting outside in the heat.

Even though I didn't make it today (sorry guys!) I'm still a firm believer in the cause. I hope that Dubya listened today, and I hope there's something that can be done. By the way, World Leaders (that means you UN, and EU and USA), now that this series of five gatherings is finished, I expect Justice (with a capital J) to be delivered ASAP. Ideally by the end of next week, though this isn't a firm deadline. And if I don't see it, I'm going to ask to speak to a manager. So you all better shape-up, ya hear?

On Wearing a Shirt With the Collar Up

I have recently begun to notice that a long-dead fashion is rearing its zombie-like back-from-the-dead head around town. Particularly around Georgetown. And that fashion is: wearing a collared shirt with the collar pointing up towards the heavens. I'm not a fan of this style, which is exhibited in the picture below. Identities and logos have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent.

I think it's the fact that it's not just that one wears a piece of clothing that is hideous (not everyone can have a good sense of style, it's that in doing this, one is actively modifying the natural state of one's clothes to make it look ridiculous. To this end, I have developed a decision making tool that should help potential collar poppers make up their minds. Enjoy.

In the Blink of an Eye

For my readers (all two of you) that don't already know, I work for an automotive supplier that manufactures safety devices, e.g. seatbelts, airbags, and in some countries child seats. As part of my job, I occasionally participate in accident case reviews. On of our research partners is a very highly regarded children's hospital, and today I attended a child injury case review.

The last case we reviewed was a horrible collision in which a big Econoline van plowed into the side of a minivan, essentially focusing all the crash energy on the exact position where a seven-year-old girl was sitting. The side of the minivan caved in about 1.6 feet, completely crushing the girl. She died. The crash investigators said that when the emergency medical responders arrived on the scene, the girl's mother (who had relatively severe injuries of her own, like a dislocated spine) was in the back trying to make sure her daughter wasn't dead....

I'm sorry, I can't finish this right now, so I'll have to come back in a few minutes............

Okay. I'm back. Sorry about that. Anyway. It's so hard for me to think about something like that in a clinical manner. I just take things too personally, I guess. It does make me feel good, however, that I work for a company that is actively trying to prevent as many tragedies like this as we can. Maybe I am contributing something to the world at large. I have to think that I am, otherwise I'll lose it whenever I participate in a review of a fatal accident. If I can prevent one family from being ripped apart by a senseless tragedy, I'll feel like I've succeeded.


P.S. My prayers are with the people of London today, especially those that lost a loved one this morning, as they deal with a much larger senseless tragedy.

Dispatches From the Metro

Right outside the turnstiles at the 13th Street exit from Metro Center there are two bins. The first you come to, heading out of the station, is a newspaper recycling bin, the second a trash can. Every day, the trash can is overflowing with copies of Express while the newspaper recycling bin sits beside it, empty. Apparently, slowing down for two seconds in order to recycle a newspaper is too much time to lose for most Metro riders

New Policy

So, as I'm sure most of you have heard, there's an opening on the Supreme Court. Of course, in our violently partisan times, this is shaping up to be quite an ideological battle. In response to this, I am instituting a new policy for my blog.

NO POLITICAL DISCUSSION WILL BE PRESENTED HEREIN.

There are plenty of other places where animosity and anger can be found in droves. I will maintain this policy of being assiduously and stridently non-political until further notice.

Please do not take this to mean that I will not discuss pressing social issues if I feel that discussion is needed. The new policy refers only to traditional partisan politics. I retain the right to mock politicians and or lobbyists indirectly, as I see fit.

Darfur Through Kids' Eyes

Just a couple of pictures from the New York Times article today. If you don't know, this is related to the post from a few days ago about Sudan and the Worship for Justice organization.


Drawing by "Taha." 13 or 14 years old






Drawing by "Salah," 13 years old.

A Tale of Two Fourths (or one half?)

Monday was my first Fourth of July in Washington, DC. We went downtown in the evening in order to watch the fireworks from the roof of my office building. In all, it was a pretty spectacular display, though it was shorter than I expected. I mean, Disneyland has a fireworks show like that every night.

For the two years prior to this, we spent the 4th in Moses Lake, WA and watched the fireworks show there. The following is a comparison of the two.


Setting
Washington: We watched the fireworks from the roof of my 12-story building. We had a panoramic view of the mall, including the Capitol, the Jefferson Memorial, and the Washington Monument. Plus, there was a constant stream of aircraft flying into Reagan Airport across the river, which made for an interesting juxtaposition with the fireworks.

Moses Lake: We watched the fireworks from a park “downtown” and sat at the edge of the lake. In the distance, we could see several houses on the other side of the lake, and if we stood up, I think we could see the Safeway.

Advantage: Washington


Pre-fireworks Action
Washington: A concert featuring Gloria Estefan, The Beach Boys, and Kimberly Locke, 500,000 people milling around, and trash everywhere.

Moses Lake: Nothing.

Advantage: Moses Lake (no Gloria Estefan)


Quality of Fireworks
Washington: A good 20 minutes of high-flying, loud, colorful fireworks with a few smiley face fireworks thrown in for good measure.

Moses Lake: About 10 minutes of decent fireworks, though many didn’t go off as planned and some of the private fireworks were better.

Advantage: Washington (by a lot)


Post-fireworks action
Washington: Nothing much, really. Just lots and lots of pedestrians (mainly tourists) wandering around looking lost. And only two arrests for minor charges? Only two? C’mon people, we can do better than that!

Moses Lake: Several raging brushfires caused by malfunctioning fireworks.

Advantage: Moses Lake, definitely.


Intangibles
Washington: Nation’s Capital, lots of restaurants, a great subway system, people are unfriendly, too many clueless tourists.

Moses Lake: Moses Lake sucks.

Winner: WASHINGTON!!!

On Bandwagon Jumping

Well, the blogosphere (oh, how I loathe that word) absorbed another bandwagon jumper yesterday when the Brickwife decided that she too would like to publish her musings on the internet. Nothing could be more annoying to those of us that have been at this for awhile now. Just because you think it's "cool" to have a blog doesn't mean that you need to have one. Sheesh.

What's even more frustrating is that I expect she will be much better at this than I am.

An Open Letter to Mars Hill Church

Dear Mars Hill Church,

You have no idea what you mean to our family.

We moved here last October. We didn't have any friends or family within 2500 miles, and we'd never even been to the east coast before. It was quite a shock, not to mention a little bit lonely. So we did the only thing we could think of; we started looking for a church. In this regard, the Yellow Pages was our friend. Back in Washington state, we had been "attending" a Christian and Missionary Alliance Church that we rather liked (not that we had much choice, since almost every other church in town was a Mormon church) so we tried out the closest C&MA church we could find. It was fine and all, but we weren't very excited about it. Two weeks later, we were back in the phone book at 10 PM Saturday night looking for another church to try. We saw Mars Hill Church and called the number. The church meets in a coffee shop? Okay, a little weird, but okay. We wrote down the directions and arrived late the next morning (we're doing better now, I swear!) to find a skit being enacted on stage. It was all about women and their role in the church. To be honest, it was kind of refreshing. So then a discussion starts (a discussion at a church service? Okay, weird again, but okay) and people are coming in from all over. And people don't agree. It actually made me feel a little uncomfortable. I was already thinking that this was some sort of wacko new-age church and that it wasn't going to work out.

And then the Eucharist started. We've always looked for a church that does the Eucharist every week (not monthly, or quarterly) so this made a good impression on me. And it was beautiful. I never knew there could be such a great balance of tradition and intensity, for lack of a better word. I was starting to think that maybe this was okay after all.

After the service, we were invited to Chipotle for lunch. I was admittedly a little leery of the traditional "take the visitors to lunch and grill them about their religious beliefs and current afterlife destination." Instead, we found what could only be called friendship. We talked to Dee throughout lunch, and even though we had never met her before, we were both comfortable.

On the drive home, both Maggie and I were feeling the same thing, but were both a little hesitant to express it. We loved Mars Hill Church. It was love at first sight. But it couldn't be real, right? We couldn't have been that lucky. If we said something we might jinx it. But eventually we did start talking. And eventually we came back for a second visit, and a third. And from then on, we weren't visiting anymore, we were just going to church.

Again, you have no idea what this means to us. We have friends. We have a family. We have people that will be there for us if we need it, and people that we can be there for when they need it. In summary, thank for accepting us, and making us feel welcome. Thank you for getting to know us and letting us be apart of your lives. Thank you for being there for God to lead us to.

Sincerely,
Schuyler

P.S. It is already breaking our hearts that we will almost certainly have to leave MHC someday. My transfer here is only temporary, and we are dreading moving away from you all. Maybe we'll move back out west when we get the chance; maybe Seattle, maybe Portland. Maybe you can all move out there, too! You'd like it out there, I swear!

My Fair Sideshow Bob

Over the last few days, the Brickwife and I have been watching the classic movie "My Fair Lady," starring Rex Harrison and Audrey Hepburn. Now for two quick asides. You may wonder why I say "over the last few days." Well, here's the deal, when you have a 21 month old toddler, you watch however much you can at any one sitting. And second, the movie may be a musical, but please, even if you absolutely loathe musicals, you should give "My Fair Lady" at least a try. I thoroughly enjoy it.

Anyway, the last song in the movie has Prof. Henry Higgins simultaneously lamenting and rejoicing in the departure of Miss Eliza Doolittle. The gist of his laments is that he has "grown accustomed to her face, like breathing out, or breathing in." He can't stand her, but he can't stand not to have her around. And then she comes back and it's all happy, blah, blah, blah.

So the movie ends, and I'm all "Hey, what's on TV?" So I turn on good ol' Fox 5 and find the last few minutes of a Simpsons episode. In five minutes I see a blimp-based rescue, a runaway parade float crash into a swordfish museum, a high-speed stilt chase, and a plot for vengeance foiled by inept cops (on stilts). You gotta love the Simpsons. And then, the last scene comes on and we find Sideshow Bob about to finish off Bart, a deed he has been planning and attempting for years. But at the last moment, he can't pull the trigger (it was a knife, but whatever) and he starts singing about how he's grown accustomed to Bart's face.

And I was like, "weird, man." Could it just be a coincidence that, within ten minutes, we had seen both the original song and the spoof version ON THE VERY SAME TV???? No way. I figure that the universe was about to "do me in" or something, but at the last minute, totally wussed out because it had grown accustomed to my face. Lucky for me I've got such a lovable face.

My first protest! Well, sort of.

Today, after church, three people from church and the three of us drove up into our neck of the woods to attend the fourth in a series of five gatherings intended to bring attention to the ongoing genocide/mass rape/persecution etc. of people in Darfur. We missed the first three, one to see our Beloved Mariners lose to the Nationals, and the next two because we were out west visiting family. So we went today to sing songs, and listen to a sermon all about death and what we can do to stop it. Also, we were right across the street from the Sudanese Embassy protesting their government's apathy towards and/or active encouragement of the aforementioned atrocities. Police were on hand in case anything got out of control.

But here's the deal. I constantly get caught up in the minutiae in sermons. The guy today (I don't remember his name) went on for awhile about the activism we need in order to change the situation in Darfur. He namedropped the National Association of Evangelicals and praised their work. And then he mentioned their three major social/political issues. Darfur, abortion, and preserving traditional marriage.

Screeeeeeech! Let's call the whole thing to a halt. Is he saying that by being there we are condoning the NAE stance on all three issues? Can't we take them one at a time? And how can you compare the mass murder of millions of innocents (be they in Africa or in American wombs) with the "weakening" of an, at best, two-century old matrimoial tradition that isn't even biblically mandated? And from that point on, all I could do was nitpick the rest of the sermon. I noticed how he divided Christians up into us-and-them, and we're the good guys. I noticed that, while paying lip-service to the idea of loving others as ourselves, he didn't seem to believe that it applied to gays. I noticed that he wasn't even a very good speaker. And I couldn't help thinking that when he told a story about a woman who died in NYC, in the Bed-Stuy neighborhood when no one would answer her calls for help, he was also thinking that it was black people who wouldn't answer the calls and that it is black people in Sudan that are not answering the calls now, and that that's just how black people are, so we have to carry the white man's burden to change it.

I'm sure that I read waaaaaaaaay too much into what he was saying. And maybe that says a lot more about me than it does about him. But I'm not ready to delve into that idea quite yet.

By the way, one of the songs that we sung was what I've always known as "The Prayer of St. Francis." The first line is "Make me a channel of your peace." I just love that idea. I love the whole song. It's all about becoming selfless, loving others as yourself and just being a messenger for God. If I ever get the guts, I'll try to play and sing it at church (the version I know, not the one we sang today)

Wait, no. I'm not ready!

So I heard the news this morning that Luther Vandross died on Friday. It's not that big a deal to me. I don't have any of his albums. I don't think I can even think of one song of his that was a hit. But still, it's never happy when someone dies.

What really got me thinking was the fact that he died at the age of 54. Both of my parents are at least that old (Brickmom is 54 and Brickdad is 56), and I am in no way ready for them to die. I don't want to sound selfish, since, to quote old Albus, death is just the first step into the next great adventure and to meet God is something devoutly to be wished, but shoot, I'M not ready for it. It's something that I haven't even given any thought. I mean, they're my parents, they can't die, right? My son is always going to have his grandma and grandpa, right? We'll always be able to go visit them and stay at their house, right? I'm not really worried about their health at this point. Brickdad runs like, 6 miles a day and Brickmom is probably as healthy as she's ever been. But what about accidents? Since I work in the field of automotive safety, I can't help but worry that a member of my family could easily be killed any day. I guess that's something we all have to deal with. It's just something that I don't really feel comfortable thinking about.

Anyway, Mom, Dad;I just want to let you know that me, Maggie and Levi love you very much. And don't go dying on us.

Good times, man, good times.

So tonight me, the brickwife and the brickbaby went to a party at our friend Pete's house in beatiful McLean, VA. The party was thrown to welcome Jackie back to the United States (she had been in Egypt) which was kind of weird because until today, we'd never really met her. Background info: Jackie is a member of our church who has been overseas since we moved here back in October 04. But anyway, it was a good party. Bratwursts, tater salad, watermelon, the works, yo.

But hands down the best part of the night was when my good friend Mike told this story about something. I think it was related in some way to Canada. I missed most of it, but I heard the part about Canada Day (Today) so that was pretty sweet. Plus, it was like a sauna outside, so I had that going for me.

customer service dc style

Yesterday afternoon, my wife walked up to the Tenleytown Post Office to send a rush order payment to her impoverished sister out in Oregon. We may never see that money again, but that's beside the point here. Here's the point. While service in DC tends toward the abysmal, what my wife witnessed yesterday sets a new record for unfriendliness. The following is a true story, only the names have been changed.

The set up: The guy in front of my wife in line gets to the courtesy fill-out-the-address-portion-of-your-package counter (you know the one) and needs to write something on the envelope he is about to send. He picks up the pen chained to the counter and attempts to write with it. After several futile attempts to transfer ink to paper, he turns to the guy at the window and has the following conversation...

Guy with the empty pen: Excuse me, but do you have a pen? This one (holding up the chained pen) doesn't work.

Guy behind the window: That pen works.

Guy without a working pen and now a somewhat shocked look on his face: Umm, no it doesn't. You can come around the counter and try it if you want...

Guy (firmly planted) behind the window: I DON'T HAVE TO COME AROUND THE COUNTER FOR NUTHIN'!

Everyone within hearing distance falls into a shocked silence. Another Post Office employee comes to the window.

Other Post Office Guy: What do you need, sir?

Where's-that-confounded-pen Guy: I just need a pen. Please, I just need a pen. This one's broken and...

Other Post Office Guy: Here ya go (reaches down, picks up a working pen and hands it to the needy guy).

Before I moved here, that story would have shocked me. "Why I've never heard of such outlandishly bad treatment, even at a Post Office," I would have proclaimed. When my wife told me the story last night however, all I could do was laugh. Just when you thought service couldn't get any worse, they go and turn all angry and aggressive on you. Please just stick with the status quo of not caring about the customer. I've learned to live with that.

Don't expect much....

I am setting my goals quite low for this. Don't expect much, and I won't deliver much. Expect a lot, and I still won't deliver much. So why worry, eh?

Let's get it started.

The first thing I want to do is to fire off a plug for my friend Kirk and his on-again-off-again clothing/design company practical west coast. See the link to the right. So far, there is only one t-shirt available for purchase through his site, but it's a doozy.

When I wear it out here in DC, I can only hope that I am furthering the misconception that the pronunciation is "or-uh-GON" Man, east coast people are morons. Anyway, check it. By the way, it's a limited edition, so if you don't get one, it's nobody's fault but your own.