minus four months and counting

as of yesterday, kris and i are four months away from our wedding.

once we had our "official" engagement, the aug. 10 one where i presented her the ring, we moved fast to lock down a priest, a church, a reception area and a deejay.

bing bing bing -- we were in by september.

we've slowed down considerably since then.

we still need to register for gifts (which kris is opposed to on the grounds that we'll have no place to put new stuff, but which i say makes it easy for guests) (plus, she's dead-set against asking for china and silverware -- strange, and somehow un-american); we need to collect guest addresses; finalize invites (for which i've created three designs); no cake ...

there's just a litany of "the little things" that will surely make preparations so much more tense if we don't knock them out of the way.

we keep saying "ok, this weekend we type those addressses" or "this weekend, we designate the wedding party" and we never do. we've already missed "save the date" card dates.

it's the day before december and it will be march before we know it.

last night, kris was making preparations for her contribution to our paper's annual "neediest cases" social services baked goods and hot dog sale.

we had weeks to prepare, then days to prepare, which turned into hours to prepare, which led to me cutting 100 strands of ribbon to tie her packages of homemade fudge and her to get up at 3 a.m. to cut the fudge she'd set in the fridge to cool because she wound up making it the night before. and that was after spending hours cooking hot dog chili.

i told her, as i was trying to keep count of the ribbons i was cutting, that i hope we don't squander the time we have in advance of the wedding the way we wasted it before this fundraiser.

because if she's going to get as tense and spastic about procrastinating for a simple, unassuming bake sale, i don't think i want to experience the anxiety that could result from putting off until tomorrow the details around a highly personal -- and very public -- ceremony.

neither fat nor sassy

finishing week two of not hitting the gym.

my back is a little more grateful and my knee seems to have benefited from the time off. (still recovering, apparently, from the hard heel strikes on that hilly 6.5 miles around flat top lake in september.)

of course, the back probably also doesn't hurt as much because it's been nearly a week since those two killer 12-hour road trips in 72 hours for thanksgiving. sitting still for all those hours probably didn't do it any good whether it was in heated leather seats or not.

it's easy to see how people can slide off the physical activity. the tiredness and fatigue from work coupled with the desire to just lie down in bed for a 2-hour nap during these cooler days is very tempting.

but i can feel my body rebelling against stasis and i'm getting the itch back to pound the boulevard again. maybe a jog tomorrow to break back in, so i can rest up over the weekend and get back on the routine.

they shoot clotheshorses, don't they?

coaching is a profession, make no mistake.

especially at the most basic levels of sanctioned competition, e.g. high school, they are, ostensibly, teachers, one of the more noble and thankless professions out there.

as such, as many of us who are desk jockeys do, they wear professional attire -- usually a variant on the shirt and tie.

at its highest echelons, you get real fashion plates -- pro basketball coaches, like pat riley, who dresses like someone who wheels and deals in los angeles, new york or miami.

ditto for a swanky operator like rick pitino, former new york knicks, boston celtics and kentucky wildcats coach, now shepherding the university of louisville cardinals.

pitino has produced a terrific family tree -- begetting the architect of defending two-time ncaa men's basketball champs florida, billy donovan, who begat new marshall university hoops guru donnie jones.

now, while passing along a great bloodline in basketball instruction to his progeny, you can see a steady dilution of their fashion sense. there is no sartorial confidence that says "damn -- i look good!" as young jones shows, his suits are still wearing him.

donovan and jones are typical of guys who wear the uniform just because it's expected of them. they may aspire to it for the sake of aping the mannerisms of the master, but i suspect deep down, that kind of self-awareness of appearance isn't in them they way it is with pitino or riley.

former west virginia university coaches gale catlett and john beilein were like that. whatever clean look their getup may have lent them when they walked into the coliseum was gone once they got down to business. there was clearly no comfort in wearing a coat and tie to them.

(personally, i've always felt if you don't feel comfortable in a suit, just wear the school colors. the dark lord of college basketball, bobby knight, always looked neat and collegiate in his school colors, whether it was in red at indiana or black at his new home in texas tech.)

and then you have this -- former wvu star, ex-university of cincinnati and kansas state coach, and now the new mentor for the mountaineers, bob huggins.

huggs broke out the three-piece on his wvu coaching debut last night against the university of arkansas-monticello boll weevils, which he and his wards won, 81-53.

wow! this man will take my alma mater to places its never been before, possibly outdoing the departed beilein's amazing sweet sixteen performance of 2006.

but this is something that outdoes the original huggy bear, one antonio fargas, he of the comic relief on '70s cop show "starsky and hutch," for slick and snazzy threads.

this is indeed the new look of things at wvu. fight the power, coach huggs.

at the end of the aisle at the target store

toward the middle of a department, you'll see them under the sign marked "clearance."

i got a two great sets of henckel knives there, like 75 percent off each time. late last fall i bought a two-person tent for $6. lexan flatware for 4, $2. today, it was a giant serving tray for kris, $6.

it's almost become a ritual every time i set foot in the place. once i get what i need to get, if i have a moment, i'll troll sporting goods or men's casual clothing or housewares. you get great stuff, cheap!

i should be ashamed of this, but i'm not. i can blame my mom for instilling savvy shopping into us. (from dad, i got odd impulse buys.)

um. i think that's it. maybe i'll write about some football now.

a night at the opera

ok, more like the symphony.

thanks to my buddy brad, kris and i got to watch the w.va. symphony orchestra saturday night for a triple bill of leonard bernstein, ralph vaughn williams and rimsky-korsakov.

the show was splendiferous. the orchestra seemed nimble, proficient and spirited. the gangbuster opening of "symphonic dances from west side story" was both familiar and revelatory.

(however, conductor grant cooper -- along with the rest of the audience, i'm sure -- seemed peeved at its conclusion after some oaf's cell phone went off with the music's last, delicate strains still floating in the air.)

as for the rest of the program, while i'd at least heard of rimsky-korsakov's "scheherazade" (lithe and muscular, with a virtuoso performance from violinist amelia chan), this was my first listen to williams' "serenade to music," which was airily, pleasantly enchanting.

it was a treat to watch our city's professional orchestra perform in such a lovely venue as the clay center. it made me appreciate single performances in the way that single game tickets make wvu football games more special than if one has a season pass. you want to soak up everything.

as we drove into town on our way to the auditorium, kris and i agreed that this really isn't too bad a place, charleston. we've got a lively, if precious, little arts scene, a symphony orchestra, a minor league ball team, three universities, three tv stations and two daily papers.

for what it is, it's a reasonable facsimile of a big city without being a big city. perhaps, with some work and dedication, we can love it into all it can be.

a snapshot for posterity

"It was what it was. The queen of any country can be beautiful or ugly. She's still the queen. She was the queen. She was the best. Everybody wanted to go to the Orange Bowl."
-- Former Oklahoma coach Barry Switzer, who took the Sooners to nine Orange Bowls, winning six of them

this was from an excerpt of recollections about the miami orange bowl by ivan maisel on espn.com, as it hosts its last ball game today. edwin pope, the longtime miami herald columnst, listed his top 10 moments in the bowl, (one of which, super bowl iii, happened in 1969, while dad was completing his fellowship at miami mount sinai hospital and i was a wee lad just turned five).

besides my brother, who is an alumnus, i don't know too many university of miami fans. i was quite enamored of them before they became the evil empire -- the small school that shocked the nebraskas and notre dames.

and the poor dolphins, they probably lived their best years in that stadium.

wvu didn't have too much luck there -- or in morgantown, for that matter, as we had a 3-16 overall record against the canes. (two of those wins were in miami, oddly enough, in 1973 with bobby bowden and '97 with don nehlen.)

i'm just posting as a kind of milestone, that i was around when the grand old lady breathed her last.

my tombstone will say ...

he complained a lot. loved west virginia university sports. he liked food. his cat was named otto.

seriously, that's all i'm writing about here. and tonight, i'm writing about the meal that will go down on the list of things that killed me.

i mean, it was great, but in the artery-clogging way of cheese, mayo, ground beef and two kinds of fried potatoes.

i speak, of course, of the riverside anchor here in charley west, home of the beef and cheddar squeak (in essence, a cheeseburger with lettuce, tomato, ketchup and mayonnaise between two halves of a pizza crust) and mr. bill's chips, these amazing homemade potato chips with some mayo-mustard dipping sauce that makes cold beers slide down real easy.

kris and i -- and the rest of the dm newsroom -- had had a hard end to a hard week of strong papers. we were ready for a drink after we got all our editions out.

first, however, like guilt-motivated gym rats, we both did our oblations at the ywca. i got in a brisk 4-mile jog, met kris, hit the road and made ourselves at home. we were famished and ready for some cold suds.

it was a blur of shoving and pouring food and liquid down our gullets for the better part of an hour. but it was great.

then, at the kanawha city bp station, i got an ice cream drumstick and kris got some twizzlers. i'm blogging instead of sleeping because i can't lie down or i'll hurl.

after fighting to get strong stories, good design and the air cleared with our m.e., (not to mention a closer than we'd like, school-night football game) i'd say we had a night of gluttony coming. maybe now i'll get to sleep without the nytol.

diner deux

i'm noticing a trend here in town that's becoming, in a word, unappetizing.

while i can appreciate the convenience and predictability of chain restaurants with their faux knick-knack wackiness hanging on the walls and ceilings, i tend to like the regional flavors of locally owned establishments.

cooks who open restaurants to showcase their culinary creations likely did so because they had something they wanted to share with the world, whether it's pizza, wings or a really good sandwich. the individual flavor of these people's tastes give me no small amount of joy.

charleston's got enough unique eateries that kris, my friends and i could go out on a fairly regular basis if we could afford to and not have the exact same meal for weeks, if not months. we're pretty lucky that way.

the secret pleasure is finding a place that is "yours" -- a joint you found before it became popular or an unassuming hole in the wall that delivers simple but fabulously unique food that makes your tastebuds sing.

a trend that friends and i are starting to notice, however, are local joints that have become aware that they are "destination eateries," restaurants where people go for their hip cache.

it isn't so much the owners as their workers treating customers as if eating there is a privilege that they should be grateful for.

bad service, no service -- hey, it's what makes us "quirky" and "cutting edge." it's like, dude, this place is about the food -- if you don't like how you get it, you just don't get it.

if it isn't a sin to quote a nora ephron movie, i think the phrase tom hanks used in "you've got mail" describes a place "full of its own virtue." that, friends, is hubris. and it leaves a bad taste in the mouths of customers.

i heard a great interview on "fresh air" with actor steve carrell, where he speaks of waiting tables while he was waiting for his big break.

he said he would knock himself out to be the best waiter he could be, because he believed when his customers went into a restaurant, they were choosing to spend their money for a good dining experience.

he didn't feel right, in essence, making the customer waste money they may have saved up or budgeted in by serving meals with attitude.

now i'm not looking for fawning servants to wait on my every move. and i certainly don't condone demanding, obnoxious or abusive patrons.

but if something's late or it's going to be a long wait, just let me know. i can understand if you explain. most of us have jobs where unexpected or unavoidable things happen.

just don't treat us like we're stupid. being hungry makes a person irritable enough; but being embarrassed or ticked off by lousy service is more than any customer should stomach.

because i could be watched

i'm posting to stay current.

my colleague mike's wvu sports blog requires a name and e-mail address to make a comment. it didn't occur to me, though, that typing my address in the optional website field would link my name to this page as well as my comments.

so anyone who wants to know what kind of moron thinks the thoughts he thinks when he says something about mike's posts can actually get an idea of what kind of moron i am.

ergo, it might be in my best interest to have said something current here when i say things on his blog. kind of like making sure the house is clean in case unexpected company drops in. (or wearing clean underwear in case i'm in an accident.)

this is a tail wagging the dog thing, isn't it?

otto's a girl

in yet another case of the failure of the internet to triumph over practical and professional experience, the vet informs us on little otto's first check-up that she's a girl. and not expecting kittens. he thinks.

kris went online to check for visual clues as to the sex of our feline acquisition. i didn't even bother to look or compare. what's an image from the internet that doesn't involve a pecker or a sack going to tell me about this critter's gender?

if the untrained observer's eye leads to a question that begins "do you think this look like ..." i believe i'll leave the answer to someone who gets paid to know.

and i hope this will be the last cat entry for a while.