I know it doesn't look like much, but that thin, rusty pole in my backyard has me a little on edge. I noticed it this morning as I was getting into the car to drive Amelia to preschool. I got out of the car, walked into the backyard, took a quick look at the pole, shrugged my shoulders and scratched my head, then got back in and took her to school.
When I returned about 20 minutes later, I promptly got out my camera and snapped a few pictures, before removing the pole and resting it against my shed. I emailed two pictures to my wife, Beth, and a few minutes later she called so we could say to each other, "That's really weird. I have no idea how that got there."
"It's like 'Blair Witch,'" she said, referencing this movie.
Maybe the reason I'm feeling a little hinky is because I'm currently reading K.C. Frederick's "After Lyletown," in which a guy in his mid-40s is feeling a bit nervous after an encounter with someone from his past. I have no clue if a neighbor is playing a joke by sticking this random pole in my yard, or whether someone I don't know wandered in late yesterday afternoon while Beth, the kids and I were at Owen's school picnic.
Either way, it's odd. Who puts a rusty pole into someone's yard?
I found myself thinking about the John Candy/Steve Martin comedy vehicle "Planes, Trains and Automobiles" this past weekend during a quick trip to D.C. to see a Nationals game with my brother, Steve, and sister, Beth. No, I didn't have to share a room with a sweaty shower curtain ring salesman who had his hands between my "pillows."
But the trip didn't go quite as smoothly as I'd hoped.
The plan: leave Boston at 3:40, meet my sister at BWI Airport, hop in a rental car, drive to the Greenbelt Metro station and ride into D.C. to meet my brother, who lives in Maryland, and works in the capital. This is the third year that the three of us have gotten together for a siblings-only trip. Two years ago they met me in Cooperstown to tour the Baseball Hall of Fame. Unfortunately, they couldn't stick around the next day to watch me play on the Hall's field with my over-40 team.
Last year, to celebrate my sister's 50th birthday, we gathered at Fenway Park for a Sox game. We hung out during a rain delay and ate at the park, a fate that we feared we might face again this year, based on the D.C. forecast for last Friday.
The weather turned out fine, but unfortunately my sister and I didn't arrive at the park until the 4th inning. My flight was delayed nearly an hour, so I didn't arrive at BWI until nearly 6:00. By the time my sister and I rode the rental car shuttle, waited in line at Enterprise, filled out paper work and hit the road, it was about 6:30.
My brother had suggested we drive to Greenbelt and ride the train, instead of trying to find parking in D.C. near the park. The drive to the station went relatively smoothly. We parked, got our tickets and went up to the platform.
We had to wait close to 10 minutes for the train, but were happy once it arrived. By this time, the game had begun, but we figured we'd be on the train for about 30 minutes and be at the game by about 7:45 or so.
The train cruised to the College Park stop as my sister and I chatted about the Red Sox, the Nationals, what else we had planned for the weekend, blah blah blah. Then, between College Park and Prince George's Plaza, the train got all herky jerky.
Then it stopped completely. Several times, the driver tried to get it moving, but it wouldn't go far before it came to a halt again. Then we sat for a few minutes, having no idea what was going on. After a few minutes, we got going pretty well and pulled into the station. But then the driver announced we had to debark and wait for another train.
So we got off, and waited on the platform for a few minutes, glad the rain we'd been expecting was holding off. After a few more minutes, an announcement came over the P.A. telling us to cross up and over the tracks to the other side, where a train would arrive in a few minutes.
Everybody walked to the other side, where we waited a few more minutes before a train arrived. Finally, we were on our way, seemingly at super-sonic speed. I tell ya, those Metro trains can HAUL!
Still, we had 11 stops to go before Navy Yard. By the time we traveled through all those stations and got up and out of the station, it was almost 8:30. We got to the game, met my brother, stuffed our faces with hot dogs, fries, chili, ice cream and beer and watched the Nationals try, but fail, to overcome a 6-1 deficit.
The park is nice; our left-field bleachers seats afforded a pretty good view. The game was fun, even though I didn't know many players and had no concern of the outcome. I was glad to have finally arrived, and to be hanging out with my brother and sister. We had a lot of laughs during the game, and on the way back to Greenbelt and during the drive from the Metro station to my brother's house in Bowie.
We chatted for about an hour before hitting the hay around midnight. The next day I had a fun breakfast with my sister, and my brother and his family: his wife, Tonya, and my niece, Grace, and nephew, Isaiah. After breakfast, my sister and I gave Isaiah his presents for his third birthday, which was Sunday.
Shortly after that, I had to head back to the airport, while the rest of them were off to Grace and Isaiah's soccer games.
A short trip, made shorter by the failings of two transportation modes, but all in all, a good time.
Because it's been a long time, I don't recall whether I picked up Man Sized Action's Claustrophobia at random, or whether I'd heard about them because Husker Du's Bob Mould produced the album (side note: I definitely bought Soul Asylum's Made to Be Broken after reading, probably in SPIN, that Mould produced it).
Either way, I had no idea what Man Sized Action would sound like. It ain't like today, kids, when the Internet tells you everything you need to know, and way, way more.
And frankly, before writing this, I didn't recall what they sounded like. Their tunes haven't been burned into my psyche the way many of The Rezillos' songs have (see September 8, 2011, Hit or Miss, Part I).
The band certainly had their supporters. Obviously, Mould was behind them. I also found an article online written by recording engineer extraordinaire/arbiter of punk cool Steve Albini, who also dug Man Sized Action.
I have to say, though, after listening to these album samples (I don't have a working turntable), I'm not impressed. The music isn't as fast as I was expecting, and I can't stand singer Pat Woods's voice.
Yes, there are bands I like whose singers are obviously not classically trained (such as my favorite band of all time, the Flaming Lips). And I love Neil Young and his crazy warble.
I would definitely like Man Sized Action if their singer didn't sound so...bored, and like he's afraid to let it all go. When he tries to emote, it's like he doesn't know how. Score Man Sized Action's Claustrophobia a miss.
We went to my parents' house this weekend as a make-up for a busted plan during Hurricane Irene two weeks prior. My brother and sister-in-law and their two kids, Grace and Isaiah, flew up Friday. We arrived Saturday at lunchtime, not long after my sister. We'd been scheduled to gather the last weekend of August in Old Saybrook, CT, but my brother and his family had to cancel, because they figured their flight home on Sunday -- the day the hurricane hit New England -- would be canceled. We went down to Old Saybrook for one night (instead of the planned two) and stayed with my sister and my parents at the house we'd rented.
It was good to have a chance to hang out with everybody, and to celebrate Beth's birthday to boot.
After lunch on Saturday, we took the kids, along with Grace (Isaiah stayed behind with his parents to try and take a nap), to a park in Windsor, the town where my parents moved four years ago. My sister and my mom joined us at Northwest Park. After checking out and feeding a bunch of farm animals (sheep, cow, horse, donkey, turkey, goats) and cruising through the nature center, we hung out at the playground for quite a while. It was great to see Owen and Amelia just goofing around with Grace, who they only see a few times a year.
I also checked out part of the on-site tobacco museum, with Grace, my sister and my mom. Like many towns in the Connecticut River Valley, Windsor was a tobacco town. I'm pretty sure the land on which the park sits was donated to the town by owners of a former tobacco operation. My hometown, Simsbury, was also a tobacco town. When I was a kid, there were tobacco barns on the edge of my neighborhood, right next to the train tracks.
The museum proper, which houses all sorts of equipment and samples of tobacco, was closed. So we walked around the archive building. There, we saw lots of cool old photos and glass cases of cigars, cutters and other small equipment. What I found most interesting was the display of small banners that in the early days of the industry were included inside the cigar boxes. Very cool collectibles.
Later, we all went out to dinner, before going back to my parents' house for cake, ice cream and presents. That night, Beth, the kids and I slept at my sister's house.
The next morning we went back up to my parents' house and ate breakfast while my brother and his family packed for their flight back to Maryland. It was a quick visit, but it was good to see everybody and catch up.
My sister and I are flying down to MD on September 23 to catch a Nationals game with my brother.
I'm looking forward to that, but I'm also anxious for the holidays, when all of us will be together again, for scenes like this.
And to talk about sports and trucks with my little buddy, Isaiah.
I discovered punk rock (and, by association, post-punk and lesser-known New Wave) via college radio, when I was a junior in high school. Eventually, I shifted from buying Rick Derringer 45's and Charlie Daniels LP's at Caldor to seeking out Dead Kennedys, Joy Division and Phantom Tollbooth albums at independently owned Capitol Records (R.I.P.) in Hartford.
At Capitol, there were so many albums to go through, that often, after I'd picked a few records I'd heard of, I'd select something purely on how cool the cover was, or whether the name of the band clicked with me.
I've still got most of my LP's, stored in the attic, although I haven't listened to them in years. Every year I swear I'm gonna buy an MP3 turntable and get all my vinyl onto my iPod. I think this is the year. Really.
Anyway, I figured over the course of some posts here, I'd feature some of the hits and misses from those blind album choices of years gone by.
The most colorful album cover to strike my fancy was The Rezillos' Can't Stand The Rezillos, seen above. The band's debut, it featured covers of '60s songs including The Dave Clark Five's "Glad All Over," Gerry & the Pacemakers' "I Like It" and "Somebody's Gonna Get Their Head Kicked In Tonight," a song originally recorded by Fleetwood Mac in 1969 (see below for The Rezillos' version).
The band had a Top 20 hit in their native U.K. with "Top of the Pops."
While that song is catchy, I favored the album's lead cut, "Flying Saucer Attack," a choice that will surprise no one who knows me.
"(My Baby Does) Good Sculptures" is pretty darn good, too.
But for pure pogoing pleasure, nothing beat the band's version of the aforementioned "Somebody's Gonna Get Their Head Kicked In Tonight."
