Great Lakes Strikes Again

On the stumbling heels of Christmas Ale comes the next slobber-inducing sensation at Great Lakes Brewing Company, Tempus Fugit. According to the resident experts (whom I assume are Luke and his minions),


"a complex strong/old ale brewed with honey and five different malts that features a medium hop presence."

What does this mean to you and me? Don't drink more than two if you plan on driving anywhere or three if you're planning on a run for public office. Perhaps the brewers had this in mind when they named the beast, as the ever reliable Wikipedia notes that -

"The meaning is sometimes used less colloquially as: "Meanwhile, the irreplaceable time escapes," expressing concern that one's limited time is being consumed by something which may have little intrinsic substance or importance at that moment." (emphasis mine)

Thanks, guys. Now not only are you brewing unique, excellent, award-winning beers that will knock us off our respective bar stools, you're rubbing our Latin-illiterate faces in it. Cool, real cool...

No word on the label, though if I had my say it would show a picture of my freshman dorm room. It will be available (in the brewpub only) on January 2nd, leaving just enough time between New Year's Eve and then to rehydrate.

Hope Springs Eternal, but Failure Sure is Frustrating Every Year.

Something strange is happening in Cleveland. I don't mean the scandals in seemingly every level (and every office) in government, because sadly that's what passes for normal. Nor am I referring to the weather, though up until yesterday my back yard hadn't seen more than a light coating of snow. No, I'm talking about our beloved Browns, and their (GASP) winning streak. Three blissful weeks in a row; bloodlust of diehards sated... for now.

I won't deny that matchups against the Chiefs and Raiders weren't clashes of titans (in the ancient, not Nashville sense), but as the saying goes, 'a win is a win'. Before falling into an avalanche of cliches (e.g. 'playing good football', 'team effort', 'any given Sunday', yadda yadda yadda), I'll move along.

Where will our hearty Brownie brethren be 12 months from now? Will Mike Holmgren miracle-work the organization into prime-time players? Will the Mang- (-enius or -ina, depending on your view) still be giving emotionless monotone press conferences in Berea? Will any of our eleven, yes eleven, draft picks be immediate impact players a la Adrian Peterson? Will any of this translate into a competitive and dare I say it, playoff contention level season?

Or will it be more of the same - more rebuilding, more controversy, more disappointment? Being a pessimistically inclined optimist (move to Cleveland, you'll get it), I look at the Bengals clinching the Division this year as evidence that crazier things have happened, and if anybody has a shot, why not us? Lawrence Vickers, David Bowens, Matt Roth and Josh Cribbs have bolstered my spirits, and though I'm still not sold on either of our (allegedly) incredibly talented quarterbacks, they seem to have shown improvement over early in the year. Our receiving corps are growing into their own shoes, with Mohamed Massoquoi showing flashes of something between competence and brilliance, and have I mentioned Evan Moore? I mean, who is this guy and how did he become Joe Jurevicious reincarnated... in three weeks? And don't even get me started on Jerome Harrison; it's like when a baby first learns to walk: at first tentative, wobbly steps, then BAM, it's off to the races.

Anyway, before I tangentially wander into boring (or fascinating) minutiae, I'll get to the point. Either way, a year from now we'll all still be heating up leftover turkey sandwiches, recovering from holiday party hangovers and scraping the ice from our windshields in the mornings. The real question is, will we be lit up inside thinking about the possibility of contending, of actually holding a Browns Party with friends and family, of the absolute best thing to get us through the frigid gray of January, WINS? I may be caught up in post-victory euphoria, and granted my undying support for the team probably precludes me from any impartial analysis, but why not?

God willing, I'll be around in 12 months, and God willing, so will our shot at the postseason. As they say, 'on any given Sunday'...

Bridging the Gap, Literally and Figuratively

The ongoing hullabaloo regarding the replacement/renovation of the Inner Belt Bridge coming into downtown Cleveland has led to discussion of the potential of including a pedestrian walkway in the design. Far be it from me to suppose scholarly knowledge of the issue, but why wouldn't they include a pedestrian walkway? With the 'death of downtown' issue haunting nearly every conversation, why would planners and ODOT neglect a simple, modern, and aesthetically beautiful way to encourage people to come into the city?

Having lived in Tremont, I can vouch for the value of having pedestrian access. I used to run down through the industrial flats, across the river, and back up Central Viaduct to get downtown, not the most pedestrian friendly (but only reasonable) route. The run back was a pleasure, across the Hope Memorial (Lorain Carnegie) Bridge, with the majestic views of downtown and the 'Titans of Industry' towering overhead. I always felt a genuine sense of pride in my city as I made my way to Ohio City.

Other, more progressive (i.e. younger, more inventive, less curmudgeonly) areas like Washington D.C. have produced beautiful and efficient examples of bridges that accommodate traffic other than those in vehicles. So what's the holdup? Skeptics argue about cost ($20 million to incorporate into current design is estimated), safety, and necessity, foremost. I would respond (long story short style) by saying, that $20 million is pocket change in terms of the cost of the project, not to mention the benefit that it will create economically upon completion (increased accessibility, dare I suggest TOURIST opportunities?!?). With regards to safety, a glance at the proposal should dispel that argument (see below).



And finally, necessity: as was so elegantly pronounced by GreenCityBlueLake;

"Overall, 25% of Cleveland households do not own a car (46,841 households, 114,292 individuals)

• 30% of Tremont households do not own a car (962 households, 2347 individuals)
• 65% of Central households do not own a car (2934 households, 7159 individuals)
• 42% of Downtown households do not own a car (1126 households, 2747 individuals)"

Think some of these people might appreciate an alternate route in and out of town?

I won't even get into the more detailed arguments for and against, as they have already been addressed both here and here. I'll close with my personal feeling on the subject;

Dear ODOT, Cleveland, Other Decision Makers, As a resident, I've seen various organizations screw up and screw us over and over again. The Ameritrust Tower, Convention Center, Medical Mart, etc. have all served to further weaken the bank accounts of your devoted citizenry, and I for one have had about as much as I can stand. You wonder why people are fleeing the place in droves? Look at yourself and LISTEN TO YOUR CONSTITUENTS!

It's That Most Wonderful Time of the Year! (Festivus, I Mean...)

For those revelers of my generation, the one above, and perhaps the one below, it's that most wonderful time of the year: Festivus. A holiday, as Frank Costanza so Seuss-ifly put it, "for the rest of us". So as we break out the beloved Pole from the crawl space, and dutifully list all those who have wronged us in the past year ("I've got a lotta problems with you people, and now you're gonna hear about it!"), it would only be appropriate to list all the beers that will be on next year's Winking Lizard Beer Tour.

Wait... that didn't make sense; what does one have to do with the other? Well, let me count the ways...

1. The Lizard List has not yet been released to the general public (or at least not most of it). Thus, this is known as a "Festivus miracle!" (see Kramer, Cosmo).

2. Though they do not consume beer, per se, in the famed Seinfeld episode (and if you still don't know what I'm talking about, just give up now), they do make bagels, and a central part of the episode involves yeast, a central ingredient in beer.

3. I like Festivus, beer, The Winking Lizard, and it's my blog. So there.

Anyway, here's the list you jackals, sorry it's barely legible...

You Are Stupid and We'll Take All Your Money.

Such is the sentiment of the credit card industry regarding the proles (i.e. us) in Lowell Bergmann's incredible New York Times/Frontline piece, "The Card Game".

Seriously, they're not even pretending they're not ripping us off in every possible instance. Congress legislates a strong consumer advocacy law to protect the public? They use the money from late fees, overdraft fees, inactivity fees, and any of the other industry 'resources' to pay lobbyists to water down said legislation until there is little that could be called teeth included. And that's just the beginning of it... This program is worth 55 minutes of your time, and you can see it here (embedded below) or at the Frontline page.

The sheer audacity of those in and representing the industry is both incredible and incredibly infuriating. I am not anti-capitalist, nor am I a protectionist, in the general sense. But what this shows is a level of dishonesty and greed that touches nearly every American's life. If you are one of these people, you deserve to know about it.

The essence, as paraphrased from Shailesh Mehta, the founder of credit card giant Providian (which he sold to Washington Mutual in 2005 for $6.5 billion), is that (in reference to the credit industry) 'you (the US Government) make the laws, and we'll outsmart you and take your money every time'.

And darn if that hasn't proven to be true. In fact, as Senator Dick Durbin (D, Ill.) said, regarding the United States' governing legislative body "the banks, even as unpopular as they are right now in this crisis, still own this place."

Bouncing Round the Country

And so ends the spectacle of Phish's Festival 8...

We stumbled our weary bones back home at 11:00 p.m. on Tuesday evening, a full 13 hours since arriving at LAX for our flight to CLE. This was after packing up the campsite and battling Los Angeles commuter traffic for 140 miles to get to a buddy's apartment where we stayed on Monday night. Exhausting? Yes. Regrettable? Not in a million years.

The planning that went into the fest included everything from coffee and donut provision to 40,000 people on Sunday morning, to ambient light effects on palm trees surrounding the stage. That is to say, they thought of EVERYTHING. Unlike other festivals I've attended, there was ample sinks, bathrooms, even showers (?!?!). They even set up a veritable microbrewery tent (be still my heart) with over 50 different kinds for sale. The routes in and out of The Empire Polo Club grounds were well planned, and we barely had to wait at all upon exiting the highway (which, if you've waited in line at Bonnaroo for 10 hours, you know how painful it is). Our campsite was at the far end of the site, but the walk to the Farmer's Market (yes, they had that too) or the venue itself was no longer than 10 minutes past palm trees and scenic mountain vistas in the distance.

The concerts themselves were something to behold. The band, which for the past few years (really since 2000) had been seemingly going through the motions, were firing like mad on all cylinders and melting people's faces like in days of old. Friday nights' opening ceremonies aptly set the stage for the weekend to come. Opening with 'Party Time' a raucous (if repetitive) new song, the band rocked out old favorites like 'Chalkdust Torture', 'NICU', 'Stash', and 'Cavern'. Interwoven excellently into the fabric were three songs from their newest release 'Joy'. The crowd really seemed to adopt the new stuff, as 'Stealing Time From the Faulty Plan' debuted in the middle, with 'Ocelot', and a beautifually jam-laden 'Time Turns Elastic' closing the set. Set two for the night saw the band come out with guns blazing, absolutely hammering a string (that included PYITE->Down With Disease ->Prince Caspian->Wolfman's Brother->Piper->Joy) at the onset that had fans shaking what their Mother's gave them. For the encore, a righteous sounding Character Zero sent everyone to their tents (or their parties) with a grin and a feeling like Saturday would be Christmas morning.

Saturday morning dawned cold but bright, with the temperature climbing from 45 degrees at about 6:00 a.m. to 90 by 2:00 p.m. This leads to the odd predicament in tent sleeping. By freezing the night before, it's necessary to load up on every tshirt, sweatshirt, sock, and jacket you brought with you. But by 9:00 a.m., the temp is beginning to rise so quickly that it's nearly unbearable to be wearing anything but shorts and a lone tshirt. We ventured to the Arts & Crafts Area, where attendees could create their own rock cairns/piles/what have you, the Farmer's Market, where fresh produce and wheat grass infused beverages beckoned, and The Overlook, with its' Bloody Mary Bar, Movie Theater, and 100 foot Ferris Wheel (like I said, everything...).

The shows themselves Saturday were inspiring in that "man I wish I could quit my job and follow Phish around the country" way. As it was Halloween, the rumor mill was grinding at full capacity with thoughts on what the boys would play for their second set "musical costume". This has become a Halloween tradition for the band, as they adopt cover an album in its' entirety. While many had their money on "Thriller", others thought David Bowie was a lock. Turns out, it was the Rolling Stones that had caught the band's eye, and they played a rollicking "Exile on Main Street" to the delighted crowd. The third (yes, third) set was as epic a performance as I've seen since the historic NYE 2000 performance at Big Cypress. Though only five songs in length, Trey made the absolute most of the hour and forty minute set. The jams were tight and uber-funky, with Mike dropping bass lines straight out of 1997. The closer, and my absolute favorite, You Enjoy Myself, closed out the set. How would they top such a mammoth set? With Suzy Greenberg, of course. I have never seen so many people go from standing still to dancing/flailing/cheering with every ounce of their being like when the first familiar notes of Suzy dropped (with Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings, to boot). And Sunday, Christmas morning again...

Sunday the show opened early, with a noon set. This was Phish's first ever all acoustic set, and if you know Phish fans, to witness "a first" is a cause for celebration in itself. As noted previously, the band provided coffee and donuts gratis to all fans (a logistical feat by any measure), and broke out gems such as (the never before played live) Sleep Again (another First!), Train Song, and Driver. I was anticipating more bluegrass, but was not disappointed when it didn't turn out to be. The 21 song set really shows how the 5 song set from the night before was a wonder. Sets two and three relied on staid favorites from the old days, from AC\DC Bag and Reba, to Tweezer and Mike's Song. Interestingly, rather than the good old Mike's-> I am Hydrogen -> Weekapaug Groove progression, they went with a Mike's->2001->Light->Slave to the Traffic Light formula that effectively kept the audience guessing, just like every other aspect of the band for the weekend. They do indeed like their surprises...

Fittingly, Tweezer Reprise closed the festival, with Chris Kuroda applying his master-touch to the unparalleled light show, and Trey thanking the crowd for a truly fun weekend. I've said it before, but it's worth repeating: they say Disney World is the happiest place on earth; I say, not while there's a Phish concert going on...

See you in Cinci...

Cleveland Beer Week Beckons

Oh what a time to be a beer lover in Cleveland...

Though we missed out on the Bourbon Barrel Blackout Bombers at Great Lakes this week (they sold out in under two hours!), the future looks pretty bright. Cleveland Beer Week, which is exactly what it sounds like, begins today (in four hours and fifty minutes, but who's counting) and runs until Saturday, October 24th. Scheduled are a plethora of events, the choicest of which (in my humble opinion) are listed below:

Friday, October 16th: Dogfish Head Event at Southside
The beloved brews of Dogfish Head will be on tap and in the bottle, including relative rarities like Sahtea and the mysteriously promised "special releases". Unfortunately however, Ohio's archaic liquor laws prohibit the selling of the uber-high octane 120 Minute IPA.

Showing Some Moxie
A little rich for my blood, but sounds suspiciously like heaven: "Join Moxie The Restaurant for a 4-course dinner with beer selections from Merchant du Vin, including breads and meats paired with Lindemann's Cuvee Renee, mushroom fondue with Ayinger Weizen-Bock, fondue with roasted shallots with Ayinger Octoberfest, domestic raclette with Rochefort 8, imported raclette with Samuel Smith's India Ale, and chocolate fondue with Celebrator Double Bock. $45/person. "

Saturday, October 17th: Fat Heads Gets Hoppy
Ohhhh lordy... Relative newcomer Fat Heads hosts a (wait for it) IPA festival featuring more than 30 (!) different brews. On top of that, for the $25 entrance fee, you get a t-shirt, tasting glass, and 6 drink tickets. (To my imaginary secretary; "Cancel all my appointments, something important just came up.")

Sunday, October 18th: Kegs and Eggs at Beer Engine
Preempt your sorrows of another Browns dismal performance (hey, I'm hopeful, but realistic) with more Dogfish Head, poured through the magnificent Randall the Enamel Animal (if you don't know what it is, you don't need to). Plus, eggs.

Monday, October 19th: So Good, Why Not Go Back?
Beer Engine again, but this time with the pro's: "Meet Ron Jeffries of Jolly Pumpkin, Greg Gireszal of Hofbrau Beer, Isaas Hartman of New Holland, Veronica Sanders of Bells Beer, Jim Lutz of Flying Dog, Michael Bell of Founders, Adam Avery of Avery, Pete Larsen of Global, Garin Wright of Buckeye, and Brad Clark of Jackie O's, and tast their brews along with those from Unibroue, B. United, Dogfish Head, Stone, Breckenridge, Two Brothers, Clipper City, and Brewdog." They even have a photo booth on hand, which is weird.

Okay, if you hit all these events, you need to take a break, so I'll skip to the main event:

Saturday, October 24th: Cleveland Becomes Beer Mecca
The underutilized and gorgeous Arcade downtown will host BREWzilla, showcasing more than 50 different breweries, hundreds of brews, and providing general euphoria. Incroyable...

So, like Christmas in October, Beer Week descends on Cleveland with a fury. For (much) more information on the literally hundreds of different events, go to http://www.clevelandbeerweek.org/. Happy hunting!

City Says Good Riddance to Braylon's Rubbish

As a devoted Browns fan, I cannot tell you the elation that I felt when it was announced that the team had rid themselves of the cancerous butterfingers, Braylon Edwards. Now, if the trade works out like typical Cleveland sports moves, he will become the greatest receiver in the history of the world and bring 10 consecutive Super Bowl wins to the New York Jets (for other examples, see: Sabathia, C.C.; Lee, Cliff; Ramirez, Manny; Thome, Jim; Colavito, Rocky). Perhaps a bit hyperbolic, yes, but you know what I mean...

But, you know what? I DON'T CARE. Mr. Edwards consistently acted like spoiled, petulant child, and fit in in blue-collar Cleveland like a Budweiser at a beer festival (that is, not well, not well at all). He complained about the team, the city, the fans; just about anything and everything but himself. And to top it all off? He could barely catch the damn ball, which is what the Browns were paying him millions of dollars to do! He led the league in drops last year, and is well on his way again in 2009. I cannot tell you the frustration when a third down pass bounces off his chest/helmet/hands/etc. and we're forced to punt, yet again.

Now comes the revelation that he punched a man in the face who weighs 130 pounds for basically being friends with Lebron James and having the nerve to be entrepreneurial and capitalize (with the full blessing of LBJ) on the relationship. Not everyone is blessed with the millions of dollars from the genes their parents provided them.

What an insufferable human being.

In all likelihood, he is thrilled with the trade, as it puts him in the bright lights of the Big Apple. But, like the republicans during the Obama administration, I hope he fails. Huge. For someone of that talent to have such a disgusting personality and still be paid handsomely is a smack in the face to every hard-working Clevelander. So, good or bad, we'll see how he responds. In the mean time, we'll work on incorporating our newest team members to the Browns (which shouldn't be difficult, because half the team played for the Jets last year anyway).

Oh, and thanks to musiccitymiracles.com for the pic below:

24 Days and Counting...

If this gives you chills, then you're in the club... God I cannot wait for 8.

Holy. Cow.

The romantic notion that one's ancestors were royalty is not entirely implausible. Through the many generations of marriages and births, different bloodlines become intertwined. Corroborating the fact is another problem entirely, as it can be rather difficult to trace a family lineage through the intractable lines of history. I realize that I'm lucky in that regard, because after some research, (and a stumbling block in the Dark Ages) I pieced together that through my Mother's side of the family, we are nearly directly descended from royalty in Denmark, Sweden, England, Norway, and Holland. But it doesn't end there...

Incredibly, the records for this lineage, for which I traced back without a break, date to 30 AD. Unbelievable, but true. The royal lineage is initially linked through King Valdemar II Valdemarsson of Denmark, who was born on June 28th, 1170. What I pieced together from there is that for the preceding five hundred years, my ancestry was the head of state and ruler of the country (whether it be Denmark, Sweden, England, or Holland by virtue of marriages of allegiance and political gamesmanship). Being that I only discovered this familial linkage yesterday, I don't even pretend to know anything about the actual history of Europe through this time. Other than the broad strokes, the likely mounting of armies for the Crusades to the Holy Land, and the survival of the lineage through the Black Plague of the Middle Ages, I'm pretty clueless.So, after the briefest of searches, here are a few of the more intriguing people that dot my ancestry.

King Valdemar "The Great" I of Denmark (Born January 14, 1131, Died May 12, 1182): "Valdemar's father was murdered days before his birth; his mother, Ingeborg, daughter of Mstislav I of Kiev, named him after her grandfather, Vladimir Monomakh of Kiev. {Vladimir's father in law was King Harold Godwinson of England. Vladimir 's grandfather was Constantine Monomachus, Byzantine Emperor}." (Wikipedia)


Canute Lavard "King of the Slavic Odobrits": "On 7 January 1131, Canute was trapped in the forest of Haraldsted near Ringsted in Zealand and murdered. Some sources attribute the murder to Magnus, some to (King) Niels himself. The murder provoked a civil war that intermittently lasted until 1157, ending only with the triumph of Canute’s posthumous son Valdemar I. The fate of Canute and his son’s victory formed the perfect background for his canonisation in 1170, which was requested by the same Valdemar. His feast day is celebrated on the day of his death, January 7." (Wikipedia)

So, what that means potentially is that my Great (to the 14th or 15th Great) Grandfather was both a King, and posthumously, a real-life, Vatican approved Saint, which is just surreally unfathomable.


Moving on down the line, we have King Sweyn I Tjúguskegg "Forkbeard", who was "king of Denmark and England, as well as parts of Norway. He was a Viking leader and the father of Cnut the Great. On his father Harald Bluetooth's death in late 986 or early 987, he became King of Denmark; in 1000, with allegiance of the Trondejarl, Erik of Lade, he was ruler over most of Norway. After a long effort at conquest, and shortly before his death, in 1013 he is said to have founded Swansea (which is often said to come from "Sweyn's Ey"), he then became King of England. In the last months of his life, he was the Danish sovereign of a North Sea empire, which only his son Cnut was to rival in northern Europe." (Wikipedia)

Wow.... just, wow.

I could go on about this forever, but let's face it, it's probably only interesting to me and whatever family member might happen to see this post. So, I'll close with the earliest ancestor I could track down, one Scaldea Trojan, who literarally, lived during the life of Jesus Christ. I don't know anything more than his name, but if this page is correct, is the 16th generation removed (directly) from Memnon Trojan, King of Troy...

At this point, legend, myth, and reality are all intermingled, but what I read when I researched Memnon very nearly blew my mind...

"Brazen-crested Memnon, a comely man according to Odysseus, is the King of the Ethiopians who came with a great force to help Troy against the Achaean invaders, and was killed by Achilles." (Greek Mythology Link)

This of course is both fantastic and fantastical, astounding and unbelievable, all at the same time. The two things I do know for sure are this: if you don't have a strong and sudden desire to research your own family ancestry, you never will, and that I have a whole hell of a lot of reading to do...

Market Brings Masses

Cleveland State University hosted it's first trial run of a farmer's market on Euclid Avenue just outside the Law Building. And what a smash it was.

Staff, faculty, and students seemingly coming out of the woodwork to congregate over fresh veggies, jellies, meats, and organic skin care products (oddly). The market successfully brought a feeling of a distinct campus community, something that CSU is striving for with its expansion and attempt to change from largely a commuter school to a residency-based University.

I met my wife and two friends for lunch direct from the offerings, and was by no means disappointed. Fresh plums were sweet and flavorful, a sausage and pepper sandwich on fresh wheat bread was succulent, and grilled corn on the cob was rich and buttery.

The market will operate on Thursdays for the next 8 weeks, and if successful, will be brought back next summer for a full June-October run. By the looks of the salivating masses, and the bare bones stock left over at the end of the day, I wouldn't be betting against it. If you're downtown, it's worth a trip!

The (dim) Future of Food

This film will terrify you more than any horror flick ever will. You will also despise Monsanto (with good reason). Even if you only watch the first 10 minutes, you'll be better off for it.

City of Broad Shoulders (and Great Beer)

We recently disembarked from our summer excursion to Chicago, the 'city of broad shoulders' or 'the windy city', take your pick. It was indeed windy during our stay, but the neighborhood we chose to stay in, Wicker Park, was more hipster than blue collar. We crammed quite a bit into our short three day stay, here's some highlights...

We stayed in the Wicker Park Inn, a hip little colonial B&B on a quiet residential street. We had our own suite, complete with kitchen, though we took advantage of the restaurants around town and didn't have much use for anything other than the refrigerator. It backed up almost directly under the 'el', but through a fantastic insulation and soundproofing effort, what we heard was only a low hum. Full disclosure; though it bills itself as Bed & Breakfast, there's no breakfast to be had.

The neighborhood itself is gentrified, and recently so. It reminded us quite a bit of Tremont, if Tremont was a neighborhood in a thriving city. Lots of house remodels and rehabs of the predominant colonials, plenty of new construction (town homes and condos), and a cornucopia of restaurants and bars. Small Bar was a place I had been wanting to hit for a year or two, and it was magically right around the corner from our place. Even better, we found an almost identical replacement for our beloved Rodenbach Grand Cru (RIP; at least in the US): Bokker Cuvee des Jacobins Rouge. I think we drank it as fast as it took us to pronounce it. To go along with the opulent sour ale and Surly IPA (talk about hop-kick), we treated ourselves to fried cheese curd, though we somehow missed the poutine (dammit). Then I accidentally stole a cool poster that I thought was out of date, but wasn't (my bad, Small Bar).

Day two consisted of shopping, lots of shopping. Boutiques are as prevalent as patio dining in the neighborhood, and we hit what seemed to be the vast majority. Luckily, we happened upon a fantastic used book store where I scored a copy of Harvey Pekar's Our Cancer Year, which kept me entertained as Katie sought out must haves and unbeatable bargains.

The evening portended the main event, and the reason for our journey: Phish. We battled the unGodly frustrating rush hour traffic and arrived at Toyota Park two hours before showtime. The vibe in the lot was good, lots of smiles, beers, and hippies. The show itself was sort of bizarre. First off, the venue is mainly a soccer stadium, so the setup didn't lend itself the personality or closeness of Blossom, Star Lake, or Deer Creek (amongst many others), though somehow we managed seats pretty darn close to the stage. I've read the reviews from a number of attendees, but there doesn't seem to be much consensus other than it was what equated to an 'average' show. The highlight for me was the rarely heard "Carini", it's dark chords and Chris Kuroda's light show melding seamlessly into the chilly Chicago evening. One (slightly) weird thing was that the encore was "Loving Cup", a encore staple I know, but one that was the encore for the last show I went to as well. With no offense to Phish or The Rolling Stones, I hope this is a trend that doesn't continue.

Day three actually saw us back on the road for home, with a much anticipated stop at Three Floyd's Brewing Company in Munster, Indiana. We lunched in their Brewpub, somewhat oddly located in an entirely non-descript industrial park. The food was fresh and tasty, but the beer stole the show. The Dreadnaught IPA, with an incredible 100 IBU's, capped our trip with the perfect conclusion. With growler in hand, we began the long trip back to Ohio, sated, satisfied, and ready for more. Next up: back back to Cali Cali...

Who is Joe Pug?

Okay, so I admit that I completely skipped out on the opening act of the Josh Ritter show at the Beachland a few weeks back (cool summer breezes, grilled brats, and beer > half-filled dark room listening to some unknown musician(s)). As it turns out, the act was Joe Pug. Fast forward to last week, when I stumbled upon a show occurring tomorrow at The Grog Shop. What caught my eye and what I found somewhat bizarre, was that The Low Anthem, who released what may be my favorite album this year Oh My God, Charlie Darwin, was the opening act for... wait for it... Joe Pug. Granted, my musical opinion ranks right up there with others as much as my one year old niece's (probably less, actually), but it still gave me pause. First off, who is this guy? Second, why does he tour Cleveland more often than Michael Stanley?

So, I checked him out. My humble opinion? Probably worth a shot. As has become a cliched standard, it's evident that he was strongly influenced by Bob Dylan (not that that's a bad thing); Lovely acoustic melodies topped like a thick frosting with Mr. Pug's plaintive wails. I do have to say I occasionally cringe at the nasally twang that somehow catches in his throat and results in a sort of 'could definitely use some Afrin' sound. But the lyricism is smart and the emotion sounds real. Anyway, long story somewhat shorter, Low Anthem will be the belles of the ball in the long run, and Mr. Pug, though talented, may yet have to go back to his day job as a carpenter.

But, you don't have to take my word for it... (thanks, Levar)

The Low Anthem - "To Ohio"


Joe Pug - "Hymn 101"

Rough Drafts

I've been tinkering with the idea of writing a short novella about the myriad of strange occurrences that my family has witnessed in our house. Growing up there, it seemed almost normal, though sometimes frightening, to say the least. In fact, I still have friends who would not spend the night in the house for fear of the ghosts.
So, I thought that just for fun, I'd publish some of my scribblings for public consumption on this site. Granted, they're still rough, and the project is far from complete, but I thought this might be a good way to not only get some feedback. So, I hope you enjoy...

Chapter One

The foremost tale, and one that will serve to properly imbue the rest of the book with the tone that is required, took place nearly a decade after we left off. It was the late 1940’s, and America was emerging from World War II. A young family, just getting their start, moved into the apartment upstairs. The father, a salesman, traveled frequently on business, and left his young wife to care for their two children. The solitude of not having her husband at home for long stretches began to wear on the young woman. Her children gave her much joy, but also much angst. She was forever trying to get both of them to sleep at night in the small apartment, fending off crying and tantrums that would certainly wake up the landlord downstairs. Alternately, her days were spent cooking, cleaning, and minding the children, with little time left over to relax. Coupled with this, the woman had battled depression throughout her life. Some days were clear and bright, while others dawned to low, dark clouds that showed no signs of retreat.

It was during a particularly cold and grey February that trouble began to stir. Her husband had been traveling throughout the South for the better part of a month, and the slate gray Ohio skies and never ending snow had practically trapped the three in their apartment. She treasured the brief, sporadic phone calls from her husband on the road, but lamented for the days when they were no longer necessary. It was after a week and a half without a call that the depression began to make way to despair. After a call to her husband’s office, she found that he was in Kansas City, and scheduled to go yet farther down the Mississippi before even considering coming home. As she hung up the phone, she began to cry. Her toddlers, confused by the role reversal, stood silently and stared as she sat down quietly at the kitchen table, head in hands.

After a time, the tears stopped and the children went back to play. But a veil had gone over her eyes, and her usually tender voice to her children was leaden and cold.

“It’s bath time, children.” She said without emotion.

The children were ushered through the bedroom, the kitchen, and past the stairway down to the door and into the bathroom. The claw footed tub, so large that the boy and girl could hardly see over the edge, was filling with water from the tap. Their Mother undressed them, without saying a word, and placed them in the warm water…

A salesman, fresh off the train from Kansas City, disembarked onto the platform in St. Louis. As he walked, he pulled his coat around him to fend off the cold. As he passed a newspaper stand, the proprietor, in his typical hawking fashion, beckoned with the headline of the day.

“Mother drowns two in Ohio!” he called, without realizing how tragic those words would be to the now curious salesman who stopped and turned towards the vendor. The proprietor, sensing a sale, continued;

“Horrible thing; two young kids like that,” he said. The salesman picked up the copy held to him and went cold. The byline was Medina, Ohio, and the children were his own.

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The scandal that erupted took to the bustling village by storm. The Mother was swiftly and, some say, mercifully, spared a trial and sent directly to a mental hospital, where she lived the remainder of her days. The father, consumed with grief, anger, and disbelief, moved quickly out of the apartment and to another city in another state, far from those that had witnessed and reminded him daily of his tragedy.

As a tight knit bedroom community, the public wanted no part in a public excoriation or humiliation in their town, and so the matter was ‘brushed under the rug’, and as the months following the event faded into years, it was spoken of less frequently. As the years passed to decades, many who knew of the tragedy passed as well.

Today, there is nary a record of the event as it transpired; I know because I’ve searched the Health Department, the Newspaper Archives, and even the Courthouse records. But if you ask someone who lived through those times in Medina, a spark of recollection inevitably comes into their eyes, and they remember.

The only solid and staid reminders of the actual event are the house, the bathroom, and the claw footed tub that still sits there.

Josh Rocks Beachland

Posited in the alcove, we peered out through the stage door and watched as Josh Ritter and his compatriots tore through a set list of classics and new material at the wonderful Beachland Ballroom last evening. It was our fourth trip in as many years to see Josh, and just as in years past, he stayed after the show until every fan had paid their respects, chatted about anything that struck their fancy, and posed for the requisite photograph with that same wide grin he wears so naturally on stage. This is a man who loves his job, and his fans.

Being that his music has played a significant role throughout my own relationship with Katie (I gave her his cd on our first date, and we've been diehards ever since), it was with some surprise that he appeared on stage with a wedding band on his finger. After the show, Katie asked him if it was true (thus breaking the heart of my sister and thousands of girls everywhere), and he happily revealed that he married Dawn Landes five weeks ago. We congratulated him on his nuptials and thanked him for the postcard he mailed to us from Alaska congratulating us on our own marriage last fall (seriously, he took the time to write us a postcard and mail it; I told you he loves his fans).

The show, as always, was a high energy singalong for the nearly sold out crowd; the biggest I've seen for any show of his save Bonnaroo in 2005. Girls nearly wilted when he crooned the opening lines of "Kathleen": "All the other girls here are stars, you are the northern lights...", and hundreds of feet stamped in unison to "Lillian, Egypt" and its' rollicking old west saloon piano. The lights were snuffed out for the poignant and beautiful "Harrisburg", and three little girls in attendance with their parents got the memory of a lifetime when he brought them on stage to sing along with "Leaving".

The night passed too quickly, as enjoyable evenings often do, and we were soon walking back to our car, feeling that post-concert excitement that only good shows can provide. It's always a pleasure to catch up when the band rolls into town, a sort of rite of passage every summer. I've got no misconceptions that in actuality he probably couldn't pick us out of a lineup, and that he has fans just like us in every major city in the country, but the fact that he makes every single person feel appreciated is undeniably unique for an artist of his stature. I know it means a lot to us, and it will keep us coming back for many glorious years to come.

Fighting for the Union

As you are no doubt aware, tomorrow marks the 233rd anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence in that sweltering Philadelphia heat. I thought that today, to take a moment to reflect on what that means, I would review some scans I made a couple of years back. My Grandmother gave to me a binder full of beautifully scripted and yellowed letters written during the Civil War. The correspondence was largely from James Damon, my Great Great Great Great Grandfather. He served in the 124th Regiment from Ohio until his death.

What is remarkable about these letters is not that they reveal anything history buffs didn't already know, but that they are proof that my ancestors served and struggled and fought for this country in its' most precarious hour. Here are a few sentiments from Gramps;

"We can see the rebels from a hill one mile from here. They have been reinforced and are strong" - From summer of 1863; Cumberland Gap

"All we think of... is the girls we left behind... which is talked a good deal among some of the boys." - Before a rumored march into Virginia

"Tell Cora I'm glad she is a good girl. Tell her I want her to learn to write so she can write me a letter" - In letter to wife, regarding his young daughter, Cora, my Great Great Great Grandmother

"We're waiting for reinforcements. We will have one of the largest fights there has ever been in Kentucky" - Serving under General Marshall at Cumberland Gap, preparing for a battle there that never came, though the garrison there changed hands four times during the war.

"Mrs. Damon, I take this opportunity to inform you that your husband is very sick with the typhoid fever and there are some doubts entertained as to his recovery" - Letter from Lt. Stedman, informing his wife of James' impending death. He would die shortly thereafter. Interestingly, records indicate that he is buried in three places; Franklin, TN (where this letter was written in 1863), in rural Pennsylvania, and in Chatham, Ohio, his home town.

From talk of everything from boredom and cold, to battles and Generals that would go down in history, this family record is something I treasure, and especially revere on days like this. This country is truly the greatest in history because of the service, sacrifice, and hard work of our predecessors, our ancestors, our own families. Happy Fourth of July, everyone.