At the Movies...al fresco...with Harry Potter

A few months ago, I attended a ~special event~ at Wolf Trap Center for Performing Arts in Northern Virginia. My, how time flies--almost like a young wizard with a wand that, uh...makes him fly and stuff.

You see, I am not a Harry Potter expert by any means, just a civilian who has seen most of the movies but read none of the books, which means I am pretty close but can't put "expert" on my business cards. I went to an outdoor screening of the first Potter motion picture accompanied by a live performance of the score by the National Symphony Orchestra. The movie was accompanied, that is; I was accompanied by the country music my girlfriend was playing on the radio. Anyway, the whole event experience is a great reminder that there is no substitute for the sensation of seeing a movie with a group of borderline obsessives.

I certainly felt like a muggle (am I getting the hang of this?) amongst all the diehard fans, young and old alike, who seemed to know the dialogue by heart. The enthusiasm was infectious, though, and it enhanced the movie. It's a lot of fun viewing a beloved movie with a crowd that cheers along and just seems invested. Some of my most memorable moviegoing experiences are of classics like The Wizard of Oz, Casablanca, and Grease (Hey, it was a classic to ME growing up and catching it on ABC each year) because of the shared, palpable joy of the collective response. Of course, the shared, palpable hatred an audience can have for a film is also memorable, but that's a story for when I go see a special anniversary presentation of Battlefield Earth.

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone is no classic, but I think it's been maligned just because Chris Columbus, the guy who gave us Mrs. Doubtfire, directed it instead of an auteur like Alfonso Cuaron. I am not the charter member of the Columbus Fan Club--I never even paid dues--but I find it amusing that the perception is that the later movies are better because "serious" filmmakers did them.

I found the movies increasingly muddled and impenetrable as they went on, with those of us who did not read the books having to ask those who did to fill in the blanks in the storytelling and explain some of the stuff that didn't make sense. The first movie is cheesy in places, but it does an admirable job of creating its own unique world, which is a solid beginning for a franchise. You care about the characters, are interested in learning more about the environment, and you get a sense of fulfillment even though you realize there are umpteen sequels on the way.

The live orchestra only added to the fun, though I confess that after a while I kind of didn't notice it all that much. If you get there on the late side and have to scrounge for a spot on the hill, it's hard to immerse yourself in the movie, but you get more of the surrounding moviegoers, the musicians allll the way up on the stage, and the people who keep getting up to go to the restroom (It's not perfect).

The food was better (I blame all my tense changing on a dark arts spell--OK, I'm trying too hard now, I realize) than the standard movie theater fare, too, with all kinds of fancy options and cheeses and spreads. So naturally I got...standard movie theater fare like chicken tenders and French fries, only I got buffalo sauce all over the tenders--you know, to add some real class!

The fact is Wolf Trap is an outstanding venue with a fantastic general ambience, but it's even better when you get a bunch of nuts--OK, that's a little harsh considering half of them were under 14--dressed up in costumes and joining in the festivities. This kind of event is fun and participatory without being obnoxious. I recommend you go see something like this if you get a chance in your town, and I also recommend you give Chris Columbus and his first Potter film another movie someday.

The worst thing about making a return

I am proud to say I was not dumb enough to go shopping at Wal-Mart on Black Friday weekend.

I am less proud to admit I was dumb enough to return something. It wasn't even something glamorous like a vacuum cleaner or a ladder; I wanted a refund for two food items I had bought there earlier in the week. The items were...not good when I tried to use them.

(Oh, I'd tell you what those items were, but I think we can all agree that Wal-Mart is highly attentive to the ramifications of one person bringing back $4 worth of merchandise and therefore must have instantly launched a thorough investigation of similar items and removed any problematic examples from its shelves. Right?)

On my way back home on Sunday evening, I figured, hey, I'll return them now. The hubbub is surely over by now, even though the parking lot is still busy. This was not one of my better impulse decisions. It was barely better than the impulse that drove me to buy the things that I had to return. The experience shook me to the core.

The worst part wasn't waiting 20 minutes in line to get a $4 refund.

The worst part wasn't standing behind a flustered woman who kept making theatrical sighs because of the wait (That was actually kind of cool).

The worst part wasn't seeing people lug in 50" televisions to the returns area and wondering if they were pulling scams of some type or other (That was a fun way to pass the time).

Here's the worst part: There were two small electronic signs posted high behind the customers, in clear view of employees on the other side of the desk but only visible to us if we happened to turn around and look up. The two signs were flashing the following message in blue letters:

RESTROOMS NEED CLEANING

The worst part about making a return at Wal-Mart at the end of Black Friday weekend was that those signs were flashing from the time I first noticed them until I got my refund and walked out...and who knows how much longer?

Can you imagine the state of an unattended Wal-Mart restroom after several days of hardcore holiday shopping? [SHUDDER]

You Make the Call: The Key to Good Citizenship?

Last weekend, I was out for my daily constitutional when I spotted something on the ground. Always susceptible to the charms of a bright, shiny object, I bent down and saw a set of keys beside and almost underneath a driver-side rear passenger door of a nice SUV. The vehicle was parked alongside the curb of a house. I was 95% certain which house it was parked in front of., but it was far enough away from the mailbox to give me 5% of doubt..

I picked up the keys and walked up to the front door, then rang the doorbell. I waited a few seconds and heard some footsteps.  I rang the bell again, waited again, and gazed at the peaceful suburban cul de sac. That last part isn't really relevant, but I thought I'd try to add a little flourish to this post. Thing is, nobody answered the door! This despite the car in the driveway in addition to the SUV.

Folks. here's your chance to play along at home. What would YOU do in this situation? Yes, it's time again to play...

YOU MAKE THE CALL!

Do you...

A) Run back down to the curb, try the keys on the SUV, start it up, and drive off yelling, "So long, suckers!"

B)  Leave a flaming bag of dog feces on the doorstep (let's just assume you can get the bag on short notice), ring the bell several more times in succession, and run away laughing.

C)  Throw the keys as far as you can in the direction of the other side of that peaceful suburban cul de sac (Hey, that phrase sort of paid off, didn't it?)

D) Put the keys right back where they were (Note that a significant snowstorm was forecast for that evening and thus it might have been tough to find the keys later).

E) Cut your walk short and rush home to watch an episode of "The Larry Sanders Show," totally forgetting you still have the keys in your pocket, but, hey, so what, because you're watching "Larry Sanders."

E) Set the keys down on the door step in a gentle fashion, then walk away sheepishly, hoping you really were being a good Samaritan and not just preventing some poor clod from finding his damn car keys because he knows he must have dropped them right by the rear passenger door.

Cultureshark Remembers...My TV set

R.I.P., good ol' 27" Panasonic. You brought me a quality picture and consistent, service-free operation for nearly 20 years. Oh, how happy I'll be in 20 years if anything I buy today is still running then...

...including the HD flat screen I got to replace the Panasonic. Unfortunately, for the time being, I am still mired in the world of Glorious Low-Def Television, due to a variety of factors I won't get into now (and, yes, me being cheap is one, though not the primary, factor). So I run the standard signal into the HD set, and the result is somewhat less than spectacular, but fine for Cultureshark Tower's secondary TV. Hey, as long as my daughter can enjoy Nick Jr. on it while the grownups are making dinner, it's all good.

Back to the soon-to-be departed Panasonic, though: It was a great buddy, accompanying me in college, experiencing the heady days of the DVD era, and coming along for the wonderful ride of home ownership. It will be missed.

And now how the hell do I get rid of it?

Seriously, nobody wants these old tube TVs anymore, even if they don't have intermittent picture problems. If it ain't digital, it ain't donate-able. I can't just set a TV set by the curb for the refuse collectors to pick up. Well, I probably could--those dudes take anything--but I'm not supposed to, so I have to wait for one of those electronic recycling days at the local dump (there's a great phrase to work into a blog post).

I guess for now I'll have plenty of opportunity to reflect on my longtime pal...because it'll be sitting right in my living room, practically in front of the door, until I can ditch it.

Wow, some big changes in my media diet this past year...

Longtime readers of this blog are familiar with my laments that I don't actually go out and see movies in theaters anymore but maybe once or twice a year. I don't know, though, if I'm actually lamenting that anymore. I used to kind of miss going as often as I did, before becoming a father and other lifestyle changes kept me away from the multiplexes. But the other day, I drove by the local theater, and it hit me that not only was I not gonna see anything there in the near future, I didn't plan to, and I didn't even really care that much.

I'm not gonna blame this on "stupid Hollywood product," either, as I spent plenty of good money on bad movies back in the day. No, I think 2010 was just the year I lost contact...with the moviegoing experience. It's not that I won't go or wouldn't like to go more given the opportunities, but I've become content with seeing them on DVD. I don't feel pangs of regret about "missing out," even if something really good hits the big screen. Not that many movies this year have sounded really good, but, hey, I said I wasn't gonna blame this on stupid Hollywood product.

Maybe when my leisure time goes up and my family obligations go down, I'll rediscover the joy of paying too much money for too little entertainment, but for now...I'm kind of OK with staying at home.

Another thing that hit me this week is my declining interest in recorded music. There are many factors involved in this: the dropoff in the CD as a viable medium, my discovery of podcasts for my listening pleasure, the shabby state of the music industry, lack of accessible product at reasonable prices, the pathetic state of terrestrial radio, my lack of interest in buying and consuming digital music...These have all been relevant for years now. But I never expected to listen to music as seldom as I do these days.

I still love music when I do hear it, and there are regular times that I do that. But this makes the first Christmas that I can remember that I didn't get one single CD (or cassette tape, if you want to go back a ways), and it feels weird. I mean, I had some music on my Wishlist, but there was nothing I felt I really needed to have, and though I plan to do some gift-card-shopping action after the holidays, I don't know if I'll be buying any music.

The fact that I hadn't even really noticed until now is itself proof of how weird this is. Maybe I need to dive back into it, but I am just not much of a music buyer anymore, and that feels odd.

Why I'm rooting against UConn

Tonight, the University of Connecticut women's basketball team will go for and in all likelihood obtain its 89th consecutive win, a remarkable feat in and of itself, and also a milestone that will exceed by one game the men's basketball record of UCLA.

If they win, good for them. But I hope they don't, and I feel that way because of their loutish head coach, Geno Auriemma.

Yesterday morning, I was flipping for NFL highlights while getting my little girl ready for school. Some UConn hoops highlights came on. I don't follow the sport, but I figured it would be good for my daughter, who gets plenty of secondhand sports through me, to see some females playing organized sports. So I left it on "SportsCenter" and pointed it out to her.

Suddenly the highlights stopped, and we saw Auriemma at his post-game rant of a press conference. He gave a nonsensical acidic speech about how the media doesn't want to see women break a male record, and how nobody would care if they were "just" topping the girls' mark. He continued on in this vein, using the words "hell," "pissed," and "bastards" in the span of about 45 seconds, and making me sorry I stopped on women's basketball highlights.

First of all, Coach, nobody cares about you "breaking a man's record." They are two different sports. It's a tremendous accomplishment, and everyone knows your team is dominant. In fact, you're so dominant, you probably prevent many people from even bothering to watch women's college hoops.

But you are not "breaking" any UCLA record. I never celebrated Sadahuru Oh as the all-time home run king, certainly not of the baseball I knew and followed. He was the Japanese home run champ, not the champ of MLB, and nobody compares records of the two. Men's college basketball and women's college basketball are essentially two different sports, and no bitter chauvinists are gonna cry in their Schlitzes because, "First Bobby Riggs, now UCLA--is nothing sacred?"

And if a few media types are rooting against you, so what? Really, you came off looking like a real ass, and you embarrassed me because I exposed my little girl to inappropriate language at 7:00 in the morning. You're a terrible ambassador for the game you represent, and though I admire the talent of your players, I will root against you, and not because of UCLA's record.

Karma strikes the Shark

Well, perhaps as a result of my bailing out on the planned Thanksgiving edition of Budget DVD theater, Verizonicus, the Roman God of Technology, saw fit to take out my router on that very holiday, disconnecting me from the Internet.

I discovered what was wrong Friday night, and a tech rep promised me a replacement AC adapter would be on the way for Sunday morning delivery. I found that time frame a little odd, given that it would require Verizon to do work on Saturday and UPS to do a delivery on Sunday, but since the lass said several times the part would come Sunday morning, I expected it to arrive...wait for it...Sunday morning.

Well, of course, you know that UPS, unlike Charles Kuralt, doesn't DO Sunday mornings. Heck, I thought I knew that. Well, that tech rep certainly didn't know that. Sunday afternoon, I called FIOS again and was told, "First and foremost, she never should have told you that."

(That has to be one of the worst phrases to hear in life, not just in tech support)

Hedging my bets, I had gone to a Verizon Experience store at the mall on Saturday and taken along a couple of failing remotes and the faulty (according to that first tech person) AC adaptor for the router. I told a guy the remotes were becoming less responsive, and he went to the back and got two brand-new ones, then handed them over, no questions asked.

Well, I was so delirious with the odd sensation of receiving instant gratification from a cable TV provider that I never even thought to ask for credit on my account or anything for the Internet. Plus, keep in mind, I thought I was getting a replacement part the next morning. But I did manage to tell the guy about the router/power supply issue, and he nodded his head knowingly, said something like, "Yeah, we get that a lot," then returned with a brand-new AC adaptor!

If I were thinking clearly, I could have said, "Hey, I don't get free HBO and Cinemax anymore," and he would have walked to the back and brought me back a bundle of those.

Unfortunately, that free adaptor did not fit my FIOS router, so it was useless, Still, I was a happy man Saturday (except for that part where Penn State lost), especially after discovering how well the new remotes worked. The standard fast-forward buttons hadn't worked well for the last few weeks, each requiring the strength of the Hulk and the contortions of Plastic Man to maneuver the button into doing that basic function. The 30-second skip button hadn't worked on either remote for months. Ah, but the new remotes let us fast-forward and skip away! So much for my conspiracy theory that FIOS disabled those buttons at the behest of the networks to force us to watch commercials. They have not done so...yet.

I got a whole lot unhappier Sunday morning, of course, when Tech #2 told me I could expect the part Tuesday morning, meaning two more days without Internet access, not to mention the many features of FIOS-TV (on-demand programming, program guide updates, etc.) reliant on connection through the router. Oh, well, at least the guy had the courtesy to not make fun of me for believing I'd get a package Sunday morning. At least, not till I hung up.

But there may well be a conspiracy to pay me back for skipping out on Thanksgiving's Budget DVD Theater, because as of late Monday night, I am still without Internet access, still without a functioning router, and I post this update from an undisclosed location. Fear not, I will be updating the blog this week, and someday, somehow, we'll get to Budget DVD Theater. You hear me, Verizonicus? I said, we'll get to it! Now send me that power supply!

Oh, yeah, Baby Names Bible? Well...same to you!

As Mrs. Shark and I prepare for our second "blessed event," we are considering various baby names, and since nothing mutually agreeable jumped out at us right away (Yes, we ruled out "Jaws," "Great White," and "Bruce"), we picked up "The Baby Names Bible" by Pamela Redmond Satran and Linda Rosenkrantz.

I'm flipping through the boys' names when I get the bright idea to look up my own handle. That's when I got a brutal reminder of how snide these authors can be. These ladies have the nerve to call Richard a "far from stylish old Norman name, with a rich royal history, still clinging to the Top 100."

Far from stylish? Well, at least they got the "rich royal history" in there. I prefer to think of it as a solid presence in any Top 100. But they continue: "All the possible nicknames--Richie, Ricky, and especially Dick--are so over."

I beg your pardon? I'm not going to defend the use of the nickname "Dick" in modern society, but I happen to find "Rick" a particuarly appealing name, thank you very much. Not so the authors, who claim it was "last cool when Bogie roamed Casablanca."

Even Ricky, they assert, is "gone with Richard and Rick."

I appreciate the no-holds-barred approach this book takes in warning parents away from names they feel are passe or too far out there. But they go way too far here!

After all, "Baby Names Bible" is hardly the trendiest book title out there, ladies. Couldn't you have gone with "Manual" or "Guide" or something a little more, I don't know...stylish?

Happy Memorial Day!

Have a great holiday everyone, and try to remember the meaning while you're enjoying those burgers and brats. I respect Memorial Day so much, I'm not gonna complain one bit that Turner Classic took a week off of the Bowery Boys to deliver its annual war flick festival.

I am going through a little bit of withdrawal, though, as it IS the first weekend in months without a Bowery Boys picture to enjoy. Oh, well, nothing a good bratwurst won't cure. Have a great one.

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas (whether you like it or not)

I always say I like Christmas as much as the next guy, unless I'm standing beside Mick Foley, but this year, the early onset of the yuletide season deserves a particularly potent SHEESH!

It all began when I saw a busy display of Christmas trees at Macy's...several weeks ago. OK, it was cool-looking, and my daughter loved it, but still.

We're all hearing how desperate retailers are eager to start pushing the holiday shopping season even earlier this year--yes, even before Halloween. Remember when it used to be a big deal to hear Christmas songs on the radio before Thanksgiving?

But of course, we here at Cultureshark believe nothing is official till it be validated by television, so this next item will stand as the true sign that we've all lost our minds and the season is here too early. Last week, Sitcoms Online ran a story discussing ABC Family Channel's plans for holiday programming. You see, not only does the network roll out its annual 25 Days of Christmas lineup, it offers a COUNTDOWN to the 25 Days of Christmas.

First of all, while the festival of lame TV movies and classic Rankin-Bass specials is always a hit and a better use of the channel's resources than many other ventures it could trot out there, is it really so daggone notworthy as to merit a COUNTDOWN to itself? If the commercialization of the holidays isn't enough for you, here's a little self-importance courtesy of ABC Family.

Second, it starts November 10! November 10 is just too early to roll this stuff out, and I say that as a relatively new parent who realized last year how quickly the season flies by and how hectic it can be without preparation. November 10!

Third, the story tells us one of the movies premiering in the Countdown to the 25 Days of Christmas is "The Dog Who Saved Christmas," with Dean Cain, Mario Lopez, and Adrienne Barbeau. 'Nuff said.

Hey, if this is where we're headed, though, Cultureshark will have to adapt. Look for round 2 of my Classic TV Christmas Festival in December, only this year, you'll really love the Countdown to the Classic TV Christmas Festival, starting...3 DAYS AGO!

That's right, this blog has been counting down to its Classic TV Christmas Festival for several days, and you didn't even know it! Don't feel too bad, though. I only just realized it myself. Ho ho ho!

The Brave and the Bold..and the Produce

So as the family headed out to do some grocery shopping yesterday, I donned my red Flash t-shirt because 1) I felt like kickin' it casual-style, and 2) my daughter isn't old enough yet to be embarrassed by my fashion choices.

At the store, I was pushing my cart down one of the many too-narrow aisles on this busy Saturday afternoon when I nearly collided with a fellow customer. Only, he wasn't a mere fellow customer. This guy was wearing a Captain America t-shirt!

He gave me an affable nod and said, "Hey, I like your t-shirt," to which I replied, "Yeah, you, too!" I wanted to say, "You know, maybe we ought to join forces sometime," but I kept pushing my cart.

The thought did cross my mind, and probably his as well, that our being together in the same place at the same time could well be the result of some stunning change in the space-time-rival comic book companies continuum, possibly related to a collaboration by our nemeses Gorilla Grodd and the Red Skull. But I chose to accentuate the positive: With the two of us on the scene, that supermarket must have been the single safest place for miles around.

Half-Assed Gourmet: Chain Restaurants

OK, a lot of of you out there probably loathe so-called "neighborhood casual" chain restaurants--you know, your Friday's, Ruby Tuesdays, Chili's, and so on. It's quite cool to rag on them, not at all cool to praise them. Well, you won't me see dumping on these places. Sure, they offer a homogenized menu with little to distinguish one from the other. But isn't that kind of the point? A little familiarity isn't always a bad thing, and if the food is good and reasonably priced, I'm happy. I'll let others bemoan the dumbing down of America and that sort of thing.

A few weeks ago, I went to an Applebee's as part of a family experience, and you know what?

It was really good.

I have encountered mediocrity at Applebee's before, and it would never have been near the top of my To-Go list. But I was hesitant not because it was a generic chain eatery, but because it just wasn't all that great. If you don't like this kind of place because you dislike the food, hey, that's your right. If you prefer to make healthier, tastier meals at home, more power to you. But I had a tasty, wayyyyy unhealthy meal at Applebee's, and I loved it. I'd go again. I kind of want to, in fact.

They have this 2 for $20 deal, and with it I got (sharing some of it with the other half of my "2") fried shrimp; fried mozzarella sticks; french fries; and to wash it down, a delicious, refillable glass of fried iced tea.

OK, just kidding about the tea, which was indeed delicious, but not fried. Come to think of it, maybe the reason I had such a great time at The App* was because it had been a while since I had enjoyed such an assemblage of fried crap in one sitting.

Still, it counts. It was a good meal, it was cheap, and the service was outstanding. So here you go, world, here is one person saying something good about Applebee's on The Internet. I don't think it's happened before, I doubt it will happen again, but that's the word I'm spreading today.

(*"The App" is the cool, hip shorthand label I just created for the chain. Feel free to use it, Applebee's marketing wizards, in exchange for a freebie every now and then.)

Best Buy makes it hard to give them money

I went to Best Buy to purchase a memory card a few weeks ago. Now, I could have bought the memory card lots of different places, but only Best Buy had "The '59 Sound," the latest CD from The Gaslight Anthem, for 8 bucks. So Best Buy would get all my business that day.

Or would they? One of the things that drives me crazy about Best Buy is how poorly labeled their deals and specials are. I discovered the $7.99 price online as part of some "New and special artists who you should listen to because people might see the CD on your table and think you're hip, although of course these days they'll just think you're out of it for still buying CDs" promotion. I hoped there might be some display with all those discs grouped together for my convenience. There was not.

Oh, I should mention that before hunting for that mythical display, I went to the most logical place to find a Gaslight Anthem album--the section labeled "Gaslight Anthem." There was a plastic divider with the band's name on it, but no product. I even checked a few rows nearby in case it was misshelved. No luck.

It was only then I began searching for a display or endcap or sale section. See, the online site had told me there were two available in store, and if there's one thing I have learned as a consumer in this Digital Age of ours, it's that the Internet NEVER LIES.

I went to a computer that offered access to their in-store inventory. Sure enough, two copies existed in that very store, unless this was some rogue machine toying with me. Don't think I didn't ponder that one a bit.

Eventually, I gave up and summoned an employee. I have had mixed results with Best Buy associates in the past, but this guy, I will admit, did a heck of a job. He was friendly and professional. First thing he did was head to the "Gaslight Anthem" section, but I wasn't offended even though I had told him I looked there already. Hey, if I worked there, that would be my first move, too.

Then he looked around a bit in the CD section. Again, familiar territory, but, hey, the guy's working for me. Indulge him. For all he knows, I'm "that idiot customer" he'll be talking about on his smoke break.

Finally, he went to the computer and verified that, sure enough, two copies existed in that very store.

Sounds familiar, eh?

Only, he had a path not available to me. "Hold on," he said, "I'll look in the back."
The back? They keep CDs in the back? What are they doing back there where I can't see them?

After about 5 minutes, he did indeed come out from "the back," holding a Gaslight Anthem CD, presumably one of the two in stock (I noticed he didn't bother bringing out the other and putting IT on the shelf). Then, of course, I told him I changed my mind and set it on the shelf beside him.

Just kidding! Of course I got it and the memory card and a few other things besides, but the only reason I got anything was because of this good deal on the one album. If I hadn't found it there, I would have walked out empty-handed and bought the memory card somewhere else instead of getting 50 bucks' worth of merchandise right there.

What was this CD even doing in the back? Do they keep a whole bunch of items there in some grand warehouse, kind of like the "Beyond" manned by Christopher Walken in that sappy Adam Sandler movie from a couple years ago? Do they ever restock their shelves?

I know Best Buy doesn't really care about pushing small potatoes like CDs and DVDs anymore, but if I don't find what I'm looking for, I can go somewhere else. It was only because I was so motivated that day--and cheap--that I made as much effort as I did rather than taking a hikeski and spending my $50 someplace else.

You Make the Call: Kids in Restaurants

Recently, we were on the road, the Shark family, that is, and we stopped at a busy Wendy's for lunch. Since the place was jam-packed, I took my little girl to find a table and get her started while my wife waited (and waited...and waited...and waited) in line.

I positioned my daughter in a high chair so that she could see the group of kids sitting across from us. They were all tween-ish boys with a group of adults, and I figured she'd be entertained by getting all up in their business while I was getting her food ready.

The boys started to kind of split up a bit and scatter, but they were still within eyeshot--and earshot. At one point, I overheard a few boys talking about how late they were up the night before. That's when one of them said the following:

"I was gonna go to sleep, but then Dane Cook came on, and so I watched that and then went to bed."

Now, if I could hear it, I'm pretty sure my daughter could, too. Surely you see why I was concerned. How should I respond to something like this? I don't want my just-over-a-year-old baby girl thinking Dane Cook is worth staying up for...or worth watching at all, really. This is an impressionable age for her. My mind raced as I struggled to come up with the right thing to do.

YOU MAKE THE CALL, folks. If you're me, do you:

A) Pretend nothing happened, perhaps distracting your daughter with a goofy face or by putting a cheerio up your nose--anything to make sure that kid's idiotic statement doesn't "take."

B) Find the boy's parents and let them know you're not judging their letting him watch Dane Cook, but the least they could do is try to muzzle him from spreading his poor taste to the next generation.

C) Get up from your table and confront the boy in a civil but firm manner, reminding him that your young child (among others) is in the restaurant.

D) Remain seated and shoot your hand in the air, making that moronic Dane Cook hand gesture.

E) Accept the incident and, without making a big deal out of it, calmly discuss with your baby girl why that boy is so wrong.

YOU MAKE THE CALL!

The choice for me, sports fans, was E). D) was, of course out of the question. A) was an acceptable but cowardly choice. B) was tempting, but it was challenging at that point to determine who the boy's parents were or if they were even seated as opposed to waiting in line with the teeming masses. C) seemed a tad--just a tad--disproportionate. More importantly, it risked embarrassing my wife and making the rest of the ride home an uncomfortable scenario.

So I just looked at my daughter and said in an even tone of voice, "Now, honey, I know you heard that boy say he stayed up and watched a whole Dane Cook special last night. That's his choice, and he made it. Someday you'll be old enough to make your own decisions about avoiding stuff that sucks. But right now, I want you to know that, yeah. Dane Cook sucks, and I don't think you'll get anything out of watching any of his specials."

Then she made a loud raspberry noise and threw a Cheerio. But I think I made the right call, because the way she did it really indicated that my speech sunk in.

It's great not to be in school anymore

I drove past the local elementary school and noticed their sign:

REGISTER NOW FOR FALL

Jumping Jehosaphat! The poor kids were free for mere days before someone put that up in big letters, a stark reminder that you'd better enjoy your summer while it lasts because, to borrow a phrase from the great Walt Kelly, "It ain't nohow permanent."

Well, maybe the other side of the sign had something a little more fun. I kept an eye out on the way back home and read this on the reverse:

HAVE A GREAT SUMMER!
READ EVERY DAY!

That's right, folks. This school can't resist giving homework in the middle of an ostensible "summer fun" message.

Makes me glad I graduated.

I fought the HOA, and the HOA won

You know the old adage, right? Homeowners' Associations: Can't live with 'em, can't prevent the neighbors from turning their adjacent property to a orange-and-pink flophouse without 'em.

Well, let me quote a learned individual who recently opined in a prestigious public forum:

"My HOA is a pain in my A."

OK, it was me posting on Facebook, but still, I think it has a nice ring to it.

We got a letter last week from this overpaid and underpolite organization saying that because some punk had swiped the crossbar in our outdoor lamppost, and because the lantern on top of the post had a single pane of glass missing, we had to rectify those conditions in order to be in compliance with HOA standards.

Actually, the letter was a tad more, shall I say, vague. What it actually said was, "REPAIR LAMP POST." We kind of filled in the blanks ourselves after a call to a snooty official who, when we asked for details so we could be sure to be in compliance, told us we should know what's wrong.

Fortunately, they just happen to have a "limited supply" of the crossbars available in their office.

"For a price, Ugarte, for a price."
--Rick Blaine in "Casablanca"

They also had a limited supply a few years back, the last time some punk swiped ours.

I could go on a rant here about how a necessary evil like a homeowners' association can get a little full of itself, but I'll save that rent for another day. Maybe I'll bring in as Guest Blogger the Vietnam combat vet who told us at Home Depot yesterday how his own HOA tried to get him to take down his American flag and he told them to get the hell off his property or he'd shoot them.

Anyhoo, I got the necessary paperwork--oh, yeah, there's paperwork involved with this. See, we can't just get a new lantern, but since our model is discontinued, we have to submit the new one for approval by the HOA Junta of Architectural Design and Chowder and Marching Society.

So I got the paperwork, attached a printout of the lantern we want to buy from the store--surprisingly, they don't sell lanterns in the office--and went to drop it off. At that point I was told, hey, you need the signatures.

"Really?" I said a bit too loudly.

"Yeah, you need signatures of your 4 closest neighbors verifying that they approve."

So we need approval of our neighbors for a little lantern that sits atop a lamppost. Hell, we're one of the only people that try to change our light bulbs when they go out. I doubt this will be a problem, but the point is that it's a HASSLE.

I'm taking a positive tack with this latest development, though. I believe that this requirement for signatures is not merely an exercise in bureaucratic nonsense from an organization that has no right to impose it. No, I'm thinking it's actually an a-hole detector. See, any neighbor that would take exception to this new lantern we want to get--excuse me, HAVE to get--is most likely an a-hole and therefore not a desirable neighbor. The HOA is merely providing an efficients tool that we can use to weed out the bad eggs in our midst.

At least, that's what I'm telling myself. But if the a-hole detector does its job, we get 4 signatures, submit the paperwork, and the Junta rejects us...well, I know a vet who has some strong ideas about individual property rights...

State of Confusion

From the "I know it's true 'cause I saw it on TV" department: While watching TV this morning, the Emergency Broadcast System rudely interrupted me with a test. The text on the screen informed that it was a required monthly test for parts of Maryland, Virginia, "and the state of Washington D.C."

Hey, citizens of the District, you really DO have a gripe about not being represented in Congress. Not only do you not have a voting rep in the House, you're apparently being screwed out of your allotment of two Senators, as well.

I remind you, though, it was only a test. In the event of an actual emergency...

I'll hope the authorities have their stuff together a bit more than that message indicated.

Half-Assed Gourmet: Arby's Roast Burger

The other day, I was oot and aboot, as our Canadian friends might say (though I wasn't in Canada), and I needed some food, fast. So I went to Arby's for some fast food.

I wish I could say, "Been to one Arby's, you been to 'em all," but in my experience, there's a loooooot of variability in this chain. My last visit was disappointing, but I gave it another shot (at a different location) because 1) when Arby's is good, it's very good, and 2) I wanted to try the new Roast Burger.

I knew nothing about the Roast Burger except that it looked good in the sign on the window. I wanted to make sure there was no funky kind of Special Sauce on the sandwich, so I had this conversation with the woman behind the counter.

ME: "Is there any kind of sauce on that Roast Burger?"
HER: Yes.

At this point, I paused, expecting she would be a little more specific. Well, to be fair, I asked a Yes/No question, and that's the kind of answer I got.

ME: Uh...what KIND of sauce?
HER: Like on a burger. It's seasoning, like a burger.

Then she kind of glanced up at the big Roast Burger poster, like that photo would tell me everything I needed to know.

At THIS point, I felt I knew less than when I started. But she walked over towards the food area, and I thought she was going to get some packet of sauce or seasoning and show me what it was. Turned out, she was only getting a receipt from a previous order. She went back to the register and looked at me expectantly.

Well, Mama Shark didn't raise no coward, so I risked the presence of weirdo special sauce, bizarre seasoning, or worst of all mayonaisse, and ordered a bacon and cheddar Roast Burger.

It was OK, but not great. You know what it tasted like? A roast beef sandwich. It was a roast beef sandwich with a big bun, lettuce, some big tomatoes, and a few big onions. Since I picked the tomatoes and onions off, I might as well have just bought a roast beef sandwich...especially since that's basically what I got.

And by the way, the seasoning on that thing must have been real subtle, because I sure as heck didn't taste it. Nor did I taste any kind of sauce. So the Roast Burger remains a mystery to me, even after I asked about it, ordered it, and ate it.

What's not a mystery is that I should have just gone to McDonald's.

What this country needs is a good 25-cent newspaper

Do you folks realize that "The Washington Post" costs 75 cents weekdays now, while a copy of "USA Today" is a full buck? This would be way too much even if the newspapers WEREN'T shrinking, both in quality (due to personnel attrition through buyouts of veteran talent and layoffs, as well as other cost-cutting measures) and in size (Thinner sections and even physically shrinking the dimensions of the newspaper, as the "Baltimore Sun" just did).

Whenever I visit my parents over the holidays, my mother--who is the best, by the way--often indulges my newspaper habit by picking me up a stack at the store. This past year, I was shocked at how much even the small locals were, let alone the national tabloids. My habit is becoming almost like smoking--increasingly expensive and decreasingly practiced.

It's a death spiral, with newspapers making themselves less appealing to loyal readers while somehow trying to capture the new or disloyal ones. I love newspapers and I've had a habit of looking at a daily rag or two for decades now (OK, I'm not that old, but "decades" is kind of dramatic, so I'm going with it because more than one decade=decades). When I moved down to the greater DC metro area, I thought one of the coolest things about living here was access to an affordable subscription to the "Post." What had been an expensive occasional Sunday treat back home was now a part of my daily routine.

Now, though, the paper I loved is no more. The end of the stand-alone "Book World" section on Sundays is just the latest in a line of moves that have decimated all the things that made the paper unique. I don't care if I can get similar (or the same) content on the Internet. I spend too much time on computers already; I want a newspaper I can hold in my hands, lay out on the floor or table, and throw in a pile until my wife yells at me for not recycling it quickly enough.

I want that newspaper every day, and I want SEVERAL on Fridays, for the movie reviews, and several more on Sundays for all the Sunday-only features, but not at the prices they're charging nowadays. Besides, those features are on the way out, leaving less and less to justify overpaying at the local grocery store. The "Post" is raising its subscription rates, and that's just another good reason to say good-bye when my current term expires.

That said, if I could pay a quarter a day, I'd be tempted to stick around. As long as there are the comic strips, the Sunday ads (although Circuit City is out of business and Best Buy has given up in my area, making it harder to hunt for DVD bargains), and the entertaining sports columnists, there will be content in a newspaper for me to enjoy. But not at these prices.

Half-Assed Gourmet: Another Saturday night and I ain't got no dinner...

OK, so maybe my wife and I were asking for a hassle by attempting to go out for dinner on a Valentine's Day that fell on a Saturday. But we gave it a shot, anyway. It all turned out well, but not before a little misadventure at Bonefish Grill.

We had a relative drop by, which kept us from leaving as early as we planned, but we figured we'd call ahead and do some recon. So at about 4:00, my wife called Sweetwater Tavern and were told the wait was two hours plus. Thus endeth our plan to go there.

Then she called the hastily-chosen backup choice, Bonefish, which doesn't get crowded so early, and asked, "Could you tell us what the wait is?"

The answer: "About an hour."

My wife, rather surprised, said, "An hour? Really?"

And then the woman at Bonefish says, "Oh, you mean right now? There's no wait."

???

Mind you, Mrs. Shark hadn't asked, "What's the median wait at your establishment?" Nor did she say, "I'd like to know what the wait will be like when we get there at about 5:00 or 6:00." She asked what the wait was. She thought the "now" part was kind of implied.

So our family member stopped by a few minutes later, and we thought he was gonna go to dinner with us, but he declined. So we called the restaurant again at about 4:30 and asked what the wait was. "20-25 minutes," we were told. Well, that was a big step up from nothing, but still tolerable. So we bundled up the little one, got ourselves together, and made the 5-minute drive.

The parking lot was packed, so I popped in to ask, you guessed it, what the wait was. The hostess (I don't know if she was the one on the phone) asked, "Do you have reservations?" When I responded with a quick no, I heard, "Well, then it's gonna be at least two hours."

???

A lot had changed since we last called...10 minutes earlier, to say nothing of the first call less than an hour before, when there was no wait, nor any indication that there would BE a two-hour wait later. But after thinking it over, I realized the misunderstanding was probably all ours. After all, when we called the second time and were told the wait was 20-25 minutes, the woman clearly didn't mean that was the wait NOW; she meant that was the wait at 7:00 the night before. DUH!
(The Brooks family soldiered on, only to find Carraba's had "at least" a two-hour wait." So then we went to Austin Grill, or what I call "Fallback Grill" because it's overpriced for what it is but is the only restaurant nearby that doesn't have an insane wait on a weekend evening. We had a nice dinner and a good time, and so the story ended happily. My sense of time, however, was crippled.)