I settled on the house today and am in full packing mode. I’ll begrudgingly be away from my computer for an entire 48 hours until we are reconnected with the internet. Fortunately we’ll still have cable during this all-important March Madness time of year. Unfortunately we had no choice but to re-up with awful Comcast because FIOS hasn't made it to our development yet.
Parting of growing old is saying goodbye to old videogame consoles including the NES Advantage, Power Pad, and World Class Track Meet.
In an effort to not be a pack rat, I threw away the last items that will never serve any purpose: my Sega Genesis and Nintendo consoles. I had visions of making the next generation learn just how good they have things in the future of videogames, but it just wasn't worth it. Well, that, and they're fetching few dollars on eBay. With that we are boxed and ready to make the Saturday move. The weather looks spectacular and because I’m still less than 30 years old, it’ll also be the last one in which I do the heavy lifting.
My left-handed signature is pretty messy as is, but today’s settlement crushed any notion I had of being a repeatable calligrapher. After 40 or so signatures and another 20 initialings, give or take 15, my signature was a total disaster, but legally it was good enough to get me the keys. Just to make things more difficult I had to sign my middle initial as well, something I’ve never done before. I suppose now would be an opportune time to thank my 3rd grade teacher for lessons in script handwriting, but script writing discriminates lefties.
I claim this townhouse on 0.03 acres for me!
I am moving from the land of apartments to the land of home ownership. I will transform into Mr. Handyman thanks to a Do-It-Yourself handyman book for me. I'm proud to have done my part to help the country's economy. Now I just have to open that Home Depot credit card and buy myself a ladder.
A few months ago I made a donation to Maryland Public Television and received two tickets to the Celtic Woman performance at Baltimore’s Hippodrome Theater. It’s only fitting that we went on the night of St. Patrick’s Day. It was a nice and easy concert that was also tax deductible!
The name stays the same, the players are interchangeable, and the quality never waivers.
The show was a nice respite from the logistics of moving to our house, arranging service providers, and watching my bank account lose a few decimal places thanks to the settlement check. It was my first time at the Frances-Merc/Hippodrome theater and thought it was a decent venue. The lobby carpet was ugly and the restroom signage pointed us to a wall instead of telling us to turn right. The lobby layout served the area well enough with plenty of window viewing and $4 bottled water. My unknowledgeable ear thought the acoustics were fine.
The dresses were nice if you also like the styling of the prom dress clearance rack at Kohls. Well, maybe they weren't that bad and I just wanted to use that weak zingger.
When I took my seat inside the supposedly recently renovated theater, I immediately wished I for shorter femurs. Legroom was non-existent in our balcony seats. Orchestra rows didn’t look much better. Perhaps the theater’s renovation kept row spacing equivalent to a time when people weren’t over six feet. Or maybe they wanted to maximize revenue by jamming in the rows. My back was sore this morning from contorting my torso and angling my legs.
The fiddler was the star.
The audience was quick to clap before the show even started. They clapped after the 1) Maryland Public Television exec thanked us for donating; 2) stage announcer said the show would be starting in a minute; 3) lights went black; 4) lights came up; and 5) first singer began singing. I guess I’m just not a super Celtic Woman fan, but it seemed overkill when nothing had been done to warrant the clapping. Call me a selective clapper.
As much training as I have on Guitar Hero, I won’t be ready for the show’s drummer position…ever.
The stage looked tiny and not just because we were far away. Nevertheless, they used all available space and it worked just fine. The stage had room for two massive drumsets, an elevated standing area, piano, and two percussionists. At such a sing-heavy show, there was little need for a great expanse to move around. This wasn’t exactly a bubblegum pop Britney Spears spastic dancing spectacular.
When the singers spoke to the audience it was a bit phony, but they get an A for effort.
Despite sitting off to the right in row R, we had great sightlines. I couldn’t squint hard enough to see the singers’ lips move, but it was easy to see all performers. I was happy to have a clear view of the drummer and the 20+ piece drumset. He provided much needed entertainment during the songs I didn’t care for.
Acoustics sounded fine to my untrained ear
Of course the concert’s success rests on the voices and they didn’t disappoint. All of them sounded great. All of them were on key and pitch, and in harmony and melody, though I’m not sure what those terms really mean, I used to hear them on American Idol.
I recognized half of their setlist and was pleasantly surprised by the arrangement of some of those I was unfamiliar. They belted out tunes for two hours with a 20-minute intermission. The time went quickly for me and that’s saying something.
Come to the Hippodrome where you’ll enjoy poor blood circulation to your lower extremities.
Technically speaking, the show only had one error when the pianist and lighting crew were one song early, but they recovered after a few seconds of delay. I’d imagine it was an eternity for all involved. I was impressed by the variety of lighting and was duly unimpressed with the Hippodrome’s weak spotlight director. The left spotlights were not as bright as the right and it showed when all four women were on stage. The spotlight’s opening and closing were done incrementally and were not smooth.
The first act’s dresses were simple and elegant in orange, red, blue, and green…the orange was one-shoulder no less! I thought they were okay except for the awful orange one thanks to my hate for such unsymmetrical clothing. Of course the fiddler was in her flowing white. For the second act’s dresses, even I quickly recognized their hideousness. The material looked like shades of fire retardant foil. Good to know they’ll be safe when the theater catches fire.
“Fire retardant foil makes for a great dress,” said the foil’s product manager who was going to throw away the scraps.
Though all singers sang very well, the fiddler stole the show, if only because the four singers were, by design, indistinguishable. The fiddler was great, playing many notes and injecting much needed enthusiasm to the mostly low-key, but expected, setlist by the singers. Her dancing, with its high steps and spins, was fun, and reached a crescendo during combined fiddler and drummer solos.
No lip syncing here.
I know it’s a concert that’s about the singing, but the choreography was unimpressive. The girls would turn to a side and wave their straight arms down like waves when they weren’t walking between stage front and stage back. Is that all you can do when they have to belt out the tunes? The background singers in black were an afterthought, forming couples at times or just standing in a line behind the girls, as well they should, but still a little more creativity would help.
The consensus top pick in everyone’s fantasy fiddler league draft.
Of course we had no trouble hearing the concert. Volume was constant, except it seemed their bigger songs, played often during Maryland Public Television donation airings, were pumped up, almost to the point of being excessive. Otherwise their voices were strong and clear. A full setlist is found here.
Violin + Drummer + Voice = Good song
The performers got a few standing ovations at the end, thereby diluting the value of a standing ovation. I ended up standing and ovating in order to actually see the singers start their encore before getting to sit back down when those in front returned to their seats.
So to recap, the Celtic Woman – Isle of Hope concert in Baltimore offered beautiful women, singing with beautiful voices, wearing nice 1st act dresses and ugly 2nd act dresses, while I lost the feeling in my legs from tiny row spacing.
A few days ago I wrote a 2,200-word entry on what was wrong with the Maryland Men's basketball program just waiting to be published. I had a placeholder for the score when I thought they'd lose to NC State. Then I had to change the placeholder for the Wake Forest game. And now, thanks to Gary's most unlikely team yet to make the NCAA Tournament, landing a 10th seed no less, I won't have to publish that entry anytime soon.
So long MD March Madness t-shirt. Even I must admit it has too many holes and must be thrown away; it's what happens when you lighten your moving load.
I still believe Gary is a poor recruiter, often getting B-level talent in a conference that demands A-level players. His coaching ability running the flex offense is undeniable, it's just his recruiting that could use some help. Few coaches in the country could take a team with no player taller than 6'7" and get in the tournament, but at the same time few coaches would voluntarily put themselves in a position to coach a team with no size.
Gary Williams - specializing in overperforming underdogs.
Nevertheless, Gary got this squad in the tournament when everyone counted them out. Losing to UVA to end the season required the team to play better than it had the last two weeks to beat NC State and Wake Forest, and damnit the team played its best ball when it mattered most. The team not only did that, but it got a boost in its seeding with a competitive game versus Duke on Saturday.
You're not a MD fan if you don't get sappy watching this.
I still think Maryland should have had a stronger program after winning the title 7 years ago. The program should have gone from yearly tournament bubble team to regular top 4 tournament seed. Some bad luck with a highly-touted class and the loss of assistant coaches Jimmy Patsos and Dave Dickerson (the team's main recruiters) have hurt things in College Park.
It's all the more reason why Gary must spend the time being the team's recruiter and not leave it to his mix of assistant coaches. Just imagine how far he'd go with real talent? There's nothing wrong with running an ultra-clean program, and MD still needs it 20 years after being in the dumps, but it wouldn't hurt to talk to some AAU coaches instead of getting leftovers. PG County is the country's hoops hotbed, but MD can't land any of them?
Long live the greatest free t-shirt ever given out at Cole Field House!
But let's celebrate the accomplishment that is this year's team. Gary did a ton with a little; probably his best coaching job to date. I must admit that it is fun to see my team back in the big dance. Filling out my bracket with the chance to put them through to the Final Four brings a big smile. Sure they'll probably lose to Memphis in the 2nd round, but I've never believed in any Memphis squad because they play in a talentless league and well, why not.
Just when it seems safe to count out a Gary Williams-coached squad, that's when the team magically delivers. I'm sure glad he came through this season.
Thanks to my new job, I'm a regular on the red line from Wheaton to the gullet of transfer points around Metro Center. It seems in the time since I last rode regularly, many Metro experiences still hold true:
Perhaps it's due to the advent of more smartphones and lower-priced MP3 players, but there's an abundance of loud headphones. I'm not only talking about hearing random bass sounds that wouldn't prevent you from taking a nap, I'm talking about the many riders whose music I've heard quite clearly despite sitting 4 rows away.
Kids from "The Last Dragon" rocked their boombox on their stoop, but not the subway because that's no place to invade personal listening space. Why don't Metro riders follow?
What are they thinking playing their music at such a high volume? Are fellow riders going to think they're cool or give them a thumbs up saying they appreciate their taste in music? Oh, I know, maybe they think there's a record producer looking for new talent and need someone in touch with the young hip-hop scene. The executive will overhear their blaring tunes and sign them on the spot!
There are starving musicians in the subway for a reason...so we don't have to hear music on the train.
Seriously, they must know it's incredulously loud so what gives? Just because Metro doesn't allow your boombox means you have to turn up the next best thing? The only thing louder on Metro in the last 3 weeks was this one guy who snored up a storm, but at least that's a natural condition whose noise isn't purposely rude.
Will one of the nation's greatest musicians be noticed in a D.C. Metro stop during rush hour? Violinist Joshua Bell experimented for Gene Weingarten's Sunday Magazine story in The Washington Post.
I take solace knowing that for as annoying as their awful music is to me, they're just damaging their eardrums more and more. Then again, while I'm happy to hear them suffer, it just means they'll have to turn their music up even more.
For the first time in the years I have graced this earth, the procrastinator in me didn't procrastinate buying a Valentine's Day card. After seeing the path of destruction left at Target and Safeway yesterday morning, I'm relieved to have purchased my card long before those procrastinators terrorized the card aisles.
Such a sweet thought!
Late card buyers can be found in both sexes, among all races, and at all income levels. Sure, my observation isn't scientific nor valid, but it's safe to say we've all been card-buying procrastinators at some point. Target had an entire card aisle devoted to the holiday of love, but it wasn't enough. Customers jockeyed for position, possibly elbowing others, to skim the remaining cards. I was so proud of myself for beating the rush.
The Greeting Card Association estimates men spend twice as much on Valentine's Day gifts as women.
By 3 PM on Valentine's Day you won't find the card's matching envelope.
That's a new way of implying you want something else.
Walking against the traffic flow of procrastinating boyfriends and girlfriends and husbands and wives, I couldn't help but notice the immense pressure they had put onto themselves to find the perfect card. Beads of sweat were falling over their nervous faces as they realized time was running out.
Nothing like being romantic because the calendar told you so.
The scene was even worse at the Safeway florist with a queue of embarrassed, oh crap I didn't order flowers, in the doghouse SOs. I'll grant you that flowers are best if bought on the day they're given, but buying Safeway flowers for Valentine's Day means you forgot to get her an original gift and your desperate move to save face is buying a bouquet of battered tulips for $14.99 ($12.99 with a Safeway club card).
Good luck finding more than weeds on Valentine's Day.
In a sad attempt at tooting my horn again for this Valentine's Day, I was also not one of the embarrassed, oh crap I didn't order flowers, in the doghouse SOs. For once, I actually didn't just order flowers online.
So I hope that all of those late cardbuyers and flowerbuyers made it through yesterday unharmed. I've learned my lesson, never wait until the last minute to get Valentine's Day shopping out of the way. If you start now, you'll have a 364-day headstart.
First, allow me apologize to the large contingent of readers hailing from France who are whores. In this case, the stereotype of such a lady is her penchant for excessive perfume to cover the, um, smells that she attains during a typical workday/night. In my case, I am neither French nor a whore (except I whore myself to gain readers of this blog), but I do smell like far too many brands of cologne.
Gene Wilder's book, "My French Whore," isn't exactly about heavy perfume use.
I'm pretty sure users of this type of perfume bottle aren't reading this blog, don't have a cell phone, and don't watch Real World Brooklyn.
I rolled up to the Macy's in the Columbia Mall and began snorting colognes for purchase. Unlike the makeup counter salespeople who have to wear every one of their products, the women behind the cologne counter were not wearing all of the colognes. I didn't verify that the same was true for women selling perfumes, but you'd like to think that they wouldn't.
Good luck getting those smells off of you.
I smelled colognes from a black bottle, blue bottle, tall bottle, fat bottle, clamshell bottle (really), triangle bottle, and even bottles shaped like snowglobes. Most of the weird shapes came from the Bvlgari counter, none of which were even close to making it past the first round of auditions. I tried some from Calvin and other designers that were close, but not right. One cologne even smelled like black licorice, one of my most hated foods. No thanks.
I am so thankful to the person who realized coffee beans cleanse your nose's palate between sprays.
I settled on a cologne made by a woman known for wedding dress design - Vera Wang for Men. The product's description is: An aromatic oriental, the Vera Wang For Men fragrance is masculine and seductive. A scent designed to elicit desire, emotion and passion. If I can be both masculine and seductive by lining Vera Wang's pockets with cash, I'm all for it.
Quick, give us your "masculine" and "seductive" pose. Make it fierce!
I walked out of the mall with the smell of all colognes sprayed on my wrists. It seems that even small dashes of artificial pheromones are tough to remove. Despite multiple hand washes and one loofah-heavy shower, I still carry the scents of Bvlgari AQVA, Calvin Klein's Euphoria, and Carolina Herrera's 212, plus a few more colognes I can't recall. Having exercised this morning with a dip in the pool, it seems chlorine and an uncontrolled mixture of cologne don't mix.
Parting of growing old is saying goodbye to old videogame consoles including the NES Advantage, Power Pad, and World Class Track Meet.
I claim this townhouse on 0.03 acres for me!
