The Children

My brother is an amazing parent.

Eldest daughter's 3rd birthday.

Father's Day - 2015

Decade of Data

Some time in mid-May of 2004 the hard drive of my otherwise trusty PowerBook G4 gave out. It was probably a direct result of the emotional stress I had subjected it, and everyone else that I cared about, to over the preceding week. I had just finagled an A in my final undergraduate class; somehow getting credit for building a functional bagpipe while simultaneously not building a functional bagpipe. And also breaking Jobonga's sewing machine.

The point being, I had lost all of the backup for the past 4+1 years of college; except for my WeBWork―my entire collegiate career's worth of work, gone. The other point being I still had 2,388 mp3s on my reliable 2nd generation iPod (back when 10GB sounded like a lot). And luckily, that was the important point.

At 1:01 PM, May 18th, 2004 I started importing these songs back into my iTunes library. And now, exactly a decade later, I have 10 years of uninterrupted iTunes metadata at my fingertips. And guys, I'M REALLY EXCITED ABOUT IT.


Some important notes:

1. The 1st song added back into my library, and thus, the song which will forever be my oldest iTunes entry: "When The Angels Sing" by Social Distortion. It's not what I would have chosen to be the originating entry, but the data doesn't lie. My oldest songs, in reverse order:

I do feel pretty good about "Informer" showing up there at #4. Also, "Boogie Shoes" by KC &/or The Sunshine Band has proven to be a really insightful Napster grab for me. Pre-2004 Whitney had some insightful predilections. 

2. In 10 years I have acquired 35,999 songs (see above). Which is roughly 9.8 songs/day for 10 years, which are basically Wangari Maathai numbers. Or, in other words, if I started playing my library today it would continue non-stop until August 19th. It's a little disappointing that I didn't hit the 36k mark, but it still feels good. Really good. And I'm sure that it's still more than Schwenn has. 

(At this point I'd like to throw out a shoutout to Napster, The CIF server, and the internet in general. Actually, mostly The CIF server. To this day its Internet2 connection is the ideal by which I judge my life. It would be enjoyable to have today; in 2002 it was transformational.) 

3. Most Played Song: "No One" by Alicia Keys. By a wide margin. Obviously.

Other highlights: "Bring It On Home To Me", because it's amazing. "The Dreamer" by The Tallest Man On Earth, because it's what I whistled in my jail cell that time I got arrested. "Break My Stride" by Unique II, because BIKETUB.

4. 196 Genres, 4316 Artists, 5377 Albums

5. My Oldest Play: "Freeze Frame" - Less Than Jake. 

That's right, the last time I listened to it was a decade ago, while I was still importing those 2,388 songs. IT WAS NUMBER 2368! And then never again. Over the course of 10 years. #memories

6. THE DENSITY .

Because, THE DENSITY. After Crapples and my Sweater Book, this is the thing I am most proud of.

Because my Play Density is what I live for. Sorry, for which I live. It's the reason Pandora, and Spotify, and Jennjamin's Mix Tapes, and Rdio have no appeal to me. I need the data, and I need the playcount. Always. Otherwise what will the next decade of my life mean? 

The Whiskey Always Knocks Twice

This one time, on a Saturday, Sealander texted me and said he was stuck in Philadelphia. You may remember Sealander from that time he showed up in Madison unexpectedly and ditched his other friends to drink dinner-mimosas/game all day and part of the night with us instead. There was also that time Jojo and I blew through Rochester, NY reliving past glories and busting down the walls of the future of our past. There's surprisingly sparse photographic evidence of that night actually. Maybe because I came closer to getting arrested than I ever have—except for that other time I actually got arrested.

Anyway, Sealander was in town for the Paul Simon/ Sting tour, because that's a thing, and didn't have anything else to do Saturday night. What followed was two nonconsecutive meals accompanied by City Specials and bloody marys. 

Our most serious discussion was obviously regarding the demise of Google Reader. And then also the psuedo-demise of The Old Reader. Because, what are other people doing on the internet if they're not using an RSS feed aggregator? Seriously, that's an honest question. In related news, I'm giving InoReader a spin. I don't know, I'll basically try anything at this point.

Oh, and David Byrne's cover of "I Wanna Dance With Somebody". Listen to it.

And also listen to this, which is the sound track to my life.

DUMPS OF DUMPS or: How I Turned 32 and Learned to Love the Dumpling

In a year full of dumplings, vivren and I decided this was the year of the dumpling literally days before any of that other stuff went public. It's called having your finger to the throbbing pulse of the world. The pre-game was the 32 Working Day Challenge, in which the Finance Department successfully ate a different dumpling every working day on each of the 32 working days leading up to my 32nd birthday. That's 6+ weeks of dumplings, in case you weren't counting. It was daunting at times but ultimately delicious—plus it survived non-consecutive trips to China & Poland. Now that's what I call dumps! Of course it was documented and color-coded by dumpling origin:

The 32 Dumplings That Were

Dumpling Finale: Polish Bison Vodka!

With all that out of the way, it was time for the actual 32nd Birthday. Crowds starting assembling Friday night at which point we drank wine out of measuring cups and everybody had their picture taken. The later was mainly a safety precaution, since we did have to walk down my tiny little deserted street to get home. Then we did that thing where you stay up until 5:00 AM drinking with friends listening to music really loud. 

Germany - c. 1945

The Morning I Turned 32

Thirty-two started just how I'd always pictured it, a little hung over and very brunchy. And despite claims to the contrary, the DumpFest really came together. There were birthday necklaces, dumps out the wazoo, cowls for miles, and an impromptu scavenger hunt. In what apparently is a hexadecennial tradition, The Trudeaus showed up with manhattans, the hunt, and requisite prizes. Anyone who plans to attend my 48th birthday should be forewarned.

Team Taylors, with prize.

With the night ending in boots of Miller High Life and Maker's Mark in retrograde, the 6:00 AM wake up call was surprising. Actually, that's not true. I hid my phone under and extra layer of pillow so I wouldn't hear it. Katie proved her early morning mettle though and got us all out the door in time to load up the scooter cooler for the double tailgate, in a 1976 Winnebago. First up: The Philadelphia Marathon. 

Ms. Barnebey supports sports/husband.

Go Runners.

Fun fact: this guy did not blow anything up.

Between 'gates we stopped for coffee, and bathrooms, and Cheetos. While I manned the cab, Jay Carrol parking in front of me and we talked high school marching band for a few minutes. I was wearing this little getup. So there's that.

Second up: the Eagles' game tailgate.

There aren't a lot of things in this world more fun that double-scooting around a Eagle's tailgate on top of your beer supply.

Post-tailgate Cheesesteak Success!

Taytay in Philalphia

#SPORTS!

This one time we got up at 6:45am, got into a 1976 Winnebago, and drove to West Philadelphia. Then we supported the sports the best way we knew how—on a motorized cooler.

Scooter Cooler from wbarnebey on Vimeo.

Ghosts in the Grabyard

Ever since I saw this pic from johnhodman and its comment about ghost handjobs, I haven't been able to get it out of my mind.

Then someone told me to google image cough.

A Tale of Two Asteriskses

Remember Milwaukee's asterisk? Turns out it's called "Calling", but nobody knows or cares about that. It's Milwaukee's one landmark, along with that Calatrava thing it sits next too and Jo-Cats. Turns out Philadelphia has one too. It's not quite as tall, but di Suvero was nice enough to paint it the same color. This one's called "Iroquois", not "Calling", obviously. And while not as easy to climb, it turns out it's perfect for jumping.

Hey, Phila.

The Croatian Highway

In August we drove to North Carolina for Jobonga & Neil's nuptials. Figuring we might as well make the most of it, we left on Thursday for the Sunday wedding. There were some logic sticks to figure out beforehand, but by the day of we had it all strategized—rendezvous on American St. at 18:00, cross the Mason-Dixon line by 22:00, and dust off our cubbyholes at The Sea Foam around 02:00 the next morning. Luckily we remembered to stop for Chinese and beer in Delaware, without it we would have been hungry and with no reason to stay up all night drinking by the beach once we got there. 

Which we did. And then danced about it. And then we went for a swim. And thus began our socialist summer vacation.

We can blame Darcy for the inspiration—her offhand comment re:splitting the gas receipts set the whole thing in motion. It turns our that once you agree to share one expense it's a very slippery slope until you're expensing every purchase to the greater good and paying for breakfast in tollbooth receipts. Or at least it is with this crowd. 

Just like most socialist vacations, we were staying in a motel built in the '50's and we never had quite enough beach towels. Also, we only had one book. Which we took turns reading out loud to each other from. We may not have been the most well supplied beach goers, but we were having the most fun. And we were pretty well educated too. Plus we had a shuffleboard court, which I think Engels especially would have really enjoyed. 

Of course, also like most socialist vacations, there were some lies. Specifically, a whole lot of lies. Not so much about the value of a shared common good, but about everything else. Like the quality of the Bloody Marys at Sam & Omie's (don't do it), and the difference between chocolate, mocha, & coffee at Big Al's (there isn't any), and roughly everything at Fort Raleigh (don't miss the recreated model of the fort they built in the 1950s to look like what might have been the original colonists' fort). Seriously though, Fort Raleigh is an embarrassment to the National Park System. Maybe I'm jaundiced because of Philadelphia's actual historical importance, but a couple of fake rooms dedicated to a play "loosely based on the historical events" of the Roanoke colony is a low bar to overcome. On the other hand, if you're interested in seeing the absolute worst powerpoint presentation you've ever had to spend 17 minutes trying not to laugh at, you should definitely go. We did not succeed in our attempts to contain our judgement of the heavily clip-art and watermark photo-ed "Informative Ranger Talk" and our ranger WAS NOT AMUSED. But really, when you mention seasickness on a boat sailing to The New World in the 1500s and then flash a picture of some asian guy throwing-up on a boat in 1995, you should expect a couple of comments from the peanut gallery.

All that being said, The Sea Foam was the Real Deal. Despite our early reservations about the possible dustiness and/or stickiness, this was probably the best decision we had made in a long time. Like a summer camp for grown ups, our rooms looking out onto the courtyard were all close enough to yell our afternoon beach plans to each other from the comfort of our multi-sized beds. We all have iPhones though, so we just group iMessaged about it instead. 

With the beach as our backyard, The Piazza turned into rendezvous point, patio, and shuffleboard cum bags court in the evenings. 

They call her The Equalizer

After Friday's cocktail hour (above) we headed out for dinner on the town. You may not know this, but Nags Head is rampant with horribly named restauranteurs. We didn't make it to Barefoot Bernie's, Awful Arthur's, Dirty Dick's, The Pigman's, Spanky's, or even King Tut's Wiener Hut; I don't know what's really going on with this shifty syndicate but it was nothing we wanted anything to do with. We sunset-walked over to Miller's Waterfront Restaurant (bayside, baby!) instead. The downside to this (as with all Atlantic Coast sunsets) was the Elder Barnebey's resulting confusion about directions. Despite having left the West Coast in 1971 he hasn't quite outgrown his belief that sunsets always point towards the ocean. 

The upside was that we got to gambol past Jurassic Putt in all its fiery glory and then knock out the band's next album cover, all on the way to dinner.

Bring your grandchildren, it'll be a blast.

Carolina Lies & The Croatans

There was even time for some sightseeing. Which we tried, but didn't do very well at. The out-of-commission lighthouse pleased no one, perhaps least of all Roxy. But that look could also be because in Ukraine there is no time for smiles.

With the right filter it looks just desolate enough to be interesting.

With its embarrassing powerpoints, lack of milkshake flavors, and broken lighthouses, North Carolina had a lot of 'splaining to do by that night. All of which was made up for by its liberal stance on beach fires. No one can be upset about beach fire. Are you listening, New Jersey‽

Who doesn't support beach fires?

Can you believe you've read this far and the wedding hasn't even happened yet! Well, just when you thought it would never come, there was a tornado. Or rather a waterspout over the bay. We were caught unawares at Fatboyz where we weathered the 1st half of the storm on the veranda. We would have made it home scott free too if Darcy hadn't had to go for the final ice cream cone. As it was, we decided to run for it once we heard a lady yelling out over the rain "there's a tornado warning until 2:45, should I get it to go??"

"I spot a spout!"

So we packed all the iPhones into Roxy's purse and took off down Virginia Dare's Trail. The Sea Foam has seen worse, I'm sure, but I was worried for it anyway. There's something about the way the water was pouring down through the balcony that didn't inspire confidence in the general sturdiness of the structure as a whole.

Also it meant that the pre-wedding tailgate planned for the shuffleboard courts was off, which wasn't ironic at all.

The wedding of course wasn't to be stopped. Joanna & Neil casually joined their lives together in front of The Waters of the Outer Banks and then later dined in front of the sharks. Which honestly was a pretty amazing way to stick it to Mother Nature for the rain earlier.

Sharks can't even get married.

You know what else is fun? Drinking wine in front of a snapping turtle, with otters carousing behind you. We couldn't resist trying our luck with our 2nd natural disaster of the day though—welcome The Hurricane Simulator...  which just turned out to be a fun way to make everyone's hair look stupid. Suck it again Mother Nature.

Even the fishes had to sleep at some point though, which meant we had to get out. Not before a couple polkas around the dance floor and a late night wedding Sway though. Obviously.  

Saying goodbye the next morning was hard. At least we had the free-flowing coffee and sangria at the Lee family brunch to look forward to. But we had to leave the Foam Lady behind for good. 

Lady of The Sea.

All that was left to do now was head north and submit our receipts for reimbursement. The south did give us one more bonus lie for the road, just for the halibut. Oh, Mochipongo Clam Shack, you with your crab painted walls and so many other things besides seafood, were a sight for sore eyes. 

Just Seafood. Also, possibly no Drive-Thru.

The final reckoning: submitting receipts & expense reports.

Final Stats:

With 44 receipts officially accepted for reimbursement, the total tallied, and the entire trip's cost shared equally among the 6, we see the majority of our expense was accounted for in lodging. Not surprising. More surprising, that we tipped almost as much as we spent on alcohol.  

Totaling 262 group messages over the course of the weekend, we averaged 1 group text every 35.8 minutes between Friday morning and the next Thursday. Evan blew us all way in volume, but the other Barnebey's were clearly playing this game too.

Talking mileage, Darcy's Fiat beats out the reliable Altima in raw gas mileage but loses its edge when adjusting for a per/seat calculation. It can always be counted on to make the trip in fewer miles though, especially when driven by Darcy.

And how did we know we had taken our receipts seriously enough? They became legal tender for all debts private, if not public.

No cash, no problem. Katie hands over her toll receipt to cover the tip.

Never Forget.