It's the most wonderful time of every four years

I am always happy and proud to say I am Argentinean, but every four years, it feels like a privilege to be one. One of the reasons I love the World Cup is because Argentina is thrust into the international spotlight - and in a positive light no less.

I was too young to remember the 1986 World Cup when Argentina won on the back of Diego Armando Maradona. We had just moved to the US when Argentina was runner-up in the 1990 World Cup, and my memories of that Cup are limited but vivid nonetheless. I especially remember watching the semi-final match between Italy and Argentina (Italy was the host nation) in the basement of a friend's house with my dad - both of us under extreme pressure to subdue our urges to scream after a late-tying goal and during the penalty kicks that Argentina ultimately won.

During the 1994 and 1998 World Cups, I was in Argentina and the whole country would shut down whenever the team was playing. After a glorious victory over the hated English in the 1998 quarterfinals, all of Mendoza came out to celebrate in downtown as if we had won the Cup itself.

That spontaneous celebration is something that I cannot fathom happening in the US. Were the US team to win the Cup, I presume that it would be an important news event. But in many other countries, winning the Cup is not a news event - it's a life event. In the US, it seems that those events are always limited - there's a parade in the city of a team that wins the NBA championship, the Stanley Cup, the World Series, or the Super Bowl. So every year, four cities throughout the country have a spontaneous moment of unity. If you have ever been a part of those parades, imagine how that elation would feel if it was a national celebration.

In addition to being a nationally unifying moment, the World Cup as experienced in Argentina is also an important family event - which I am now much more aware of since I have been left to suffer through these games alone. However, even long distances have not mitigated the sense of joint suffering. Before the first game Argentina played last Saturday, I received phone calls from my mother, sister, and both grandmothers. You know it's serious when your grandmother is calling you about a soccer game.

VIP government visitor at ALB

The Master Cyclist sent me over this picture he took outside Albany International Airport. It looks like some sort of CRJ or ERJ with an Air Force One-type color scheme. I presume that this plane was used to transport a high-level government official - most likely Peter Orszag, who spoke at RPI's graduation.

MK rocks the Palace

Diane and I had the great fortune of catching the legendary Mark Knopfler at the Palace on Sunday, May 9th. For those of you who don't know who this living god is, first of all, shame on you and I don't even know you anymore. He was the lead singer and co-founder of Dire Straits, which rocked the world a generation before I was ready to appreciate music.

Since the end of the Dire Straits days sometime in the 1990's, Mark Knopfler has been fairly steadily putting out solo albums. To be honest, the pieces he played from his solo albums were as impressive and enjoyable as the Dire Straits classics he played.

Here is the setlist:

Bordre Reiver

What It Is

Sailing to Philadelphia

Prairie Wedding

Hill Farmer's Blues

Romeo and Juliet

Sultans of Swing

Donegan's Gone

Get Lucky

Marbletown (band introduction)

Speedway at Nazareth

Telegraph Road (part I & part II)

Encore:

Brothers in Arms

So Far Away

Piper to the End

I could not believe we were treated to Sultans of Swings AND Telegraph Road, which to me is the Mark Knopfler anthem. I have never been as familiar with most of his solo material. Don't get me wrong - I have all the albums, it's just harder to recognize the songs. But, I have to admit that even among that incredibly generous Dire Straits serving in the setlist, in my opinion, the band was at their best on Speedway at Nazareth. If you know these songs at all, that alone tells you how impressive that rendition was. It's hard to imagine Speedway at Nazareth upstaging Telegraph Road. Seriously, watch the link above.

This was my second time watching MK live. The first was on the eve of junior prom in high school. My stepdad had gotten me tickets for Christmas or a birthday or something and we went to watch the Sailing to Philadelphia tour at Red Rocks in Denver. Even after all those years, MK was still filthy on the guitar. And I am not just saying that out of blind infatuation - the TU reviewer agreed.

Technically speaking, I have never seen DS, but it turns out that MK is touring with Danny Cummings on the drums (who was an old DS percussionist) and Guy Fletcher on piano/accoustic guitar/electric guitar/percussion...vocals...everything (who was a DS ... everything). Essentially, it could be argued that we were a John Illsley short of an actual DS reunion.

One of the first things Diane and I noticed when we were walking to the Palace was that we were about 30 years younger than everybody else in the building. In fact, when we were walking out, there was a couple behind us discussing this same phenomenon and the wife said, "Where are all the young people? There aren't any young people here." We summarily turned around and remarked that we consider ourselves fairly young and a good laugh was had by all.

So now, of course, I am on an MK and DS stretch where that's all I can listen to. This morning I added Telegraph Road to my Ipod before my run. The great thing about that is that the song is 14 minutes long, so by the time I had finished listening to it, my run was halfway done. Thanks for that MK.

It's official - I'm a New Yorker (Updated)

There it is - all over my car:

I can't wait to drive back to Colorado with my fancy New York elitist liberal license plates. I can already picture all the nice simple country folk out yonder sneering at my East Coast creds. And all I am going to do while I am there is blast that New York song by Rihanna and the other guy.

UPDATE: Apparently it was Alicia Keys that sings that song. Whatever.

I have now traded my Colorado license plate - which looks like a diet Mountain Dew can to me - for a generic New York plate, with no distinguishing factors that I can identify. Doesn't matter though, baby, the only thing that matters on this plate is the name, homey.

New ride

I have a big problem with impulse buys.

In the summer of 2007, I was working at Camp Taconic, where the day starts with "Sing" - where the whole camp comes together after clean-up to sing some songs before morning announcements. There is nothing like an auditorium full of singing kids to get your day going. But to be honest, I did enjoy Sing most of the time. I mostly hated it when I was hungover.

I was quite obsessed with the guitar playing that I saw during Sing - especially during Rocky Top. And one day I snuck into town to buy a guitar --- on impulse.

Three years later and I can play some simple Neil Young songs, maybe a Cat Stevens tune or two...and that's about it. I just had to learn the hard (and expensive way) that my family genes have no regard for music. There is no ritmo running through my veins.

Last weekend, I made a similar impulse buy. Turns out that a skateboard shop opened on the corner of Lark and State. When I was walking in the park with Diane, this new shop came up in conversation, mostly because it was just nice to have a new business in that storefront. Well, needless to say, about 30 minutes later I owned a skateboard.

This skateboard.

I chose this skateboard because I am a Democrat.

Anyways, I have diligently practiced and I have become quite the avid skater. I even skateboarded to work the day after buying this amazing device.

Maybe this is my mid-life crisis.

Value your opposable thumb (GRAPHIC)

NOTE: There is a graphic photo of my thumb below. Read at your own risk.

Last night, I was chopping up a $4 head of lettuce that Diane and I had bought at the food co-op when in the rush to eat this very valuable vegetable, I managed to slice into the tip of my left thumb. I knew immediately that it was not good. I mean, I also knew that I wasn't going to lose the finger, but I also knew there was no way I could take care of this situation myself.

So I called out to Diane, "ADB, I need you to drive me to the hospital, please." We wrapped my thumb in an old t-shirt and drove off. Luckily, Albany Med is very close.

We got to the ER and after the thumb got looked at, the doctor told me I would need stitches. And a tetanus shot. Great. I have never gotten stitches. In fact, this is probably the most serious injury I have had - if you don't count the time my foot got stuck in the elevator, which is a story I'll leave for another day.

Anyhow, Diane and I hung out in the ER waiting for the tip of my finger to be sown back with the rest of it. After only an hour or so, the doctor started working on it. He put in some local anesthesia, which, of course, did not take on the tip of the finger where I really needed it.

Eventually, the sowing got done. I commented to Diane how this was crafting in a way and if she paid close attention, she could take care of this next time it happens. She did not really appreciate that observation.

The doctor did a pretty good job, as you can see.

I have had the better part of a day to get used to this, and although having had this happen to my right hand - since I am right-handed - would have been really tough, it nonetheless has taken some effort adjust to daily activities without an opposable digit on my left hand.

For starters, making a salad after this incident last night was really hard. And dealing with contacts is just not going to be easy. Shoe-tying. Typing this has been a bitch.

Editing problem in new Southwest Airlines commercial

I admit that this is a very picky post. However, I have been known to be a stickler for details, and if you don't believe me, ask Secretary of State Hillary Clinton and her mystery plane controversy which I first reported on the hallowed pages of this blog.

The other night while I was watching the new Southwest Airlines commercial that shows the ground crew running over to an airplane of another company and baring their hairy chests which spell "Bags Fly Free," I happened to notice that somebody royally screwed the ad up.

Here's a link to the ad, which notwithstanding the editing problem, is actually one of my favorites. Diane's mother happens to find the "Y" very funny.

Did you notice anything?

Well, look again closely and this time pay attention at the :14 second mark. You can see the plane clearly in that shot and you can see that it has twin engines mounted at the rear of the fuselage. I presume this is an MD80, as seen directly below.
Now, pay close attention at the :21 second mark. At this point, we are shown the perspective of a passenger in the above-referenced plane looking out the window at the crazy ground crew. Notice, however, that in this shot, you can make out the wing of the plane, and - and this is the key point - an engine mounted on such wing!!!This means that we are dealing with two different planes, folks. The only explanation that I can think of for this is that Southwest's fleet is composed exclusively of Boeing 737s. The competitor's plane is clearly not a Boeing 737 - you know, with the rear-mounted engines and all. I assume that since Southwest wanted to use their own aircraft for the interior shot, they had to use a Boeing 737.

My question: why not use an interior shot that doesn't include the wing?