Situation Comedy

I don’t watch much television.

But I’ve found that I love to watch television shows on DVD (or via download). Kris and I have watched The Office, Arrested Development, Homicide: Life on the Streets, and more.

Recently Sabino loaned me some Seinfeld DVDs. I loved the show during its first few seasons. It gave me some big laughs. But I haven’t actually seen the show since it went off the air.

Over the weekend, instead of doing the writing I had planned, I watched the first nineteen episodes of Seinfeld. The early episodes aren’t as funny as those from the middle of the run. The writers and cast are still finding their way. But there are glimmers of the hilarity to come.

I especially like the DVD’s included “notes about nothing”, captions used to annotate each episode as it progresses. These “notes about nothing” include information on guest stars, behind-the-scenes info, trivia, and — best-of-all — explanations of some of the jokes. I’m surprised at just how smart this show is. Head writer Larry David — the inspiration for the character of George, and the force behind the current HBO series Curb Your Enthusiasm — was a history major. There are many literary and historical jokes in the show, and the “notes about nothing” explain them. (Which is nice, because about half of them make no sense to me otherwise.)

I’ve also enjoyed the emphasis the special features place on the show’s writing. The bonus interviews and the “notes about nothing” provide glimpses into the writing process, especially how scenes were developed and revised. As a writer, I’m fascinated to see just what gets cut and why.

Meanwhile, Kris has spent the last several months watching every episode of M*A*S*H. She’s almost finished with the tenth season, just in time for the eleventh (and final) season, which will be released on DVD early in November. The show seems strident to me — lots and lots of yelling — but Kris says it’s still funny after all these years.

Meanwhile, we’ve continued to explore films that people recommended to make me laugh. That isn’t going so well. Galaxy Quest? Lame. Just dumb. Makes no sense at all. Bowfinger? It had promise (and I love Mindhead), but ultimately very average and not so funny. Still, I’ll continue to explore the list of potential funniness.

Max and Duke

Earlier this year, Custom Box Service inherited three kittens. Jeff was rummaging in the tool shed when he startled a black cat. The cat bolted and hasn’t been seen since. She left behind three kittens, which were about five weeks old at the time. Paul and Amy Jo considered adopting two of them, and Mom took the third and named her Socks. In the end, Ruby — Paul and Amy Jo’s dog — prevented adoption of the other two. They returned to Custom Box with their new names: Max and Duke.

At first, we tried to pawn Max and Duke on unsuspecting souls. (We did well with shop cats during the mid-nineties, but our recent history is less keen. They tend to get squished in the road, or they simply disappear.) We found no takers, though, and soon we came to bond with our little boys; now we wouldn’t think of giving them away.

Both Max and Duke are sweet — sweet in a way that I haven’t seen in a cat since Tintin died.

Duke is black. He looks like a miniature Toto, only he’s not so fat, and he’s not so grouchy. In fact, he’s a little overbearing. He has a squeaky meow, which he uses often. He loves to sit on laps, or to sit on my desk while I’m working. He has a hand fetish — he nibbles and gnaws on fingers, and if you let him, he’ll lick lick lick until your hands are clean. Duke’s specialty is sleeping. He’s been practicing hard, and soon will be ready to enter the sleeping event in the cat olympics.

Max, on the other hand, is training for the bottle cap competition. Even at this moment, he’s out in the hall, delivering a succession of stunning blows to an unfortunate cap. Max is grey with a bit of white on his bib and his paws. He’s sweet, too, but not as willing as Duke to sacrifice his inherent cat dignity. He’s actually quite catlike in demeanor already. Max is fond of play. His favorite trick is to crouch in the grass along the sidewalk and then to spring on passers-by. He’s deadly.

As I say, I worry about their longevity. Cats generally aren’t prone to roaming, despite notable exceptions. They like to have a set territory. Because of this, I’ve tried to convince Max and Duke that their base of operations is the shed in which we first found them. I feed them in the shed. I water them in the shed. (Max likes to drink from the stream of water as I’m pouring it into the bowl.) I encourage them to sleep in the shed. It would be more convenient to have them on the porch, the porch is much closer to the road. It’s my hope that with the distance, and with the trailer as a barrier, the kittens will have no reason to go near the road.

The truth is that if Kris would let me, I would bring these home. If only Toto would croak, maybe I could justify it. They’re a fantastic pair of cats, as fine as any I’ve seen in a long time.

p.s. Yes, the chicken is still around.

God Hates Blogs

The Restored Church of God has revealed a secret hitherto unknown: God hates blogs. Why?

First, there are the obvious dangers: on-line pedophiles, filthy language, risqué pictures, bullying, and addiction. But these are just the tip of the iceberg. A greater danger is that blogging gives a person a “voice”.

Whether or not it is effective, as soon as something is posted the person has a larger voice. It often makes the blogger feel good or makes him feel as if his opinion counts—when it is mostly mindless blather!

The horror! There are other evils, too. Bloggers are too open. They’re vain. They write too many idle words. What’s The Restored Church of God’s official position on blogging?

…No one — including adults — should have a blog or personal website (unless it is for legitimate business purposes). When this policy, now being instituted, was discussed with Mr. Pack and other Headquarters ministers, there was not a shadow of doubt in anyone’s mind that blogs are something youth should not be doing in any way. As has been said before, Jesus Christ and His Church have standards. Those who desire fewer standards should go to the splinters or to the world.

I would comment on this, but it would just get me into trouble. Suffice it to say that I believe you should simply go forth and blog!

[From the Restored Church of God’s own blog, and via waxy.]

The Carrion Drive

Near home it’s squirrels. Even on the rough-pocketed side streets, it’s squirrels, and often with the crows pecking at the corpse. “I have a theory,” I tell Kris. “I think the crows raise the squirrels. They nurture them. They bring them to fatness. Then, when they’re good and ready, they herd the squirrels into traffic. Squirrel is a delicacy for crows. That’s my theory.”

Sometimes it’s cats, too, but not very often. Cats are generally smarter than that. They don’t freeze in the face of oncoming traffic the way a squirrel does. Cats get it when they’re making some mad dash across traffic. They’re too cocky about their speed and agility, and they don’t quite make it.

There aren’t many cats around our place, but once you get toward Canby, it’s the cats for sure. Just on the bluff, near the fruit stand and the trailer park, that’s where you start to see them. And then down toward the Foursquare Church, and certainly after driving through town, heading out into the country again. The cats hit me in the gut. “That was somebody’s pet,” I think. “That was Toto or Simon or Nemo.”

But once you get through town, it’s more than the cats. Mostly it’s skunks and coons, depending on the time of year. It used to be the possums, but frankly I don’t see them much anymore. But I see the skunks and the coons. The coons make me sad — though not like the cats — because I think of them as smart. It makes me sadder still when it’s not one coon, but two, as it sometimes is. Sometimes it’s one coon in the middle of the road and one coon at the side. “Husband and wife?” I wonder. “Do coons mate for life?”

Today, at the bottom of Good’s Bridge, it was a deer, lumped in the middle of the road. I came upon it fast in the melting light, and at first I thought it was a body. A human body. But it was a deer, a small doe, slumped and bleeding from the head. It was in the center of the road, which is a good thing, because otherwise maybe it would have been human bodies, too, and twisted metal and shattered glass.

It was a deer at almost the precise spot where a week ago it had been a horse. I didn’t know it was a horse. I drove past in the morning, and it was a mound on the side of the road, like a pile of barkdust maybe, or a pile of dirt. It was covered in some crazy-quilt blanket, and I thought, “That’s odd.” But I didn’t know it was a horse until Nick got to work and said, “Did you see the horse?” “What horse?” I said. “The one at the bottom of Good’s Bridge,” he said, and then I knew it wasn’t a pile of barkdust or a pile of dirt.

But you know what it never is? It’s never dogs. I don’t get that. It must be dogs sometimes — I hit a dog once. But why isn’t it ever dogs on the road? Do people pull them off? Maybe they’re just not let loose outside like they used to be.

About a month ago, I drove from Custom Box to Sandy, by way of Estacada. Turning off the highway, heading up the hill toward Sandy, traffic had slowed to a crawl. “What gives?” I wondered, but then I saw: up ahead two dogs — a silky Golden Retriever and some little mixed mutt — were strolling down the middle of the road, following the striped line. It was like they were out for a pleasant walk after lunch. The Golden Retriever walked evenly, following the striped line; the little mixed mutt orbited around it. Traffic in my lane crawled along behind. Oncoming traffic came barreling around a blind corner to halt abruptly and then creep past the pair. That’s how it went: a car came barreling around the blind corner, and I held my breath because I was sure one of the dogs would get it, but the car would brake hard, stop, and then creep past. The dogs didn’t care. Traffic followed the dogs for a quarter mile before the pair found a side street they preferred and ambled off to find whatever it is they were looking for.

I wonder why it’s never dogs.

Almost Home

I’m sitting in the trailerhouse on a late afternoon in early October. The sun is slanting through the window. Duke — the black kitten — is basking in the ray, which strikes his forehead, turning the fur almost silvery. A mild wind is blowing, and as it has for thirty-five years, it moans softly around the cracks and crevices of the trailer.

This trailer, which is now the business office, I once called home. Sometimes it still feels like home. At this moment, with the warm sun slanting through the window, with the wind moaning, with the kitten by my side, it’s hard to imagine that it’s not home. It even smells like home.

I slip into a reverie, find a memory from childhood that seems almost real. A Sunday afternoon from just this time of year. Lunch is over. Mom is washing the dishes. Jeff and I are in the living room with Dad, who is sprawled on the couch in the tipout. He has his shirt off, and Jeff is using a felt pen to draw faces on his big belly. I am stretched on the shag carpet (harvest gold), have claimed a rectangle of sunlight, and am reading the paper. I am reading the comics. I am reading the sports section (the Beavers lost again, and so did the Ducks). I am reading the poems in Northwest Magazine. Maybe there’s a cat, or a dog, or a bird in the room. Maybe Tony is here, coloring quietly.

Outside, the wind blows dully, and, if I listen carefully, I can hear the trailer moan. I can smell —

— and then I’m jarred to reality by a fourteen minute conversation with a customer who is woefully confused about an item we made in August, but which he cannot recall…

I’m always amazed at how little things — like sunlight on a kitten’s forehead — can trigger waves of nostalgia.

This morning on the drive to work, the sun was shooting God-rays through the lingering mist. You know the ones: the great shafts of light that slice through the trees, as if they’re something real, something tangible, something that you might be able to touch and hold.

Corked

So I’m trying cork’d, the new web-based wine-tracker. It’s a keen idea, and looks very nice. You enter information about the wines you own, and about the wines you try, and that information is shared with the cork’d community. You can add “drinking buddies” — Rich has already joined me, and maybe Jeremy will someday. (If you want to join, let me know, and I’ll e-mail you so that we automatically buddy up.)

But the thing is, cork’d is frustrating to use. It feels like an application where the designers were able to get it to work for them and the way they work with this information, but failed to test it in the real-world. (I’m not saying that this is what occurred; it just feels that way.) It’s also an application that’s prettier than it is functional. (It’s very pretty.)

Here are some specific things that bug me about cork’d. (And this list comes after only entering half a dozen bottles!)

The idea is that this is a social wine site. That is, after one person has entered the data for a particular bottle of wine, anyone else can use that information without having to re-enter it themselves. For example, here’s a bottle of two-buck chuck. If you go down to Trader Joe’s and pick up a case of this, you don’t have to enter the data because it’s already in the system.

But what if you find the wine you want and the information is incorrect? That is, what if you find this entry for the exact same bottle of two-buck chuck. What do you do? Well, you probably try to create one of your own. So right away, there’s one problem: with a system like that, you’re likely to have multiple instances of the same bottle of wine.

So should the designers limit the information that people can enter? That presents problems, too. Speaking from my own experience, here’s a bottle of Willamette Valley Vineyards 2003 Pinot Noir that I’d like to add to my wine cellar. The information is basically correct, except for two things:

  1. This user paid $23.99 for his bottle — I paid $14.89 the same wine. It does me no good to have this in my cellar with his pricing information. I want my pricing information.
  2. The region listed is wrong. Yes, it might make sense that a bottle from a Salem winery called “Willamette Valley Vineyards” would have an appellation of “Oregon – Willamette Valley”, but in reality the correct appellation for this body is simply “Oregon”. A small thing, but it bugs me. I’m not allowed to edit this information if I want to add the bottle to my cork’d wine cellar.

So what should I do? Create a new entry for this wine? That seems like a poor choice. But I don’t want to use the info as-is, either. It’s a stalemate, which basically means I don’t enter the wine at all, and I write a weblog entry complaining about the website.

There are other problems, too, such as:

  • cork’d calls appellations “regions”. I can deal with that, I suppose, but I can’t deal with the fact that you have to choose your region from a drop-down menu of pre-defined choices, a menu that out of seven bottles, was missing two of the regions I wanted. I want a way to add appellations.
  • I’m attempting to add all of my wines to my cork’d wine cellar at the same time. First, there’s no obvious way to add a wine from the front page at all. I eventually found out how to do so by clicking to a different page where adding a wine was an option. But why not on the front page, too? And after I add each bottle of wine, I’m taken to that bottle’s individual page. That’s fine, but there’s now way to just immediately add my next bottle of wine from this page. I have to click through a bunch of stuff again.
  • I want a “personal notes” field — something that isn’t a review, but something that isn’t a “description” either. I want to keep track of where I bought a wine, or who gave it to me. I just entered “purchased at Costco on 07 October 2006” for several bottles in the description field, and now that’s part of the permanent record. Oops. But it doesn’t belong in a review, either. It’s a personal note.
  • The search system seems broken. Searching for “willamette valley vineyards pinot” generates a “can’t find it” message, even though there are several wines that should return matches. But searching for “willamette valley vineyards” works as expected.
  • When I add a wine to my cellar from search, I’m given a choice of how many bottles to add, but when I add one by entering the data, I’m not. It just enters one bottle. If I actually bought four, I have to go to my cellar, find the bottle, and change the quantity there.
  • I’d love the ability to add actual images of each bottle instead of the generic graphics that are currently used.
  • Wines are rated using an Amazon-like star system. My ratings are shown in a sort of brightish pinkish red. If I haven’t rated a wine, its rating is shown in a sort of darkish winish red. This is fine if both colors are on the same page, but when they’re not, I have a hard time remembering whether what I’m seeing is my rating or the system-wide average.

Don’t get me wrong. I like cork’d and think it’s a fun idea. I’m hoping that several friends will join and we can have quite the drinking party. But in its current form, it feels very much like a piece of software in beta.

I like the idea of Cork’d but it still feels very beta to me…

The Crane Wife, Annotated

I’ve been listening to the Decemberists’ new album, The Crane Wife, for weeks now. (A loyal foldedspace reader sent me a copy a month before its release.) I meant to post a preview weeks ago, but time passed, and now the preview is a review of sorts.

First, you may wish to visit my previous entries about this Portland group:

With one exception, this is a fantastic album, a tapestry of words and music unlike anything I’ve heard before. (Well, actually, it reminds me some of Natalie Merchant’s Ophelia.) It’s like the promise of The Decemberists come to fruition. The more I listen to it — and I’ve heard it about forty times in the past month, according to iTunes — the more I love it. It just gets better and better.

The Decemberists are a hard band to describe. They’re sort of alt-folk-rock with lots of pirates and death and stuff thrown in for good measure. Colin Meloy, the lead singer and primary “face” to the band, is a big fan of The Smith’s Morrisey (and, in fact, has released a solo CD covering five of his songs). Meloy has a penchant for penning witty songs filled with archaic words and vivid images.

Though their last album had a couple of standout tracks, it was actually the group’s weakest effort to date, marred by too much topicality. They’re best at doing quirky, quaint story songs; they’re not so good at political statement.

The Crane Wife, I’m pleased to say, is a return to form. It features many lovely songs, and they lyrics are Meloy’s strongest to date. In fact, I like the album so much that I spent most of my free time today transcribing lyrics and annotating them. (You can see the results at the end of this post.)

This album is built around a theme: the Japanese folk story of the crane wife. Three of the songs (contained in two tracks) are directly related to the story; the others are less so, but still fit thematically, except for the woeful “The Perfect Crime 2”, which is the one track I’ve unchecked in iTunes (so that it never plays unless I specifically select it). (“The Perfect Crime 2” isn’t the worst Decemberists song. That would be “The Sporting Life”, which is simply painful to listen to.)

Here, then, is my attempt at transcribing the lyrics. I made a pass on my own, then googled for other people’s efforts (such as here and here). Some of the other transcriptions make sense; others don’t. What I’ve posted here is my best guess at most of the lyrics. I welcome corrections. I’ve annotate the more obscure lyrics — I welcome corrections on these, too.

Enjoy!

Continue reading →

A Taste of Autumn

Ah, autumn is here. Do you know how I can tell? It’s not because the weather has turned colder; it’s not because the leaves have begun to turn; it’s not because the tomatoes are bursting at their seams. It’s not for any of the reasons.

I can tell that autumn is officially here because Kris and I just made our first Fancy Meal of the season. It was a quickie, and only for ourselves, but it was very, very tasty. We had:

  • Caprial’s port- and soy-glazed beef tenderloin, using meat from the side of beef we bought last winter
  • Fresh corn from the garden
  • Fresh apples from the “orchard”
  • A salad containing cheese from the farmer’s market and various veggies from our garden
  • Some bad wine

Aside from the bad wine — a California product, naturally — this was all locally-grown food, much of it from our own yard.

From April to September, our meals are rather simple. But October arrives and suddenly we’re ready for complex flavors and gourmet cooking. That’s how I can tell that autumn is here.

Crocodile Hunter Jokes

I can only justify this entry by reminding you that after Steve Irwin’s death, I was touched and saddened.

Enough of that.

Today we have Crocodile Hunter jokes collected from around the internet. (Inspired by this AskMetafilter thread.) They’re all variations on a theme. If you think you might be offended by these, you should go look at kittens.

In a recent interview Steve Irwin was asked what his favorite TV program was. “Thunderbirds“, he replied, “But Stingray will always have a special place in my heart.”

Guess who’s singing at Steve Irwin’s funeral? Sting.

Steve Irwin’s Australia Zoo is now serving stingray. It’s Expensive, but Steve reckons “It’s to die for!”

Q: How many croc hunters does it take to capture a sting-ray?
A: Apparently more than one.

What were Steve Irwin’s favorite sunglasses? Ray Bans.

Did you hear that steve irwin died like he lived? With animals in his heart.

After Steve Irwin’s death we discovered Terri Irwin is pregnant. If it’s a boy, she’ll name him Ray — if it’s a girl, she’ll name her Barb!

How many respected biologists have been killed by stingrays? None.

Did you hear about Steve Irwin’s tombstone? It reads ‘Ray Sting Peace’.

What’s the difference between the Croc Hunter and Princess Di?
He brought his own camera crew.

And for the grand finale: Norm McDonald on The Daily Show.

Who knew Norm was so funny?

Okay, we can go back to being respectful now…

Sungari

Most Chinese food — or what passes for Chinese food in Oregon — isn’t very good. There are some truly lousy Chinese restaurants in Portland. (As opposed to, say, Mexican restaurants, where you can almost always find good, cheap tacos.)

In Salem, Kris and I were fond of Tong King Garden, a little hole-in-the-wall with spotty service, cheap prices, and good food. Compared to other Chinese places, it was delicious. (It probably helped that it was the first Chinese restaurant I ever tried.)

Here in Oak Grove, I’m a fan of Imperial Garden, which sits on the Superhighway, next to G.I. Joes. Imperial Garden has the best service I have ever encountered in any restaurant. Their lunch specials are awesome: $4.50 gets you tea, hot-and-sour soup, steamed rice, two pork wontons, a spring roll, and an entree of your choice. The food is good — it’s the only other good Chinese restaurant I know besides Tong King Garden.

Except for Sungari, that is.

Sungari is in a class of its own. Using a bell-curve scale, if Canby’s Gold Dragon is a 2, most Chinese places rate a 4, and the two places I mentioned above rate a 7, then Sungari rates a solid 9. Maybe higher.

What makes Sungari worth raving about? The food is just so damn good. Dave introduced me to the place (as he’s done with so many other good restaurants — Nicholas Lebanese springs immediately to mind) a couple years ago. I was only mildly impressed. I was in a foul mood, and wasn’t focused on the food.

Last year, Kris and Tiffany and I stopped there before our tour of the Portland Underground. Though we were rushed, our dinners were good. So good, in fact, that Tiffany has been back a couple times since. And when it came time to choose a restaurant for her birthday dinner, she requested Sungari.

Last Sunday we went back — our meal was fantastic.

To start, we shared an appetizer plate of prawns, spring rolls, and five-spice beef. (The latter of which was the only dud of the evening.) For dinner:

  • Tiffany ordered the Chicken with Honeyed Almonds
  • Kris ordered the Sesame Beef
  • I ordered the Salt and Pepper Pork Loin

All of these were delicious. I know many people eat family-style in Chinese restaurants. Kris and I never have. But we did on Sunday. We each tried all three dishes, and were delighted. The Sesame Beef was the stand-out: lightly breaded and fried, the meat has a crisp texture, and the sauce is sweet and savory all at once. The pork was not as crispy as the beef, though lightly coated. It had a distinct buttery first note, followed by a taste of spices, and finishing with a bit of a peppery kick.

Really, though, I could have eaten the Sesame Beef all night.

It’s also fun that Sungari is located on first, along the MAX line. In fact, the train takes a corner around the restaurant, so that one can watch it pass during the meal. It’s entertaining. It’s also entertaining to watch the heavy foot traffic nearby.

The real drawback to Sungari is that it’s expensive (for Chinse food). Whereas I could feed three people for $16 at Imperial Garden, it costs $72 to do so at Sungari. But what a meal!