Spitball Army

(photo: Saul Loeb/AFP/Getty Images)

In an historic lunchtime meeting today, President-Elect Barack Obama met with current and outgoing President George W. Bush and the three living former U.S. Presidents.  In true “cross the aisle” fashion – and fashion meant to apply here in two distinct definitions – the two Democratic former Presidents wore red ties, and the Republican Presidents Bush wore blue ties.  Barack Obama’s tie was blue: “B” for blue, “B” for Barack, and “B” for bi-partisan.

In another gesture of fellowship between parties, Mr. Obama joined the Bushes in sporting a flag pin.  The evolution is now complete (the following footage is from 4 October 2007):

(BlackBerry photo: spitballarmy.com)

Photo taken at V. Richards Cafe and Market, 6 January 2009.

Apparently, the management at V. Richards isn’t too keen on their clientele putting the brakes on the holiday gorging.

“And let it be proclaimed artfully from every napkin dispenser on every table in the land…Each day shall henceforth start with a banquet of orange and yellow bell peppers!”

And, thus, the breakfeast was born.

I will travel out of my way to go to the Irondale post office here in Birmingham.  It’s easy to get in and out of, and the three regular clerks there are usually agreeable.  And, after my run-in at the 1st Avenue North post office last year, I hardly even drive down that street.

Yesterday, I dropped off some mail at the P.O. and asked the nice lady if any new commemoratives had been issued yet this year.

“Yes!”  She sounded almost as excited as I was.  I’ve been collecting stamps since I was a little kid.  I dig a beautifully-crafted postage stamp, and thrill when it heads out of the house on an envelope, on its way to brighten someone else’s day.  That really sounds smarmy, corny, and naive (nobody looks at the stamp as they rip the envelope open!), but that’s the way it is.

“Have you seen the new Alaska stamp?”

“No, let’s see it!”  I had expected nothing until late in the month, to be honest.

She rifled through her drawer and withdrew a file folder.  Opening it, she picked up a sheet of the Alaska stamp and gently laid it in front of me.  She straightened the sheet so the sides of it lay at perfect right angles to the front edge of the counter, touching it ever so lightly with the tips of her fingers.  She beamed.  “Isn’t it pretty?”

It was a great-looking stamp.  “It’s a great-looking stamp,” I said.

Her smile widened.  “And look there, there’s a dog sled!”  She pointed to the photographic image of a dog team being trailed by an Iditarod musher.  “And see who that is driving the team?” she asked me.

“I see him.  Who is it?”

She practically jumped up and down, with a giggle.  “It’s the First Dude, Todd Palin!”  We both laughed.  Don, the clerk at the adjacent window, coughed, and kept on working.

If this is “going postal,” I thought, I’ll definitely be visiting here even more often in the future.

Then I bought several of the Alaska stamps.

Okay, it’s time to come clean.

Even though I am obviously fascinated by letter-writing and letter writers (see Bev & Ande), and despite my regular lamentations about that lost art of correspondence, I am terrible at keeping up with my written communications.  I do try, though.  Doesn’t that count for something?

This year I pledged to make good on my internet yapping and mail Christmas cards, something I haven’t done for many, many years.  It turned out to be a pleasantly satisfying experience.

I took a list of cards that I had received last year with me on my mid-December trip to California, planning to write and mail the cards from there.  On my first day in Oceanside, I rose before the sun and drove to the Mottino Y for a morning swim.  There was a chill wind blowing that morning, and a light drizzle.  The lifeguard, huddled beneath an umbrella and parka and seated on an elevated lifeguard stand, was allowing people into the outdoor pool.  There were three of us, and I don’t think I’ve ever swum in such a strange setting: an open-air pool, in the dark, with rain coming down and a near-40 degree difference between the air temperature (high 30s) and the water temperature (high 70s).  After about a half-hour of this, the lifeguard decided to close the pool.

I showered and dressed and went back out into the cold wind and rain.  And the dark.  I drove about a mile to a busy intersection (College and Oceanside Blvd., I think) and parked it at a Starbucks.  The rain was coming down pretty hard by now, the wind was moaning against the windows.  Inside, the café was warm and aglow with the trademark Starbucks burnished wood design and a tasteful smattering of glowing red and white Christmas lights.  I got myself a warm mug of coffee and settled at a table by the window, watching the town wake up and ease out into the inhospitable stormy Monday.  Inside, I felt downright cozy and protected and, well, appropriately festive.

Everybody should have such a setting in which to write Christmas cards, I thought.  Next year, it could be incorporated into a ski trip; I’m imagining a snowy mountain vista outside the window of a lodge, in which I sit sequestered near a blazing fireplace with an embellished cup of cocoa, letters and envelopes spread out on a table before me.

On my return to Alabama, I was met by a pile of mail that included several Christmas cards.  There were a lot of photo-cards this year, and a few year-end round-up letters.  My favorite card, however, seemed hand-picked just for me.  Here is what it looked like on the outside (inside was the printed inscription, “Here’s hoping your holidays are notable.”):

It also seems that I am still on the mailing list of a few record labels.  Here’s the most puzzling card I received this season.  Isn’t it cute and homey-looking? (Also, notice that it says “fiends” and not “friends.):”

Eventually, you start opening the panels, like an Advent calendar.  Holy pineapple tamale!  The panel with the moon on it, when opened, unveiled a line drawing of two human figures engaged in a five-letter interpersonal activity that rhymes with “moon,” underneath the garage panel was a representation of “driving a car,” and so on.  The panel over the doghouse, dated December 25th, revealed something that Nipper – looking on with bemusement – thought was a talent that only he possessed.  Not so, according to the twisted mind of the lonely art director at Drag City Records:

Merrrrry Christmas, indeed!

I have lived in three cities in my life, and two of them were clearly bike-friendly. In fact, there are probably as many bicycles in the Boston/Cambridge area as there are automobiles. Last month, this article ran in the North County Times about the bicycle plans in my hometown of Oceanside, California:

Oceanside already has a good reputation among two-wheeled commuters.  The League of American Bicyclists designated it a “bicycle-friendly community” in September.  No other city in the county has earned that label.

“Bicycling seems to have caught fire a bit in Oceanside,” Kathy Keehan, executive director of the San Diego County Bicycle Coalition, said in an interview Wednesday afternoon. “People are interested in it, and they want to make the city better.”

The master plan proposes 69 miles of new bicycle lanes, pathways and routes, more than doubling what’s already in place. A few, such as the coastal and inland rail trails, are multimillion-dollar projects. Others involve painting stripes on existing roads.

Oceanside has about 933 bicycle commuters, according to the master plan. If the recommendations are followed, that number would climb 5 percent, to 980, the plan estimates.

You can read the entire article here.

According to the NCT piece, the city of Oceanside recently applied for a grant – not an increase in tax monies, mind you – of $435,000 for the expansion and improvement of bike trails.  That’s about $435 appropriated for each regular bicycle commuter.

It would be incredible if the city of Birmingham could incorporate such plans for bikers – even in miniature – into their overall vision of re-paving and re-vamping the street system.  The long-term benefits of decreased pollution, increased health, slower infrastructure decay and a gentler impact to the environment are obvious and undebatable.

Ten-year-old Damon Weaver wants to interview Barack Obama during Inauguration Week.  You go, Damon!

Here is Damon’s October 2008 interview with Joe Biden, including color commentary from the Palm Beach County Convention Center: