Thank goodness for Google Alerts. Not only do they bring home just how often the word “MacGyver” is used to refer to someone other than the tv character, and keep me up to date on what other Meachams around the world are doing, but they inform me when my website is featured on a local cable news broadcast. Why would an amateur project be featured on the Albany Time Warner Cable news channel, complete with on-screen scrolling that proves to viewers that it is indeed a “Web Site,” best viewed on “The Internets” ? A good question.

But Noah Robischon, technology reporter for Entertainment Weekly, chose to spotlight my Photo Booth Directory on the December 14 edition of the Entertainment segment of the news. Thanks to my Google Alert for “photo booth,” I found this page with a transcript of the report and a link to a Windows Media clip of the report. The report shows a number of pages from the site and gives the URL; it also follows a couple of the other photo booth sites I have links to. The owner of one of those sites sent me an email today letting me know he’d heard about the report; strangely enough, he sent me a link to the report on a different channel, New York City’s NY1, also the Time Warner Cable 24-hour news channel. The report is the same, but the better-quality RealPlayer file shows a version of the clip with the URLs printed on screen for easy jotting down or typing in.

The reporter (a writer for EW, Time, Popular Science, and other publications) also gives a personalized sign-off “for New York 1.” So I guess the clip aired on Time Warner Cable news all over New York, at least, if not further afield. Coming on the heels of the site being the Yahoo! Pick of the Day on December 8 – who knows, maybe that’s where Noah picked it up – the site is seeing some increased traffic all over the place. I’m in good company; some of the other reports had titles like “Silly Inventions Find A Home On The Internet,” “Take Kermit-Guided Tour Of Muppet Studios Online,” and “The Legend Of Mr. T Lives On In Cyberspace.” I’m honored.

Our last day in Anchorage was another relaxing and fun one, with a late rise around 9 am, late but still pre-sunrise, so we got to enjoy the lights of the christmas tree one more time. After breakfast, we headed out to enjoy an afternoon of lounging around at a caf?. First, we had to check out Anchorage’s first official roundabout – a big deal, in a land of otherwise fairtly unsophisticated urban planning and street layout. It’s a fairly simple affair, replacing a traditional intersection between a cross-street and the on- and off-ramps of the highway. As you come off the highway, a sign warns of the roundabout ahead, but even better, after the experience is over, a sign directs drivers to alaskaroundabouts.com for “driving tips,” including some excellent flash simulations and links to more roundabout information. I suppose it would be a little distracting if it were noted before the roundabout, but the sign’s location afterwards seems a little late, as though it’s saying “[if you can read this, you made it through and probably don’t need to visit] akroundabouts.com.” Sorry about the blur of the photos; thanks to Aimee for doing her best while we drove through.

Our first caf? stop, Kaladi’s at New Sagaya, was packed with the lunch crowd, so we headed to Caf? Del Mundo, home of a more relaxed scene, big tables to spread out our stuff on, and Dad, walking out after a lunch meeting. He was headed to Kaladi’s, of course, as it was Thursday, time for a new Anchorage Press, a mocha, and two cookies. What a regimen.

Aimee and I enjoyed our teas and read – I continued to enjoy the massive Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell, thanks to Nell, my Secret Santa at the Browns’ christmas celebration. It’s really engaging, though I’m a hundred pages in and haven’t met Mr Norrell yet. I like the fact that it’s written in a very specific style, even down to spelling (“surprize,” “sopha”) and punctuation (no period after “Mr” or “Mrs”).

We returned home to pack, with a weird pit-stop for lunch at an out-of-the-way lunch spot that was a mess of contradictions – nice atmosphere but overpriced food, tasty sandwich but mold on the cheese – and was a overall underwhelming. Much more exciting was the moose sighting on the way home. We were just a few streets from my house when Aimee spotted – a big horse? no – a moose, chomping intently on the lowest branches of a few trees in the otherwise empty yard of a big house on the corner of the road.

We pulled over and watched for awhile, happily playing tourists, as one other car did, while others drove by, jaded by daily moose spottings all year round. We watched for quite some time, fascinated by her huge size and her ability to point her head completely vertical to reach the branches.

The big event for the evening was a neighborhood holiday party at a house up the hill from us. Now, some of our best family friends in Anchorage live in the neighborhood, but I can’t say I’ve ever been to a neighborhood party, nor do I think I would know anyone at such a party. And I was right; I only recognized two faces, and that was once my mom told me who they were. But boy was it worth it to go to this party. It was held at one of the two massive houses on this street, known to me as “the one without the huge swimming pool.” This house, ostentatious from the street, becomes utterly unbelievable once you’re inside.

As we walked down the heated driveway, past the four-car garage, and approached the massive entryway flanked by columns and topped with a massive glass etching of Denali, Aimee and I got a quick catch-up on who lived there: a recently un-retired doctor and his wife, in their 70s, who built the house four years ago. The couple, especially the wife, were the most unassuming people, hosting the party in a Christmas-themed sweatsuit and slippers. They have no young kids, no grand-kids, no long-term guests, just the two of them. In a multi-million dollar house, with a swimming pool (with electric sliding pool cover), a hot tub, an exercise room, three guest bedrooms, an elevator, a separate furnace for each floor, and some of the ugliest interior decoration I can remember. We got a tour of the place, and it was one jaw-dropper after another. A his and her’s office, the shelves lined with shrink-wrapped Time-Life classic music LP sets. A library filled with Reader’s Digest Condensed books and bound volumes of National Geographic. His and her’s walk-in closets, which the Latvian exchange student who was at the party compared favorably to his last apartment, and a master bathroom with bidet, tv, and heated towel racks. I think the most surprising thing about it all was that it was in Alaska; it just felt like it belonged somewhere else. But every time you looked out one of the massive floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room, you were reminded of exactly where it was. The gossip was that it was up for sale – I wonder who the intended market is?

After the party, we headed back down the hill to the house and enjoyed a delicious dinner of king crab, followed by a little cornet duet, which was my first time picking up a horn in about eight years. I was totally rusty and had no endurance whatsoever, but the fingerings all came back, and it was certainly fun. After a round of Mountaineering Monopoly (Mom won, Dad almost went broke), we headed to the airport for the ultra-redeye, the 2:39 am to Seattle. A brief trip, but wonderful nonetheless.

We had an eventful day in Anchorage yesterday, as we experienced the broad range of cultural experiences and outdoor activities the city provides. We met Neil and Melanie at Snow City for lunch – mmm, salmon cake hero and reindeer sausage soup – and then went over to their new house to check out all of the work they’ve been doing. Afterwards, we headed home and took out the snowshoes for a little circumnavigation of the house.



We headed down the path that we used for sledding and for taking the dog for a walk; it’s a little overgrown now, but we managed to find our way around, down towards the Taco Bell house and the house with a full-fledged observatory attached, and then back up by the woodpile and the old Jeep and home again.



After our snowshoeing, we deserved some of the hot chocolate with chili powder (quite a kick at the end there), so we fixed up some of it and played a few games of Pente on the floor of the living room. Just like old times…

We then headed out to the always-impressive Title Wave bookstore to browse and to the local REI flagship to look at a tent for our registry. One pair of gloves later, we headed back south to Little Italy, an old favorite (and the natural choice with Mexico in Alaska closed for the week), to meet Mom and Dad for a delicious dinner.

Next up was our main activity of the evening, an Alaska Aces hockey game at the Sullivan Arena. The last time I had been to the Sullivan Arena, no joke, was the day of my high school graduation, as far as I can recall, and I don’t think it’s changed much in the past 11 years. The game, against the San Diego Gulls, was fun to watch, though it was pretty easy to tell that the players were one or two notches below the NHL pros in their puck-handling skills. The reason we went to the game was to see Calder Trophy and Lord Stanley’s Cup winner (and hometown hero) Scott Gomez play while the NHL is on strike, and though he didn’t get much of a chance to shine, it was clear he was able to move himself and the puck around at another level. The most entertaining aspect of the game was the litany of sponsored events and situations that occurred throughout: the “Subway Penalty Kill,” the “AAA Fencing Power Play,” and the “Alaskan Metal Supply Penalty Box,” for example. Everything at an ECHA hockey game is a chance to make a buck, from a raffle to a split-the-pot to a chuck-a-puck to selling naming rights for every event in the game. I’m surprised we weren’t watching the Mt. McKinley Plumbing Anchorage Aces.

After dinner, the four of us headed to Sub-Zero, still nearly empty but also still clinging to life, making martinis from scratch for a select few Anchorage-ites. The only change since the last time we went there seemed to be the addition of a plasma tv, though the volume on “South Park” was thankfully down. I enjoyed the “Kurant Affair” once again, Dad tried another Belgian Ale, and Mom once more asked for something “not too sweet” and got a different answer from the same bartender. We’ll be back, if it will.

Mom and Dad went home while Aimee and I made one more stop for the evening, the “World Famous” Chilkoot Charlie’s. I’d only been there once before, and seen enough to mostly dispel the image in my head of a scary biker bar where fights happen nightly and women venture alone at their own risk. It still does have sawdust on the floor and pictures of the “The Day Ted [Nugent] Came to Town” on the wall, but everyone can probably find one of the half a dozen bar areas to his liking. We hung out in the swing bar enjoyed the people-watching, though I was sad to miss the Russian Room and Soviet Walk, “with the unique flavor of czarist Russia,” only open Thursday to Saturday.

At some point after moving away from Anchorage, I had decided I’d like to go see a show at The Fly-by-Night Club. Deep in the heart of Spenard, the club is a local landmark, a bar and lounge that features year-round entertainment by the famed Mr. Whitekeys and his Spamtones in shows like “The Whale-Fat Follies” and “Springtime in Spenard.” I never really knew what it was, and never knew anyone who had gone, but the further I got from life in Alaska, the more I thought it was something I should see, an authentically Alaskan experience whose existence I had taken for granted growing up here. Plus, everyone needs a good laugh at the expense of the local newspaper, local politicians, and crummy weather, especially when it’s your locale. I think we had tried to arrange it a few years before, but we finally got around to it this time around. Little did I realize that by the end of the evening, we would eat an order of Spamadillas as an appetizer, and and I would be crowned “King of the Minor Celebrities” by Mr. Whitekeys himself. But first things first…

The show itself was all I had expected, and more. Mr. Whitekeys, aided by a former Miss Anchorage as well as a bassist, drummer, and another actor, lampooned Alaskan politics and culture (as well as ridiculous holiday catalogs) for two hours. Most of the jokes were set to music, like “Viva Anchortown,” sung by “Elvis,” to the tune of “Viva Las Vegas,” accompanied by a slide show of old clip art, photos of dreary Anchorage winters, and doctored images, usually featuring the heads of politicians on the bodies of people doing stupid things. The slide show feature was an added bonus that helped reinforce the lyrics, and certainly made things easier to understand for those of us a little removed from life here, or complete strangers to the world of Alaskan humor. Here, Mr. Whitekeys lampoons the million-dollar diamond-encrusted Mr. Potato Head from the Neiman-Marcus Holiday Catalog.

But it was more than just jokes; as soon as we’d finished a song about how the governor tried to buy a LearJet with Alaska’s Homeland Security budget, we were on to a very nice slide show of beautiful Alaskan wildlife and nature images, accompanied by Mr. Whitekeys’ rendition of the “William Tell Overture” on two harmonicas. Weird. Every once in awhile, I’d hear a joke about Anchorage and forget where we were and be excited that someone was telling a joke about my home city; then they’d mention Spenard, and Muldoon, and I’d remember that all the jokes were about us.

Mr. Whitekeys’ obsession with Spam plays a large role in the show; one of the first songs featured slides of images submitted by people all over the world holding Spam cans in interesting places (shades of Stew Leonard’s and iPods Around the World. Imagine my surprise when up on the screen pops an image of Brent, on a football field wearing a sousaphone with a SPAM cover on the bell. I wonder if he knows he’s got a role in this year’s show.



At the intermission, Mr. Whitekeys asked audience members to submit their claims to “minor celebrity” status, after giving us a few examples from his book, Elvis Presley’s Pharmacist Was My Sunday School Teacher. “The more obscure the better,” he said, and so I submitted by entry on the card provided: “I was thrown into Frank and Kathie Lee Gifford’s swimming pool by half a dozen second graders.” After the intermission, the best submissions were read aloud, including ones from someone whose relative had dated F. Scott Fitzgerald and someone who rented an apartment below Elvis. Mine wasn’t chosen; oh well. The next thing I knew, my name was being called (and pronounced properly) by Mr. Whitekeys to come up on stage as one of the three finalists in the race to see who would be “King or Queen of the Minor Celebrities.” I was up against an actress from New York (sat behind Barbara Bush at Yale for a semester) and a nurse at a local hospital (gave Little Richard morphine after a car accident).



Mr. Whitekeys read each of our entries and talked to us about our experiences, and then asked the audience to vote for the winner by applauding. My story didn’t get much of a reaction when it was read aloud, but I think I told a better story during the interview segment, and I came out the winner.



I did a little kick-step to “You’re Nobody ‘Till Somebody Loves You (and even then you might still be nobody)” with Mr. Whitekeys and Former Miss Anchorage, and was crowned (with a Burger King crown, what else) and given my fabulous prizes, a Smirnoff Ice t-shirt, a used Anchorage state house campaign sign, and an inflatable Sam Adams promotional float plane. What a night!

I kept telling everyone I saw that everything would have been nicer with snow; I guess I should have qualified that statement and specified exactly when I’d like my snow to fall. Before, during, and after we were supposed to leave Boston for Anchorage would not have been my choices, but as it happened, our travel plans were shot to pieces by the first storm of the year in Boston.

We arrived at the airport at 3:30 for a 6:00 pm departure on Sunday, and after finally boarding at around 6, sitting on the tarmac for five hours trying to get pushed back, de-iced, and re-fueled, we were deplaned at 11:00 pm and sent home. We tried again the next day, and from a scheduled 11:30 departure, finally took off around 4:00 and got to Anchorage, after a stopover in Seattle, at 11:30 pm, thirty-six hours after our travels had begun. For all the years living in Alaska and Boston, and travelling around at the holidays, I’ve got to say, it was the first time I’ve ever had travel plans really messed up. When we finally got it, it was a relief to see my parents at the gate, with the added bonus of Brent, on his way back to Seattle, for another airport rendezvous. It was nice to see him, but extremely strange; it was undobutedly the shortest amount of time (less than a minute) I’ve ever spent with a good friend – I feel like you’d either not see the person or you’d stop and chat for at least a couple of minutes. Anyway, we’ll have to catch up later. We unwound at home with a mug of glögg, and finally hit the sack around 2 am.

As tought as it was getting home, it certainly was worth it. Winter in Anchorage is a great thing, especially with weather like the clear, crisp kind we had today. We slept in, thankful we weren’t on a plane or anywhere near one, and enjoyed Christmas II, complete with brass and choir carols, and a gorgeous view of Denali, Susitna, and a dozen other peaks, slowly illuminated by the emerging sunlight.



We had a wonderful exchange of gifts, including the usual chocolate coins and some excellent kitchen-related gadgets as well as books and clothes, which came in handy with our missing luggage.



Dad enjoys his Monopoly: Mountaineering Edition:



Aimee and I headed to AMIPA‘s new offices at the beautiful new UAA Library to talk to Bob, Kevin, and Mike, and see their new facilities. We also talked to Brent’s sister Tracy at her office in the library, and then headed to the scene that is the The Moose’s Tooth for pizza and beer. Tonight, we’re off to The Fly-by-Night Club for “Christmas in Spenard” – I can’t wait.

The white Christmas I was hoping for yesterday seems to have come a day late; it’s currently flurrying in all directions outside the window. Aimee and I enjoyed our first Christmas Eve/Morning celebration together, with some new traditions that I hope will last – pad thai and a movie – and some that I hope won’t – me losing at Scrabble. In the afternoon, we had a wonderful celebration at her family’s place, a whirlwind of gifts and food and kids playing with toys, just like it should be. Today we’re off for Alaska, weather permitting, after we catch a screening of The Life Aquatic With Steve Zissou, after a very long wait. I’m prepared for it to be underwhelming, I guess, if the critics’ one-line reviews are any indication, but I think those are intended for the general public, rather than Wes Anderson devotees. So my trepidation is naturally mixed with high hopes.

1. (Tie) The Pixies at Kaplakrika, Hafnarfjorþur, Iceland, May 25, and the Pixies at Avalon, December 9
The Pixies’ reunion tour was the musical story of 2004; I was so desperate to see them that I engineered a mini-break to Iceland when the first leg of their tour was announced. Though the venue was a little strange and the band less than demonstrative, there’s nothing that will compare to the sound of the actual Pixies playing actual Pixies songs live in front of you for the first time. Especially after a twelve-year wait. Their homecoming show in Boston was a different experience altogether, more intimate, comfortable, sloppy, and fun, but while the band sounded better this time around, the crowd seemed a little too reverent to get into the experience as much as the horde of Icelandic teenagers from the May show.




3. Wilco at the Calvin Theater, Northampton, MA
The second of our two-night stint following Wilco across Massachusetts cemented what we’d learned the night before: A Ghost Is Born comes into its own when performed live. I had a bit of a hard time getting into the album when I first listened to it, but hearing the full band, now augmented with new side men Nels Cline and Pat Sansone, rip through some of the more unassuming tracks from the album, was a real pleasure.



4. Magnetic Fields at Berklee Perf. Center, Boston, May 24
Another first time seeing a favorite band, who proved surprisingly adept at bringing their unique and particular style to the stage. It translates well, much like David Sedaris’ writing, to a performance in front of a large, attentive crowd, eager to hear clever phrases, biting one-liners, and interesting re-tellings of common experiences. Plus, they played “Book of Love,” which made everything great.



5. Sondre Lerche at the Paradise, October 25
We saw Sondre Lerche twice this year at the Paradise. The first time was great, as he was in good form and he had his band, the Faces Down, to back him up. The Paradise had inexplicably set up chairs on the floor, a first in my experience there, and the whole mood of the place was a little off. The second time around, we were treated to a mostly solo show, just the pop genius (with a sore throat) and his guitar. He gives one of those deeply satisfying live performances: great music and a charming presence, with an appreciation for the audience, as well.



6. Badly Drawn Boy at the Avalon, November 19
Damon and Co. always put on an interesting show, from his acid-tongued folk to Bacharach-inspired pop to Springsteen-esque power ballads. This show was no different, as he and the band ran through the entire tracklisting from his most recent album, One Plus One Is One. Then they took a break, and returned ten minutes later to play as many old songs as they could before Avalon’s pre-clubbing curfew shut the show down at 9:45. As constrained as it was, it was still a great evening of music from the inscrutable Boy.



7. Washington Social Club at the Middle East, September 29
I saw Marty and the Social Club three or four times this year; they just keep getting better, and their last gig was by far their best. It’s nice to see them build an audience that consists of more than just friends and friends of friends. In the past year, they’ve been on MTV, Carson Daly, and a song of theirs was featured on an episode of ER. Going places, for sure.



8. Snow Patrol at the Paradise, September 13
Every once in awhile, I get out of my rut and buy tickets to see a new band due to play a date at the Paradise, and pick up the cd to get primed for the show. The results are often less than encouraging, but this time, they worked out nicely. I’d listened to the album, and been mostly satisfied, for a few weeks before Snow Patrol came to town, but the show was more than impressive, and gave me hope for their future as purveyors of hook-laden British guitar pop. Mmm.



9. Sam Phillips at the Paradise, October 21
I’ve always wanted to see Sam Phillips in concert, having been a big fan of her Martinis & Bikins album. Sadly, the Sam Phillips who came to the Paradise either wasn’t in the mood to oblige, or just simply doesn’t do any of those songs anymore. Happily enough, though, the songs she did do, backed nicely by the prolific Section string quartet, were surprising and engaging.



10. Múm at the Museum of Fine Arts, June 24
This has to be one of the most unexpected surprises of the year; first, the tickets were an early wedding gift from friends, and came to us two or three days before the show. Then there was the setting of the show, a previously unknown (at least to me) outdoor courtyard inside the MFA, covered from end to end with the most amazing array of instruments I’d ever seen. Soon they were manned by an almost equally impressive array of people, Icelanders to be exact, who delivered an intoxicating blend of wordless melodies with great, swirling rock lines. Great seats, bar service, a warm Boston evening – what more could you ask for?

A stellar year of concert-going, with new surprises, old favorites, and some wish fulfillment that was a long time coming. Thanks, Boston!

So I asked for snow yesterday, and now we’ve got it. Not very much, but enough to finally stay on the ground. My landlord is pretty enthusiastic about the holiday-themed decorations; we had a scarecrow on the front porch from Halloween through Thanksgiving, and now we’ve got a multi-level Christmas village in the entryway and up the stairs to my apartment.



WeatherPop says it’s -11? outside. It’s cold, but not that cold.

I’m still waiting for some snow to make it all feel like December, but we got some help from a handful of holiday parties this weekend, from the “grab some food and go” variety all the way up to the “last ones to leave” kind. The department-we-used-to-be-a-part-of (but still got invited to) party at Dali in Somerville on Wednesday was filled with good food and drink, but the conversation was a little awkward; the department-we’re-now-part-of party on Thursday was just plain weak. The office dvd-swap and holiday party on Friday night at Mark’s house in J. P., though, was pretty great.



We each brought a dvd and had a chinese auction/yankee swap/white elephant exchange to distribute them. Almost everyone there brought a dvd, and they ranged in quality from Guys Gone Wild to a couple of Criterion Collection titles. My contribution consisted of two discs I won at the AMIA Conference raffle, Analyze This and the real prize, the “greatest moments” from season one of tv’s “The Bachelor.” I feel sorry for Steve, who ended up with that. On the other hand, he brought “Guys Gone Wild,” so maybe he got what he deserved. Aimee was one of the few to actually take someone else’s dvd instead of opening a new one, but she did it with good reason: Billy Wilder’s The Apartment, which should be a part of any good dvd collection. Hooray for merging belongings!

The next morning, we celebrated Paul‘s graduation from the Suffolk Global MBA program with a nice brunch at Aimee’s family’s place. The food was delicious, I got some quality time with the niece and nephew-to-be, and we were among the first to receive copies of Paul’s mom’s new book, Good Carbs, Bad Carbs. Time to jack up the praise on Amazon.

After checking out the new BPN offices in Waltham, Aimee and I joined Tim and Mari at their lovely South End apartment for a post-Black Nativity party Saturday night. The celebrants were a diverse group; Aimee and I fell somewhere in between the five-ish to forty-something age range. It was really a great night, with excellent food (homemade hummus courtesy of Mari and her food processor, and addictive peanut butter and chocolate fudge bars) and great company (familiar faces like resident mashmatician Lenlow, with whom I talked a cappellas and the pecking order of the world of mash-ups). It was great to see Tim and Mari again, and we talked wedding plans, the finer points of the Coke “MagiCan” promotion, and the crazy, frustrating world of ESPN’s Pigskin Pick’em (and for the record, it was another disappointing week, as I’m 6-8 so far).

To top it all off, we ended the evening with a couple of musical numbers (with heavy audience involvement) from a couple of the talented axe-men in the house. We enjoyed some excellent finger-picking Dylan and Gillian Welch tunes from Aaron, and some great “Lessons at 507” classics like “Willin'” and “Strange Condition” from Tim. That really made the evening; it’s hard to describe why a bunch of people sitting around and singing is great, and in a non-corny kumbaya kind of way, but it is.



Tim even showed us all the right way to deal with those must-have yet pesky CanWorks flip-lid garbage cans; apparently they were so problematic, the company has changed its name to “SimpleHuman.” Thanks to you, Tim, I fixed Aimee’s up in no time – no more unsightly bag overhang!

Finally, today found us trying out some delicious breakfast burritos for brunch at Miracle of Science. We brought the Sunday Globe so there was no need to check out the MiracleSex wifi network there; maybe another day. After some last-week holiday shopping at the mall (two words: mystifyingly exhausting), we had another in a series of year-end award-friendly movie screenings, with an afternoon matinee of Finding Neverland at the Fenway 13. We’ll be in Alaska by the end of this week; my wish for snow will certainly come true by then. I leave with an excellent ornament from the Alexanders’ tree:

There are things I don’t like about Whole Foods, like its prices (Dan’s mom calls it “Whole Paycheck”) and its oft-times wacky customer base who can’t steer their carts and are rude and demanding, but I’ll say one thing for the place: any store that plays the “Magnum, P.I.” theme song on the p.a. system is fine by me.

The holiday party season began in earnest this weekend, with a 30th birthday bash for Michael and a family get-together to show off Aimee’s home and cooking skills to the rest of the family. In between, we sought out and constructed a nice little gingerbread house, complete with non-pareil chimney, of which I am quite a little proud.

Friday night, Michael joined the ranks of those breaking new and scary ground, though he was still happy to rock out in his fiancee’s bat mitvah t-shirt, ? la Bar Mitzvah Disco.



I add detail to the roof as the snow/reinforcement dries around the Seussian chimney.



Note the tiny Necco gravestone in the back.



The finished product, ready for consumption, or at least admiration.



And finally, Jack applauds his ability to kiss his sister.

I’m glad Aimee still gets the Sunday Globe. The daily ones piled up, but the Sunday edition gets read all the way through,and usually has some good tidbits to offer – where else would you see the word “impactful” used in a sentence? OK, so that’s not a selling point.

I was happy to see a high-profile interview with Jean-Pierre Jeunet in this Sunday’s Movies section, though most of the quotes from Jeunet seemed to come from the discussion at the MFA from last month. Having been present at the discussion, I was well aware that Jeunet was talking about his filmmaking partner Marc Caro when he answered a question about detail and spectacle in his films. He described the fact that he and Caro were both from working-class backgrounds, and in exchange for the purchase of what might be an expensive movie ticket, they wanted to give the most value to their moviegoers by cramming lots of visual excitement into their films. Unfortunately, the Globe reporter seems to have mis-heard “Marc Caro” as “Marcel Carn?,” the great French director of Les Enfants du paradis and Quai des brumes. I’m sure Carn? probably wouldn’t disagree with the sentiment, but Jeunet’s story doesn’t make much sense as it stands in the paper. Add to that the fact that online, all of the the uses of “?” in the print article are lost, so “Carn?” now comes out “Carn,” and Jeunet is asked if he is “stress” about the film, which doesn’t make much sense. Whatever the rationale behind whatever he does, the film is worth seeing, and I’m sure my quibbles will not be negatively impactful on the turnout for the film.

He’s tough to make out, in his ripped purple shorts and Santa hat, but he’s there.

The week before last, when I celebrated the Pixies’ appearance at UMass and thought about the future, little did I know it would include one final opportunity to see them, as their long-awaited Boston return was announced a few days later. I made a pledge to myself that I wouldn’t try too hard, spend too much money, or worry too much about getting tickets.

So when I sat down to my computer at 11:59 last Saturday morning and managed to get two tickets pretty easily in the three minutes it took for the show to sell out, I felt pretty lucky. Little did I know just how lucky; there’s little comparison among a handball gym, a convention center auditorium, a basketball arena, and a medium-sized rock club. Three of them are passable places to see a great band put on a great show, but one of them, especially from the fourth row center stage, is an amazing place to see a once-in-a-lifetime concert.

The line for will call was pretty long, as not too many people probably paid $19 to have their tickets UPS’ed to them, but everyone seemed happy to wait. I ran into a friend who knows the Pixies’ guitar tech; she’d just gotten off the Pixies’ tour bus and had accidentally left her cell phone and keys on board, a cheap excuse for a return visit after the show, I’m sure… Someone was passing out pixiesdiscs.com flyers (I knew somebody good was behind the packaging) was passing them out up and down the line; I placed my order as soon as I got tickets.

I had heard that David Lovering had been into magic since the Pixies broke up 12 years ago, but I never thought we’d see any onstage, besides the occasional drumstick twirl. While it was technically ‘mentalism,’ his act was the most interesting opening act I think I’ve seen since Corn Mo opened for Speed Levitch’s The Ongoing Wow – and it was certainly better than Ghostigital (sorry, Einar) and Mission of Burma (sorry, rock snobs everywhere) on this tour. “Have you seen the Pixies before? I’ve seen every show they’ve ever done, and I think you’ll enjoy them a lot,” he said to the ten women he gathered on stage for a little mid-reading card trick. He guessed which cards the women had picked, finishing with the “I’ve got the card you picked in my wallet” trick, with a slight variation. The trick was fun, if a little long, but ever mindful of the Real World Philly Party w/ Karamo, Shavonda & Landon that would clear out the Avalon by 10pm, he kept it to only one trick, and after a brief setup, the band came on stage by eight pm.

What a difference a couple hundred feet makes. To see Charles/Frank/BF up close, with his subtle black eyeliner and short, pudgy limbs, manhandling the guitar as he yelped and whooped into microphone, made the experience altogether different from the other shows. Aside from a couple of louts in turtlenecks (?!) who muscled their way to the front and the left after one song, everyone was respectful and enough in awe that they didn’t make much of a ruckus.

Like each of the previous concerts, they managed to achieve a kind of musical nirvana somewhere near the middle of the show, going from one phenomenal song to another, mixing the heavy, crunching yelps and drum kicks with the terrific pop melodies of Joey’s guitar lines.



The most entertaining part of the show had to be their three attempts at “Here Comes Your Man.” Between Joey’s strummed opening chord and Kim’s bass line a second later, they couldn’t get it right, trying once, then playing “In Heaven,” then trying again after that, and, having messed it up again, abandoning it until the encore, at which point they nailed it and the crowd went wild.



It was an unforgettable evening, and, thanks to the Avalon’s scheduling, I even had time to get some chocolate frozen yogurt with Reese’s pieces and raspberry smushed in from Ankara and be home by ten. Not particularly rock and roll, but it sounds great to me.

There are undoubtedly some interesting corporate reasons for why this is being done in stages. I can’t remember all of the evolutions, but I did just find an old BayBank atm card in a box under my bed; it became BankBoston, right? Which then became Fleet, which has now been eaten by Bank of America. Shawmut got lost in there somewhere, too. Pretty soon, it’ll be like a children’s book, where we’ll all just be going to “Bank.”