Wide Awake in Dreamland!

This could qualify as the strangest dream I've ever had.

The other night, I dreamed I was Hillary Clinton's second husband (?!?)  I was kidnapped at gunpoint by a comedy troupe on the order of the Capitol Steps or SNL's crew,  to provide statements that would be quoted out of context about Hillary in order to be funny.  The kidnappers were dressed like stereotypical Secret Service agents -- black sunglasses, trench coats, very real guns. I was taken to a room with a lot of other folks, including Madeleine Albright, and eventually, Bill Clinton. Later, I found myself unharmed, back out on the streets of whatever unknown city I was in.

Since the Cafe is a strictly nonpartisan place, we'll skip any kind of political analysis. And since it raises some really scary possibilities, we'll definitely skip any kind of Freudian analysis too.  Geez, I've gotta stop flipping between CNN and "24" reruns right before I go to bed ...

Peace, love and German engineering!

Attention Retailers:

I understand your desire to invoke the spirit of the 1960s in some of your advertising and store promotion signs.  What better way to denote free-spirited originality than to co-opt some of the symbols of that turbulent generation, right?  Sorta like how you play "classic rock" in the store? Especially if you're trying to attract postmodern millennials and their Gen Y brethren, yes? A little irony, like a little sarcasm, goes a long way.

Fine, I can live with that.  The medium is the mess, so to speak.

But pay attention here. This will be on your final exam, if only in a karmic sense:

THIS site shows an example of a peace symbol. Notice how many points it has?  That's right, FOUR.

Now THIS one shows a Mercedes Benz star logo.  How many points does the Mercedes star have? THREE.

Contrary to popular belief, these two symbols are NOT interchangeable! One straight line makes all the difference in the world.  If you're insist on invoking the peace symbol to sell overpriced clothing made in third-world sweatshops, at least get it right. Failing that, pay the Mercedes folks a royalty, slap a three-pointed star on the back pocket and triple the price.

Bond. James Bond.

For men of a certain age, the James Bond 007 films are iconic. Urbane, witty, well-dressed, and powerful, Bond was a role model. Why?

For his drinking habits? No. (Although to this day, I prefer my Diet Coke shaken, not stirred. Wish he'd warned me about the dry cleaning bills.)

For his fearless derring-do? Well, maybe, in a Cowboys-and-Indians kind of way.

For his success with beautiful, scantily-clad women with double-entendre names? No. (We noticed that part later.)

No, what made James Bond a hero to millions of boys growing up in the 1960s and '70s was the gadgets. All the cool stuff that Q came up with to keep Bond in the loop, on target and out of the bad guys' clutches was what made him worth watching.

So I can't help wondering what the fictional Bond -- the icy-cool essence of all things sophisticated and technologically hip -- would make of today's wired world.

I propose that we've all become James Bond. After all, it's now possible to carry a phone in your pocket. The shoe phone of another famous secret agent, Maxwell Smart, is a reality after all.

For that matter, it's possible to carry a smartphone (no relation to Agent 86) that has more computing power -- in your shirt pocket or purse -- than the room-sized machines NASA used to send men to the moon.

Camera phones can surreptitiously take pictures in a resolution Bond couldn't dream of, and we don't have to wait to get the film processed. Portable GPS units track our every move, and can pinpoint where we are at any time.

Then there's the fact that I'm currently sitting in a coffee shop in Florida typing this into a computer that's hardly larger than a steno pad. It weighs about 2.5 pounds. Its 8.9 inch screen shows me any Web site I care to visit. It has wi-fi access to let me post this, a built-in webcam and a 160-gigabyte hard drive. If I download Skype, I can talk to anyone in the world.

It cost $300. No, that's not a typo.

Between the hardware and sites such as Facebook, MySpace and Twitter, we can be in constant contact with friends and acquaintances at any time, anywhere.

Maybe it's time to update that classic exchange between Bond and Goldfinger:

"Do you expect me to talk?"

"No, Mr. Bond. I expect you to TWEET."

Truly, we live in amazing times. Now if we could just get the Aston-Martin DB5, complete with the ejector seat and those really cool machine guns behind the headlights ...

Back to the Aerie ... and a New Bird Rising

So no Eagles in the Final Four this year.  Morehead State lost Friday by 20 points to Louisville, no surprise. 

Time to switch allegiance to my OTHER Kentucky team.  See, when you grow up in the Bluegrass State, college basketball is a religion.  It doesn't matter which college you actually attend, or even if you do.  But almost from the time you're born, you're expected to declare your loyalty to the Blue (the University of Kentucky Wildcats) or the Red (University of Louisville Cardinals).  The two sides get along just about as well as Catholics and Protestants in Northern Ireland did before the peace agreement.  

Me, I'm the family heretic, so:

GO CARDINALS!

Light of Day

OK, so American wasn't Cinderella this year.  In the end, Villanova was just too strong.  But my Eagles still played a great game, and I'll bet they shocked a lot of folks who expected a blowout.  Eagle pride, baby! 

On to the other flock (yes, I do know eagles don't flock, but work with me here on the metaphor).  Morehead State plays Louisville tonight, and once again, things don't look promising.  But as AU came to the brink of greatness last night, maybe it's Morehead State's turn.  We're still looking for Cinderella, and who could be more deserving of a glass slipper than 16th-seeded MSU if they can knock off the top-rated team in the tournament?

One more time:

GO EAGLES!

BELIEVE!

Thursday night, 8:30 p.m.  Start of the second half -- AMERICAN LEADS VILLANOVA by 14, at 45-31!  Do you believe in miracles?

GO EAGLES!

Soaring Eagles!

OK, now life gets interesting for my beloved Eagles.  

American U. made the NCAA tournament last week with a 15-point win over Holy Cross.  That means they get to play Villanova in what amounts to a home game for the suburban Philadelphia-based school on Thursday.

Morehead State won its play-in game against Alabama State on Tuesday, guaranteeing my undergrad alma mater a chance to play the tournament's No. 1 seed, Louisville,  on Friday.

Incidentally, one Alabama State player has what may be the most wonderful name of all time -- Grienntys Chief Kickingstallionsims  ..... (wait for it) ... Jr.

But wait, it gets better.  According to the St. Pete Times, his last name is pronounced:

KIK' -een-stal' -yun-sy-ems

SIX syllables for the price of five!  How cool is that?

Back to the game.  I'll grant you, things don't look promising for either flock of Eagles at the moment.  Villanova's a powerhouse, playing 20 miles from their home campus (whose bright idea was THAT?) Louisville may well be the best team in the country this year.  So the odds favor Eagle wings being clipped by Friday night.

But I can't help remembering another tournament matchup that didn't look promising either.  It was expected to be a walkover, a coronation of the defending champions. To win, the underdogs would have to play a nearly perfect game.

And that's what they did, shooting 78.6 percent for the game, 90 percent in the second half.  They won 66-64, in one of the greatest upsets in sports history.

That team was Villanova, in the 1985 championship game against Georgetown. 

So at this point, anything is possible.  Keep the faith, Eagles fans.  Right now, we're still soaring.

GO EAGLES!

Espresso Thoughts!

(Espresso = small, concentrated, unfiltered cup of coffee.  Espresso Thought =  short, concentrated, unfiltered thought.) 

1. Prediction:   Kelly Clarkson’s new single, “My Life Would Suck Without You”  will be played at weddings, usually as a first-dance song, for the next 10 years.  They just don’t write ‘em like they used to ....   

2. Impossible Dream of the Day – Eagles vs. Eagles.    I had the good fortune of graduating from two colleges, 500 miles apart, with the same mascot, the eagle.  School colors for one are blue and gold, the other red and blue.  And traditionally, both have had lousy basketball teams.  That’s changed.    

American University made the NCAA tournament last year, and as of 3/12, is one game away from getting into this year’s March Madness.  Morehead State’s Eagles are already there, having won their conference championship.  So my dream game is to watch both Eagles battle for the NCAA championship. Won’t happen, but a guy can dream.  GO EAGLES!

Bike Week -- Born to be Mi-i-ild!

About once a month, usually on a sunny Saturday, Exec Chef Heatherann and I like to get away from the Cafe and head to the beach.  We usually go to Daytona Beach because it's a little closer to Ocala than the Gulf, and because it's friendlier to the cafe's sous chef and official watchdog, Snickerdoodle. She gets to sit at the picnic table at a beachside park and watch the surf along with us. The crash of waves and call of the seagulls soothes all three of us after a busy week. 

Granted, Snicky doesn't need much soothing to start with.  She's about as mellow as her Uncle Jack, from whom we adopted her.  But she still enjoys the trip.

So, a couple of weeks ago, we got our motor runnin' and headed out on the highway, State Road 4o to be exact.  The road runs in a nearly straight line from Ocala all the way to Ormond Beach, just north of Daytona. With Snicky the Wonder Pup (all 10 pounds) seatbelted in the back seat of the Jetta, away we went.

Very soon, before we were out of town, we realized we weren't headed to Daytona on just any Saturday.  No, this was the first Saturday of BIKE WEEK.

For those reading in the hinterlands of Kentucky and Wisconsin (you know who you are), Bike Week is a February ritual that draws thousands of riders to Daytona for a celebration of all things motorcycle. It's an extravaganza of chrome, leather and gasoline, all set to the soundtrack of that unique Harley-Davidson "potato-potato" V-twin engine sound.

Sure, some riders indulge in the stereotypical biker pursuits of sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll. But for others, it's a chance to show off the latest Ducati, an Italian superbike that is the two-wheeled equivalent of a Ferrari.  Gleaming custom choppers bearing DayGlo colors and chrome bright enough to blind a 747 pilot flying overhead sit in parking lots or cruise A1A.  Older riders come in from the north on Honda Gold Wings, and everybody mingles just fine.

And the people come in just as many shapes and sizes as the bikes.  Tattoos and piercings abound. From lithe and lean to well, like the the rest of us, you see the whole spectrum.

The bikes were plentiful along State Road 40, the main route from I-75 east to Daytona. Once we got to A1A and turned south, we joined a parade of sorts, our hopelessly mundane little Jetta swallowed in a swarm of two-wheeled wonders. Hey, at least it's black  -- leather jacket black, at that. So I'd like to think we weren't totally unhip.  Then again, I've always had a gift for self-delusion. I thought that pastel blue tux I rented for the senior dance in high school looked cool, too.

Of course we did what any self-respecting non-bikers would do in such circumstances.  We turned off the a/c, opened the sunroof, dropped the windows and soaked in the sights, sounds and smells. Definitely wakes up the senses.

We got to the beach about 15 minutes later, ears buzzing from the sound of a thousand or so gleaming cylinders.  We had lunch, and Heatherann and I read.  Snicky explored the area (on a lead, so not too far.)  The Atlantic Ocean, and the gulls and pelicans overhead, had the desired effect. Snicky dozed. I dozed. She snored. I didn't (Note to Exec Chef:  It's my blog so I get to call it the way I saw it.)

When we headed back north, we again joined the parade, and started to get into the spirit of things.  Snicky saw several dogs riding in sidecars and decided she wants one of her own.  Heatherann took note of the fashion trends, particularly of one young woman wearing a leather miniskirt, fishnet stockings and boots.  I took note of the fashion trends, particularly of one young woman wearing a leather mini ... er, never mind.

Rolling up the street,  once again surrounded by bikes, the VRRRM-VRRRM roar of V-twins echoed off the streetside condos.  And I decided what the heck, let's be part of this.

So I pushed in the clutch and blipped the throttle.  The Jetta responded from the depths of its German-engineered, Mexico-built four cylinder heart:

Bzzzzzzz!

Sort of like a rabid Cuisinart.

Like a mosquito in a hurricane, it went unheard.  The bikers didn't hear it.  The crowds lining the streets didn't hear it. Heatherann, riding shotgun, didn't hear it.

But Snicky and I, ah, we heard.  That Bzzzzz! went straight to the core of our rebellious gypsy rock 'n' roll souls.  My inner Elvis Costello (circa 1978). Her inner Pink (circa 2006). 

And we both know what we have to do.

So when the time is right -- i.e., when Exec Chef/Snickermommy-o is out of the house -- we're gonna go for it.  We'll head straight to the dealer.  The Jetta has to stay, but the 15-year-old Volvo will be history, traded in on something more fitting our rebel ways.

But I don't know if those Vespa scooters come with sidecars and training wheels.

 

Read This -- Fatal Distraction

Folks, this is Gene Weingarten's cover story from Sunday's (3/8/09) Washington Post Magazine.  You need to read this.

WARNING: Weingarten's best known as a humor writer, just as this is generally a lighthearted blog.  There is nothing funny about this story.  It will make you gasp. It will make you cry.  It might make you mad.  Whether you're a parent or not (and I'm not), it WILL haunt you, as it has me for the past 24 hours.  

Some of you won't be able to get all the way through it.  That's OK.  If you do, read some of the comments following the story. See what you think, and feel free to comment.

And here's the transcript of Monday's live chat with Weingarten fielding questions about the story.  Read the introduction for an important part of Weingarten's relationship to the story.

So why do I want you to read it?  Because all journalists, if they've been at the game for a while, have at least one story that really gets to them, the ones you remember because they're so hard to do, so hard to write, so emotionally draining.  I have my own, and I'll tell you about them at a later date.  Weingarten admits this is the hardest story he's ever done. Beyond that, it's a stunning story, extraordinarily told, about a parent's worst nightmare -- causing the death of their child.

Sorry this one isn't funny.  We'll get back to funny tomorrow, I promise.

Happy Birthday Dr. Seuss!

Happy Birthday Dr. Seuss!

From cats in hats who are on the loose!

From red fish, blue fish, the cream of the crop

And from the ones who Hop on Pop!

From Sam I Am, and the Lorax too.

We gather here to celebrate you!

Doc Seuss if you were still alive,

Today, you'd be one hundred and five!

To you, we raise our glasses with speed.

'Twas you who taught us to love to read!

Even as a kid, I always knew there was something special about Dr. Seuss books.  I always felt like I was getting away with something whenever I checked one out of the school library, even in first grade.  The good doctor was quite subversive, with characters that were a lot more fun than those goody-two-shoes Dick and Jane --except maybe Spot, who was kinda cool.

The Cat in the Hat, now that's a dangerous concept for a six-year-old.  The Cat showed what was REALLY possible when the adults were away .... and some of us just ran with that concept, and have been enjoying it ever since!