December 2008 Archives

Despite the economy, I'd have to say it's been a highly successful holiday season, at least if you're a full-blown Mammon worshipper.  Among the elements of my haul:

*a used Ovation 1612 acoustic/electric guitar with a hard case
*a cornflower-blue merino crewneck sweater with horizontal red/gold stripes
*a navy v-neck cashmere sweater
*the new CDs by R.E.M. and Coldplay
*Season 4 of The Simpsons on DVD
*DVDs of Cinematic Titanic's riff-enhanced versions of both The Wasp Woman and Santa Claus Conquers the Martians
*a Barnes & Noble gift certificate that I turned into CDs by Cake (B-Sides & Rarities), Of Montreal (Satanic Panic in the Attic), Radiohead (In Rainbows), Warren Zevon (eponymous), and ZZ Top (Tres Hombres), a combination that got the cute little gothy chick at the register intrigued by the kind of man who would listen to all of the above AND approved of his son's purchasing a Mindless Self Indulgence disc.
*Terry's Chocolate Oranges, a plethora of Moravian Christmas cookies, a big box of Godiva chocolate biscuits, an old-fashioned glass full of pistachios, a specially-wrapped pound cake from Aunt Susan (the best on earth, IMHO)
*surprise tickets to see UNC play Rutgers at the Dean Dome on Sunday night.  (We saw Tyler Hansbrough's 1000th rebound, Marcus Ginyard's return from injury, a turnover-free performance by point guard Ty Lawson, and a chance to sing "Carolina Victory" in front of the kids for the first time.)
*pine siskins on Mom & Dad's feeder!


5:53 PM

It was sometime in the mid-80s, probably a couple of months after John Plymale and I had played together in Great Wall of Doo Doo, "The World's Only Wall of Voodoo Tribute Band."  We thoroughly enjoyed playing together, particularly since it gave us the chance to play many of our favorite WoV tunes, and to warp other songs into the WoV signature style, but somehow it wasn't enough.  We came up with another idea:  another tribute band, but this time a tribute to a band with a somewhat more mainstream appeal:  R.E.M.  Naturally, given our previous project (and our generally juvenile sense of humor), we seized on the name R.B.M.--Rapid Bowel Movement.

Sadly, R.B.M. never got beyond the theoretical stage (though if Plymale calls me up, I'm ready to jangle away on most any Peter Buck lick, as long as someone lends me a Rickenbacker), but I've managed to find a use for the abbreviation: it neatly describes the sudden incursion I made into foreign birding territory over the weekend.  I got in, I got out, I saw some birds I hadn't seen in a while.

Our trip to southeastern North Carolina took us into the winter range of several birds I expected to see, such as the Brown-headed Nuthatch, which is downright common in the pine woods of Cumberland County, but doesn't come up into my central Virginia home territory.  Sure enough, there in the front yard of my mother-in-law's house, I could hear the distinctive nasal cries of the Brown-head, as well as the trilling of a number of Chipping Sparrows, which for the most part retire gracefully from these parts when the weather turns cold.  No surprises there, though it was pleasant to log the nuthatch, which I hadn't seen since I was in the Okefenokee nearly three years ago.

The surprises?  One was perched in the same tree where I was observing the nuthatches, along with several titmice and a chickadee or three.  At first I assumed it was a chunky Pine Warbler, but when it spun around to face me, I got a look at its greyish head and clean white spectacle.  It was a Blue-headed Vireo, a bird I had last seen in West Virginia back in April of 2007.  Most vireos leave the country entirely when it gets cold, so I wasn't expecting to see this one, but a quick check of its range map (thank you, Cornell University, for setting out this and scads of other info on the web at All About Birds--bookmark the site now if you haven't already, people) revealed that the Blue-head winters in the southeast.

But the biggest surprise was sitting alertly in a bare tree beside a gas station along I-95 south--at exit 95, to be specific.  I heard it mewling as I returned to the car from my visit to the loo, and when I first caught a look at it, I assumed it was a Mockingbird.  It had the same pearly gray coloration, the same whitish patches, the same... wait a minute.  In profile, that bill looked way too heavy... hooked, even... and the head was large... and though the light was a bit behind it...

Luckily, I've found a great place to keep the lightweight 8 X 21 Bushnell binoculars I picked up for my Outward Bound course a few years back:  in my glove compartment.  With a quick grab, I was able to determine that this was in fact what I suspected it to be: a Loggerhead Shrike.  This is not a bird I see often.  There were a few who lived in Hope Mills at the town park where Kelly and I took the kids for walks when they were infants, and their distinctive fluttery wing motions were impressed into my memory for good, but they're increasingly uncommon birds.  I've never seen one in Virginia, though reports of them pop up from time to time.  In fact, the only place I see them is in eastern North Carolina... in December... in even-numbered years.  The last time one appeared on my year list?  December 16, 2006, when Mary Stevens and I spotted one at the Horny Pony Farm (Not Its Real Name) outside Lillington.  Before that?  December 18, 2004, again with Mary.  Naturally, given the Loggerhead's appearance, I halfway expected Mary to walk out of the ladies' room.

Due to weather, work schedules, and a college visit that Ian had arranged for 11:00 a.m. today, our time at my mother-in-law's place was exceedingly brief.  I got to see most of my brothers-in-law, their spouses, and their kids (and three of the grandkids), but it was a lightning-swift trip, and I didn't get to spend nearly enough time with any of the people.  On the plus side, my MIL served us her special oyster soup, and we got in a visit to Bojangles as well, so it wasn't a complete loss.  Throw in three good birds, and the trip would be well worth it even if Kel hadn't given me a gift that shows she not only loves me, but she knows me all too well:  the new riff-treated version of Santa Claus Conquers the Martians from Cinematic Titanic.

Now THAT is what Christmas is all about.




4:55 PM

I ventured forth into the cold and dark this morning to help out with the Audubon Society of Northern Virginia's Christmas bird count, a trip made more interesting by its historic location: the Manassas battlefield.  The Battle of Manassas was actually so historic they fought it twice, once in 1861 and then again a year later.  At the former battle (known by many on the Union side as the battle of Bull Run--the First BoBR, that is), General Thomas Jackson earned his nickname of "Stonewall" and the Union suddenly realized that this was not going to be a short war where the Bluecoats were welcomed as liberators.

Today our job was much easier than that of either Civil War army: to get in quickly and take note of the number and species of birds we saw.  I wasn't keeping track of the numbers, but species-wise, I can give you a list:

American Crow
Mourning Dove
Tufted Titmouse
Northern Cardinal
Blue Jay
European Starling
Northern Mockingbird
Red-bellied Woodpecker
Canada Goose
Rock Pigeon
Eastern Bluebird
Dark-eyed Junco
Black-capped Chickadee
Downy Woodpecker
Yellow-bellied Sapsucker
Turkey Vulture
Black Vulture
Ring-billed Gull
White-breasted Nuthatch
White-crowned Sparrow
White-throated Sparrow
Song Sparrow
Swamp Sparrow
Red-shouldered Hawk
Carolina Wren
Cedar Waxwing
American Goldfinch
Accipiter (sp.)--probably a Cooper's Hawk, but not close enough to nail down
American Robin
Ruby-crowned Kinglet

So--30 species (plus a definite Cooper's and a Red-tail on the way home from Manassas) and the first Swamp Sparrows I've seen in a couple of years.  Cool.


1:41 PM

Do we scream, or breathe a huge sigh of relief?

Thing One has gotten into college.

It may not be the college he attends, mind you--he's got others he's applying to, and he's hasn't yet visited this one--but he's been accepted, and has even been offered a partial scholarship.

Most of me is extremely happy.  It's a load off of his mind, I'm sure, and I've discovered that the nagging fear of "No one wants me!" can be applied vicariously to one's offspring.  It's a good school, and we know a number of grads who speak very highly of it, and it's not so far away that we'll never see him.

But there are two things that worry me:

1) Someone still has to pay for this.
2) Dear god, I'm old enough to have a kid in college!


9:25 AM

Despite being a true Son of the South (raised in central North Carolina by a dad from eastern North Carolina and a mom from the low country of South Carolina), I don't have an especially strong accent.  In fact, there are those who've heard me speak who deny that I'm FROM North Carolina, apparently assuming that a Mayberry accent is de rigeur for any true Tar Heel.

In fact, the reason I don't have much of an accent has nothing to do with my birthplace, but is that I'm an auditory processor.  I learn primarily by hearing, I have a very acute sense of pitch, and I unconsciously shift into the accent of any person I'm talking to.  I don't usually do it so hard that it comes off as mockery to the person with whom I'm speaking, but any third party listening to me will notice the shift in my tone, inflection, and sometimes even vocabulary. 

(There are two exceptions to this rule: first, when I'm talking to a law enforcement officer of any sort, my accent becomes distinctly Southern; I think this is because I unconsciously equate "polite" with "Southern," and I try very hard to be polite to anyone legally entitled to make my day significantly more difficult purely on his own authority.  Second, when I'm driving, I start talking like my dad, who taught me to drive, and whose driving habits I've worked hard to duplicate; apparently I picked up his mannerisms in the process.)

I mention this because yesterday I was on the phone with my friend Simon.  Simon is an Englishman, now living in Leicestershire, with whom I became friends during my time at Manchester University some (gulp!) twenty-five years ago.  When I speak with him, it's only a matter of moments before I start broadening my As and changing the past participle from gotten to got.  I'm not trying to do it--it just sort of happens.

What makes it funny is that Simon is ALSO an auditory processor and does exactly the same thing.  Consequently, in our conversations he gets more American, I get more British, and we wind up sort of compromising on Australian, though neither of us has ever been Down Under.  Kelly came in just as I was hanging up and called out "G'day, mate!"

But tonight I was checking out some lyrics at the website of Virginia-born and Texas-raised alt-country singer-songwriter Steve Earle, and after I'd mentioned that the song I was looking for was apparently not on the album Shut Up and Die Like an Aviator, Kelly drawled, "My god, you're sounding like Steve Earle just from THINKING about Steve Earle!"

I'm starting to worry about what I might sound like if I ever happen to run into Nelson Mandela or the Pope, or both at once.


6:44 PM

I missed all their earlier games because of various other commitments, but last night after our faculty meeting I made time to go hang out at the Nachoman's pad and watch the only truly important part of the ACC-Big 10 Challenge, namely the UNC-Michigan State game.

The Heels have played the Spartans several times before, including during Tyler Hansbrough's freshman year, but none of those past games prepared me for the butt-whipping I witnessed last night.  MSU was ranked #12, and even missing their starting center, I felt sure they'd give the Heels a good run.

Such was not the case.

After a handful of sloppy defensive plays in the first few minutes (Danny Green, I'm looking in your direction...), the Heels woke up and started to remember they're ranked #1.  The fast-break points started coming, and the defense started producing turnovers.  Hansbrough and Deon Thompson started hitting the boards, and a few jumpers began to fall.  The UNC lead started to grow, and by halftime it was 14 points.  I still wasn't comfortable, but I was happy.  Freshman Ed Davis looks like an extremely capable big man, and he got plenty of PT spelling Hansbrough and Thompson; better yet, he hit 75% of his free throws, which was actually the worst percentage of any UNC big man--Hans went 13 for 13 at the stripe, and Deon was 2 for 2.

Most of the attention naturally went to Psycho T, whose blazing eyes are a fixture on just about every sports magazine during his senior year, and yeah, the double-double and the perfect FT shooting and the "back from injury" storyline nearly made Dick Vitale run out of superlatives.  But the game that impressed me the most?

Ty Lawson's.

Running a high-speed offense like UNC's is a challenging task, and it requires the point guard to make decisions at an incredible rate.  Odds are good that some of those decisions will be made in haste, and executing those decisions WILL be done in haste.  Thus, it's pretty astonishing to see a line like this from a point guard:

FGM-A     3PM-A     FTM-A     REB     AST     STL     TO     PF     PTS
6-11         2-3         3-4         2       8        7        0       2       17

Seriously, look at that.  A 3:1 assist-to-turnover ratio is considered good for a PG, so with eight assists (a very good total on its own), Lawson might reasonably be expected to pick up at least two or three turnovers due to sloppy passes or bad bounces.  To go without a single one tells you a lot about how well he's controlling the ball, and thereby the game.

I saw one play where Lawson stole an inbounds pass in the corner and whirled around to look for a teammate cutting to the basket.  Danny Green was doing so, so Lawson prepared to pass and was actually beginning to flip the ball Green's way when Lawson realized that the MSU defender was going to be able to deflect the pass.  Without stopping, Lawson redirected the arm motion he was already making to that of a bounce pass.  Dunk, two points, assist.  It was just a small moment in a great game for UNC, but man, what a moment.

I don't know that the Heels will be back in Detroit in April for the Final Four, but based on what I saw last night, they should be.  Beating a top team is one thing.  Beating a good team from Michigan in Detroit is one thing.  Beating them by thirty-five points, though, tells me that this UNC squad is a team on a mission.




 


9:41 AM