The great thing about Americans

I stopped at our favorite Junction bakery tonight before dinner to pick up some bread, and for the first time since it's been open I was the only customer. So I asked the guy at the counter how business has been.

Fine, he said. Really, the global economic meltdown hasn't crippled the croissant market?

"The great thing about Americans," he said, "is that they don't think. They just want to eat. I think we'll be fine."

That's a lot of zeroes

As we speak the House just rejected the big bailout plan and congressional leaders are trying to line up a second vote. I'm no economist but I'm sure not convinced that this plan is a good idea, and I still haven't seen anyone attempt the story I suggested last week, explaining in simple terms what would happen if we taxpayers don't give these well-dressed thieves $700 billion or more of our money.

There were a couple of smart op-ed columns in the New York Times last week at least raising questions about all of this.

Thomas Friedman made the good point that one of things weakening the U.S. economy is that it's built on fluff, not stuff:

We need to get back to making stuff, based on real engineering not just financial engineering. We need to get back to a world where people are able to realize the American Dream — a house with a yard — because they have built something with their hands, not because they got a “liar loan” from an underregulated bank with no money down and nothing to pay for two years. The American Dream is an aspiration, not an entitlement.

And Maureen Dowd had a smart observation: "Who would have dreamed that when socialism finally came to the U.S.A. it would be brought not by Bolsheviks in blue jeans but Wall Street bankers in Gucci loafers?"

What I do know is that $700 billion is a lot of money. That's $700,000,000,000. A 7 with 11 zeroes. Yike. Here in Seattle, where officials and voters have been wringing their hands for years about how to replace the crumbling highway on the downtown waterfront, you could buy 300 new viadcuts for $700 billion.

As Jon Stewart famously put it last week (mocking a real TV news report, actually), that figure amounts to 2,000 McDonald's apple pies for every man, woman and child in the United States. Michelle and I don't eat at Mickey D's, but putting it in terms that matter to the M&M economy, our "apple pie" share of the bailout equals 10 buy-ins to our regular poker game, 10 bottles of Bombay Sapphire (the good shit, in the big bottle), 50 pounds of Starbucks French Roast and one iPhone for good measure. Each.

So, like, a couple of weeks of fun.

I know the world financial markets may hang in the balance, but I'm not sure it's a good trade.

In case you missed it, here's Stewart's riff from last week:




Update: Oh my god, I watched this and found myself agreeing with George Will. "We're getting dangerously close to the truth," he said in this panel discussion, "which is that the sainted American people are the problem here."

Will mentions the 105 billion credit cards held by Americans, the self-reported credit card debt of $12,000 per household, and the fact that total household debt is 139 percent of household income.

"The refusal to defer gratification is a fundamental attribute of childishness," he said.

This show, "This Week with George Stephanopoulos," was pretty good show all around. More clips here. I wonder whether now that Russert's gone Stephanopoulos will take over as the must-see Sunday morning news show.

Return of the morning news meeting

Flipping through the M&M archives I noticed it was one year ago today that we posted our first morning news meeting, a little pre-workday back-and-forth between Michelle and me about the Seattle papers' front pages: on that day, coverage of the new "Halo" video game, a rant about the Seattle Times' ongoing disease-of-the-week barf-fest and a tandem head-scratch about the P-I's lame centerpiece feature.

Actually, we had dabbled with a morning news meeting precursor a couple of other times. But it was on this date last year that we gave the feature its name, and it was something I kept going pretty religiously for a long time. Eventually, I guess, it began to feel like an obligation and I gave up doing it regularly.

Lately I haven't been doing much blogging at all. I haven't felt well and I just haven't been into it. But in honor of the M&M MNM-iversary, and with all the news out there right now, I decided to cast my grumpy eye on the day's headlines.

Predictably, the local papers and big sites are all leading with some combination of the Wall Street bailout and the McCain debate pullout. As they should. But so far I haven't seen the story I'd like to see someone tackle: What, exactly, would happen if Congress doesn't approve this $700 billion, kingmaking, unreviewable checkbook for Treasury Secretary Henry Paulson? Yes, I heard President Bush say last night that "our entire economy is in danger" without the public money. But how? What does that mean? What are the steps of the implied collapse? I imagine trouble for the last standing investment banks and for big institutional investors. But then what? Do local banks go down, small businesses close, people lose their jobs? Why? How? When? I'm surprised I haven't seen anyone try to run these questions down yet. About the closest thing I've seen is today's New York Times op-ed column by my friend Tim Egan, who does it by implication, retelling some tales from the Great Depression.

When the stock market crashed in 1929, losing 40 percent of its value over a brutal autumn, barely 2 percent of Americans owned stocks. People asked, sensibly: how could this affect me? ... Banks were largely unregulated then, free to gamble people’s savings on stock market long-shots. When the market collapsed, the uninsured deposits went with it. By the end of 1932, one fourth of all banks were shuttered, and 9 million people lost their savings.

While we're assigning stories this morning, how about a piece honestly assessing blame for this mess? And by that I mean not just the piggishness of Wall Street and the blindness of the politicians and bureaucrats who are supposed to be watching it (that's been noted, and rightly so), but also the stupid, irresponsible and unquenchable desire of everyday Americans, millions and millions of them, to have everything they want, right now. Yes, part of that was their easily exploited wish to buy more house than they could afford, to believe that real estate prices would rise endlessly, virtually erasing the risk of both mortgage borrower and maker, or so they thought. But there is also the pull of "the porn," as we call the weekly Best Buy circular around here. There's that gleaming 50-inch 1080p plasma LG staring you in the face -- no payments until 2010! -- but do you really need another TV, on credit? How does the consumer spending binge figure into all this? When the president told us months ago that it was our patriotic duty to buy stuff to help the economy, was that really right?

I mean, I love the porn too. I'm typing this on my trusty MacBook Pro, and I'm sure I'll reread it later on my swank iPhone. But come on, people. If everyone forgoes a purchase or two, is that going to hurt the economy, or help it? I'd buy a newspaper that attempted to answer that question.

In local news, Michelle and I were at the Mariners' historic game last night. It was their 100th defeat of the season (we were also on hand for loss No. 1, on the season's second day), but what made it historic was the fact that the M's are the first team ever to lose at least 100 games while also spending at least $100 million on its players' salaries. That should have been on A1 today. Next year, with Richie Sexson gone and with the ability to fire another overpriced loser or two, it's possible the Mariners could dip below the $100 million payroll mark. I wouldn't bet on the team losing any fewer games though.

Finally, a couple of misanthropic notes in my pet-peevey tightass copy editor mode:

The Seattle Times has a front-page headline today, over a story about a new charitable foundation started by a retired baseball player, that says, "One teacher can impact so many kids." Argh! I know this is a quote and everything, but surely someone on the desk knows that impact is not properly a verb in this sense. Jeez. One dumb headline can impact so many kids. Well, not really, since kids don't read the paper. But still. Shape up, people.

The P-I's Robert Jamieson writes today about crime in Seattle's Belltown neighborhood, and I was with him until I got to this sentence: "Nearby street hustlers howled right along with sartorially attired patrons who'd just left Viceroy, an upscale bar." Um, sartorially attired? Doesn't that just mean they were attired in ... clothes?

Lesson for writers: Don't use ten-dollar words when a two-bit one will do, especially when you don't know what the spendier word means. You can't afford it, vocabularywise. Didn't you hear? Our entire economy is in danger.

Three rules

Thirty years ago, at the end of that interminable summer following high school graduation, it was finally time for me to leave little Roseburg, Ore., and go start my new life at the University of Oregon. I packed up the few things I needed and my parents drove me to my dorm. As we approached Eugene, about an hour from home, my mom cleared her throat and said she had something to tell me.

College is a big change, she said, and you're going to meet a lot of new people and have a lot of exciting adventures. As you should.

"I've only got three rules," she said, "and I want you to promise me you'll follow them. Don't grow a beard. Don't buy a motorcycle. And don't get anybody pregnant."

Well, those didn't seem so imposing. I had no money to buy anything but textbooks, I wasn't even able to grow a beard on my peach-fuzzy face, and lord knows I'd been in no danger of making any babies, even if I wanted to, which I didn't, although I wouldn't have minded being in the vicinity.

OK, then. Good advice, Mom, and no worries.

But, you know, things change with time. A few years later, while still in school, I had wormed myself a part-time reporting job at the Eugene Register-Guard and one spring I did in fact let a scraggly little red-tinged beard grow in. And I had become friends with Mike Stahlberg, who served as my unofficial newsroom mentor and was, as he is now, my poker Sensei.

Stahlberg also owned a beautiful motorcycle -- a 1979 BMW R65 (now a classic, but at the time still a pretty new bike) -- and he let me ride it a few times. Soon he decided to upgrade to a larger BMW, an R100, and offered to sell me his old one. Done. I barely thought about it. I loved the bike, the feeling of power and speed and sensory awakening it offered, and I was thrilled to own it. Mike and I shared many awesome weekend rides through the mountains and the Willamette Valley farmland and I imagined myself to be about a hundred times badder than I ever was.

At the time I was dating a very cool and pretty woman I'd met at the paper, Sheila. Remembering Mom's three college rules I proposed a surprise weekend visit to Roseburg. Mom didn't know about the beard or the bike, so I asked Sheila, who was a much better sport than she had reason to be, to ride down to Mom and Dad's house on the back of the Beemer with a pillow under her shirt.

When we got there, I parked the motorcycle within view of the front door and left it running as we walked up and rang the bell. There we stood with our helmets, my beard and Sheila's "belly" when Mom opened the door. The look on her face is still one of my all-time favorite memories.

All this comes to mind because lately, for reasons I haven't really analyzed, I've found myself thinking again about owning a motorcycle.

I haven't had one for years. I took the BMW to San Francisco when I moved there in 1985 but it was stolen. I bought a crappy Honda off my boss, but it was stolen too. Later, after I moved to Seattle, I bought the same R65 model that Mike had sold me, but it didn't measure up to the original and I never loved it. By the time Gina was born in 1993 I felt through with motorcycles and sold the replacement-replacement Beemer to some guy on the copy desk.

The other day, though, browsing Craigslist classified ads, I spotted a "vintage" R65, which led to a vintage cycle site and finally, this click leading to that, to the Harley-Davidson site. I think I spent an hour reading all about Harleys and contemplating the differences between all the models.

When I mentioned this to Michelle she listed all the good (and true) reaasons I should have my head examined, not least that straddling an 800-pound machine at 60 mph would be a lousy time to have a seizure. She won't even get in the car with me.

Still, the Harley site brought back memories and relit a little pilot light. I noticed that a dealer located south of downtown Seattle offers bikes for rent, so this afternoon, with no agenda or commitment longer than midday tomorrow, I plunked down a few bucks to borrow the above-pictured 2008 "Softail Classic."

I haven't really spent much time on it this afternoon, just a cruise along the Duwamish River and Alki Beach, but I have to say it's an awesome ride. I'm not sure what's driving all this -- Death Wish 2008, maybe, or Rebel Without a Brain, or The Midlife Crisis That Wouldn't Die -- but it felt perfectly natural to be atop a motorcycle again. I like it.

Maybe that's all I needed. When I take the Softail back tomorrow, maybe that'll be that.

In other news, I shaved this morning.

Battle of the tech whores

Wham. I can't believe Kaye just rushed right out and bought an iPhone without any warm-up angst or anything, and then announced it with such a cool post on the newly resuscitated NiteNote.

Like she says in a comment on her own post, I'll have more to say about my iPhone "when I can tear myself way from it long enough to form a thought other than - ooooooooo or aaaahhhhhh or wowee!"

The attraction of stuff

One thing Michelle and I share is a geeky fascination with cool gadgets. We don't spend a lot of money on nice furniture or fashionable clothes, but dangle a new computer or the latest tech wizardry and we're both likely to feel a burning sensation in our pockets. Michelle refers to the Best Buy circular in the Sunday paper as "the porno."

And so, despite our better judgment, we both find ourselves pulled with Newtonian force toward the new iPhone 3G. You've seen the ads and heard the hype, I'm sure. It's a cell phone! It's an iPod! It's the Internet at your fingertips! It's a mini TV in your pocket! Your calendar, a camera, instant messaging, games, even a GPS system to tell you exactly where you are right now! (Aisle 2 of the Best Buy, no doubt.)

How can anyone resist? This is a device that would have come in quite handy on Pie in the Sky II, and we talked about it often. We're in the middle of Kansas; where's the nearest cup of coffee? What's the deal with these "Purple Heart Memorial Highway" signs everywhere? OK then, where's the largest cross in the Eastern Hemishphere?

Look it up, look it up, look it up, that's what you could do with the cool new iPhone!

Except, back at home, in rare moments of clear thinking, we've both noted the many reasons to resist. Such as, if you're not on the road, how often would you really need to look something up on your phone? Maybe to check a movie time or settle an argument, but not all the time. Also, iPhones are expensive, both to purchase and to operate over the life of the required two-year contract. We already have cell phones that work just fine, and in fact the quality of our Verizon service is excellent. The AT&T service required for the iPhone is spotty, and last time we had that carrier we couldn't get a signal at our house, which is why we switched to Verizon. If we switched to an iPhone and then had to switch again we'd have to pay twice for the privilege.

Another problem with the attraction of stuff is that you end up with more stuff. We've already got a basement full of old network routers, Tivos, computer parts, power cords and formerly cutting edge cell phones that we don't use anymore. I'm not one of those back-to-nature, live-off-the-land freaks, but even I see that piling up so much plastic and silicon is ridiculous and wasteful.

Also, I'm not sure I want the extra level of connectivity that the iPhone offers. As it is I don't want to answer my phone half the time, and I delete plenty of email without even reading it. If anything, I'd like to be less available to most of the world, not more.

And then there are questions about the iPhone device itself. It's gotten terrific reviews, but already there's some backlash out there among people disappointed with the service, or with Apple's bungled rollout, or with the relatively feeble battery life. Some iPhone fans are boasting on message boards that they're able to get through an entire day without charging the battery -- if they turn off the wireless, the GPS, the enhanced "3G" network and they don't play any music ... all the stuff that makes this thing better than a regular old cell phone.

Some are having a tough time reconciling their tech love and their tech snootery. "I just noticed today that the buzz is gone," said one poster on Gizmodo. "Almost makes the instability and constant call-dropping worth it."

I stopped by the AT&T store the other day (my car was parked right next to it) and asked about the cell coverage problem. The service has been upgraded, the guy said, and you always have 30 days to return the phone if it doesn't work, but if you're worried about it you could borrow the phone of a friend with AT&T and check it at your house.

Hmm.

Wednesday, between doctor appointments, I poked my head in at the University Village Apple Store. A line of people out the door waiting to buy from the limited supply of iPhones, with the average wait time two hours. Whenever a customer emerged from the store with that little rectangular bag in hand, the people in line would cheer. It was kind of sick.

And still, I keep surfing back to the Apple review sites to check the latest news. The porno has its pull. I can't decide.

Michelle and I are heading out to the movies this afternoon -- the new "Batman" -- and we'll probably stop at the Southcenter Apple Store. The force will be strong, I'm sure.

Somebody, quick, talk me out of it. Or, alternatively, if you happen to have AT&T, can I borrow your phone?

Why do ...

... when you can overdo. That's one of Michelle's favorite expressions and it could be the official city motto of New Orleans, where it's almost impossible to say when. We've certainly had our fill here, and then some, during the excellent four-day New Orleans leg of Pie in the Sky II.

Oysters (lots of 'em), beignes (lots and lots of 'em), crawfish, music, alcohol, sightseeing, gambling, hanging out with friends, driving around looking for a parking place: We've done a lot of what this cool town has to offer, more than once. Very fun. But two weeks into the big road trip now and, honestly, we're kinda bushed.

Yesterday, Sunday, we spent another nice day at JazzFest. Totally different weather than Friday. Really hot, like 90, with huge crowds, pretty long lines and, still, people slipping around in the mud left over from the Friday and Saturday rains. We heard some good music. I especially liked the Rebirth Brass Band, the Raconteurs (Jack White's other band) and the excellent Neville Brothers set -- with a surprise guest appearance by Carlos Santana -- that closed out the festival to a beautiful sunset.

In honor of JazzFest and one of the big stages set up around the fairgrounds track, I've amended Michelle's expression to: Why do when you can fais do-do? That's funny to me, because I could never remember how to pronounce the Fais Do-Do stage (it's actually like "fay doh-doh," and named after a Cajun dance party). I've always said "fie dew dew," and Michelle teases me for being a know-nothing out-of-towner. So now I've made it official. Why do when you can fie do do.

This morning we played tennis with Freda and Sandyman (why do ...) before packing up and preparing now to hit the road for the next stop, Biloxi and Gulfport, Miss., where we hear there's good poker action.

Here are a few stray pics from the past few days.

Michelle at one of her favorite fast-food joints (this one in West Memphis, Ark.).

Entering Tennessee on Thursday morning.

We went to Beale Street, center of the Memphis blues nightlife scene, and both really liked it a lot. They had a big music festival scheduled for this past weekend and the lineup looked so good, including a lot of the acts from JazzFest, that we briefly considered putting off New Orleans and hanging out there instead. We both bought t-shirts from this Tater Reds place, and Michelle also picked up a cool painting from Mr. Red himself.

Memphis is also home to Stax Records, probably my favorite label. Instead of driving out to Graceland we made a short pilgrimage here, where Mavis Staples, Otis Redding, Al Green and many others made their classic recordings. Soulsville, USA! I loved it.

Crossing into Louisiana after a pretty drive south through Mississippi.

Michelle and her mom in the backyard of Freda's comfy home in Kenner, a New Orleans suburb. Freda's been a great host, putting us up for days and putting up with our late hours, constant eating and relentless search for neighbors' wireless connections. Also she cooked up some delicious crawfish etouffee, made her trademark Freda Salad and, just now, fried me up some post-tennis crabcakes. Hard to leave this place.

On Saturday Freda drove us out to a beautiful old plantation on the west bank of the Mississippi, Oak Alley. It was an interesting tour, full of history if a little detail-skatey about the whole slavery thing. The short version: In the early 1700s, some settler planted these 28 oak trees above in two long rows leading up to a little house. In 1836 some really rich dude bought the property, knocked down the house and had his slaves build the gorgeous mansion we toured to tempt his young party-girl wife out to the country from New Orleans. After the Civil War the place was abandoned and fell into disrepair. Some smart cat bought the whole shebang for $50,000 in the 1940s and spent another $60 thousand or so refurbishing it. When his widow died 15 years ago or so a foundation took the place over and now they maintain it by selling tours and doodads.

Also mint juleps, which I had never tried. But I figured how often am I going to be at a real Southern Plantation, with a veranda and a julep at the ready. Nice. I see why they got popular. We bought some bourbon and mint juice and made some more when we got home.

Pretty day yesterday at JazzFest. This was the Gentilly Stage, where we saw the Raconteurs.

The Neville Brothers (with Santana playing the red guitar), at the Acura Stage.


Last night we had dinner with Freda at Deanies, a seafood favorite hereabouts.


This morning's tennis group. Sandy and Freda let Michelle and me win two games before finishing us off 6 games to 2. I was shocked and proud, honestly, that we scored any points at all.

OK, time to go. See you on the Gulf Coast.

A thing I have bought

I'm not sure when it happened, but at some point in my life, I became an art collector. It's an odd thing to be, I have always thought. You always think of art collectors being super rich. I started paying cash for art when I was still pretty much broke. In fact, my first piece of art was bought for me by a friend for $50 bucks because I really did not have that kind of cash back then. That piece was a portrait of me done by a guy who is now famous -- Jamie Mitchell, who has since changed his name to James Michalopoulos. I used to hang out with Jamie in New Orleans coffee houses back in the 1980s. Here's his painting of me.



Soon after, I became addicted to the art of Kay, which you can see over on her site.

One of my Kate Cohen originals:



And another:



And another:


Since coming to Seattle, I've become addicted to two artists I met at the Seattle PI: Andrew Saeger and Guillermo Munro. I bought these pieces off of them:
From Saeger:



From Guillermo:



Today, I bought another piece off of Guillermo. It should arrive next week. It's called Power Hurts:



Hooray! Art is cool. Too bad I don't live in France, where the government recently created some new tax incentives for art collectors.

Also recent great news for Guillermo: He's being featured in ART CHICAGO, the biggest art happening in Chicago. If you're interested in becoming a Guillermo collector, act now, before the prices go up! Check out his stuff on his site.

In the bonus!

A long time ago, with a girlfriend far, far away, I made the mistake of taking a simple question at face value and answering honestly. "What would be your perfect day," J said.

Fun!

Well, let's see. I guess it would start with the Sunday New York Times and a cappuccino at Trieste (we were living in San Francisco at the time; Caffe Trieste, in North Beach, was and is my favorite coffee joint anywhere). And I'd go to a Giants game, play some poker, see a movie and have some good Chinese food, maybe at Hunan.

"Hmm," she said. "Is that it?"

I racked my brain to see what cool stuff I might have left out or could still fit into one day. Skiing, impractical. Reading all afternoon at the beach would squeeze out either baseball or poker, no good. Bowling, nah.

Yeah, I said, that sounds like a pretty good day.

My mistake, it turned out, was that my perfect day didn't include any plans built around J or, for that matter, even mention the possibility of her tagging along. One of many lessons that I like to think of now as Boyfriend School.

---

Years before that, in college, my friend Gohman and I used to waste a lot of time at the tavern playing video games and pinball. If you scored enough points to win an extra round, Gohm would happily announce: "In the bonus!" You had beat the game, tricked the actuaries. You had permission -- almost an obligation -- to play with abandon, to explore the game for hidden points, go for the trick shot. In the bonus was free life.

---

Today is my birthday. The past few days, leading up to it, Michelle has kept asking how old I am, thinking maybe she'd freak me out. (I am getting up there.) Then last night, at our little birthday party with the girls, she pulled out my Dad's famous (in our family) question whenever anyone had a birthday: How does it feel to be .... 11, 23, 35, 60, whatever the magic number was. To which, whatever the answer and whatever the number, he'd follow up with, "What a great age!"

So, how does it feel to be 48? Considering that at 46 I had two brain surgeries and was diagnosed with a fatal disease and, for a while there, wasn't sure I would make it to 47, 48 seems pretty good. I feel like I'm in the bonus.

It's nice of them to make a national holiday on my birthday. Michelle's off today for President's Day and she asked me the other day what would be the perfect way to spend the day.

Adjusting for geography and the fact that it isn't baseball season, my list hasn't changed much. Only now there's a preface.

"Since you have the day off," I said, "I think it would be cool if we ..."

We're going out for our cappuccino now. Poker session and Chinese food at the casino to come later.

(Michelle took the above picture of me at Trieste during our visit last summer.)

As Frank would say ...

It's nice to go traveling, but it's oh so nice to come home.

Michelle and I always quote that Sinatra line after a trip, even one as cool and fun as this one has been. We rocked pretty hard, to the point that now, as much fun as we had, neither of us can imagine staying any longer in Europe.

Or maybe we're just tired from this incredibly long day of travel -- more than 24 hours, from Rome to Amsterdam to San Francisco to Seattle, and that's only because Michelle managed to talk us onto an earlier flight in SF, saving us a four-hour layover there.

We're wasted, but happy. Photos to process, sleep to get and then more stories to come.

Boots for Europe

Sweet! Yesterday I got me some thermal and waterproof boots on deep discout sale at Nordstrom Rack -- paid $20 a pair. I'm breaking them in now for the walking of Rome and Paris.

I guess I went on a bit of a spending spree this weekend. Yesterday I bought a sweet sounding acoustic/electric Epiphone guitar so me and Mark can jam together to the cool new learn guitar cd he got. He plays pretty good already, which is kind of amazing, considering he hasn't played for years. Yesterday he showed me how to play Blowing in the Wind. He just figured it out. He's a natural.

Then I spotted an awesome Granny rocker chair on Craigslist for $50. I've been needing my own chair for a while -- the girls sprawl on the sofa and kind of take it over. I've been sitting in a bean bag for a while. My sweet granny chair is much better.

In other reports, I've been spending the past few weeks fixing up a few little house problems. A corner of our concrete slab in the basement was crumbling, so I patched it up with some concrete patch. On more little piece to go before I'm done.





Also, there were two holes in the wall where windows used to be. The previous owners just nailed some boards over them. I installed some high-grade insulation, so now it's less chilly down there. I'm going to wallboard over this next week probably. I'm trying to decide between your basic drywall, or putting up blueboard and plastering over that. I've been intrigued by plaster, and have wanted to try working with it for a while... thoughts?


Also, I've been regrading the bottom of the driveway, which has about 3 inches of topsoil grown over it. The runoff from the driveway is spilling into the garage. So far all my regrading hasn't worked. Might have to install a French drain.

Comfort Food

Man, Janicio is reading my mind. Today she posted this comment:

"update: a newly discovered comfort food: small slices of sharp cheddar with some of Kate's most excellent grape preserves on a neutral-tasting cracker, then a small slice of blue cheese with a drop of honey. repeat. Can be prepared and eaten with one hand and goes very well with painkillers."

Last night I was thinking of doing a comfort food post about Kaye's jam too. After we got back from the VERY awesome 5 glioma Sharon Jones concert, I discovered possibly the best ever use of Kaye's jam: Take a loaf of fresh baked sourdough bread, tear off chunks and just dip it in the jam. Dip it good. Swirl it around. Don't be shy, get that jam on there! Eat, repeat. Warning: This is delicious, but very bad for your diet. It also causes you to run out of jam rather quickly.

Road trip car

My quick review of Michelle's new Element as a road trip car: excellent.

Plenty of room, as we knew, but it was also quite comfortable riding in it for several hours at a time. You sit slightly above the traffic, but it still feels more like a car than a truck. The ride felt smooth, and there was enough power to get up a hill or around a slow truck. Michelle did all the driving, so it's easy for me to say, but I was able to put the seat back and take a couple of nice long naps.

Also, the car came with a three-month trial of XM Radio, which I thought was cool. Two hundred and some channels and still nothing on, we kept joking, but actually the variety was nice, and it ws a good clear signal except driving through the thick forest near Otis.

Our latest contributor

I just want to welcome my cousin Ronelle, from Oceanport, N.J., who stumbled across M&M yesterday and already has posted her first comment, on the subject of naming Michelle's new car.

Ronelle sent me a few pictures of her daughter Christin (my third cousin?), who just graduated from high school. I've met her a couple of times -- Christin, I mean -- but in my head she's like 9 years old. Ronelle I don't know a heck of a lot better, but I've always felt a very close connection to her. We just hit it off.

Here's Christin:

Here's Ronelle's comment on Michelle's car:

How presumptuous of me to make my first comment a suggestion for naming your new addition! Then again, I do have the BEST idea so it would just be wrong for me to keep it to myself. It seems obvious to me that your new very blue ride should be named Jake or Elwood - you get to pick which one you like best. Enjoy it!

And here's what she's talking about (I have to admit it's a pretty good idea):



Thanks Ronelle. And welcome!

Here they are!

Michelle and her new ride:


Very cool. The car, too.

Michelle even made an exception last night to her strict I'm-not-riding-with-no-damn-epileptic policy and let me drive the Element around the block. Nice. Sure glad I didn't seize out and crash.

Good purchase, baby.

'Ok did it. Blue'

That was Michelle's text message on my phone just now, which I take to mean she pulled the trigger on the new Honda Element she was going to check out after work.

Smart girl that she is, she did all her negotiating by e-mail, playing half a dozen dealers off each other, so it's no wonder to me that she wrapped this all up as fast as she did, and I'll bet she got a good deal too.

I'm sure when she gets home we'll all hear more about it.

Coolio.