Steel Kaleidoscopes

Straw

Dry, colorless, lifeless.

A whisk in the wind, wisping and wilting.

Without frame, without body, without soul.

Thatch. Crisp. Brittle.

Like bad pasta.

Invisible on the landscape, yet abused in cliches, the placement for the impossibility of finding a needle or the weight that breaks the camel's back.

Pale, blond and gray. Ground cover. Random size.

Land's seaweed.

Sun-baked in time.

Dry, colorless, lifeless.

Quote of the Day

"God in His goodness sent the grapes, to cheer both great and small; little fools will drink too much, and great fools not at all."

-- Ambrose Bierce, Writer

Steve Levitt

In the '90s, my wife worked closely with Jeannette.

Jeannette met this guy, a Harvard and MIT intellect, who seemed shy but had a creative thinking process that made you take pause.

I remember having beers with Steve and he starts talking about some of the projects he's working on as part of his graduate thesis. He says he's analyzing how people who play football pools contribute to society. Or something like that. I'm nodding my head, but I'm thinking "huh?"

We're invited to Jeannette and Steve's wedding, an outdoor ceremony in Belmont, Mass. Nice summery day. I spend some more time with Steve. And the football pools come up again.

I say to my wife that Jeannette's new husband is a nice guy, clearly smart as hell, but what is he talking about?

It's not until years later that I find some validity in what he's saying. And he's doing quite well.

Steve Leavitt, the co-author and brains behind "Freakonomics," found his niche. And some fame. Just goes to show, you never know.

We're happy for Jeannette and Steve, good folks now living in the Windy City.

The Continuing Saga of Dave

Dave Tomlinson picked at his plate of pasta in the semi-crowded Bertucci's, eavesdropping on the conversation in the next booth.

"What does your dad do?"

"He was a lawyer."

"So you decided not to follow in his footsteps."

"No, I don't think I have the necessary negotiation skills."

Dave thought of his own lack of negotiation skills, his mind drifting back to the balsa wood airplane that interrupted his attention to dental hygiene.

Whatever Happened to...

The Marshall Tucker Band?

One of the poster bands of the late '70s Southern Rock explosion, the Marshall Tucker Band recently released "Live on Long Island," a show from Nassau Coliseum in April 1980. This was bassist's Tommy Caldwell's last show, as he suffered a jeep accident the next day and died a few days later.

The current band has one original member -- lead singer Doug Gray -- but he has had two recent throat surgeries that limit his ability to sing lead vocals. He opted for the surgeries because he felt his voice was weakening, so he's hopeful the decision was a good one.

Toy Caldwell, the band's thumb-strumming lead guitarist, died in 1993 from heart disease.

Rhythm guitarist George McCorkle is living in Nashville as a songwriter.

Drummer Paul Riddle owns a drumstick company and lives in Spartanburg, S.C. He sometimes lends backup support to the Allman Brothers and gives drum lessons.

Flutist Jerry Eubanks is also living in Spartanburg. He plays in a band called the Lipnikkies.

The Marshall Tucker Band formed in 1972 and had several memorable hits, including "Fire on the Mountain," "Can't You See," "This 'Ol Cowboy" and "Heard it in a Love Song," which peaked at No. 14 on the billboard charts in 1977.

Besides Gray, today's Marshall Tucker Band includes Pat Elwood (bass), Chris Hicks (guitar), Stuart Swanlund (slide guitar), B.B. Borden (drums) and David Muse (flute and sax).

You can book the band by contacting Phil Hache of American Artists Corporation.

Deer in Headlights

You need it by when?

Quote of the Day

"Plastics."

Mr. McGuire, speaking to Benjamin Braddock in "The Graduate."

Wine-Educated

When was the defining moment when I considered myself a wine enthusiast?

Clearly, there have been painful lessons along the way.

Like the time I slapped a 20-dollar bill on the bar at Boston's Copley Hotel, ordering two glasses of Byron Chardonnay and being told, "unfortunately, sir, that's not enough."

So when I ordered a glass of Ponzi Pinot Noir at San Francisco's Asia SF for $15, I didn't flinch. I had learned.

With a refined nose and improved palate, I recognized mistakes. Like the time at Mache Bistro in Bar Harbor the waitress served our bottle of Domaine Jeandeau Pouilly-Fuisse warm. I sent it back and was actually given an attitude. But it came back chilled. Sort of. I won't ever return.

Then there was the cold, winter night at Mittersill, a quaint hotel in New Hampshire's Franconia Notch, when I ordered a glass of Chardonnay that was so sweet it was like drinking molasses out of a jelly jar. Not sure what it was, but I avoided Chardonnay by the glass for a few years.

My sense of taste was not always this good. Like any kid growing up in the '70s, I drank my share of Boone's Farm. And in the '80s, peach wine coolers were kind of neat on the beach.

So was there a defining moment when education turned to passion?

It could have been the bottle of Santa Margherita Pinot Grigio my wife and I shared at this little off-the-beaten-path Italian restaurant on the water in Fort Lauderdale on a steamy spring night. Or the Chimney Rock Cabernet Sauvignon my mother-in-law opened during the holidays.

The Opus One my neighbors shared is high on the list, as is the bottle of Caymus I finally opened.

I've been proud of the vertical (1997-2002) of Leasingham Bin 61 Shirazes I have lying on their side in my basement, and it took a lot of nerve to finally crack open the '97. Yum.

I've had wine tastings at the house - summer samplings of Viognier, Pinot Noir and Petite Sirah, not to mention the Italy theme night with some fellow wine enthusiasts. Turns out the '83 Chianti we opened was a gift from Red Sox right fielder Trot Nixon.

The tastings in Napa, Seneca Lake and the North Fork help finesse the palate and the wine beat goes on.

When was the defining moment when I considered myself a wine enthusiast?

I guess all of the above.

Happy Ending

Baby Abby is back with her mother.

That's good news to start the day.

After a prayerful, tearful few days, a new family is reunited in Union, Mo.

Wet to Dry

Today we close the pool.

No more after-work swims.

No more Saturday and Sunday pauses to refresh.

No more pulling frogs and baby turtles from the skimmer.

No more $400 electric bills.

No more worries about the toddler toddling poolside.

No more vacuuming and measuring chemical balance.

At least until May.