i voted today, but the political ads didn't stop

Andi says "go vote, it's fun and easy!"

if pressed, this is what i'd say hope looks like

I registered voters yesterday. I stood for two hours in front of a gas station and registered voters. Two of them. One per hour. I couldn't be more pleased with how I spent that time.

I stood next to Andi with my clipboard, held so that a sign taped to the back of it proclaiming "Register to Vote" could be seen by anyone who bothered to look, and asked passers by if they were registered. My fear that people would be annoyed seemed to be unfounded, at least in this location.* When asked if they were registered, people would respond that they were and then would tell us that they were happy to see us out there trying to make sure more people could answer the same way. Another person informed us that he had just registered and he "can't wait" to vote.

While the support was encouraging, we spent quite some time without anyone filling out the forms attached to our clipboards. Eventually, Andi and I began to wonder if our time would be better spent in a different area. We debated the pros and cons of moving our efforts and tried to figure out what alternative locale would prove to be more fruitful.

As we did this, a sixty-something black man passed by. "Are you registered to vote, sir?" I asked. He stopped dead in he tracks, looked at me, and smiled one of the friendliest smiles I've seen from behind his slightly unkempt, graying beard. "No. Let me run inside and I'll be right back out." His son was with him. The son, a registered voter, was plainly excited that his father was showing interest and assured us that he was in no rush. He would make sure his father registered.

It turned out the old man didn't need any prodding from his son. He came out of the convenience store and made a beeline straight towards me. Since he was without his glasses, he asked me to fill in his information for him.

We all joked around as the old man dictated his responses. When I asked him what party affiliation he preferred, he emphatically stated that he wanted to be a Democrat. They asked Andi and I about our affiliation. I gave a quick look around to make sure our impartiality wouldn't be jeopardized by answering and mumbled that I a Democrat as well, adding that I was "kinda afraid" of what a John McCain presidency would be like.

"Kinda afraid? We're more than just kinda afraid!" came the response.

By the time I handed over the clip board and form for him to look over and sign, the old man's smile widened even more (I have no idea how that could have even been physically possible). I can't imagine what it must have been like for him, knowing what he's seen in his lifetime, to finally be registering to vote(and knowing who he was registering to vote for, assuming that being more than kind of scared of McCain doesn't translate to a Libertarian vote).

The old man and his son thanked us, we thanked them, and they went back towards their truck. Before he got in, the old man looked up and repeated what we'd heard earlier from another new voter: "I can't wait."

Andi and I didn't say another word about going somewhere else.

*See previous post.

falconbridge shopping center's politics are more important than your rights

I didn't want to ruin a very positive post with this story, but I think it should be mentioned that the organizer for yesterday's voter registration drive was forced to stop registering people to vote in front of The Mardi Gras Bowling Center by the people that run that little strip mall(The Falconbridge Shopping Center, for those wishing to stay clear). She had nothing that identified her party affiliation or support for any candidate, she was just told that they knew she was with the Obama campaign and was forced to stop registering people to vote.

My take on all of this was that this was pretty low. No one there was trying to sell anything. No one there was pan-handling. People were being asked a simple question: "Are you registered to vote?" If the answer was yes, they were told to have a nice day. If the answer was no, they were asked a simple follow-up question: "Would you like to register now." If the answer was yes, then five minutes later they had filled out the form and were on their merry way. If the answer was no, they were told to have a nice day.

Apparently, someone found this to be entirely objectionable and complained. At least, that's the official story. My guess, since the recounting of the banishment from the greater Mardi Gras area(The Falconbridge Shopping Center, for those wishing to stay clear) included that the owner of the property was very insistent that she knew for a fact that it was Obama volunteers registering people, it had more to do with the name Obama than any customer annoyed at having to answer a question or two without even breaking stride.

So you don't like Obama. Why stop people from registering to vote? If you think that people registering to vote hurts your candidate's chances...doesn't that say something about the candidate you're supporting?

Andi had a second, and probably more poignant take on the situation. On the way home, she lamented the fact that there is no such thing as public space. From one end of Durham to the other, if you want to register people to vote in actual high traffic areas, you're doing so at the mercy of whatever developer owns the land.

With that in mind, I'd like to point out that the people at The Woodcroft Shopping Center of Durham have been more than accommodating to volunteers helping people register to vote. I shop at their Food Lion and occasionally dine at their Subway or Pulcinella's Italian Restaurant. You should do the same

button button who's got the button

Andi just ordered two of these official Obama buttons for us:



They're great and all, but I almost purchased one of these awesome bootleg Obama t-shirts:

no one will care about michael phelps again for four years and i'm okay with that

The juxtaposition of the Chinese part of the closing ceremonies for the Summer Games with the "passing of the torch" to the British (featuring the transforming double-decker bus of DOOM w/ creepy dancers dressed as the 1980s) just goes to show that Andi was right about who should host Olympic games. After the opening ceremonies, she declared that only nations with a chip on their shoulder, something to prove to the world, and an excellent sense of spectacle should be allowed to host(Rio in 2016!).

She was also correct in saying that this thing looks like something from a Dr. Seuss book(if I had to guess, I'd go with And to Think That I Saw it on Mulberry Street).



As for me? I want one of these(or at least hope they make it to the Tron sequel).

that old guy who lives next door

It doesn't look like I'll be getting back to sleep, so I may as well tell you a story.

A quarter after 4. In the AM. I hear laughing, the clanking of bottles, and a familiar-sounding, unison chorus of "Oh!" followed by louder laughing. Andi and I have new neighbors in the townhouse next door, and they had a few folks over for some drinks. I'd heard a smattering of conversation around 2:30, but in my mind the time meant that it would probably be wrapping up soon. I rolled over and managed some more sleep. At 4:15, though, the chorus of "Oh!" coming from pretty much directly below our bedroom window woke Andi.

Andi is a sleeper. It takes a serious something to get her to wake up. I'm pretty sure that a well-placed pin drop is enough to stop one of my R.E.M. cycles, so I have no idea how she does it. I do know that I've come home after a long night of being generally up to no good(usually with The Worx crowd) to find that Andi has already gone to bed. Trying to get to the bed in the dark, I'll trip over things, knock other things over, and smack my belt buckle against the wall to make enough noise that any reasonable person would be awake and saying "Just turn a light on, idiot." Andi, though, wakes up in the morning, roll towards me, and says she doesn't remember me getting home.

If Andi is awake at 4:15, there's definitely a problem. I spent 15 minutes hoping they would miraculously quiet down so we could go back to sleep, having horrid flashbacks with each "Oh!" to living at Lake Park in Raleigh and losing whole nights of sleep to drunken rednecks screaming "I'm Rick James bitch!!! What!?! Okay!!!" in a continuous loop(one of a million reasons why I hate Chappelle's Show to this day). Something needed to be done. The noise was only increasing as the drinks next door continued to be consumed.

At 4:30, I walked downstairs and pushed open the door to the back deck. I hurled a few polite words over the storage closet that separates our deck from theirs, but it didn't get through the noise. Crap. Those jerks are going to make me put pants on. Stumbling around in the dark (why I feel like I can't cut a light on is a question I'll leave to the philosophers), I found a pair of jeans. I was on the way out the door when it occurred to me that, for dignity's sake, I should also probably throw on a shirt. I really need to start exercising again, by the way.

I walked up the stairs to their deck, and saw a collection of about eight folks sitting around with bottles of Coors Light. Some of them looked young enough that I'd believe it if someone told me that the Coors Light in question had been purchased by an unseen 9th person. I explained that I wasn't trying to be that guy, but it was 4:30 in the AM and we were basically trying to sleep right next to the brouhaha.

"Oh. I'm sorry sir."
"We can take it inside, sir."
"Sorry sir, but thanks for coming out here instead of calling the cops."

Sir? Every last one of them who spoke to me called me "sir." I don't know if I'm ready to be "sir." I thanked them for being cool about it, and was called "sir" one more time as I walked back to my deck. Like an idiot, though, I had to throw out there my objection to being called "sir."

"All those 'sirs' are making me feel old," I informed them.
"How old are you?" An honest question, deserving of an honest answer.
"Twenty-nine."
"Oh, you're not old, I'm twenty-three and I'm, not old."

Twenty-three. At least I know who bought the beer.

my wife, my brother, and i are 7 years old

Memorial Day Weekend annually compels an obscene number of Americans to celebrate those who have fought and died as members of the US armed services by running their pasty bodies across the beach and jumping into a recently-thawed ocean. So it was that Andi, Little Brother to the Stars Zack Moser, and I joined their numbers.

Sunday afternoon, the three of us traveled to Emerald Isle. After many bouts with being too wussy to jump into the freezing water, Zack and I manned up in time to realize there was no current, there were no waves, and we were basically sitting in a salty, frigid swimming pool. No fun.

So we joined Andi for a stroll on the beach. As we took our stroll, we came across a jellyfish that had been washed ashore. There was some debate as to whether or not this was actually a jellyfish, and then whether or not it was dead. In order to satisfy our curiosities on both counts, we immediately sought out things to poke and prod the subject of our inquisitiveness.

On the way up, we also found what appeared to be a dried up puffer fish. Once proper sticks were found, this dead fish would be test case for our poking sticks. All of them snapped upon prodding, except for Zack's, which seemed to be and old wooden tent stake(if the jellyfish had been a vampire, no problems).

A return to our jellyfish friend allowed us to poke, peak around underneath its mesoglea, and eventually flip it back into the ocean on the off chance that it's lack of response to our intrusive stick-maneuvering didn't mean it was dead. At least we were able to agree that it was, in fact a jellyfish.

This conclusion was also come to by a small girl who walked by it and immediately proclaimed "JELLYFISH!!!" We should have shown her the puffer fish-looking guy. I'll bet she could have identified that one quicker than we did, too.

couples that march together stay together

Saturday, Andi and I joined up with some folks from Planned Parenthood to participate in HKONJ. This was an interesting time. When you have a far-reaching 14-point agenda, you'll see people that probably support one point much more than others. That's a given. It's a given that every group will be handing out information on their particular agenda.

What's more fun is the conspiracy theorists trying to get subscriptions to their -for lack of a better word- publications. They read your sign, try to figure out how comprehensive sex ed fits into their theory that 9/11 was an inside job, and give you their pitch. It was less than impressive, but kind of hilarious.

Also, the "vegan lobby" showed up at the end of the march. I'm not really sure I know how that's a political issue, but I was actually made more uncomfortable being identified as possibly sympathetic to their cause than I was the conspiracy theorists.

Still, it was a good time and I met some interesting folks. Not to mention, I was one of a number that might have even drawn some attention to some points that need attention*. Not a bad day.

*Some of the 14 points on that agenda are much stronger than the others. I'll leave it to you to determine which is which.

one. more. win.

Last night, Andi and I attended the RBC Center's away-game coverage of game 4 of the Stanley Cup Finals. Nice night.

We met up with Laul Peland at Neomonde for the pregame meal that was undefeated all through the regular season but inexplicably ignored all through the playoffs. By the way, it's worth mentioning that over the course of these playoffs, I've developed a pile of superstitions that might qualify me for a mental disorder. There's a lucky spot on the floor(disproved during the Buffalo series), a sombrero(disproved), a cursed spot on the love seat(active), special lunch items(undefeated), special dinner items(active), a shirt(disproved), a different shirt(active), a toboggan(undefeated), and a seating arrangement(undefeated). These are just a start. I need help.

After Laul decided to wuss out on the game, Andi and I found some lovely seats with a good view of the RBC Jumbotron. Then came our neighbors. We were first joined by a pretty large collection of small children and their families in front of us. The girl in front of us would adorably turn to me and ask "did we score a point?" whenever the RBC crowd cheered and the boy would take quiet delight in reminding me of the double-minor that would come with my request for any Hurricane to open a bleeding wound upon Chris Pronger's head(I still say that if Pronger bleeds enough, the 4 minutes on the penalty kill would be totally worth it). The kids were alright with me.

We were shortly joined by a chattering flock of teen girls. I do mean chattering. I've often been afraid that with the instant messenger/text messaging revolution that our young folks might have forgotten how to actually speak. No more worries. The chatter disappeared when they spotted a group of boys they knew and left to join them. It reminded me of so many get-togethers I was part of before drivers' licences were issued to my crowd where the sole purpose of the gathering of 10 teenagers was so that "the couple" could get some quality making out time.

I discovered that Andi and I are becoming cranky old folks at an alarming rate when we both expressed relief to be free of the chattering of the Teen Girl Squad. Their replacements, however, were far worse.

In my current shape, I hesitate to call anyone other than UMAGA fat. So let's just say that the duo that replaced the teen girls were "jolly." The two "jolly" girls had homemade t-shirts which identified them as Mrs. Andrew Ladd and Mrs. Eric Staal. Mrs. Ladd and Mrs. Staal were twice as loud as the gaggle of teen girls and offered about half the interesting topics of discussion.

During the game, they were joined by a guy who I thought inexplicably might want to be Mr. Eric Staal but Andi was certain was their gay friend. From there it was an hour-and-a-half of a thoughtful discussion on The Storm Squad's lack of devotion to the sport of hockey. I considered asking them which of the team's players they had "boosted" the way it's rumored the Storm Squad does that proves their devotion to Carolina Hurricanes hockey. I then remembered that the answer to my question was presumably written on their shirts. When not knocking the Storm Squad's seeming lack of enthusiasm, they took time off to offer in-depth critique of their husbands' work with the phrase "Man, we suck!"

The act of watching the game was especially nerve-racking because the puck didn't exactly show up on the jumbotron. I could tell where it was by the movements of the players, but anytime a shot was fired I had no idea just how good the shot was. This made three foot misses look like close calls. In the final minutes of the game, with the 'Canes clinging to a one-goal lead, even dumping the puck into the offensive zone started to look like scoring chances before the goalies' body language would assure me otherwise.

Following the win, I went home to catch any coverage of the game I could. What I found was News 14 Carolina's post game wrap up, complete with locker room interviews. The problem with locker room interviews is the sheer amount of bare butt that makes it onto the screen. The hilarious part was that the cameras did nothing to avoid it, at times inadvertently following a nekkid Hurricane on his walk while panning from one talking head to another.

I've since then thought about what a big deal was made about Ray Whitney's fun in the background of Fox's early-round coverage pre-game interviews and how he knew where the camera was at all times. I've come to decide that any naked Hurricane you see on News 14's coverage is only seen in such a state because he wants to be. It's what I would do, so I can respect that.

The real fun here is that with a 3-1 lead in the series, I've started to more seriously entertain the notion that I'll see my beloved Hurricanes lift one of sports' holiest of grails. Just one more win, guys.

blake v. agassi

I'm watching this with my girlfriend.

I need to not watch sports with my girlfriend.

Something incredible is happening here. Blake is seriously bringing it(I mean taking huge swings at almost everything), and Agassi seems barely there. I was hoping for a great tennis match. This is just fascinating. Agassi let set point go by him without swinging at it. Really weird. In the meantime, I'm starting to feel bad for pulling for Blake. If I really even am.

Andi calls games M&M's. I wonder what she'll call touchdowns come Sunday.

it looks pretty

Andi got some new kind of makeup/bronzer thingy. She asked me how it looked and then told me what to say so that I wouldn't screw it up. See why I love her?