Snow P.I.M.P.

Happy holidays to the Formerly Grafton branch of the Nyetverse: Sarah, Christophe, Malcolm, Ben, Ali, Bella and Heidi! Given the snow in that picture, I think it might be about time to start talking about our next vacation reunion?

P.I.M.P.

So Beck and I were talking about the upcoming weddings, and we noticed that basically everyone we knew at Rice now has a little tot running twixt their skirt hems. Seriously - Matt/Ebbitt, Jay/Felicia, Ryan/Carrie, Cheryl/Jeff, my friend Steve/Cheryl recently (congrats!) all have little kids now. And then we talked about the dangers of this, how sometimes a gathering of 30 year olds turns into a let's sit in a circle and watch babies, and it's not exactly the most thrilling of evenings in the history of the world. This is not a rag on Rice friends or anything, this is just a pattern we've noticed when in social situations with cute little kids; it's near impossible not to drop conversation and just watch them explore their astygmatized universe. But if you are sans kids and as a consequence sans whatever evolutionary hormones make you go braindead to all things other than child-rearing, it's not exactly thrilling. Beck's general concern was that hanging out with people in a couple of weekends will be limited to this type of circular child-watching ritual.

(Note that this is not the worst type of social circle - that would be a vet party circle, which I unbelievably cannot find accounted for on ye olde Ballad. Suffice it: vet parties where everyone is sitting in a circle and discussing, what else, vet school, are the lamest of the lame. At least babies make a variety of sounds).

But then Beck noted that on the other hand, she doesn't mind sitting and staring at malcolm for hours on end. Which led to my explanation:

"You see, Malcolm's the problem. We're bored by other people's kids because we've been exposed to a superior baby product."

So congrats, Mal, and to Sarahstophe Enterprises Inc.: it seems that in this age of consumerism, you and your child have set the market standard.

Syzygy b'twixt Zeus, Ares

Beck and I watched the pretty fluffy but highly entertaining "Word Play" the other night. No review necessary - it's a behind the scene look at how the New York Times Crossword gets created / edited and a mini-documentary of some SERIOUS word-nerds who participate every year in the NYT Xword Puzzle Championship. I mean, yes, there are several levels of dork, and I firmly occupy floor 173, but there is a certain nerd-transcendence achieved when a film shows two crossworders talking about individual words and clues between rounds. Egad. Anyways, good flick, recommend it, if for no other reason because you get to see Jon Stewart talking smack to Shortz and Bill Clinton reveal what he really did with his time in the White House.

Being slaves to all things we see on the magic box in our living room, Beck and I have gotten into crosswords over the past couple of days. In an extraordinarily dangerous trend, we stayed up until 11:45 last night (after watching a reasonably good ep of Lost) trying to cram in the last words to Thursday's puzzle. And egad, man, it turns out you can put MULTIPLE LETTERS in single blanks. This would have been a great thing to know at the start; without it, we kept trying to make "out in the boonies" be the "Styx." What the hey. So now, I too join the masses demanding Will Shortz's head on a stick. I draw the line at obsessing over Sunday morning radio shows, though.

Some news from the Ballad: April broke the record for posts in a month with 36! That brings us to more than 400 posts combined between here and the old blog (on the site which will be getting some new material in the next few days). And since Ben can't read more than two lines of text, the current trend for multiple posts in a day might even continue. And as soon as a couple of people (cough, cough, Aaron, mike NTPB) get their acts together, you'll even get some interesting posts. If you know either of them, harass them over e-mail!

Speaking of the Grin - I left out a nice anecdote from the vacay. When we were lost in the woods, I kept bumping into palm fronds that were overhanging the trail. At some pause in the conversation, I coldly stated, "You know, I've had just about enough of these friggin' fronds!" So Ben picked up a palm frond and says, "oh yeah, buddy, what are you gonna do?" and playfully swung the frond at me. Only the front was full of sand, so I got showered. Ben was highly apologetic. Hilarious. Christophe decided that this was vengeance from some sort of Frond god (who apparently has strong ties to the "Wander after lighthouses" god). I agreed, and pledged never to make fun of fronds again. But the more I think about it, the more I realize that the Grin must be a disciple of Fronds. So if you're ever hiking with that guy, man, do not taunt the fronds. He will sand your ass!

And here are two great pics that Christophe snapped, the first of a sunset on the first evening and the second of the dolphin in the bay that I mentioned. Enjoy:

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Now playing: The New Pornographers - The End Of Medicine

Lost III: Hunting Island State Park

On Tuesday of the Best Vacation All I Ever Wanted Ever, we suntan lotioned up and headed over for a walk around Hunting Island State Park just two miles up the road. "Turn left" the lady said as Ben turned right. We made a u-turn and arrived in good time.

After making our four dollars per person parking payment, we "walked on down the pier. And we came to a door." No, not really, no doors on the pier. There were some lovely marshes along the beach, and we saw several dolphins - or at least their dorsal fins - swimming about the little bay. Here's a collective of pics from the pier:

So we have some empirical evidence there that so long as our path goes 200 yards out to the end of a pier and then 200 yards back to the shore, we can find our way. Yay! Go highly educated folks! Things would not be so simple in the future. We waited outside the park station for Ben to complete his business calls. Got some good shots of CHristophe and Malcolm while we waited - note especially the shot of Christophe taken from atop Malcolm's dome, aka the Mal-cam:

After Ben closed his call with "Sell, bee-otch, sell!!!!", we headed out on what was supposed to be a quick hike along the park's trails. With the emphasis on "quick," many of us did not even bother bringing shoes but opted for tevas (pronounced "teh-vas") instead. Big mistake, as it turns out our lust for lighthouses would be our undoing. And by "our," I mean "Beck's."

Things started out simply enough - we just trounced through the jungled woods along the path. We were eaten by bugs every time we stopped, so we lathered up with OFF lotion and trod fast. It was Apocalypse Now jungly with all kinds of greenery and palm fronds. Check it:

You'll notice in the last pic that the ladies + Malcolm are flying ahead of us. They had some kind of hot date at a lighthouse to get to, it seems. The menfolk lolligagged along at a comfortable pace. I specifically remember talking about podcasts and talk radio as we crossed this bridge:

And we saw a butterfly:

It was about this time that we ran into the beach. Given the choice of turning around and heading back to the cars or turning left and heading toward a lighthouse, we turned... left. Sigh. We should have noted the gloomy sky and headed home, but we were not so smart:

So we walked, and walked, and walked. Got lost, and got a lot of entirely unhelpful information from locals AND THE PARK RANGERS, who tried to send us halfway to the moon or something with their bizarro directions. SO a big BOO-URNS directed towards (some) of the Hunting Island Park Rangers; hella lame you were! On the other hand, our lost-getting provided some fantastic photo opportunities:

That middle one is an absolute classic, and check out Malcolm's expression in the third. Most excellent. Somewhere in here we were passed on the trail by a mysterious race of woodspeople, I call them ewoks. Note the authentic, blurry bigfoot style of this photo I snapped over my shoulder:

Truly scary to an encounter an entirely new species in the wilderness. Anyways, we at some point - again, no thanks to the misleading park ranger in the truck - made it back to our cars, six miles of hiking done and lighthouse unseen. So we drove over to the lighthouse - only we didn't actually visit it, we instead buzzed the tower. WHAT??!? Oh, and guess what, it looked like a lighthouse. Tres exciting. After our long, terrifying adventure, we drove to Sonicamerica and got slushes and ice creams and shakes. What a great way to undo a day of exercising, eh?

So that concludes the recalling of the SC vacation; hope you enjoyed. BBASCM, please let me know if I've left anything out. Until next time, word, and beware of Ewoks in the Gullah-land.

America's Newest Game!!!

Cat in a Boat!!!

(Brought to you by the makers of "Hey Cow!")

Object:

Identify as many cats in boats as one can in one's lifetime.

Scoring:

A player receives one (1) point for correctly identifying a cat in a boat.

Rules:

1. All players must be driving / riding in a car.
2. The procedure for identifying a cat in a boat is as follows:

1. See a cat in a boat.
2. Point at the cat in the boat.
3. Shout "Cat in a boat!"

And that's the way you do it.

3. If a player does not follow the preceding procedure, they do not receive credit for spotting a cat in a boat. Ex.: if a player shouts, "Frog in a boat!!" or "Cat on a Hot Tin Roof!," they receive no points.
4. If a player misidentifies something as a cat in a boat that is clearly not a cat in a boat, there is no penalty; however, other players in the car should immediately notify the offending player, e.g., "That is not a cat in a boat" or "That is actually a bird in a boat" or "That is not a cat, nor is that a boat."
5. If a player does follow the preceding procedure and the other players agree that the object of pointing is indeed a cat in a boat, that player, as noted above, receives one (1) point.
6. If players cannot agree on the identity of the object of pointing, the car should be stopped and a photograph taken of said object. The photograph will then be used in conjunction with either the internet or Sibley's Guide to North American Cats and/or Nautical Vessels to determine true identity.
6. Only the first player to identify a given cat in a boat may receive a point for that cat in a boat. I.e., no points for echoing someone else's "Cat in a Boat!" shout. (See multi-car exception, rule 10).
7. A cat in a boat may only be identified once for points within a seven day period. If a player re-identifies a cat in a boat, other players should shout "Same cat in a boat!" as a correction. A cat in a boat is considered the "same cat in a boat" if it is the same cat in the same boat.
8. Repeatedly shouting "cat in boat!" and pointing randomly in an effort to "cover one's bases" is considered poor sportsmanship.
9. Puns or allusions involving "cats" or "boat" are strongly encouraged. E.g., ""I'm tired of these (bleeper-bleeping) cats on this (bleeper-bleeping) boat," "I sat in a moat!" or "It's my cat in a boat!" (sung like Justin Timberlake).
10. In the multi-car format, if a player in the front car identifies the cat in a boat before a player in the trailing car, if a player in the second car identifies said cat in a boat within a reasonable timeframe, both players will receive points.
11. Have fun!

Current Score:

Ali 1, Sarah 1, Ben-Beck-Nyet-Christophe-Malcolm 0.

Byoofert Excursion

We got a hankering for ice cream at one point and traipsed our way into lovely Beaufort. Pretty typical tourist town, and the main little strip was not even picturesque enough to warrant, um, pictures. The ice cream that we grabbed was not all that, either. Boo-urns. But they did have a nice little boardwalk where Ali and I chilled while the rest of our nerdy companions (minus Beck, who took advantage of her schedule-less vacation and read, napped, chilled at the beach-house) took in a Civil War museum of some kind. Ali and I shared stories of life's directions - she sounds pretty ready to be done with her internship but glad for the experience, and I'm pretty psyched about being done with explaining algebra every day. Good times ahead! The rest of the crew eventually joined us out on the boardwalk (boardwalk!) man we'll be having some fun. I naturally snapped a bunch of pics that turned out pretty well, methinks:

And here's a rather great picture of the non-NyetBeck 4.3:

I believe this was the day we came home and had hot dogs for dinner. What wine goes with hot dogs, you ask? Red and/or white.

I should comment that I had a great time just conversing with peeps - lots of good talk. AS I think I mentioned, we've all got pretty different aims / backgrounds / personalities, so it makes for a good meshing of ideas. I particularly enjoyed chatting up 'Stophe about politics and with Ben about his trusty Geekonomics and my program. I was reading a book called Knowledge and Civilization - part of my "...and Civilization" series, reviews pending - and it provided a bit of fodder for the weekend. Beach novels are for chumps.

(I should insert that by far the funniest thing that happened all weekend, even funnier than "can i get a what the," was when Sarah cracked some joke about "yay for being supported by your spouse." I, starving grad student to be, gave a half-hearted "woohoo." That was not significant. What was significant was BOTH Ben and Ali yelled "YEAH!" and then looked at one another with a "uh-oh, we need to have a conversation later" look that brought the house down. Good times).

One more major thing to post from the trip, our excursion to Hunting Island. But that little ditty will get its own post, full of evidence (Exhibit 1A!) that supports our general incompetence and the existence of Ewoks in the jungles of South Carolina. Stay tuned! In the meantime, enjoy these flower pics from a bush that we passed every time we went to the beach:

Beach, Please 2: Frisbee is Da It

Beck, Ben, Ali, Christophe and I attempted to conquer the beach with our disc-throwing. Typically, the wind was howling along the coast, making for a nutsoid upwind-downwind adventure. But we all brought our considerable skills to bear and had a grand ol' time. My good friend Jay from up in Boston used to wax poetic about the pleasantries of just playing catch with a disc; add in the sun and sand, and you've got absolute glory. Of course, there was no one around to observe said glory, so we played simply for the love if it. And for the love, Ben laid out into the ocean to catch a disc - a fantastic play - and amazingly kept everything on his head despite the jarring waves. Of course, when he shook his head to get the water out of his ears, his sunglasses went flying - prescription sunglasses - and despite our better efforts, they were lost forever to the abyss. D'oh! But seriously, 'twas a great catch.

I stubbed my toe and ended up cracking the toenail which made for an unpleasant throbbing sensation Thursday night. So the beach frisbee had a corporeal victim, too. Beck pulled her neck Wednesday, too, so we were a pair of invalids on the plane ride back - no fun. I think my toe has healed enough to play Ultimate today (which I haven't done in a week and a half now - I'm sure my Monday night team will be thrilled at my in-shape-ness), and after four days or so, Beck's neck finally seems to be getting better. Getting old rules!

To change gears entirely, we made a conscious effort to eat in as much as possible on the trip to avoid spending too much mullah. But we (and by we, I mean the rest of them) are a bunch of good cooks, so this was completely in our favor. The first night we had pasta (and wine), then hot dogs (and margaritas and wine), then burritos (and WINE!), then fish/shrimp/scallops (and wine). SPRING BREAK! We did cave and grab dinner at a nice little restaurant called Plum's on the last night - if you're ever in Beaufort, be sure to check it out. (Pronunced "Byoo-fert," btw). So a week of great dinners, and we supplemented those with ample chips, cookies, and cereal, oh lord the cereal. Again, it was a minor miracle that we sent 7 people into a grocery store and correctly predicted the amount of food we would need for the week (though to be truthful, we did head back to Publix a couple of times to grab miscellaneous items. And to swing by Sonicamericas Drive-in, YUM).

SO a lot of the trip was spent hanging and eating and snacking and the like. Malcolm managed to grab the spotlight a fair amount, and rather than do some shmarmy account, I'll just post a few pics here that indicate his over-flowing cuteness. Topics of discussion included nom, overhead lights, lemonade, and naturally, his mum, who along with his dad is doing an excellent job raising the little dude. And yes, raising sometimes = peppering his day with sarcasm in the loving way that only Sarah pulls off. (And poor Christophe - Malcolm is at that age where Mommy = The World, so he gives Christophe the "wait, you don't have milk!" treatment now and then. Fear not Christophe - 'tis a phase, and regardless, your anti-conservative liberal bias will surely seep into his beautiful brain regardless. Vote Obama, Malcolm, vote!). So yeah, PICS:

All of which demonstrates that you may think a baby would less than ideal to have on a vacation, but Malcolm greatly enhanced our days. Thanks for taking time out, homes.

East Coast Bias

A fairly excellent routine developed in the Harbor Island cottage: I'd wake up to seagulls or wind noises from the beach at 7:00 or so, roll out to the kitchen and meet some combination of Sarah/Christophe and Malcolm, who also favored early morning rising. We'd make a pot of the Chock-ful of Nuts coffee (of which Ben bought 2 pounds, which turned out to be just enough for this caffeine-addicted troupe over the course of the week) and I'd sit there, reading or checking baseball scores while Malcolm ate 47% of the food his face encountered. We'd stay nice and quiet, and people would slowly roll out of bed and join the party: typically the order was the other of the S/C combo, then Ben, then Ali, and last the Beck. A great and consistent lazy start to the day, every single morning.

Of course, 7 am SC time is 4 am here, and a little bit of jetlag has set in, so I'm now up at 5:15 Sunny Azz time and wide awake. Wahoo! Is very exciting. Allow myself to contain... myself. AS long as I'm up, might as well continue to recall. SO here: in the inevitable post-apocalyptic Mad-Max future, you and I may have gone dust to dust, but I predict that these steam-punk-looking badasses will still be around:

We saw this (dead) horseshoe crab the first time we ventured out to the beach; the second time we wandered a little farther down and found this pair horsing around. Teenagers these days, I swear:

The beach - aside from a few miscellaneous jellyfish, some driftwood and the like - was otherwise empty. Not a whole lot going on in the vacation spot in April, and as Christophe noted, that made it all the better for us. Would you rather be spring breaking alone in 80 degree weather, or with a crowded beach and hundreds? The isolation made for nice walks and chilling, though it was a little crazy windy to sit out there and read. We tried one day, and at least got some cool shots:

A couple of shots stood out nicely and get the big(ger) treatment here - check out sunshone Beck, and a meeting on the beach:

In the first picture, you can spot SCM in the background walking up the beach. In the second, if someone were on fire, you would surely comment that the band was fantastic and ask by the way, which one's Pink? Regardless, the beach was quite nice, and even better was having it sitting outside your window any time you cared to look:

Next post!