Nordic Kiosks and the Irish Miles Between Them

There's a big ol' display set up in my local Stop and Shop that features a new kind of flavored water type of stuff or juice. The name escapes me, however, the sight of the display does not. Why, you ask? Well, the picture on the display features a very poignant photo of one Alex Rodriguez staring mysteriously and dare I say, seductively off into the distant abyss of the future manifested in a glowing sun as he stands in quiet poise in the middle of what appears to be a winery. For at least the day, A-Rod has ditched the cleats and form-fitting pinstripes for khakis, a polo, and sweater-vest. Indeed, were he not holding a glass in his hand I would swear he were promoting the Van Hausen clothing line. The hope expressed in his baby blues is failed by language entirely. He must have a heck of a poker face. Impressive, but didn't make me thirsty. I bought toothpaste and left.

On top of this Rockwell-esque display of decadence, the tagline for the product: "Hydrate Naturally." This was entirely too much for me to bear. The thought of anyone in baseball promoting the implementation of any verb "naturally" was quite laughable. To be fair, it never said "build muscle mass naturally".

This past weekend I had the pleasure of spending time with a couple dear friends of mine in Dennis "Gloves" Madden and The "Czar" Amber Heaps. I took the train to get to Amber in Philly, a time I'll get into shortly. First I want to get into the train trip itself. Given the gravity of the weekend (I don't want to be too poetic about something so real, but my heart goes out to those who had their lost loved ones, and my thanks to those who came to aid) I wanted to make sure I got to Penn plenty early just in case security was out of control or something. So anyway, I wound up having plenty of time to kill in the Amtrak station and no place to sit down and read my book. I was really missing my man, Steve Murillo, with whom I always manage to make train rides memorable for better or for worse.

Anyway, the bottom line is that I was hurting for something to do, and I got caught up in watching the promotional video on how it was your duty to be on the lookout for suspicious activity on loop. Then came the strange realization that I was so wrapped up in watching the video extolling the necessity of staying vigilant that I had consequently become completely oblivious to my surroundings. I then lost further minutes of observation as I pondered the conundrum I'd just stumbled upon. Mercifully, the train arrived and got me out of my own head.

Got to Philly without much of a hitch and after somewhat of an ordeal, found Amber on the street. Her initial advice as to how to find her was to "leave and go right." Far too fatigued to point out that there were multiple exits to the station, I simply complied and realized something was amiss when I saw signs saying only MTA officials and police were allowed beyond this point. Needless to say, we regrouped. Given how devious the Czar can be, I momentarily considered the possibility that she was watching me this whole time and trying to get me arrested. Fortunately that wasn't the case and eventually we met up.

When we first hopped in her car and started heading towards some of Philly's sites, Amber said we were going through something I thought she called "Sinner City." I expressed confusion, and frankly, concern and eventually we got to the root of our miss-communication and I discovered she was just saying "Center City" with next to no emphasis on the "t". However, no sooner than two seconds after fixing the issue, my first official sight of Center City was an adult-movie theater. Nothing says "Welcome to Philadelphia" quite like three huge Xs promising nudity.

Amber and I saw plenty of sights including the much more appropriately rated theatre, The Walnut, boat cars that promised rides with ducks, a couple churches, horse pulled carriages, Congress Hall, an museum type place called "The Garage" and a mall called the "Gallery" which made me wonder if I should go to McDonald's for healthcare and the Emergency Room for fast food, and the Liberty Bell. Seeing the Liberty Bell was really cool. I was always pretty aware of the bell's significance in American history throughout the generations, but how much of a global symbol the bell was, I must admit, was kind of news to me to an extent and made the sight all the more moving. It was pretty profound and I enjoyed it thoroughly.

While heading into the Liberty Bell, a security guard noticed my Mavs hat and said congrats and asked me to approach two other guards who were Heat and Laker fans respectively. I agreed and their reactions were memorably deflated. The four of us then spent a couple of minutes talking about various Boston Celtic notes. A very random, but very good moment of the trip. Later on that day, I locked eyes with a fellow wearing a Nowitzki jersey. We crossed the street to meet each other, shake hands, and go about our days. The City of Brotherly Love" indeed.

Also that day, Amber and I encountered a random guy who looked relatively well off, who said hello to us pretty earnestly. Though a little confused, we reciprocated his greeting. I figured maybe he thought Amber was pretty and wanted to be nice, or maybe he took "brotherly love" to the next level and thought I was good looking, but he gave a similar greeting to the people behind us. What a city.

Without question the highlight of the day took place within the Independence Mall visitor's center. In the center, on one side of the hall there is a life-size cardboard cutout of our first President and American legend, George Washington, with not a soul within three feet of him. On the other side of the hall was a full-size, full-color, statue of the Philly Phanatic with what looked to be (though I doubt it was real) a golden Phillies jersey on. Obviously there was a line to get a photo with him. The volumes that speaks about America is sad enough to be hilarious. It was easily the bittersweet highlight of my day.

Overall, in spite of the company, a tremendous time in Philly with Amber, where the only stone I left unturned was not hopping into a stranger's wedding photos (at Amber's discretion).

Look for a post tomorrow as I recap my visit with the Illustrious noble gas himself, Dennis Madden including our time at the Incubus show.

Song of the Day: Gorillaz-Every Planet We Reach Is Dead

Jazz Song of the Day: Billie Holiday-I Loves You Porgy

There's A Cost When You Radiate Sunshine

I've been busy in the best ways possible. I'm really not sure how to properly express so much in hopefully not too long-winded blog-post, but I sure will try.

First things first, the Dallas Mavericks became the NBA champions a couple of weeks ago. It was a sight for sore eyes for Mavs fans all over the world following the unexpected collapse in 2006 that made Dwayne Wade a household name for all the right reasons and Dirk for all the wrong ones. Dirk and the Mavs are all validated at this point, as well as their fans to a certain extent. I could not be happier for a more deserving bunch organization. My initial reaction to the win was a bit more understated than even I would have expected, but I was in a semi-emotional stupor from about the final two minutes onward. I'm not going to sully the Mavs' accomplishment by talking about the Heat, but I will say that the better team won, the Heat were not the most classy bunch throughout, and it was weird to suddenly be part of such a majority group of "Mavs fans" who were simply rooting against the Heat. I guess we all got what we wanted, but I was proud to root for the Mavs rather than against the Heat.

I watched the game in Baltimore with the almighty patriarch of Birdland himself, Nick Pappas. We had an awesome time, and the royal family is always very generous and welcoming to me. To have such an influential family still be so down to earth is refreshing and I can't thank them enough. It was a lesiurly Sunday spent watching the Lord play softball in the morning, shooting pool in the afternoon (shot terribly for the first time in a while), and shooting hoops with He and his brother Dom, who is apparently allergic to shirts. One might say that I proved to "still have it" on the court and made up for my poor showiing on the felt. We were hit by a sort of flash monsoon. Fortunately, the only casualty was Nick's phone which he had accidentally left outside. Except for that minor hiccup in levity, the trip was all positive and I hope to do it again soon.

I was in Maryland in the first place to see Phish perform in Columbia with some friends from LI. It was an incredible time, as anticipated, and the consistancy of this group to muster epic performances time and time again is absurd. For those who care, Run Like An Antelope was definitely the high point, but the whole show was really top notch.

Prior to the show, we made an impromptu excursion to the fabled rhombus of Phish-lore. The rhombus is a former chill spot of Trey's where apparently a few songs were written and is an active portal to Gamehenge. If I'm not mistaken, "Divided Sky" is about this place. It was a pretty spiritual quest. My man Ben Kraus put a lot of research into the visit and he was really happy to find it, which was cool to see from my perspective. With that said, I got a little chuckle at him being pretty nervous to come down from a height that wasn't very intimidating. Also, when we entered the place where the rhombus was (which I don't think I can mention due to a code of honor) we stopped at an information booth to get directions to the specific rhombus area (lxwxh...kidding). A very exubarent Ben said, "Don't worry, I'll bet they get this question all the time." Emily imidiately deflated him as only a sibling can by saying, "No, Ben, I bet they don't." The delivery of such a chilling line had the whole car in stitches and still makes me laugh when I think about it. Emily was right, by the way.

Now, I'm not nearly as upset by this as I'll probably sound, but it is an observation of mine that I do feel the need to mention. One the special things about most any concert, especially a Phish one, is kind of the underground marketplace that forms. Cats looking to buy and sell tickets shirts and drugs. To have interactions and a trade system so informally and, honestly, pretty cool. Now, I don't do drugs other than some occasional drinking in any context, but I have good friends who do. If I had my way I'd legalize pot and whatnot. Drug use is all about managing yourself, which, sadly, some can't do effectively and it ruins it for others. I only bring this up to underline the fact that this is not a rant on how drugs are silly or bad, just not for me.

My frustration lies in a few conversations I overheard from those around me. Phish is in the middle of rocking the house and people are talking about the quality of their buzz, when to take more, etc. We're not talking a quick, "How are you feeling?" we're talking full blown conversations. Like I said, I have little issue with drugs as long as you're not driving or doing something dumb, but the fact that some people were valuing their buzz over the great tunes being created was kind of annoying; not pinfuriating or anything, but it didn't entirely sit well with me. Drugs are fine, but as soon as they become a priority over what's right in front of you, I consider that a very important line to be crossed.

I flew from Baltimore that Monday, it was quicker and cheaper than a train. I didn't have bags to check, so it was one of the smoothest airport experiences of my life. While I was on line waiting to board a young couple was in front of me. The gentleman had earphones on that were apparently a little loud because he was unintentionally shouting to his wife, "Is this the right section!" She said, "Yes." He appeared to be unaware of her response due to his out of control earphones and said, "Yeah, but is this the right section?" Her response made my week. She said, "shh, yes." Her tone was such to say, "shut the fuck up you idiot, I just said we're in the right place," however, it was still a tone of unquestionable affection. It was an infectiously charming moment that I instantly fell in love with. The three of us shared a hearty laugh over the situation, as I couldn't mask my staring, and indeed grinning, at that point.

It was a great trip with great people. Look for a post within the next couple of days about my trip to Astoria. I don't want this post to be longer than it already is.


Song of the Day: Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes- Paul Simon
Jazz Song of the Day: First Time Long Time- Medeski Matin and Wood.

Mama, There Goes That Man

I will be the first one to tell you that this particular post doesn't have much in the way of substance. I just have a couple quick notes and the sharing of one of the funniest things I'd ever heard on television. You've been warned.

I'm going to see Bon Iver with my sister in the city in August. In the more immediate future, I'm going to Maryland to see Phish and spending the following day with Nick Pappas himself in what I can only assume to be the greatest city of all time, Baltimore. I'm super thrilled about the trip. Also, Sufjan Stevens is playing in Brooklyn in August and the ticket prices are not quite as high as I would expect for an artist of his caliber. If a few friends are interested, I'd love to catch his show as well and consider my graduation money well spent. Dave's year off from touring is really bearing fruits in the sense that it frees me up to see some other artists. Regarding the 4 Dave shows, I would drop all I was doing to go see them in Atlantic City, but arrangements will be too expensive. The NY show is a bit more feasible, but still really expensive and the set pales in comparison to the NJ ditty. At the risk of losing my lifelong DMB fan membership, I don't think a year off is anything worth crying about. In more local news, Hot Tuna will be playing a show about 30 minutes away from my house this summer and the tickets are 20-30 bucks. A small price to pay to see Jefferson Airplane alums. This promises to be a musical summer indeed.

I had promised not to make this blog about basketball, mostly to give myself some solace from it, but I can't help it at this point; I'll be brief.

My Mavericks continue to silence all critics and appear to be Finals bound after one of the most impressive comeback victories I've ever seen last night. The team appears to be running on all cylinders and Dirk is a man on a mission. I'm enjoying just being a fan for once. I don't mean to say that I'm professional or anything, and I don't mean to sound cocky, but usually when I watch an NBA game, while it's a good time, I always approach it relatively impartially and with an analytical mind. For the first time since about middle school I feel like just a fan sitting on the couch with some buds and some snacks, having a good time and cheering right along with the fans. This playoff run has been liberating for the Dallas franchise and it also reminds me that basketball is just a game. A great game, but a game. This run has reminded me why I fell in love with the game in the first place. The experience has been invaluable.

The subject of last night's game brings me to one of the funniest things I've heard in a while. Former NBA-great, Mark Jackson does commentary for the ESPN games and usually has no shortage of quotable lines that are either pretty laughable, or just plain dumb. As a matter of fact, I say this: Mark Jackson's best/worst quotes (depending on how you look at them) are better than Charles Barkley's. Barkley is more consistently quotable, but I'd take Jackson's top ten over Barkley's any day.

Anyway, last night Dirk was in the zone. At one point Dirk hit a near impossible shot over Thabo Sefloshia (too lazy to check the spelling, close enough), one of the premier defenders in the league. Mark Jackson, struck by whatever creative muse he ascribes to, saw fit to imitate Dirk speaking to Thabo after the play. He said the following:

(As Dirk): "Guess where I was last night while you were eating dinner. I was in the gym getting work done."

While the limitations of text prevent me from capturing Mark Jackson's tone of strained bad-assery, this quote tickled me to no end for the following reasons:

1. It makes Thabo seem like an apathetic monster for wanting to eat a meal.
2. It's not like Dirk Nowitzki skipped dinner yesterday.
3. Dirk naps every game day.

Can't a guy eat a meal without being ridiculed on national television? I admit that in type the retelling isn't entirely a knee slapper, but the ridiculousness of the statement coupled with the positive vibes of such a huge win shook me to the core. I thought it was absurdly funny. We can only hope that Thabo stops eating entirely so that he can be better prepared to take on the Mavs on Wednesday.

Mark Jackson, I tip my hat to you.


Song of the Day: "I Was Born In Puerto Rico"- Paul Simon
Jazz Song of the Day: "I Love You"- Freddie Hubbard