Hitched Up

Sur la route encore*

2009-07-15T23:51:00.006-04:00

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We're off -- and so far, thanks to family, friends and barbecue, we've had a pretty damn good start to the cross-country jaunt.

You can see the route we're taking up top -- after an overnighter in D.C. for some delicious beer (and peripheral UFC viewing) with a number of good people, we stopped at my mom's in Ohio, and Lisa's folks came down from Milwaukee. I had to work; they all got to take in the Air Force Museum and Carillon Park and other good stuff. (Upside: Milano's at lunch for me Tuesday.)

We are sticking to the past trip's effort to eat locally wherever we stop along the way, and so far so good. Wednesday we got to Louisville around lunchtime, so we stopped at the birthplace of the Hot Brown and each had one. We got to Memphis Wednesday evening and celebrated with the sampler platter from Neely's (Pat and Gina were not in the house at the East Memphis location, alas).

Graceland is on the agenda for Thursday. So is more barbecue.

(*In case you're wondering why the foreign-language headline, I thought it approproiate to borrow an album title from Lisa's fictional French country-western band, Chapeau Fou. You might also enjoy their other efforts, "Qu'est-ce que c'est Chapeau Fou?" and "Ne fence me in pas.")

Packed Up

2009-07-15T23:34:00.004-04:00

So it goes without saying that we've been bad bloggers of late. But we totally have a good excuse: We've been packing.

Not this whole time, although sometimes it felt like that. We've spent much of the last two-plus months preparing to move -- and it still felt really sudden when the day actually came. But it did, on Saturday, and our two-year stint together in Charlottesville is now officially over.

For a temporary home, we sure did a hell of a lot there, what with the cross-country move to get there and the getting engaged and married and all of that. And we'll miss our free Friday wine and Christian's pizza and gelato (although going there four times in our last week softened the blow).

But we're also ridiculously excited to get to our new home in L.A. and start our life there. We may even post more than once a quarter. Stay tuned.

And now, spring

2009-04-28T22:59:00.001-04:00

So, a few things have changed outside since the last post. (I remain a lazy blogger, however.) Some shots from a couple of recent weekends, at Monticello, Keswick and around our neighborhood. The rest are on Picasa.

Snow day

2009-03-02T18:53:00.002-05:00

We didn't get the full blast of the snowstorm that hit this part of the world last night and tonight. But it did dump a couple inches, which was enough to make things look right purty when the sun came out this afternoon. A few shots follow; the rest are on my Picasa page.

Three months and 15 years

2009-02-15T18:25:00.008-05:00

As of today, we've been married for three months. We celebrated by ... doing laundry and generally lazing about the house, because we decided not to be one of those couples that celebrated every single milestone in our marriage with some overly shmoopy public display. Plus we made a really nice dinner last night.

As the calendar would have it, though, today is also the 15-year anniversary of the day we met. And that deserves its own story.

Feb. 15, 1994, was a Wednesday, I'm pretty sure. I know that the previous night, my roommates and I, none of us having girlfriends and all of us possessing a soon-to-expire rain check from a couple weeks earlier when there was a power outage at the theater, had seen Schindler's List in Wilmette (there's a nice Valentine's Day -- four dudes and a Holocaust movie). My friend Chris had extended his usual invitation to Evanston's only real student-friendly bar, The Keg, and it must have been a fairly light week for me at The Daily Northwestern, 'cause I went.

I sat down in a booth with Chris and a few other folks, some of whom I knew, some of whom I didn't. One of the latter was Lisa, so by way of introduction Chris said to her, "Do you know Rick?" Her response: "No, but I have seen you naked."*

(*In the previous week's issue of tgif, the Friday entertainment section of The Daily, had aped a Jimmy John's ad by posing naked, with only cardboard Valentine hearts covering our business, for a staff photo -- which, by the way, was taken by a future Pulitzer Prize-winning shooter. When we tell this story, people always seem to raise their eyebrows at Lisa, but as she rightfully points out, I was the one posing naked. So lay off her.)

Ice thus broken, we hit it off pretty well, and enjoyed a good night of cheap pitchers with our friends. She was wearing a green sweater, as I recall. I don't remember what I was wearing, though chances are it was my (still) standard uniform of jeans, T-shirt and untucked button-down shirt. I gave her, and a couple other people, a ride home, with no ulterior motive beyond not making people walk if they didn't have to.

Chris and his roommates had a party about a week and a half later. I don't entirely remember if I'd heard Lisa was going to be there beforehand or if we just saw each other there, but anyway, I kind of made sure we ended up sitting next to each other for a good portion of the time. We kissed for the first time that night, and dated until graduation, pictured above, before having to go our separate ways -- Lisa to New York for an internship, me home to Kettering for a few months and then to California for my first newspaper job.

We stayed in touch on and off in the intervening time, seeing each other a couple of times. Chris, the guy who invited me to The Keg that night, got us back in touch in the summer of 2006. First we e-mailed, then we talked, then we talked a lot, then Lisa came to Santa Monica for Thanksgiving that year, and then that was it. By an extreme stroke of luck my bosses let me move to Virginia in the summer of '07, and 15 months after that we got married.

And now here we are. It took us a while, but here we are.

So, we took a trip...

2008-12-22T23:02:00.005-05:00

Not that you'd know it from reading this blog -- we've been our usual lax selves in updating this thing post-wedding -- but we actually went on a honeymoon. To Argentina.

And look -- there's photographic proof.

Chances are we'll expand on our wine-soaked, beef-eating, leather-clad, heat-wave-suffering, completely wonderful and-did-I-mention-the-wine trip in the coming days. (We'll actually have a touch of free time post-Christmas.) For now, though, we invite you to check out some of our photos. I have a smallish album of my favorite shots on Picasa, and Lisa -- both a more prolific shooter and more diligent editor than me -- has a great big set up on her Flickr. Enjoy.

A bit of housekeeping

2008-11-29T17:05:00.003-05:00

Seeing as how we've made it legal and all, Lisa and I figured a name change for the blog was in order. We are still, indeed, shacked up, but more important now, we're, you know, married. So welcome to Hitched Up.

Please also note the link to the lovely and talented Billy Hunt's site over there on the right. We are deeply indebted to him and Jeremy Mullis for making us look so good on our wedding day.

Coming soon: Thank you notes (in the actual mail) and large numbers of pictures, descriptions and accounts of Argentina.

An Amazing Day

2008-11-17T22:06:00.004-05:00

As a rule, I think the word "amazing" is overused. "The risotto was amazing." "That America's Next Top Model contestant had an amazing photo shoot." "Did you see that amazing camera sequence in Quantum of Solace." (That last one actually is probably true.)

But Saturday really WAS amazing. We really could not have been more thrilled to see so many people who are so dear to us. And to stand in front of all of them in such a beautiful place and marry Rick was absolutely the most incredible thing I've ever experienced.

After days of looking at increasingly ominous forecasts, we ended up with a gorgeous, blustery, partly cloudy, 70-degree day -- perfect. Our fabulous caterer agreed to create chicken and waffle canapes for us. The flowers were gorgeous. We managed not to screw up the first dance, even if we didn't exactly reinact a scene from Strictly Ballroom. Our families got along wonderfully. We were so blessed that our wonderful friends came from far and wide to share the day with us.

All of those things added together made me convinced that somebody somewhere is looking out for us. A good omen if I've ever seen one -- and something for which I am eternally grateful.

Even funnier: Photos of the day started showing up on Facebook even before the next morning -- and I have stolen liberally from everyone else's photo albums. Our photographers totally rocked -- Billy and Jeremy helped make the day, and we can't wait to see the pics. For now, here's the preview.

Thanks, everyone -- we hope you had a great day. It was without question the best one of our lives.

Coming soon: pics and many red wine stories from Argentina!

A few wedding details

2008-11-12T01:13:00.004-05:00

Locations and times and whatnot for Saturday:

The ceremony is at 2 p.m. Saturday in the Italian Garden at Maymont (that's it up above, in the spring; we'll be standing under the gazebo at the far left). You'll be going to the Hampton Street entrance and walking a couple hundred yards to the garden. There are also some steps from the main park road down to the garden, and a cobblestone path leading from the garden to the reception site (another short walk), so shod yourself appropriately. Here's a PDF map of the grounds.

The ceremony is outside. Saturday's weather should be in the low to mid-60s, and there's a chance of rain (dry thoughts are appreciated). We promise the ceremony will be short, to allow more time for...

The reception, which will start right after the ceremony at the Garden Hall at Maymont. It's inside, but we hope to be using the adjacent patio too. We'll be serving you some very tasty heavy hors d'oeuvres, along with some lovely beverages and cake.

Saturday is also the Richmond Marathon. Unless you're staying downtown, you shouldn't be affected by street closures. This page at the Maymont site has directions to the Hampton Street entrance (about halfway down the page). If you're staying at the Marriott West (or daytripping from D.C.), follow the Interstate 64/95 directions. If you're at the Hyatt Place, you'll want the Powhite Parkway (Route 76) directions. Paper copies of the directions will also be in your hotel rooms.

Can't wait to see you all! Cheers!

Things to do in Richmond when you're wed (or single, for that matter)

2008-11-09T19:37:00.003-05:00

Man does not live by butlered hors d'oeuvres alone, so while you're in town for the wedding, here's a few other things you might enjoy.

Carytown. Mile-long strip of West Cary Street with several good restaurants and cool shops -- antiques, funky clothing, tchotchkes and the like. We particularly enjoy For the Love of Chocolate (everything from Mo's Bacon Bar to Chick-o-Sticks) and Anthill Antiques.

Monument Avenue. Several, uh, interesting monuments to heroes of the Confederacy (as well as one to hometown tennis great Arthur Ashe), as well as a lot of gorgeous old homes on either side. The Virginia Center for Architecture, housed in an enormous Tudor-revival mansion, is worth a look too.

Virginia Museum of Fine Arts. We really enjoyed the Faberge exhibit.

Shockoe Slip. Historic neighborhood near the James River and Richmond's canal system, with lots of places to eat and drink. Just east is Shockoe Bottom, with more good food. Impressive architecture in he old (but still in-use) Main Street Station.

The Poe Museum. Housed a few blocks from where Edgar Allan Poe lived and worked in Richmond, and celebrating his freaky life.

32 days and counting

2008-10-14T22:33:00.005-04:00

Well, it's official. Kind of.

No, we didn't go and elope or anything like that -- we've already got like 60 RSVPs for the wedding, and we wouldn't want to piss off our family and friends who're coming to see us (and, by the way, we're getting pretty damn excited about celebrating with y'all).

I am speaking instead of the marriage license we obtained today. In the eyes of the Commonwealth of Virginia, we are now cleared to get hitched. No blood test and no birth certificate needed -- just $30, a picture ID and assurances that we're not already married to someone else (we're not).

Now, about that party ...

After getting the state's permission, we headed over to Richmond for a tasting with our caterer. We've heard effusive praise for A Sharper Palate pretty much from the moment we decided to go with them, and after today we totally get why. I can sum it up in three words: chicken and waffles.

We love us some Roscoe's and have joked (check that -- we really weren't joking) that if we were getting married in L.A., we'd have them cater the reception. And then we figured, hey, we've got a good caterer -- why not have them make this delicacy for us?

Our rep was puzzled at first, but after we described what were thinking of -- a small piece of fried chicken sitting atop a bite-sized waffle, with some kind of sweet-spicy topping for both -- something seemed to click, and it led to what we had today: a little round waffle holding a bite of a crunchy breast tender, topped with a maple-jalapeno butter.

It was exactly what we hoped we were describing, and it tasted really, really, really good. So did the other three things we tried, and I'm pretty sure the rest of the menu will be the same. Every last bite was awesome, and we're even more excited to have you come and share with us in about a month. See you then.

The Wedding

2008-09-16T21:14:00.024-04:00

We thought about calling it "The Event of the Century" or "Rumble in the Jungle," but we didn't want expectations to get out of hand. So here are the basics and some further details.

Wedding/Reception
The wedding ceremony will take place at 2:00 p.m. on Saturday, Nov. 15, in the Italian Garden at Maymont, a former estate located in Byrd Park in Richmond, Va. (1700 Hampton St.)

(The Bald Eagle Habitat is now open, in addition to the black bear habitat -- just an added bonus.)

The cocktail reception will take place immediately following, in the Garden Hall.

Hotels
We have reserved blocks of rooms at three hotels:

Richmond Marriott (about 10 minutes to Maymont by car)
500 East Broad Street
Richmond, VA 23219
5 rooms available, reserved under Rick Porter. To place under your name, please call Hotels.com (with whom the reservations were booked) at (866) 476-8771, ext. 5116, and say you want to take over one of the rooms.

*This is different information than what's on the enclosure card in your invitation, and we apologize for the confusion.

Rooms are reserved until Monday, Oct. 13.

Hyatt Place Richmond/Arboretum (about 15 minutes to Maymont by car)
201 Arboretum Place
Richmond, VA 23236
(804) 560-1566 or (888) 492-8847
15 rooms available; ask for the Todorovich-Porter wedding. Held until Friday, Oct. 17.

Marriott Richmond West (about 15 minutes to Maymont by car)
4240 Dominion Blvd.
Glen Allen, VA 23060
(804) 965-9500
10 rooms available; ask for the Todorovich-Porter wedding. Held until Friday, Oct. 17.

Here are some other options that you may consider but that have not been reserved:

Sheraton Richmond West (about 15 minutes to Maymont by car)
6624 W. Broad St.
Richmond, VA 23230
(804) 285-2000

Crowne Plaza Richmond West (about 15 minutes to Maymont by car)
6531 W. Broad St.
Richmond, VA 23230
(804) 285-9951

Note: The Richmond Marathon also takes place on Nov. 15. We anticipate the streets on the course through downtown will be open by early afternoon.

Some notes from Discover Richmond and the Richmond Visitors Center about the city and all it has to offer. We've enjoyed ourselves immensely here; there's a lot to do -- particularly in Carytown and Shockoe Bottom.

Other
We are registered at Crate & Barrel, Target, and Macy's.

If you have questions or need more information, please don't hesitate to e-mail Lisa or Rick, or to call us at (434) 971-7722.

It just doesn't matter: Intellectually indefensible movies that are awesome anyway (Rick's list)

2008-08-28T22:14:00.012-04:00

A week or so ago, during the weekly wine-tasting run, we started talking about movies. Not just any movies, but bad ones, bad ones that we nonetheless will watch anytime we come across them on television.

It wasn't just a guilty pleasure sort of thing. We came up with the catch-all category of Intellectually Indefensible Movies -- the ones we know are bad, that we know aren't well-shot or well-paced or well-written, that pretty much don't have any kind of redeeming value other than giving us something to do for a couple hours, but that we'll watch every time anyway.

The discussion initially centered just on comedies, but as I've thought about it I decided to expand the list to all genres. You'll see a couple sports movies in there, because I'm really just a sucker for sports movies. So after the jump, my list.

Rocky III. Some folks will tell you Rocky IV is the more terribly awesome film, with Rocky singlehandedly bringing about perestroika with his unyielding performance against Ivan Drago. For me, though, it's the third installment. When Clubber Lang stares into the camera and snarls, "Prediction? Pain," well, I'm in.

Bring It On. In the rash of teen movies around the turn of the millennium, Can't Hardly Wait had the classic Hughesian feel, 10 Things I Hate About You had the Shakespearean pedigree, and Bring It On had ... spirit fingers. And Kirsten Dunst and Eliza Dushku in cheerleading outfits. Yeah.

Meatballs. I thought about Stripes for this spot, but two years of extra experience and a bigger budget clearly helped Ivan Reitman and Harold Ramis elevate that one. Meatballs was a Reitman-Ramis joint too -- but a cheap-looking, unfocused one that spawned several shitty sequels. But I still chant "Spaz! Spaz! Spaz!" and "It just doesn't matter" right along with it every time it's on cable.

White Men Can't Jump. I could try to mount a defense of the movie that launched the very brief Wesley-and-Woody buddy-movie run on the grounds of how good the basketball action is, and how well it portrays the culture of the playground game. But then I remember that a huge plot point is Rosie Perez scheming to get on Jepoardy!, and that pretty much goes out the window. But it's probably among my ten favorite sports movies.

The Running Man. Loud, crass and crude, plus it features a completely superfluous "I'll be back." And Richard Freaking Dawson is the bad guy. My inner 15-year-old loves every second.

My younger self probably would have included some of the middle chapters of the Nightmare on Elm Street series too, but I doubt I could stomach them now.

20,000 words

2008-08-11T22:40:00.004-04:00

For most of July, I was stuck inside the walls of the Beverly Hilton, trying to interview actors and writers and network executives about TV shows I haven't seen yet. It's my job, and I enjoy it. But two weeks in any hotel, even a really nice one, is quite enough.

Fortunately, my soon-to-be wife joined me for the tail end of the press tour, and we got out into the fresh air for a few days after it ended. We drank a lot of good wine, saw a bunch of good friends (and a couple of adorable new additions to that crowd) and had ourselves a general grand old relaxing time.

Here's some photographic proof.

Fixing what ain't broke

2008-07-02T22:39:00.005-04:00

A few weeks ago I got a curious package in the mail. It was addressed to me as an employee of Zap2it, it was kind of heavy and it came from a return address I didn't recognize.

Intrigued, I opened the box. Inside were three cans of Mountain Dew -- or I guess I should say "Mountain Dew." They're three new flavors, which go by the names of Voltage, Supernova and Revolution, and I'm supposed to vote on which one is my favorite, so it can take up permanent residence in the soda aisle.

Except I'm not.

Because, honestly, why do we need yet more flavors of Mountain Dew? Why mess with what's just about the perfect soft drink? I've come to accept Code Red, although my first time drinking it was my last. There's a Taco Bell-only flavor and something called Livewire too, but whatever.

Seriously, I don't really get why, when you have a highly caffeinated, indefinably citrusy and bright yellow bit of sugar-water perfection already, you'd want to dilute the brand. Especially with something that A) has a completely nonsensical name ('cause nothing says thirst-quenching like electric shock, stellar explosion and violent uprising); B) contains ginseng (It's pop, fer crissakes. Are sugar and caffeine not enough); and C) has a 2-in-3 chance of being blue.

In case you're interested, though, a few tasting notes:

Voltage: "Raspberry citrus flavor," pale blue in color like diluted Windex. Smells like a blue raspberry Slush Puppie and tastes something like it too, with a little bit of a Fun Dip note thrown in. Left a lingering scent in my cup, even after rinsing out.

Revolution: "Wild berry fruit flavor," also blue but with a slight hint of purple color. Fruity in an innocuous and undistinguishable sort of way.

Supernova: "Strawberry melon flavor," sort of pale purple. The least overbearingly sweet of the three. I didn't struggle to finish the can. If I had to choose one of the three, this would probably be it.

Really, though, none of them is really all that good. Save your voting for the important stuff.

(Also posted at Big Action!)

It's a Helluva Town

2008-06-04T21:30:00.008-04:00

It's been so long since I checked in here that really, everything clever I had thought of to say (And who'm I kidding? The clever bar's pretty low.) has long since vanished from my head in a haze of sleep deprivation and wedding planning.

I did, however, want to mention our great trip to New York last month. We were both in town for work, and stayed the weekend -- and to the wonderful Jeffrey and Peyton I say (a) thank you for putting us up, and (b) we need to see you guys more. Oh, and (c) I want that recipe for chicken and green olive tagine.

There were many highlights:

I finally got to meet the great Keith Marder. Albeit in what amounted to a windstorm. But can't wait to see you again.

And got to spend some time with the great Mary Hood. That doesn't happen often enough either. And next time I might be persuaded to go to Hoboken with you, Mary. Or to the truck stop.

The Superhero exhibit at the Met. Sweet. And Jean Paul Gaultier and Thierry Mugler are either insane or brilliant. I haven't figured it out yet. But since I buy clothes at Target, what I think about this probably doesn't matter much anyway.

Rice to Riches. We live right near some incredibly good gelato, but I have to say that if I ever get enough nickels to rub together, I totally want to open a franchise of this place. If you haven't been -- run, don't walk, to Mott and Spring.

Chris Robinson. I am a sucker for a good celebrity sighting, and as I am a proud member of Team Robinson -- even though everyone knows it's always a mistake to join a band with your brother -- this was awesome.

Gray's Papaya. Best recession special ever.

Brunch with the peeps -- including Zev, one of the coolest tiny men I've ever met. Yelling "Hi, Mo Blow!" has now become a daily staple in our house.

Plus, we found some insanely good fares to New York from Richmond -- so we'll be back. And soon.

Come sail away, come sail away

2008-06-03T19:28:00.004-04:00

Above, one shot from a very satisfying and fun Memorial Day weekend jaunt to Annapolis, the totally charming old port town on the Cheaspeake Bay that's home to the Naval Academy and the state capital of Maryland. Delicious seafood, beautiful weather and a fun bay cruise.

The whole photographic mess is available for your viewing pleasure on the photo page.

Decision No. 1: It has bears

2008-05-03T17:33:00.008-04:00

So it turns out that this getting married stuff is kind of complicated.

We have about a thousand things still left to decide, but we have one pretty big one past us now: We know where and when the ceremony is happening. And as a bonus, it has bears.

We considered several places -- the art gallery space that was a little too hipster-doofusy, the other art gallery that's a better space but has a large-scale installation scheduled for the time we wanted and the really very lovely museum space whose current exhibit, on Richmond's turbulent race relations in the '50s and '60s, prominently features a Klan robe. (From what we saw, it was a pretty responsible and thorough exhibit. But it was just too much for us to take.

But when we saw Maymont a few weeks ago, we pretty much fell in love with it. It's a large, foundation-operated park in Richmond on land donated by the estate of a railroad baron. The gardens are stunning -- the picture above is of the Italian garden, where we'll have the ceremony -- and it contains several wildlife habitats, including an under-construction bald eagle aviary and the aforementioned bears. (I've been to some really cool weddings before, but none of them had bears. I'm really kind of proud of that.)

So that's where we'll be on Nov. 15. If you're reading this, chances are you'll get a more formal notice in the not-too-distant future.

Ring-a-ding

2008-04-16T23:28:00.008-04:00

So if you're reading this, you probably already know that we're engaged. We'll have more to say soon, but like good 21st-century nerds, we updated our relationship status on Facebook. This is what Facebook asks you when you tell it you're engaged:

"You are about to add Lisa Todorovich [in my case] as your Fiancee.
"We will then notify Lisa Todorovich, who will have to confirm that you are in a relationship."

Romantic, isn't it?

Your March Madness viewing rules

2008-03-19T23:56:00.004-04:00

As I write this, we're but 12 hours away from tipoff of the first round of the greatest three weeks in sports. As with any event of this scope, the millions of fans tuning in will have just about as many superstitions and rituals and quirks.

F'rinstance, I used to pick one snack food and eat only that one while I watched games, and I still won't put a team through to a later round on my brackets until I've filled in all games from the previous round. You probably have your own things, and that's cool: Let your basketball-jones flag fly.

All that said, I think we can all agree on a few basic rules for maximum tournament pleasure. Really, it's just one rule, with a bunch of exceptions.

That rule is:

Always root for the underdog. Upsets -- your Hampton-Iowa States, your Valpo-Ole Misses -- are what makes the tournament the greatest, and in many ways the most American, of all sporting events. We love to see the little guy stick it to the Man -- the little guy in this case being some school with a direction in its name and a home gym that seats 3,500 and the Man being all the big-money, big-conference Programs who dominate the season.

Go by that rule, and you're pretty much set. There are, however, a number of caveats.

Caveat 1: Personal, familial or geographical ties to a particular school may trump the rule. This allows me to root for Texas to make a deep run; my brother attended grad school there and has settled in Austin.

Caveat 2: When both teams in a first-round game are middle-of-the-pack schools from a big conference -- this year's West Virginia-Arizona matchup, which I'll bear witness to Thursday night, is a good example -- the rule is waived. Cheer for whoever you please, or ignore entirely.

Caveat 2.5: Similarly, when two teams from smaller conferences butt heads, you're free to take whichever side you want, since it's a guarantee that at least one mid-major team will make the next round. There are a few of those games this year, and though some of that is the inevitable result of seeding, I kinda wish the selection committee would stop those pairings. We like David-Goliath matchups, not David-David ones.

Caveat 3: It's always OK to root against the teams you hate, regardless of their seeding.

Caveat 4: By the Elite 8 round, when teams seeded 7th or worse are most likely gone, you are free to root for whomever you please -- although hoping for the best possible games in the Final Four is always appreciated.

Corollary 1: Rooting for teams based solely on how you far you've taken them in your bracket is uncool. Unless you're wagering more than $100, just enjoy the ride.

Corollary 1.5: If you're on the verge of winning more than $100, Corollary 1 may be ignored, provided you don't end up also violating Caveat 1. No one likes a fair-weather fan, money or no money.

May the madness be with you. Enjoy.

Bacon and chocolate. Who knew?

2008-03-18T21:13:00.010-04:00

I wish I could say the past few weeks had been filled with fabulous and wonderful adventures, and that's why we haven't blogged for a while. I suppose I could say that, but then that would be lying (although we did get to this the other night and had a lot of fun).

Because really, we've kinda been hunkered down with work and general late-winter boringness, and just kind of lazy when it comes to this here.

How lazy? We shared a candy bar with bacon in it more than a week ago, and I'm just now getting around to writing about it.

Background: We went to Richmond two weekends ago to celebrate Lisa's birthday (yay!), where we enjoyed a lovely evening in the Shockoe Slip/Tobacco Row historic areas, eating delicious food and staying in a fancy hotel. On our way home we stopped at the awesome candy store For the Love of Chocolate in Carytown. Words can't do it full justice -- the variety and creativity of sweet stuff on display there is kind of staggering, from Chick-O-Sticks to super-exotic chocolate flavored with chile, rosemary and all manner of other things you wouldn't necessarily think about putting into chocolate.

Which brings me to Mo's Bacon Bar, which, as you may be able to see above, is a combination of "applewood smoked bacon, alder wood smoked salt and 'deep milk chocolate.'" We were both a little trepidatious about trying it, but you know what? Turns out bacon and chocolate is pretty darn good (two great tastes that taste great together, as it were).

The smoky bits of fried pork are a nice compliment to the chocolate, which is darker than your average Hershey bar but not into the realm of the serious dark stuff. But it never gets overwhelming (at least not in the mini-size bar we split). Good crunch too.

More excitement to come -- we're going to the first and second rounds of the greatest sporting event ever in D.C. this weekend, and I plan at least one update from there. I have taken days off in the past to watch the first two rounds, and am doing so again this year, only this time I get to see games in person. This Salon piece from 2001 pretty much captures my feelings about the tournament, and I can't wait to experience it in person for the first time in more than 15 years.

Happy bacon, happy bracketing, and remember to pick at least one 12-vs.-5 upset.

An evening with John Oliver

2008-02-19T21:44:00.003-05:00

We shed our proud-townie status for a couple hours last Friday and headed over to campus -- pardon me, "Grounds" -- to hear Daily Show correspondent and real-live British person John Oliver deliver a fine set of stand-up (happily, we were not the oldest people in the room; a fair number of other grownups attended too).

Now, writing about a comedy performance and trying to impart just how funny the guy was is probably an exercise in futility. Even if I had perfect recall or had surreptitiously taped the show, transcribing his bit about how he updated the Wikipedia entries for several political figures ("Sen. Richard Lugar could have been the greatest swimmer in Olympic history but for the fact that he's soluble in water") wouldn't come across quite as funny on the screen.

Nor could I do justice to his story about the moment that he realized he would be a comic, and not an athlete (it involved a 400-meter race, a cool breeze and a flap on the front of his shorts) . Because you still couldn't have seen the look on his face as he recounted the horrible tale, coming off like Harry Potter's hangdog older brother.

And I really don't know how to describe his partner-in-comedy Andy Zaltzman, with whom he hosts a podcast for The Times of London and did a show for BBC Radio called The Department.

What I can tell you, though, that if John Oliver comes to your town, you should go see him. Dude was really, really funny.

All the old familiar places

2008-02-05T23:49:00.000-05:00

It's been six months and a couple of days since I was last in Los Angeles. That's not that long, really, but in that time I've managed to forget just how freakin' big this place is. I'm on the plane, maybe a half-hour away from landing, and I look out the window. Hmm, I wonder if that's Big Bear down there.

Turns out it was -- and then I just kind of sat there for the rest of the flight and marveled at the unbroken spring of urban/suburban/industrial development that stretched from Lake Arrowhead all the way to the coast. Living in L.A., you sort of tend to stay in your bubble, and while you bitch about the traffic and know sort of implicitly that all those people live somewhere, it's easy to forget how the Southland stretches on and on and on.

So, yeah, it's nice to be back. And also a little odd.

Not in a bad way, though. More in this kind of way: Driving in from LAX, I take note of the old hotel on Lincoln that's been boutiqued and see that Playa Vista looks even more monolithic and out of place than when I last drove by. A couple new facades on the little shops near the office, a new shmancy blonde-wood door on the entrance to our suite.

As I leave, I remind myself that I'm driving to my hotel in Marina del Rey and not my old apartment. I've already sussed out a back way to avoid the traffic on Lincoln; it works. Pavilions still has the sandwich I like, so that's dinner. I sit and watch Super Tuesday returns in the state where I no longer vote; my primary is next week, and it looks like it'll still count, which is cool.

Nothing is all that different, but still it feels a degree or two off. Maybe it's a location thing -- I'm in a perfectly nice but nondescript hotel in Marina del Rey for the next six days, eating at places I haven't visited since I was fighting monsters. It's going to be great seeing my friends here again (already has been, with regard to my co-workers). And this will be my home again soon enough. Right now, though? Just passin' through.

Surviving a cold, gray Sunday

2008-01-27T17:17:00.001-05:00

Sometimes it's just about hangin' out.

Today's recipe:

Re-runs of America's Next Top Model, Cycle 3

NBA: Lakers v. Cavaliers

Frosting the red velvet cupcakes I made yesterday

Tasting the rum-raisin brownies I also made yesterday

A Duraflame log (the 3-hour kind) in the fireplace

laundry (OK, so something got accomplished after all)

The Sunday Washington Post

The Sunday New York Times

Mocking my (possibly now formerly) beloved Joe Jackson for selling out the great "One More Time" for a Taco Bell commercial. Oh, Joe -- really? You break my heart.

Later: leftovers of the beef and butternut squash stew Rick made the other day

Yeah. I could live this day over and over.

Things to do

2008-01-01T19:11:00.000-05:00

Not off to a blazing start in 2008, but any year that starts with kissing your awesome girlfriend at midnight, staying in bed till about 11, said girlfriend making delicious waffles and then watching football all day has potential, I think.

But since I still have a full year's worth of days (thanks, leap year!) to get stuff done, I figure a lazy opening can't hurt anything. And there is stuff I plan to do this year (I mean, how can one not be inspired by the likes of the image above? Seriously). Like:

More reading. Made significant progress on one of the great political novels of the 20th century, The Gay Place, over Christmas. On tap: Some Ross MacDonald (why this guy, one of the really great crime novelists, is not easier to find in bookstores baffles me), The Night Gardener (my first foray with George Pelecanos), Charlie Wilson's War (saw the movie, now want to read the full story).

Lisa and I have also talked about starting a two-person book club, where we each introduce the other to books we love. I'm thinking maybe The Drowning Pool (there's that man again), possibly some T.C. Boyle. Not sure yet.

Some travel. Nothing huge, probably, but it's nice to get away every now and then. Maybe somewhere in here, possibly here, very probably here for at least a couple days.

Another marathon. Been stuck on four for a couple years now, and it's time to climb back on that wagon. This one's on my birthday. Do I want to spend four or five hours running the day I turn 37? I dunno. But it's a thought.

And now, it's time to bookend this day by eating some chili cheese dogs and tater tots. Like I said: This year's got potential.

Here’s looking at you

2007-12-31T13:08:00.000-05:00

Instead of being a productive human being during the days between Christmas and New Year’s, I've been hanging out logging much pajama time, taking a break from non-fiction with Julie Powell of the Julie/Julia Project and catching up on the many episodes I've missed of Mad Men. I can’t even say the loafing has been all that creative, but boy has it been fun.

Mostly I've been so preoccupied lately that I've missed a lot of the presidential candidate debates (Can we call them that? Ten people on a stage raising their hands in response to a question is not a debate – it's a dumbed-down version of Miss America. I mean really. Post-9/11, when Pakistan is literally exploding, our image is crap in a huge part of the world and people in New Orleans are still living in freakin' trailers, not to mention having no health insurance and knowing their kids probably aren't learning what they need to know in school, don't we deserve something better that that?

Yes, I'm on my high horse, but sometimes it's just absolutely astonishing what we accept as normal in this country. But who am I to talk? I'm not teaching kids to read in Appalachia or something, and the money I give to UNICEF isn't exactly going to fix Darfur, so I should shut up, for heaven's sakes.). I don't know the specifics of Hillary Clinton's health care plan and I don't know what Barack Obama's response is to Joe Biden's idea that Iraq should be split into thirds.

I am an embarrassment of a former political reporter. For a long time I worried that I'd be climbing the walls if I weren't freezing half to death in Iowa and New Hampshire, or if I'd be worth anything if I couldn't get Mitt Romney's media guy to return my phone calls. Now I know. Admittedly, I miss watching the stump speeches and that cold fresh-air high that's oddly a little like altitude sickness mixed with excitement while watching the process. But I've ended up with something better than I could've hoped for – a life.

Not the one I thought I'd have, and not certainly one that needs some work (Chase, I swear some day that balance will be zero – just not yet.). But it's a step -- and something that other people have always seemed to be able to figure out far better than I. And hackneyed as I am, I'm grateful for every second – not least of which for Rick's giant leap of faith, which totally changed everything this year. And our friends rock.

Now I need to take a walk, catch another episode of Mad Men, and get back to everyone else's 2007 Top Ten lists.

Happy New Year.

Flour power

2007-12-20T21:36:00.000-05:00

We've been taking in the usual assortment of Christmas goodies the past couple weeks -- a shipment of candy from Lisa's mom in Milwaukee (including the mysterious substance known as fairy food) here, a loaf of bread from my sister-in-law there.

We also have a couple dozen of our own cookies still lying around. But we -- and by "we" I mean mostly Lisa -- have been keeping up our end of the supply chain up as well. I spent much of last weekend in awe of the sheer number of cookies that came out of our kitchen -- enough baked goods to make Mrs. Field go, "Damn, that's a lot of cookies."

After the jump, a rundown.

These numbers are approximate, but suffice to say that we completely covered the dining room table with plates and boxes of cookies and nuts. To wit:

7 dozen chocolate mint cookies

7 dozen pepperming sugar cookies

6 dozen oatmeal-white chocolate-cranberry

6 dozen oatmeal-pistachio-cranberry-apricot

5 (or maybe 6) dozen peanut butter Kiss cookies

4 pounds or so Union Square spiced nuts

And, oh yeah, 3 pounds or so of sugared pecans.

I really wish I'd taken a picture of the dining room table. Bad blogger. But to those of you who got them, hope you like them. I think they're pretty darn good.

This is what snow looks like

2007-12-05T21:52:00.001-05:00

The other day at Target, I bought a snow scraper/brush combo for my car. Good timing -- see above.

OK, so I'm stretching a little there. The snow that fell on my car this morning was gone by midafternoon, and the snow that fell on it tonight will be gone too -- hell, it's gonna be 60 by Saturday.

But damn if I wasn't happy to see the first snow of the season -- and my first personal snow since, oh, 1997.

Before today, it had been a little more than a decade since there had been a chance of snow falling in the place where I lived. I could see it on the mountains around Los Angeles some winters there, but it was three cross-country moves ago that I last had to have a scraper in my trunk.

So this morning I went out and took pictures of it snowing, and I caught a couple of flakes on my tongue and I generally behaved like a little kid. I'll probably re-acquire my distaste for snow over the next few months, but for now it's very exciting. Can't wait to fire my first snowball.

This is what joy looks like

2007-11-13T12:20:00.001-05:00

This is Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band Monday night in Washington, DC. The house lights are up, they're chugging through Born to Run, and tens of thousands of people -- including a couple of shirtless guys we saw jigging down on the floor -- are singing along at the tops of their lungs.

COOL.

We caught both the Sunday and Monday shows in DC -- and it was spectacular. These were my 19th and 20th shows, Rick's first and second. Yeah, yeah, I know. I don't even want to think about the things I could have done or the trips to Europe I could have taken if I hadn't spent the cash on Bruce Springsteen. But you know what? I really don't care.

Regardless of where you stand on the guy -- whether, like me, his rear end hung on the wall over your bed when you were in junior high, or you've thought the man-of-the-people thing has worn thin -- when you're there it's hard to deny that it's one hell of a show. The guy's 58 years old, and he was jumping up and down at the end of the 2-hour-and-20-minute set in a way that had me exhausted just looking at him. I've seen him from the back of football arenas and from the front row, mashed up against the stage, and it's safe to say I've never seen anyone play a room quite like him. Famously anti-war, he marked Veterans Day here in DC -- and last night he brought some wounded vets from Walter Reed to the show. Talk about altering the dynamic in a basketball arena.

The new album's not easy -- it's filled with familiar imagery of people struggling and disillusioned, trying to live decent, honorable lives in the face of bitter disappointment and not knowing which end is up. But it's also about making connections and finding meaning in each other -- nothing's ever perfect, but in the end we're all we've got. The songs are also catchy, filled with pop hooks, and taken as a whole, the thing rocks.

And live, you can't help but walk away feeling a little bit better connected to humanity. I took my parents to see Springsteen a few years back -- and bought them tickets to see him a couple of weeks ago in Chicago as a Christmas present -- and it sounds loony, but I seriously think it brought us closer. I may drive them up a wall, but now at least we can talk about Bruce Springsteen. (Incidentally, Mom, there's a rumor he's coming to Milwaukee in March -- so Happy Birthday.)

Do I sound like a sermonizing goofball? Yeah. Is the crowd at a Springsteen show whiter than any you'll see outside a standard-issue NHL game? Yes. Have I spent more time than I care to admit perusing the setlists online and trying to figure out what he's going to play in the rotating song spots (2, 7, 11, 12, 13, and the second song of the encore, by the way)? Definitely. Do I do these things furtively? Hell no. Embarrassed? Sure. Ashamed? Never.

Tramps like us...

Things I'm liking right now

2007-11-07T17:48:00.000-05:00

Bits and pieces of things and stuff that are good and cool:

This list of the most terrifyingly inspirational songs of the '80s. Of the "You're the Best" song from Karate Kid, the author has this to say: "It is completely acceptable to do any damn thing you want to this song. Whatever it is you’re about to do, Joe Esposito took seven weeks out of his life back in the '80s to write a little ditty about just how badass you are at it." Well, yeah.

Straight Cash, Homey -- a collection of unfortunate jersey choices by sports fans across this great nation.

The awesome birthday present I got from Lisa, which includes some of the greatest screwball comedy of all time.

Season three of Bones. I don't know if it'll end up in the pantheon of great shows, but the folks there seem to nail the balance of character development and crime procedural better than just about anyone at the moment.

Seasonal weather. Yeah, I freaked out a little when I heard the local radio folks drop the phrase "wind chill" this week, but the leaves are pretty, the air is crisp and I like wearing long-sleeve T-shirts. Plus, I got a new winter coat a couple weeks ago, so I'm set.

Friends preparing to have children.

Pie. But really, who doesn't like pie?

Is it adult ADD, or am I just a spazz?

2007-11-01T21:31:00.001-04:00

It's getting increasingly difficult to know. According to my not-in-any-way-extensive-Internet research, symptoms include:

Distractibility
Impulsive behavior
The inability to remain focused on tasks or activities

So far, yes, yes, and yes.

Well, maybe not so much with the impulsive part -- unless you count stalking new bath and hair products during every trip to the CVS. Mostly it's just this creeping feeling that I really am beginning to understand what my grandmother meant when she used to go on (and on and on) ... OK, I forgot what I was going to say as I was writing this... oh yeah: when she'd talk about how quickly time goes by, and how it gets harder to keep up. Or, frankly, to recall what it is you were saying. Either way, lately it seems increasingly difficult to remember birthdays (I just couldn't be a bigger loser on that front -- sorry, friends and family), appointments, and to keep up with the laundry. And usually, all I really want to do is hang on the couch and watch Ace of Cakes.

Am I geezing? Has the fact that my hearing is fading after years of Bruce Springsteen shows started to creep in and distract from real life? Am I doomed to a future of never finishing another book, or being unable to tackle the towering pile of of New Yorkers mocking me from the corner? Do I just need a drink?

Beer, Barbecue and Birthday

2007-10-29T20:32:00.000-04:00

Just got back from an all-too-short weekend in the Outer Banks, where we attended the first annual PigStein -- a beer and barbecue festival thrown by our friends Chip and Tammy of Chip's Wine and Beer Market and High Cotton. Whole hog cookoff, more than 100 beers for tasting, and staying with friends at an insane beach house. Happy 36th birthday, Rick!

We hit the highway on Friday afternoon, and in just 4 1/2 hours we arrived in lovely Kill Devil Hills -- the site of the Wright Brothers' inaugural flight, and if you want to watch Rick quietly seethe, just bring that up as part of a conversation about North Carolina's "First in Flight" license plates. At Tammy's recommendation, we had dinner at a great Frenchy restaurant, and then headed back to the beach house they rented for themselves and their friends for the weekend. When I become a cult leader, I fully intend to do it in a house like this -- 14 bedrooms, 9 bathrooms, roof deck, volleyball court, pool, 3 kitchens, and 2 hot tubs, even though it was too cold to use them. Right on the water. The opposite of tough to take.

The beer and barbecue festival was the first of its kind, and we look forward to many more. Particularly fabulous, in addition to the many, many, many beers we got to sample, was High Cotton's "'Cue Cup" -- a savory parfait in a cup that started with baked beans, had a cole slaw middle and a barbecue top -- completed with a cornbread stick. Brilliant.

The rest of time we hung out with friends, visited the Bodie Island Lighthouse on the Cape Hatteras National Seashore, slept late, and watched the Red Sox win. Oh, and drank a lot of beer.

Now if we can just get the mega millions to come in...

Better ingredients, worse grasp of geography

2007-10-05T16:51:00.000-04:00

Papa John's is selling a pair of new specialty pies that they're calling "Tuscan pizzas." So, fine. They sound tasty enough, one with a bunch of different cheeses and one with a couple different meats and fresh tomato.

That second one, though -- they're calling it the "Roma meats pizza." Now, I've never been to Italy, but I've watched enough Molto Mario to know that Italian regional cuisine is rather a big deal. And, see, Rome is kind of right in the middle there, and Tuscany is up above it. And based on what Mario has taught me, they're not interchangeable, and no Tuscan would put "Roma" in the name of his pizza.

Just sayin'.

And you thought he was unintelligible 30 years ago....

2007-10-01T22:21:00.001-04:00

Last weekend we went to the wedding of a friend of mine in DC (great party and bitchin' guests -- more on that later), and the night before we went to see Bob Dylan and Elvis Costello at Merriweather Post Pavilion, in suburban Maryland. While I would rather face the fires of Hell than spend time in suburban Maryland, for Dylan and Costello, I made an exception.

My love for Elvis Costello is deep, abiding, and undiminished by the years -- constant since I discovered him in high school (I was kind of late bloomer). He is a genius -- spectacular songwriter, endlessly creative and damn near fearless with the stuff he'll try musically. I have recovered from my mourning period after he married Diana Krall (though it gave me hope that finding happiness and bursting forth with a couple of kids relatively late in life is possible -- plus they seem to be having a nice time), and on Friday night he delivered an excellent (though for my taste, too short) acoustic set that made the drive and the traffic and suburban Maryland worth it.

Dylan, on the other hand...

I've always liked Bob Dylan and respected his genius, his conscience, and poetry and craft that he's brought to everything he's done. I've been a proponent of his new renaissance. I've seen him play an excellent concert, and I've seen him play a set that sucked so loudly that it left the entire crowd's collective jaw dropping to the floor. You never quite know what you're going to get.

The good news: His band ROCKED. Bluesy, hipster, extremely tight, obviously very talented, and clearly jazzed to be playing with a legend. And Dylan's harmonica and organ playing were fantastic.

The bad news: I understood less than 50 words total of his 90-minute set. I wasn't looking for any song to be a replica of the recordings; in fact I'd have loathed that. But it would've been great to get what the crowd of die-hards was cheering about every time he started a song. I'm grateful to know I wasn't the only one with this problem. I started replaying last week's Grey's Anatomy in my head just to stay alert.

The mumbling. The muddy delivery. Good God, the mumbling. In the past I've chalked up Dylan's weird on-stage behavior to being the singing equivalent of Miles Davis playing with his back to the audience. Now I think it's the musical equivalent of those computer-generated pictures where you can see the spaceship if you unfocus your eyes. Or a foreign-language immersion program -- eventually you start to understand French if you're surrounded by people who are speaking it. With Dylan, I started to get scared that I'd lose my ability to understand English if I could make out what he was saying for a sustained period of time. Oui.

The weird news: As Rick and I strained to understand what the hell was going on, he noticed something sitting near Dylan on a cabinet onstage. Is ... that... really? Could that really be the Oscar he won for Best Original Song (on the Wonder Boys soundtrack)? Rick borrowed a fellow concert goer's binoculars to get a better look, and unless we had a simultaneous hallucination, it was either the statuette or a replica. Who does that? I mean really. On the other hand, it's damn near the funniest thing I've ever seen on a stage.

For a long time now, I've been mocking the Rolling Stones for touring -- again and again and again. I wouldn't have wanted to see them on any tour after Tattoo You in 1982. But at least their frontman can still sing. Mick, I promise to (almost) never make fun of you again.

Turkey for me and a turkey for you

2007-09-26T22:12:00.000-04:00

L.A. can have its freeway-side houses. Me? I'll take a flock of wild turkeys crossing about 15 feet in front of me.

Taken along Skyline Drive in Shenandoah National Park a couple weeks ago. Was too slow on the draw to get the baby bear we saw darting into the woods, and was afraid I'd scare the deer off if I rolled down the window. Suffice to say, not something I saw much of in my old place.

So yeah, we've been busy. Lisa has been hip-deep in promoting civilized debate in society, and I, well, I watch a lot of television. And yet we've still managed to go on drives like this one, and last weekend -- oh, it's a country life we live -- apple-picking. For reals. (Oh, and more wine-tasting. We have like 23 bottles on the rack now.) (And also, we saw Lucinda Williams at the Charlottesville Pavilion last night. She puts on a really fine show.) So I guess things aren't so tough after all.

We have, at least, been taking pictures of some of our little adventures. You can see the latest bunch over here.

Moving pictures (or, pictures of moving)

2007-09-09T22:33:00.000-04:00

Pictures, we got pictures -- a photographic chronicle of our 3,726-mile odyssey across America is now up on the photo page. You can click on the thing over on the right rail that says "Hey -- pictures!" or not move your mouse as much and just go from here.

Not much from my home state, for some reason. But if you're interested, here's a pretty shot of downtown Datyon (not taken by me).

I think I'm becoming a foodie

2007-09-07T17:23:00.000-04:00

As soon as Lisa gets home this evening, we're probably going out to the Market Street Wine Shop in Charlottesville for their free weekly tasting. We did that last week too, and it's fun. And I mentioned free, right?

We've also made a habit of hitting the weekly farmers market that sets up shop down the street on Saturdays. It's tomato season, and we've been going a little nuts with the heirloom varieties -- probably spending a good 50-60 bucks on tomatoes alone in the past three weeks. We also invested in a new wine rack, because, well, we had too many bottles for the other one to handle.

Which leads me to wonder:

Have I become a foodie?

The answer, I think, is a qualified yes -- qualified because I had Wendy's for lunch yesterday, and sometimes I just want to sit on the couch and eat potato chips out of the bag.

But I also get excited by the prospect of cooking dinner a couple times a week, and by the idea of trying a new restaurant -- which, let's face it, is one of the good things about moving. The restaurants are almost all new.

The wine thing, too, is a recent development. Five years ago I probably would never have ordered a glass of wine with a meal. I was a beer snob, sure (and still am), but wine was a little outside my realm of experience.

Funny what a couple trips to Santa Barbara will do for that, though. Now, we have 20 bottles from all over sitting in our new wine rack, and if we try something at a restaurant that we like, we write down the name so we can find a bottle of it later. We spent an afternoon last weekend on part of the Monticello Wine Trail, drinking some surprisingly good (and a couple of really not very good) local wines.

Twice, we have stuffed dates with blue cheese, wrapped pork products around them and baked them.

A lot of this -- including the blue cheese-stuffed dates, which we had during our stopover in St. Louis -- started on the trip. We made a conscious and pretty successful effort not to eat big-box food while we were on the road, and that idea has pretty well carried over once we got here. Charlottesville also seems blessed with an inordinate number of good restaurants for a town its size, so there's probably no need for us ever to set foot in an Applebee's.

So now, I guess, the trick will be keeping this all in check, remaining a food lover while not tipping over into nose-in-the-air territory. I suspect that won't be too hard -- we both love our cheez-with-a-z too much to become true snobs.

What does your license plate say about you?

2007-08-30T21:45:00.001-04:00

We didn't really play the license plate game on our trip per se, but in the 2+ weeks we've been home in Virginia, we've both noticed something what seems to be an inordinate number of personalized license plates.

Now, no offense to those who feel that this is the best venue to express themselves. Wait: I take that back. Really? Dude, get a blog.

I haven't kept a close count...

...but over the course of the past couple of weeks I've counted at least a dozen personalized plates: VA ALUM, WAHOO47, I AM WENDY, URASINR, what have you. Either a lot of people in this area really get a kick out of the personalized license plate, or they're just narcissists.

Today, I hit the laudable Virginia DMV web site, and discovered, in addition to the more than 180 possible license plate styles, that it's only an extra $20 a year to buy yourself a wee billboard for your car. Yay you.

I guess it beats the bumper sticker I saw today on a taxi, proclaiming the driver "Directionally Dysfunctional."

Get hobbies, people.

Wisdom vs. mercy or, life in a college town

2007-08-26T20:35:00.000-04:00

So it's Friday evening, and we're walking to have drinks and dinner at a place called Continental Divide (which, if you're ever in town, has no sign outside that says "Continental Divide" but does have a neon sign reading "Get in here." A little precious maybe, but the margaritas are tremendously strong and the food is right tasty. Lisa had marinated-pork tacos the size of your face, and I had a special of red mole-cooked flank steak that was fantastic.)

We're headed west on Main Street in Charlottesville, and a scruffy-looking dude passes us going the other way and says, "Excuse me." He's got longish hair and a beard and is wearing a big Bob Marley T-shirt; he looks a little like Steve Zahn, if Steve Zahn let himself go a little.

I'm ready to say either, "Sorry, man," if he asks for change or defer to Lisa if he asks where something is. But it's neither, because he says this instead (I'm paraphrasing a little here): "I'm taking a survey. If you could only have one, would you rather have wisdom or mercy?"

Then, seeing our bemused looks: "I've been asking a lot of people, and I'm trying to get my own mind around it, wisdom or mercy."

So now we're intrigued. Our guard relaxes a little, and we actually start to think about it for a second. We both say wisdom. Because -- at least this is how I see it -- wisdom would allow one to know when to be merciful. And, as Lisa pointed out later, if you're merciful without being at least a little wise, well, then you're just a pushover.

The guy didn't ask us why, though; he just thanked us and went on his way. And we went on ours, shaking our heads. "You gotta love being in a college town sometimes," Lisa said.

I imagine that, rapidly aging as I now am, there will be plenty of times in the coming nine months that I'll mutter and curse under my breath about students making my wait for lunch longer or whatever. But she's right: You gotta love it sometimes.

Klippan-Leksvik-Kviby-Aspelund-Vinstra-Aneboda-Malm-Kramfors-Hemnes-Sval¨øv

2007-08-21T22:56:00.000-04:00

Ah, one of the great joys of moving – the classic right of passage: the obligatory trip to Ikea. Which, in our case, involved a two-hour drive to Northern Virginia on our first relocated Sunday. Clearly, we want to assemble some furniture – and we want it bad. And now that we've bought it, eventually we will.

I kind of hate to admit it, but I love Ikea – the goofy nonsensical product names (though, as Rick points out, sometimes they’re not even trying – the name of the grill pan was “Grilla”), the Swedish meatballs, the traipsing through the showroom on the trek to the self-serve bins while I inevitably fill the cart with a pile of stuff I don’t need – but hey, it’s $2, so why not? And over the years, I’ve gotten pretty good at assembling it all – which I admit gives me an inexplicable sense of accomplishment. And a very nice collection of allen wrenches.

Our trip was my first time traversing the interstates, and I got to see for myself the infestation of the “big box” stores. No matter where we were, you could always buy a pair of flip flops or assorted household goods at a Target, buy a book and get a cup of coffee at a Borders, score a flat screen TV at a Best Buy, or satisfy your hardware needs at a Home Depot or Lowe’s. Yes, you can pass from town to town and never really see any local store, or regional chain if you don't look hard for it – and that’s a damned shame. I’m a believer in the mom-and-pops and specialized one-of-a-kind stores. It breaks my heart -- and makes my skin crawl -- when a boutique or small bar is pushed out by a Cheesecake Factory. For every Macaroni Grill there should be three Iotas -- at least.

But I gotta admit: there’s something comforting about knowing you can always find the familiar, even if it’s unoriginal or impossible to pronounce. My kingdom for a world where the big boxes can live side-by-side with the locals without relying on Chinese mega-factories. Because as much as I will always patronize a local, I really love my Target.

Holiday Road...

2007-08-20T22:18:00.000-04:00

Rick was FAR more systematic in compiling his road music than I. He clearly spent a lot of time thinking about the songs, the way they’d fit together, and the rhythm of the CDs. I put together a list that referenced any kind of movement – driving, flying, sailing, walking, what have you –- as well as any possible reference to a place. A haphazard approach at best – and one that resulted in a 352-song playlist. Excessive.

A sample, minus the overlap with Rick:

“Woke Up This Morning (Chosen One Mix),” Alabama 3 (a.k.a., the song behind Tony Soprano tooling around Jersey)
“Jessica,” The Allman Brothers (no movement or place, but one of the best road songs ever – thank you, Dickie Betts)
“Say Goodbye to Hollywood,” Billy Joel
“South of the Border (Down Mexico Way),” Chris Isaak
“On the Road Again,” Willie Nelson
“Me & Bobby McGee,” Janis Joplin
“The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down,” The Band
“My Tennessee Mountain Home,” Dolly Parton
“Truckin’,” Grateful Dead
“Ticket to Ride,” The Beatles
“Big River,” Johnny Cash
“Don’t Fence Me In,” David Byrne
“Ramblin’ Man,” Hank Williams
“Tiny Dancer,” Elton John (I know, but come on)
“Take Me With U,” Prince
“Copperhead Road,” Steve Earle
“Hotel Illness,” The Black Crowes
“Goodbye Stranger,” Supertramp
“Wild West,” Joe Jackson
“Can’t Find My Way Home,” Blind Faith
“Highway 61 Revisited,” Bob Dylan
“Thunder Road,” Bruce Springsteen
“Tonight I’ll Be Staying Here With You,” Last Train Home, covering Bob Dylan
“My Ride’s Here,” Bruce Springsteen, covering Warren Zevon
“Train Song,” Mindy Smith
“Where You Lead,” Carole King
“I’m So Bored with the U.S.A.,” The Clash
“Black Cadillac,” Roseanne Cash
“Move On Up,” Curtis Mayfield
“Mississippi,” Sheryl Crow, covering Bob Dylan
“Into the Mystic,” Van Morrison
“The Apartment Song,” Tom Petty
“Take It Easy,” The Eagles
“Midnight Train to Georgia,” Gladys Knight & The Pips
“This is Where You Ain’t,” Glenn Tillbrook
“Highway to Hell,” AC/DC
“Tennessee Plates,” John Hiatt
“That’s Right (You’re Not From Texas),” Lyle Lovett
“2000 Miles,” The Pretenders
“Panama,” Van Halen
“Begin the Begin,” R.E.M.
“King of the Road,” Roger Miller
“I’ll Take You There,” The Staples Singers
“Pony St.,” Elvis Costello
“Ultraviolet (Light My Way,” U2
“Sin City,” Uncle Tupelo, covering the Flying Burrito Brothers
“Luckenbach, Texas,” Waylon Jennings

What we listened to on the trip

2007-08-16T22:26:00.000-04:00

The short answer to that is: A lot. We covered a lot of ground during those 10 days, and there was a lot of boring scenery outside the windows. So we had Sirius (primarily Outlaw Country, Left of Center, 1st Wave and the '80s channel), we had NPR -- I came to dig Day to Day over the course of the trip, we had Lisa's iPod and its treasure trove of driving songs.

And, of course, we had CDs, from a fantastic Stax Records compilation -- you haven't lived until you listen to the "Theme from Shaft" on a pitch-dark New Mexico highway -- to The Hold Steady. Our friend Chris gave us a really cool disc of L.A.- and Virginia-themed songs. And I played mixmaster too, putting together three CDs of songs about traveling, songs about vehicles and songs that just sound good in the car. They're after the jump.

Volume 1

"Ramblin' on My Mind," Robert Johnson (that's him up there)
"Drive My Car," The Beatles
"Dakota," Stereophonics
"Car Wheels on a Gravel Road," Lucinda Williams
"Utopia Parkway," Fountains of Wayne
"The Distance," Cake
"Radar Gun," The Bottle Rockets
"Can't Get There from Here," R.E.M.
"Drive South," John Hiatt
"Diner," Martin Sexton
"Calling All Friends," Low Stars
"Hot Rod Hotel," Billy Bragg & Wilco
"Bring the Noise," Public Enemy
"One O'Clock Jump," Count Basie Orchestra
"Popity Pop," Charlie Parker
"The Weight," The Band
"Midnight Rider," The Allman Brothers Band
"Now We're Getting Somewhere," Crowded House
"Left of the Dial," The Replacements

Volume 2

"Tear the Roof Off the Sucker (Give Up the Funk)," Parliament
"In the Street," Big Star
"Kiss Me on the Bus," The Replacements
"Car Song," Elastica
"Try a Little Tenderness," Otis Redding
"Nervous Breakthrough," Luscious Jackson
"Ruby Soho," Rancid
"Roadrunner," Modern Lovers
"I'll Fly Away," Allison Krauss and Gillian Welch
"It Ain't Me Babe," Johnny Cash and June Carter Cash
"Get On the Bus," Royal Crescent Mob
"Sister Havana," Urge Overkill
"Lawyers, Guns and Money," Warren Zevon
"Jill Can Drive," Trip Shakespeare
"Fast Cars," Buzzcocks
"Laser Show," Fountains of Wayne
"Let Me Ride," Dr. Dre
"Let's Go for a Ride," Cracker
"The Road Goes on Forever," Robert Earl Keen
"Polyester Bride," Liz Phair

Volume 3

"Come On, Let's Go," Los Lobos
"Green Onions," Booker T & the MGs
"Folsom Prison Blues," Johnny Cash
"Brown Sugar," The Rolling Stones
"Theme from Shaft," Isaac Hayes
"Keep on Moving," Bob Marley
"I'm the Man," Joe Jackson
"Rudie Can't Fail," The Clash
"Pumping On Your Stereo," Supergrass
"Singing in My Sleep," Semisonic
"Time the Avenger," The Pretenders
"Paradise City," Guns n' Roses
"Boom Boom," John Lee Hooker
"Whole Lotta Love," Led Zeppelin
"Runnin' with the Devil," Van Halen
"Sweet Jane," Velvet Underground
"Good-bye to Carolina," Lyle Lovett
"The Long Cut," Uncle Tupelo
"Layla," Derek and the Dominos

Home.

2007-08-14T21:03:00.000-04:00

Ten days, four hotel rooms (all with curved shower rods, so that was cool), three freeloading stays with family, countless roadside religious icons and porn shops and 3,726 miles (including side trips and driving around places we stopped) after leaving my old home, I'm in my new one.

There are boxes and piles of crap everywhere, but all my clothes are put away and the fridge is stocked with groceries. One of the local weeklies just published its best-of list, so I'm armed with information about how not to look like a tourist.

Yeah, I think I'm gonna like it here.

That is one giant cross

2007-08-12T22:25:00.000-04:00

Catching up after a few days, following Austin, Oklahoma City, and St. Louis – to be sure to commemorate the photo above. One of the many things I've noticed on our trek across this great land of ours (more on this to come): we love our expressions of faith. Mega-churches with billboards that tell the weather, little churches situated next to cornfields, landscapes that make you exclaim "Oh my God!" (Without disrespectful intentions, of course.)

Then you come across something like this. Rick was keen enough to spot the URL http://www.crossusa.org while I was busy gaping open-mouthed and fumbling for my cell phone to take a picture. According to the site, the Cross Foundation, dedicated to building both faith and family on an ecumenical basis, "has completed a 198 foot Cross at the intersection of Interstates 57 & 70 in Effingham, Illinois. This site is intended to serve as a beacon of hope to the 50,000 travelers estimated to pass the site each day. In addition, the Cross Foundation will promote the values of faith and family through other programs." The cross was built in 2001.

I'm all for anything that gives people hope, makes them happy or gives them another reason to participate in the world around them. I'm probably not in the target demographic, but the Cross Foundation sure did get my attention.

One of the other things I've noticed: we sure do like our racy things. Within 10 miles of the giant cross – a giant highway sign for a XXX adult super store.

Snack globally, eat locally

2007-08-10T10:37:00.000-04:00

Since we left L.A., we've been undertaking a snack-food survey, sampling several different kinds of Doritos, some rather tasty wasabi Funyuns and Tom's Bacon & Cheddar Fries. None has been bad, but none has been a revelation either. We've also noticed, with a small measure of disappointment, that what you get at a gas station in Barstow is pretty much what you get at a convenience store in Tulsa.

(Although, I should note that the two best chips we've tasted thus far are regional ones: Tim's Luau BBQ, available mostly out West, and Uncle Ray's Kosher Dill, which are from Detroit and we found in Tulsa. Thes were maybe the best we've had, with visible flecks of dill on the chips and a slightly sour, not-too-salty taste like a good pickle. Plus, there are little stories on each bag.)

When we actually get somewhere, though, we've been doing our best to have food that we can't find everywhere else. Other than a couple of expedient and weather-forced fast-food stops on the second day of the trip, we've done a pretty good job of it so far. The only chain meal we've had since then were subs from Jimmy John's one day in Austin.

But we've also had great tamales from a shop half a block off the highway in Pecos, Texas; great Mexican at Jorge's, chicken-fried steak at Threadgill's (pictured above) and ice cream at Amy's in Austin; fantastic tacos at Benito's in Fort Worth -- thanks to Texas Monthly's "The Greatest Tacos Ever Sold"; and some fine Greek food from Zorba's in OKC.

Thursday night, in The Hill neighborhood of St. Louis, we poked our heads into a couple of delicious-looking Italian restaurants before settling into some great, great tapas at Modesto. Everything we tried was delicious, but the two highlights were a dish of cured tuna with smoky roasted peppers, tomatoes and cucumbers and bacon-wrapped, Cabrales cheese-stuffed dates that were just about perfectly balanced.

We're only a couple stops from home now. The last two days:

Wednesday: 400 miles
Route: Straight up I-35 from Austin to Oklahoma City.
Time: 7 hours and change
Consumed: In addition to some of the stuff mentioned above, we stopped at Robertson's Hams just over the Oklahoma-Texas border. Picked up a little gift for our host for the night (hi Lisa!) and some pretty good, all-natural beef jerky.

Thursday: Just shy of 500 miles
Route: I-44 from OKC to St. Louis.
Time: 8 1/2 hours
Consumed: Those Uncle Ray's chips, a solid BLT and grilled ham & cheese at Hood's Truck Stop in Bois d'Arc, Mo., and whole bunch of samples from a Wisconsin cheese outlet shop in Lebanon, Mo. We also bought some stuff there, and had a few white cheddar curds flavored with garlic and dill. Good food day.

Bats!

2007-08-08T00:50:00.000-04:00

OK, so the photo above is not the best one you'll ever see, even on this blog. But trust me when I tell you that the dark blotches on the underside of the Congress Avenue bridge in Austin are a few of the million-plus Mexican freetail bats that reside there and make nightly pilgrimages out from under the span to search for food.

This image gives you an idea of what we, along with several hundred other people on top of and beneath the bridge, looked at Tuesday night. It wasn't quite as pretty as that, but it was really pretty darn cool.

We might have been better off on top of the bridge, watching the bats come out below us. But we chose the low angle, and a little after 9 p.m., watched as the little creatures began to stream out from their resting places below the bridge. Though they were at times tough to see against an already dark sky, eventually we got ourselves under a streetlamp and looked up to see a constant stream of wings flitting by, turning the air between the lamp and our eyes a hazy brown as they zipped past.

My description, like my picture, doesn't do the sight justice: It really is something to behold, like the transition in an old Batman cartoon come to life. If ever you find yourself in Austin during the summer, it should be high on the to-do list.

All right, all right, all right

2007-08-08T00:20:00.000-04:00

Those of you who know us know that between the two of us, we're probably well into the triple digits in viewing Dazed and Confused. Heck, Lisa even got me a tie-in book as a gift once.

And if you know Dazed and Confused, you will doubtless recognize the sign above as that of Austin's Top Notch, the drive-in where Mike sorts through jalapeno burgers and soggy fries and Wooderson tries to get Cynthia to ditch the two geeks she's in the car with and join him on the way to the party at the moon tower.

Alas, when we arrived there Monday night, it was already closed (although we were stuffed with Mexican food and Amy's ice cream, so maybe that's not such a bad thing). But our time here wouldn't have been complete without a pilgrimage.

In praise of Jo’s

2007-08-06T20:03:00.000-04:00

Anyone who's known me for any length of time (i.e., more than 10 minutes) is aware that I am utterly enamored of Austin, Texas. I am a pretender; I've only been here four times (including now). I've been a pilgrim to South by Southwest – the film festival too. I've had a Texas Monthly subscription for more than seven years. There are Lyndon Johnson White House tapes on my iPod. And occasionally, I dream about Jo's on South Congress Avenue.

I get why people want to keep Austin weird, and agree it's important to take a stand against the hipster doofusication of truly cool neighborhoods. South Congress has changed a good deal even since the first time I came here – some for better, some for worse (unless I'm mistaken, it looks like Just Guns across the street is now a pet store specializing in tropical fish), but it remains, for me anyway, one of those places where you just want to hang out.

Jo's is a coffee stand/shack just up the street from the Austin Motel, across from the Continental Club and near the shop where I just bought my nephew a cowboy guitar. Right now, three umbrellas covered in what looks like hot pink hula skirts shade the sidewalk tables. Sit here long enough at least a good portion of Austin passes by. Don't let the fact that Rachael Ray featured it put you off.

To catch up:

Sunday mileage: About 560
Route: 285 South from Roswell, N.M. to Fort Stockton, Texas, then I-10 East to Austin
Time: About eight hours. The parts of West Texas where the speed limit is 80 ROCK.
Consumed: Some incredible pork and red chile tamales from La Nortena in Pecos, Texas; Wasabi Funyuns (I’d eat these every day, but no one would want me to come near them); another Doritos Collisions flavor combination: zesty taco and chipotle ranch (our verdict: save your money), and a delicious homemade dinner with family in Austin who were kind enough to welcome this interloper. Thank you. Couldn't be more delighted to be here.

… And then stalked by lightning

2007-08-06T13:05:00.000-04:00

Saturday morning we added an additional 200 miles to the trip by going back to the Grand Canyon to see it in daylight. Totally worth it – I get why Bobby and Cindy wanted to get away from their annoying family and wander around by themselves. I am a sucker for all things cheesy about America, but the Grand Canyon really is so superlative that after a while you're just dumbstruck. "Wow." "Cool." "That is one big hole."

Tight on time, we abandoned the original plan to hit the Grand Canyon Skywalk. A bummer, but now we have an excuse to go back. We also had to skip Santa Fe, so no turquoise jewelry or Georgia O'Keeffe reprints for everyone this Christmas, I'm afraid.

Skies were ominous for a good part of Saturday, and as we headed down mile after mile of road toward Albuquerque, we watched the lightning show. Cool from a distance, but heading into that dark sky, oppressive cloud cover and lightning was like riding into Hades. Both Midwesterners, we grew up with storms, but neither of us had ever experienced anything like this. After a massive flash of lightning and instantaneous clap of teeth-rattling thunder right over us at an Albuquerque gas station, there is now security video of me practically ducking and covering.

The storm shook us up a bit, but on a truly dark and deserted road to Roswell that would've made Hank Williams proud, we encountered an incredible night sky with a canopy of stars that practically forced us to pull over to the side of the road to look. My fear of alien abduction or kidnap by escaped convicts kept us in the car, though. Who wants to be a cautionary tale?

Eternal gratitude to the lovely people at the Roswell La Quinta Inn for such a pleasant stay.

Saturday Miles: 710
Route: Flagstaff to the Grand Canyon, through Albuquerque, taking refuge in Roswell.
Time: Door to door, 15 hours, give or take.
Foodstuffs: Del Taco, McDonald's salads (hey, it's green and it was raining), Tim's Luau BBQ potato chips, nacho cheese Bugles.

Stalked by rainbows...

2007-08-06T12:26:00.000-04:00

And jet lag (for me, anyway). Spent our first day of driving making some real headway through Arizona, stopping in Kingman, with its British food shop. Have to wonder how big a market there is for black pudding in Kingman, but who doesn't like a lovely Aero or Flake bar?

Headed through Flagstaff and up to La Gorge Grande. En route, we look up and find… rainbows. At least two, if not more, which stayed with us for a good 10 miles. An omen? A sign of luck? An arrow pointing the way toward a winning lottery ticket?

Now, three days later and after a little shut-eye, it seems far less bizarre and stalker-ish, so perhaps the real lesson of this is that I tend to hallucinate a little bit on the road.

We made it to the Grand Canyon as the light was fading – everything covered by the hazy purple glow of not-quite half light. Extraordinary. Pics to come -- if they come out alright.

Beginning of a great adventure, Day 1

2007-08-04T02:47:00.000-04:00

And we're off. The particulars for Friday, Aug. 3:

Miles: 598.8

Route: Santa Monica to Barstow on the 10 and the 15, then Interstate 40 through Needles, Calif., and Kingman, Ariz., to Flagstaff, with a side trip to the Grand Canyon. Lisa took the sweet picture up above at sunset as we were approaching the canyon.

Time: Door to door, about 12 hours.

Consumed: Lunch: Me -- Double-double, animal style, fries and Dr. Pepper; Lisa -- cheeseburger, animal style, fries and Diet Coke, all at In 'n Out in Barstow. Dinner: Split a surprisingly not-bad pizza and had some salad at We Cook Pizza and Pasta (it's true, you know) just outside Grand Canyon National Park. We also ...

embarked on what we hope will be the first of many snack-food tastings during our journey east. Item No. 1 was Doritos Collisions Hot Wings/Blue Cheese chips. This is a new concept, with two flavors in one bag, and while we didn't dislike either individual flavor or the combo, it won't become a habit.

Blue cheese was the fourth cheese listed in the ingredients for its namesake chip (after mozzarella, cheddar and parmesan), its pungent taste started to show up after the first couple. The hot wings chips weren't as great, tasting sort of generically spicy. We found it best to eat one of each kind at the same time, but we're not sure we'd like a whole bag of either flavor.

Highlight: Neither of us had been to the Grand Canyon before, and we made it there just as the light was fading in the west. Nonetheless, we were both dumbstruck by the enormity and beauty of the place. We're going back in the morning to see it in daylight, and once we have a photo-sharing account up and running you'll see it too.

Let's light this candle

2007-08-01T10:55:00.000-04:00

I've always wanted to be a free spirit – a devil-may-care, hears-only-the-call-of-the-road, get-off-the-motorcycle-without-a-trace-of-helmet-hair kind of girl. Someone who sets out for an adventure not caring that she might be in Belize when the rent money runs out. Who could really live the "it's the journey not the destination" kind of life without sounding like a complete jackass. You know the type: Thelma, Louise, a young Che Guevara and Ewan McGregor all contained in a curvy package that looks good in well-worn leather.

I'm not. I like a certain amount of order alongside what could only be described as semi-controlled chaos. I'm not a big planner, but my need for some kind of control has driven me to obsessively vacuum, purge clothes and trash and rearrange furniture for the past few weeks despite the fact that a) Clean is a relative term and b) Rick's idea of clean probably doesn't extend to washing the shower curtain (by the way, the vacuum motor burned out last night, so we gotta stop at Target during the Ikea run, Rick). It's all part of my not-so-subconcious attempt to anticipate at least part of how this next phase of my life – our lives – will unspool.

As a newbie to the cross-country trip and a believer in the Springsteen-fueled open-road-as-savior, redemption-beneath-this-dirty-hood poem, I'm buying in. In the hopes of not becoming Clark W. Griswold, I will not keep one eye on the clock hoping to beat the estimated drive time on Mapquest. I will embrace road snacks, sample a few of Texas's 63 greatest tacos, decide which state has the worst drivers, and take a step toward satisfying the wanderlust that I sometimes wish I lived by.

Mostly, though, I'm ready to start this adventure. For months Rick and I have been jaunting back and forth across the country, counting days between visits, scouring travel web sites for the best fares, and racking up frequent flyer miles. And for months we've been talking about this trip – this big move. Up to now, time together has meant a few blessed uninterrupted days absent concerns about work, then returning to the place where my job is and my stuff lives, a couple of hours away from most of my friends. This time, when we get back, I'm – we’re – coming home.

Rick's leaving Los Angeles, even for a set duration, is a big deal. Even with the things he says he won't miss, it's a hard place not to love – and it will be tough to be away from his amazing friends. Reading his posts the past couple of days, I realize that I have no tearful goodbyes. Sure, I’ll miss being able to wander around the house wearing embarrassing T-shirts and having unbrushed teeth, and regularly staying at the office until 8 pm. But these are small sacrifices. What I’ve really got is just a hopeful hello. And a promise to come back.

My road songs playlist is assembled; my boarding pass is printed.

In the words of Mercury astronaut Alan Shepard in The Right Stuff (played by Scott Glenn, who incidentally, I'm ashamed to admit, rocks a mesh T-shirt in Urban Cowboy), let's light this candle.

It's time to hit the road.

On the other hand

2007-07-31T01:57:00.000-04:00

I know I bitched and moaned about L.A. not more than a couple days ago. And there really are some things I'll be only too glad to leave behind (see below).

But I've also lived in Santa Monica longer than anywhere else in my adult life. The last seven years have been some of the best of my life, and I'm only leaving for Virginia because the best thing of those years is there (yeah, that was tremendously shmoopy. I apologize for nothing). So there are certainly things I'll miss. To wit:

Random celebrity sightings. I think my two favorites are my first-ever, when I was in town for a friend's wedding -- Fletch co-star Larry "Flash" Jenkins at Jerry's Deli by the Beverly Center, and the time a couple years ago when Donald Sutherland walked into the mailbox place up the street from my apartment to pick up a package.

The tremendous burgers this town has to offer. I had me a double-double, animal style, the other day, and also love Fatburger, Big Tomy's on Pico and Sawtelle and the fancy ones at Father's Office and The Counter. If you haven't spent time here, chances are you don't know that for all the hippy-dippy stuff that filters back to the rest of the country, this here is a burger town.

This guy.

Average February temperature: 57.6 degrees.

I can walk to the beach, and to get there I descend a cliff and walk over (or under, if I go a little out of the way) one of the iconic roads in America. That is pretty cool.

And, of course -- and here comes the shmoop again -- the tremendous friends I have here, both ones that were already here and those I managed to make after I arrived. Five months after I moved here the job I moved here for evaporated. Had it not been for the likes of them, who took me to my first Comic-Con and got me the job I'm taking east and hung out at Jumbo's Clown Room that one time, I'm not sure I would've lasted this long. So thanks.

(A version of this post, along with the one below it, also appears on Big Action!)

Things I won't miss about L.A.

2007-07-28T20:46:00.000-04:00

It's six days and counting till I vacate the premises in Santa Monica, for the greener ('cause it actually rains there) and more humid (but air-conditioned!) pastures of Charlottesville, Va., where there's no beach but where the coolest girl in the world lives (that's her over in the right-hand column. So I'm starting to look around, think about my time here and whatnot, and I realize that, for all the cool stuff that's here, there are certain things I really won't miss a whole lot.

Such as:

Pizza. I've lived here seven-plus years and never found a really, really good local pizza within delivery range of my apartment. I like Dagwoods, I like Bravo on Main Street, I like a couple other places just fine. But I've been to C-ville once and have already had better there.

Traffic. I know, duh. My ultimate L.A. traffic story: The night we all were going to gather to toast the life of Hunter S. Thompson at the Marmont, I left here about an hour before the appointed time. Forty minutes later, I had reached Bundy -- which is a little over 2 miles from me. I turned around, came home, poured myself a bourbon and toasted over the phone.

The fact that I know the names of people who design restaurants and clubs -- not just chefs, not owners, but people who decide what colors the walls are. There are many aspects of the cool-chasing douchebag culture of this town that bug me, but that I might be as interested in the person who hung the lantern above my table as the person putting the food in front me is right near the top for me.

Frozen yogurt wars. I will leave Los Angeles never having tasted Pinkberry, not caring whether it's really yogurt, not having entered any of the other places with names that sound sort of like they're translated from another language and definitely not having ever stood in line for frozen fucking yogurt.

The possibility that an addled starlet might run me off the road, and that it would lead the local news if she did.

This guy.

Stories like this in my local paper. Love that subhed -- "You needn't have just emerged from a rehabilitation center or a jail cell -- or both -- to dress like you have." Just ... I don't ... seriously? ... because ... oof. I really, really hope this is tongue-in-cheek, because otherwise I just might have to cry.

The deeply annoying tendency of businesses around here, whether radio stations or car dealers or beachside eateries or cheesy tourist traps, to call themselves "world famous."

This isn't a complete list. I could go on at length about, say, hipsters or how many times I've almost been struck by cars when I was out running, because people don't seem to realize Cher's "I totally paused" line from Clueless is not, in fact, the rule of the road. But that's enough for now.