Flashover

Who uses it: Firefighters
What it means: The point at which a fire's temperature rises high enough to make the fire accelerate dramatically.
How you can use it: When things are building to a crisis.

Central Maine is so dry right now that grass fires are breaking out all over. Dizzy took me down an unfamiliar path to the Cobbossee Stream yesterday, and I couldn't help thinking that it all looked like a bonfire laid for the match.

If it all goes up in flames, we'll be far away, hitting the road this morning. Tonight's destination is Washington, D.C.; tomorrow's is Mechanicsville, for Meg's baptism. Dizzy and I will be back in Maine sometime around May 3, but I will be working from the road and checking e-mail frequently. While I'm traveling, some posts will be early and some posts will be late -- you'll just have to keep checking in.

What I Read This Week

Stephen King, Cell. Fear is about more than self-preservation; it's about how you imagine pain and loss. What you fear defines you. Stephen King understands that, and this novel is a parable of destruction through technology and alienation; ultimately, what King says is that cell phones have created a race of zombies. He dedicates it to Richard Matheson and George Romero, and it owes a great deal to both I am Legend and the Living Dead movies.

Angela Carter, Wise Children. I am ashamed to admit that I'd never read Angela Carter before this book. She is one of those authors, like Robertson Davies, whose writing changed the worldviews of her fans. I think this was her last novel, a Shakespearean epic about the Chance twins, Nora and Dora, who were the bastard offspring of a great theatrical family. This book is like one of those carved ivory balls, with layers within layers, and I expect to reread it at regular intervals for the rest of my life.

Peter Craig, Blood Father. An old outlaw biker, trying to go straight, goes to the rescue of his long-estranged daughter. He might not be able to save himself, but he believes that he can save her. I admired this book without liking it much, but I understand why several of my male friends (with daughters) think this is one of the best books they've ever read.

Nuala O'Faolain, The Story of Chicago May. Nuala O'Faolain, author of two fine memoirs and a wonderful novel (My Dream of You), tries her hand at biography in this story of a turn-of-the-century outlaw. May Duignan stole her family's savings and left Ireland to become a prostitute and thief. She traveled the world, stole a fortune and lost it, and served hard time in prisons in France and England. She wrote her own life story, but it didn't please O'Faolain, who found it lacking; May told us what she did, but not who she was, so O'Faolain tries to correct that. It's not entirely successful, and this book frustrated me -- I felt as if I were trying to see a painting in an art gallery, but the docent kept blocking my view.

C.J. Box, In Plain Sight. Each of Box's Joe Pickett novels, about a Wyoming game warden, has examined a different issue of the modern West. In this one, Box looks at "the curse of the third generation," the chaos that happens when grandchildren try to divide an estate built by pioneers. While Pickett tries to figure out what happened to the Scarlett family's matriarch, an old enemy comes back to take revenge for events that happened in Box's first book, Open Season. The book ends with Joe at a crossroads, needing to make some important decisions about the next phase of his life.

Concrete

Who uses it: Frozen custard vendors
What it means: A milkshake made with frozen custard, so thick it does not come out of the cup when you turn it upside down -- thus, "concrete"
How you can use it: To celebrate the arrival of summer.

It may not quite be summer yet, but spring is officially well underway, now that Freeport's Classic Custard stand has reopened for the season.

You can see the stand from the highway as you head north on 295. The practiced eye (i.e., Jen's) can even see the "Flavor of the Day" sign from the road at 65 miles an hour.

Jen, Anna, Anna's mother Mary, and I were on our way back from Portland, where we listened to Tarren give a talk about Maine's problem-riddled Dirigo Health program. Jen saw the cars parked around the custard shop, and the lines at the window -- and ten minutes later, we were there too, along with half of Freeport. In all seriousness, Jen and Anna knew half the other people there. It was the biggest event in town today.

I'm thinking about making a change to my blog-posting schedule, and posting in the evenings instead of in the mornings. Tomorrow I hit the road again for one of these multiple-destination trips, and my posting schedule will be disrupted. I expect to keep posting daily, but new posts may not show up until late in the day... I know how some of you hate change (as I do myself), so sorry for any anxiety this causes.

Transition

Who uses it: Obstetricians, labor nurses, pregnant women
What it means: The final stage of labor before delivery. Contractions come very fast, pain is often intense, and this is generally the time when mothers start swearing at the people around them. Fortunately, it usually only lasts about half an hour.
How you can use it: When something is almost done.

If you've been at sea or in a cave, you might not have heard that Katie Holmes delivered her baby yesterday, supposedly in the same hospital as Brooke Shields -- this despite the talk about a home birth, a silent birth, a drug-free labor, etc. The little girl's name is Suri, and someone on my cousin Sheila's web forum pointed out that Tom Cruise now has children whose names begin with the letters S, C, and I. I'm sure that's not deliberate. I'm sure it's not.

My client Joseph Finder has posted a tongue-in-cheek quiz to his website, in preparation for the release of his new thriller, KILLER INSTINCT. Check it out here, and e-mail the link to everyone you know. I didn't score very high, but I expect my rewards to be greater in the next world (okay, I don't expect, but I believe in forgiveness). Thanks to the sharp and funny Rob Blatt for putting the quiz together for us. (And before you send me indignant e-mails, it's meant to be a JOKE... these are not behaviors Joe endorses.)

First five random songs off the iPod Shuffle this morning:

"Golden Autumn Day," Van Morrison. This album, Back on Top, was one of two I listened to constantly the fall I moved to Los Angeles (the other was Natalie Merchant's Ophelia). A fair amount of this record is filler, though, and I'd have to put this song in that category.

"The Love that Never Fails," Jim White. A song that sounds like a bad dream, restless and sad and confused. “It’s not why I’m here, it’s who I’m with… I seek the love that never fails.”

"Just One of Those Things," Bryan Ferry. Yeah, this one's on my life's soundtrack album.

"Look for Me (I'll Be Around)," Neko Case. Peggy and Scott saw her live in Charlottesville last week... lucky ducks.

"I Am a Grocery Bag," They Might Be Giants. Ed and I are going to see these guys next week at the 9:30 Club. I love their children's music (this is one of their kids' songs), but I'll be annoyed if this is an all-ages show.

Troll

Who uses it: Participants in Internet forums
What it means: Someone who posts to a forum or leaves a comment on a blog in order to enrage or embarrass other participants.
How you can use it: When someone's being deliberately annoying.

This blog doesn't get many trolls, thank goodness, and neither do the handful of Web forums I visit regularly. Trolls seem to be more common among teenagers and hardcore technology types -- my guess is that they feel powerless in other areas of their lives, so take pleasure in disrupting things anonymously.

I understand that impulse to wreak havoc anonymously. The lady who lives next door to my apartment building, whom I've never met, opened her door yesterday morning to snap at me: "Please don't let your dog pee on my trees." I hadn't realized that the trees, a row of cedars between her property and my building, belonged to her; nor had I thought that Dizzy could do any harm to the trees by watering them. Nevertheless, I apologized profusely, and said it wouldn't happen again.

Then, as I took Dizzy down to the river, I thought about getting up in the middle of the night to pour something really caustic onto the trees, something like bleach or drain cleaner; I'd do it the night before leaving town for a while, and when I'd come back, all the trees would be dead, and she'd never be able to prove I did it. Ha ha!

And then, of course, my brain returned to its regularly-scheduled programming. The trees are nice, and it's not their fault that they belong to a cranky old lady. I might even mulch them, just to show my neighbor how sincerely sorry I am for annoying her. (Because I am; I feel terrible about it, like a kid who behaved badly.)

Revenge fantasies are fun, but the difference between normal human beings and sociopaths is that normal human beings enjoy the fantasy, then let it go. Trolling on Internet forums isn't quite as destructive as pouring bleach on trees, so maybe we should be glad that they're online and not letting the air out of people's tires.

Top note

Who uses it: Perfumers
What it means: A light, bright essential oil that makes a fast first impression, but fades quickly. Popular top notes include orange, lemon, bergamot and pine.
How you can use it: To describe anything that starts strong but doesn't last.

This morning's first stop was the grocery store, to buy laundry soap and a few other essentials; Jen and I had scheduled a Trader Joe's run today, but we both have too much work to take the day off.

Laundry soap is the only thing I'm brand-loyal to; as the commercial says, if it has to be clean, it has to be Tide. What used to be a simple decision, however, gets more complicated all the time. Original Tide, or Tide with Bleach Alternative? Original Scent, or Mountain Breeze? Cold Water Formula? Tide with Downy, original scent? Tide with Downy, some other scent? Tide with Febreze?

Decisions are not my favorite things in any circumstance, but especially not at 8:00 on a Monday morning. Why do we need so many choices of laundry detergent?

And why does everything have to smell like something else? In my apartment, I have dish soap that smells like green apples; cleaning solution that smells like lemons; another cleaning solution that smells like oranges; hand soap that smells like cucumber and green tea; other hand soap that smells like almonds; body wash that smells like "ocean breezes," whatever that means; lotion that smells like lavender; air freshener that smells like citrus and sage; and shampoo that smells like herbs. Oh, and deodorant in a fragrance called "Optimism," though I'm not sure what optimism smells like.

I don't want to live amidst the smell of rotting garbage, mildew, farm animals or factory smoke, like my ancestors did, but this is getting a little ridiculous.

Mystic

Who uses it: Theologians
What it means: Someone who seeks or believes he has had a personal experience of God.
How you can use it: As a career option, it doesn't pay much.

I'm giving myself the day off, and going down to the Lechners' for Easter dinner. For some reason, Jen found my suggested menu of rabbit and duck inappropriate. She also mocked my inquiries about mint jelly -- "What are you, my grandma?" -- so I'm bringing my own jar.

Happy Easter, everybody.

"I don't know... but one thing I know is that Joan of Arc was not Noah's wife."

The Movie: Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure, 1989 (Chris Matheson and Ed Solomon, screenwriters; Stephen Herek, dir.)
Who says it: Alex Winter as Bill S. Preston, Esq., a stoner at San Dimas High School
The context: Bill and Ted Theodore Logan (Keanu Reeves) are about to flunk history, which will send Ted to Oates Military Academy and doom the prospects of their band, Wild Stallyns.
How you can use it: When you know what you know.

The moose infestation of Kennebec County continues: a young moose stopped traffic on the Maine Turnpike yesterday just up the road from the Gardiner exit, trying to decide whether to cross the highway. I didn't see that one, either. I have to drive up to Augusta later today, so I'll be keeping my eyes open.

My friend Megan sent me a pot of daffodils for Easter, and they're already blooming. The greatest thing about living so far north is this process of watching color return to the world, and everything waking up. Dizzy and I were down at the river this morning, and the grass is suddenly green. He grazed like a cow.

Stations

Who uses it: Catholics (and Episcopalians, and Lutherans)
What it means: "The Way of the Cross," a prayer service that meditates on 14 events ("stations") that led to the crucifixion of Jesus.
How you can use it: On Good Friday, in particular.

It's not as if I have the world's most active social life, but I still managed to be at a dinner party in Freeport during the most exciting thing to happen in Gardiner in some time: a moose! Walking right through my neighborhood!

The moose wandered into town late Wednesday afternoon, and was in my neighborhood a little before sunset. Yesterday morning, he (I assume it was a he, but I don't know that for sure) had reportedly gotten stuck in the mud up by the high school.

What's ironic about this is that Anna, Jen, Anna's friend Martha and I had all been reassuring Anna's friend Wendy, a recent transplant from northern Virginia, that moose sightings are few and far between -- especially in suburban Portland, where Wendy lives.

Dizzy was home alone on Wednesday night, so he might well have seen or smelled the moose... but he's not telling.

What I Read This Week

Joe Keenan, My Lucky Star. A wacky caper novel about a playwright who gets his big chance at Hollywood -- in exchange for doing some dirty work for an Oscar-winning actress and her action-hero son, who happens to be a deeply closeted homosexual. Entertaining, but not as funny as I wanted it to be -- maybe because it didn't really seem that far-fetched.

Stuart MacBride, Cold Granite. I'm late to this novel, which was one of the most critically-acclaimed debuts of 2005; all the praise is well-deserved. Aberdeen Detective Sergeant Logan, back on the job after a life-threatening injury, hunts a serial killer of children while an unknown colleague leaks critical information to the press. Cold Granite is a sharp, compassionate police procedural, and MacBride manages to use many of the genre's conventions without ever falling into cliché.

Ross Macdonald, The Barbarous Coast. It's embarrassing, but I'd never read a Ross Macdonald novel until about two years ago. Now I am working my way slowly through the Lew Archer series, because there aren't that many of them, and I don't want to finish them too fast. In this book, one of the earlier entries, Archer looks for a missing wife and finds a snarl of blackmail and murder in Malibu.

Janet Evanovich, Eleven on Top. The Stephanie Plum novels started following a formula several books ago: Stephanie sleeps with her longtime beau, Joe Morelli; flirts with her colleague, Ranger; and gets several cars blown up. Her Grandma Mazur causes trouble at the funeral home, her mother makes pineapple upside-down cake, and wackiness ensues. I picked this up from the New Releases table at the library, read it in one sitting, and remembered why I stopped reading this series a while back.

Edward Wright, Red Sky Lament. This third book in Wright's John Ray Horn series is available only through Wright's UK publisher, Orion, and that's a shame, because it's terrific. Horn used to be Sierra Lane, star of B-Westerns; now he collects debts for his former sidekick, Joseph Mad Crow, and looks into problems for friends. This time, an old flame wants John Ray's help in clearing her father's name from accusations of Communist sympathies; but the father winds up dead, and John Ray finds that some people are willing to use politics to pursue their personal goals.

Infield fly rule

Who uses it: Baseball players
What it means: The infield fly rule exists to keep infielders from deliberately dropping fly balls in order to force double plays when runners are on first and second. Once you know that, the rule is simple. If the batting team has fewer than two outs and runners at first and second, and the batter hits a fly ball to the infield, the umpire can call the batter out before anyone catches the ball. The assumption is that a fielder would catch the ball, and the batting team benefits by getting only one out instead of a double play.
How you can use it: To describe something that seems arcane.

Today is the Portland Sea Dogs' home opener, but I'm not going, because 1) it's Holy Thursday, and there's Mass tonight and 2) I have too much work to do. It rained most of the morning, but the sun is out now, so the evening in Portland might even be pleasant.

My computer problems, which I'd hoped I could postpone dealing with for a while, have now reached a crisis point. Sigh. Excuse me while I go back everything up...

Adult alternative

Who uses it: Music promoters and radio station programmers
What it means: A genre of popular music that includes a broad range of influences beyond Top-40 rock, and is meant to appeal to adults rather than teenagers.
How you can use it: When buying me CDs...

When I was a kid, "Adult Contemporary" was the euphemism for "easy listening," which included everything from the dreadful (orchestral versions of Carpenters tunes) to the sublime (Frank Sinatra, Billie Holiday). Now I'm an adult, and I worry that "adult alternative" marks me as a geezer... except that I am a geezer... and at least I was able to impress Our Chris with my CD collection, when he saw that I had Nine Inch Nails and "Porgy and Bess" on the same shelf.

Yesterday was a spectacularly beautiful day, and today is another. An outdoor thermometer in Hallowell yesterday said it was 73 degrees, which can't have been right -- the sign was in direct sunlight -- but it was warm enough for Dizzy to swim in the river.

Contrary as always, I went ice-skating at lunchtime, and the music playing was a '90s adult alternative station off the rink's satellite radio system. Some of it was good (Weezer, Toad the Wet Sprocket), and some of it was terrible (Creed, Sheryl Crow -- sorry, Sheryl Crow has a high-ranking post in my Academy of the Overrated). It reminded me of why I don't listen to much commercial radio anymore.

First five songs off the iPod Shuffle this morning:

"But Not for Me," Chet Baker. Contrary to popular belief, I do not consider this my life's theme song... most days. It is my favorite version of this song, though, because it sounds so perversely light-hearted.

"Dizzy Miss Lizzie," The Beatles. I bought this CD ("Help") from a bargain bin in Heathrow Airport.

"Smarter," Maria McKee. Now, this could be my theme song. "I need somebody smarter than me/Need to exercise my vocabulary/I'll shut up and learn from him... Shut up now."

"Wondering," David Baerwald. I gave my copy of this CD ("Here Comes the New Folk Underground") to a friend last summer, but had copied it to iTunes first... sorry, David. I'm sure my friend will buy all your other records from now on, though, and you know I will.

"Man of Peace," Bob Dylan. My first copy of this album ("Infidels") was on cassette, and it will always remind me of the summer of 1984, and of my friend Tom Ehrenfeld, who first played it for me.

Happy birthday to the regal and radiant Anna Maschino Bragdon, who has every reason to look forward to the happiest year of her life.

Curve fitting

Who uses it: Statisticians
What it means: Creating a graphic curve from data that might not necessarily form a natural curve, in order to demonstrate a trend. Regression analysis allows some approximation in order to make a curve smooth.
How you can use it: When rounding up or down.

I got no work done this weekend -- including Friday afternoon and most of yesterday -- and now I have to make up for my vacation time. It's a bright sunny day here in central Maine, and the birds are chirping, and Dizzy will get the season's first application of Frontline later today.

Tomorrow's post will be longer...

Redemption centers

Who uses it: Residents of Maine and Massachusetts
What it means: Businesses that give refunds for returned bottles.
How you can use it: To describe your neighborhood church or bar.

I've mentioned Gardiner's Tigertown Beverage & Redemption before. It's a rather shabby-looking orange building at the bottom of town, right across the street from the junction of the Cobbosseecontee and the Kennebec River. It's my favorite sign in town, and I wish it represented something better than a bottle shop.

But redemption seems an appropriate term today, which is Claire Bea's 20th birthday. Today began with a small breakfast gathering of Claire, her parents Keith and Vikki, her sister Carolyn, and me. It was a bright sunny day in Montreal, and an exam day for Claire, who seemed unflappable as always.

Vikki, Keith, Carolyn and I went to Palm Sunday Mass at St. Joseph's Oratory yesterday. It's a massive stone basilica high on Mount Royal, and Mass was in French -- which, as Keith said, was a good reminder for us of the Church Universal.

The whole weekend was just about perfect, and this day, which was sad for me for so many years, is one of the happiest of my year. Happy birthday, Claire.

Cordon sanitaire

Who uses it: Political analysts
What it means: Literally, "sanitary line," a quarantine border; political analysts use it to describe ways of isolating unacceptable opinions or ideologies.
How you can use it: When defending your point of view.

My client Joe Finder uses this phrase today in a very good piece in the New York Times Book Review, speculating about why "literary fiction" no longer considers worldly ambition a worthy topic. Joe's theory is that because ambition, greed and upward mobility are some of the most fertile themes of popular fiction, literary fiction must distance itself by looking to the "higher things."

He makes a good argument, and while I'm always impatient with distinctions between "genre fiction" and "literary fiction," I'd also have a hard time arguing that Gilead and the latest Nora Roberts novel have equal value for equivalent audiences.

Today's term was already in my mind, though, because yesterday the Beas and I visited Pointe-à-Calliere, Montreal's museum of archeology and history. During an outbreak of cholera in the 19th century, Montreal's solution was to cover the city's open sewers... but they kept drinking the water.

Dial-up

Who uses it: Computer users
What it means: A type of modem that connects through telephone lines, and is much slower than cables or wireless Internet connections.
How you can use it: When describing something out-dated and slow.

My laptop, which has been a great and faithful tool for the past three years, is showing signs of age. The power cord is fraying, though not enough to be a fire hazard; the battery died a long time ago. I finally ordered new ones from Gateway last week, and now they're on 4-6 week back order. More ominously, the screen is starting to black out on me -- not regularly, but a couple of times, when I've jiggled something wrong. I'm afraid this machine's days are numbered.

The Internet Explorer program that came loaded onto this computer isn't working properly, either; when I try to launch it, I get a runtime error that says that "the application has requested the Runtime to terminate it in an unusual way."

Therefore, when I'm traveling, sometimes the only way I can get online is through my old dial-up Compuserve account, which is what I'm using now. Posts tomorrow and Monday will be considerably shorter than this one, since the process is so slow.

Nevertheless, I am deeply happy to be here in Montreal, with Claire and her parents and her sister Carolyn, and for once, I have more important things to do than sit here and wrestle with the laptop.

See you tomorrow.

Plenary indulgence

Who uses it: Catholics
What it means: A remission of the time you would have to spend atoning for the sin that has already been forgiven you.
How you can use it: When seeking to escape punishment.

Plenary indulgence is one of the more complicated principles of Catholicism. It's basically a "get out of Purgatory free" card, for sins you have sincerely repented and already received forgiveness for. Without the plenary indulgence, you'd be forgiven but you'd still have to serve the time in Purgatory. It's not the same as absolution, which you have to ask for through confession, but it follows absolution, and is one of the graces Catholics receive from the sacrament of reconciliation.

Purgatory -- the waiting period or place before Heaven -- is another Catholic concept I have trouble with. There's an argument to be made that purgatory is right here on earth (actually, it's a very nice ski resort in Colorado, but that's not the point).

Nevertheless, I hedge my bets, which is why St. Joseph's said a Mass for Mom last week, and one for my friend Sue's father on Tuesday. Just in case.

I'm off to Montreal today to celebrate the fabulous Claire Bea's birthday. Happy birthday, too, to Maeve C. and Pam L., and happy spring to everyone.

What I Read This Week

Susanne Antonetta, A Mind Apart: Travels in a Neurodiverse World. Antonetta, a poet, explores the idea that the human race needs "disorders" such as autism, schizophrenia and manic depression, from an evolutionary point of view. It's a compelling argument, and she makes it beautifully.

Sue Walker, The Reunion. A psychological novel about the repercussions of something terrible that happened on an adolescent psychatric ward in the late 1970s. It's interesting to compare this novel to others about groups of young people who carry a secret for decades: Donna Tartt's Secret History, Kevin Wignall's Among the Dead, Julia Wallis Martin's A Likeness in Stone. The Reunion is an impressive first novel, but I found the central character less interesting than all of the people around her.

John D. Gartner, The Hypomanic Edge: The Link between (A Little) Craziness and (A Lot of) Success in America. Proving Susanne Antonetta's point for her, psychologist Gartner gives us case studies of major American figures who, he asserts, had bipolar II disorder -- not full-blown mania, but hypomania. Gartner starts with Christopher Columbus, and dissects the behavior of Roger Williams, Andrew Carnegie, David O. Selznick, and geneticist Craig Venter, among others. It's fascinating reading, though I'm a little uncomfortable with pathologizing things I think of as character traits.

Entitlements

Who uses it: Government budget-makers
What it means: Payments that go automatically to members of a certain group once they meet specific requirements. The most obvious examples are Social Security and Medicare.
How you can use it: To describe your own automatic payments.

If I had to choose one quality I most dislike in others, it's the sense of entitlement.

Growing up in a house with one income and five siblings made it impossible to feel "entitled," even without Mom's tactical nuclear weapon: "Who do you think you are?" Then I went to a prep school on scholarship, and then I went to Georgetown at a time when the student body was transitioning from middle-class Catholic kids to kids whose parents could afford the tuition.

So I'm following this Duke lacrosse team case with a great deal of interest, not to say vicious contempt. It's not fair, but my first thought when I heard about the accusations of rape was, "Yep... knew that was coming." I feel like I know those guys -- the ones who skated through class, who snapped the bra straps of nerdy girls, who laughed too loud and drank too much and had lawyer fathers who would bully teachers and coaches out of any threatened consequences.

We all know those guys -- unless we were those guys.

And on behalf of nerds everywhere, I want to reprint this obituary, which caught my eye this morning:

LONDON (AP) - Anthony Burgess, a prominent notary who wrote a book about how his profession was represented in opera, died March 17, Cheeswrights Notaries Public confirmed.

Burgess was senior partner in the firm from 1958 to 2000. He was 80, Cheeswrights said Wednesday.

A question from the Master of the Court of Faculties of the Archbishop of Canterbury, who appoints notaries in England and Wales, inspired Burgess to research the portrayal of notaries in opera.

That result was ``The Notary in Opera,'' published in 1994.

More support for my belief that anything is interesting, if you look at it closely enough.

Jury nullification

Who uses it: Lawyers and judges
What it means: A decision by a jury that defies evidence, and thus shows that the jury believes the law itself is invalid, or that the prosecution has no authority in the matter.
How you can use it: When you're rejecting the obvious.

It snowed last night -- not a lot, but enough to make my stairs dangerous this morning, and to leave a white frost on the grass. Dizzy and I walked to the cemetery, since the lane down to the creek was too slippery. By the time we got home, most of the snow had melted.

At the Lechners' the other night, I watched "Deal or No Deal" for the first time; their Grace, who is not quite five, loves it. I can see how the show would appeal to a five-year-old, because it involves no skill at all; it's like the duck pond at a church bazaar, you just pick numbers and win or lose.

My sister Susan said that she watched it once, and realized about halfway through that the studio audience was cheering for a predetermined outcome -- that is, the number hidden inside each briefcase was already set, and no amount of cheering or strategy would change it. Her horror at everyone's stupidity has kept her from watching the show ever since. To that I would add that Howie Mandel gives me the creeps, especially because there's something about that pirate/Mr. Clean look I find attractive, in a deeply icky way.

First five random songs off my iPod Shuffle this morning:

"Faithless Street," Whiskeytown -- the title track off the first Whiskeytown album, and still one of the best things Ryan Adams has done.

"Children in Bloom," Counting Crows -- there was no way Counting Crows' second album could match the brilliance of "August and Everything After," but it's a darn fine record all the same. This isn't one of my favorite tracks from it, though.

"Wagon Wheel," Lou Reed -- this record, "Transformer," is great listening for a bad day; it's just so cheerful.

"It's De-Lovely," Sarah Vaughan -- another song guaranteed to lift anyone's spirits, and it sounds like spring to me.

"Big Boy Pete," The Olympics -- this is a song off a 1960s R&B compilation. Excellent music to dance to, or maybe just clean the apartment.

Once again, nothing from this decade... in my own defense, I'll say that I did buy the new Prince CD this week, and I like it a lot. (Speaking of people I find attractive, in a deeply icky way...)

From Away

Who uses it: Natives of Maine
What it means: People born anywhere else
How you can use it: To admit that you're a stranger here.

My young friend Grace, who was born in Maine, may live here her entire life, but will probably always say, when people ask if she's a native: "Yes, but my parents were From Away."

Maine is more welcoming than you might think, though, especially as more and more of us are From Away.

Dizzy and I were down at the river on Sunday afternoon, and he ran up to a couple who were fishing. I usually try to keep him away from the fishermen, who seem very serious and intent on their work, but this couple seemed happy to say hello, even when Dizzy nosed around their bait box.

"Does he like fish?" asked the woman, in a broad Maine accent.

"I don't know," I said. "He's never had any."

"Well, let's give him one and see," she said. "I've got a small one." She pulled a whole fish out of her box, about five inches long and still gleaming with river water.

"What kind of fish is that?" I asked.

"White perch," she said.

"Yellow," said her companion, in the same Maine accent.

"Yellow," she agreed. "The white perch don't start for another couple of weeks."

It took Dizzy a minute or two to figure out that the fish was food, not a toy. Once he did, he chewed it enthusiastically, working from both ends toward the middle. At the middle, he picked it up and shook it hard.

"Look at that, he's shaking the guts out," the woman marveled. "Are you sure he's never had a fish before?"

"No," I said. "Wow."

"He just knows," the man said.

"I'm Tricia," the woman said, extending her hand to me. "Steve," said the man, shaking my hand too.

They warned me not to let Dizzy eat any fish after June, when they get wormy, and they cautioned that fish sometimes has a laxative effect on dogs.

But Dizzy's shown no ill effects, other than smelling a little fishy, and we both felt welcomed, even though we're From Away.

Eephus pitch

Who uses it: Professional baseball players
What it means: A fat, slow "junk" pitch, thrown to confuse a batter who's expecting speed or a curve ball.
How you can use it: When you're hiding your light under a bushel. "That wasn't a mistake, that was an Eephus."

It's Opening Day, a Holy Day of Obligation here in Red Sox Nation... although the big event, the Red Sox home opener, isn't until next week.

As a transplant in Red Sox Nation, I feel both respectful and bewildered about the passion people have for their team. Red Sox fans cherish a sense of persecution that winning the World Series didn't change, and I can't help but see that as a relic of the region's Puritan heritage. Red Sox fans want to be underdogs and outsiders. I get that.

Jennifer and I have discovered that we are both more productive if we work together (even though we're working on completely different things), so Dizzy and I are headed down to Freeport for a work bee. The Sox-Rangers game starts at 2:05... we might turn it on.

"I'm very shallow and empty, and I have no ideas and nothing interesting to say."

The Movie: Annie Hall, 1977 (Woody Allen and Marshall Brickman, screenwriters; Woody Allen, dir.)
Who says it: Shelley Hack as one half of a beautiful couple Alvy Singer (Woody Allen) stops on the street.
The context: Alvy asks Shelley Hack and her companion (James Burge) the secret to their apparently happy relationship. This is her response, to which her companion adds, "And I'm exactly the same way."
How you can use it: When you've run out of conversation.

I have nothing to say today. It's a beautiful day, with a strong breeze, and my brain doesn't want to do any more work for the next 24 hours or so. I think I will read a trashy novel, take a long nap, and possibly watch some cartoons.

Bummer about George Mason's loss last night. In the words of the great Elvis (Costello, not Presley), not all good things come to an end (you know how it is), only a chosen few...

Back at full brainpower tomorrow, I hope.

Multi-level marketing

Who uses it: Amway salesmen and many other promoters of home-based businesses
What it means: A distribution system that requires you to recruit subordinates before you can make any real money. In other words, a pyramid scheme.
How you can use it: To protect yourself; stay away... far, far away.

It's April Fools Day, and if I'd spent a little time and energy on it, I might have turned this page into an ad for my beauty consulting services, or an announcement of my new affiliation with the Maine Militia, or a love poem in honor of Tom Cruise.

But I didn't have the time or the energy, and the best audience for that kind of thing would have been Mom, and she's not around to be appalled any more. Dad already thinks I'm a little weird, so I'm not sure anything I could do would surprise him.

Instead, Dizzy and I are off to have an adventure at the Pine Tree State Arboretum, if the rain holds off. Things are starting to bloom, and the bugs are back. Yesterday afternoon I had some reading to do, so Dizzy and I went down to the Cobbossee Stream. I sat on a rock and read while Dizzy chewed a stick and watched the birds. The young chickadees are so small and clean-looking; they look new, which I guess they must be.

Coyotes

Who uses it: Immigrants who cross the southern border of the United States illegally.
What it means: Guides who help run would-be immigrants across the border -- by foot, crammed into vans, packed into crates and car trunks, and worse. Coyotes charge exorbitant fees and treat their clients as anonymous and expendable human cargo.
How you can use it: When discussing immigration policy reform.

The mayor of Lewiston, Maine caused an international uproar in the fall of 2002, when he published a letter telling Somali leaders that the city could no longer accommodate new immigrants. Lewiston, a city of 36,000 that is no one's idea of a glamor spot, had taken in more than 1,000 Somali immigrants in the past 18 months. "The city is maxed-out financially, physically, and emotionally," the mayor wrote.

He was accused of racism, a situation that became much worse when a white supremacist group backed him -- with friends like that, who needs enemies? Today, the population of Lewiston, which is declining, is approximately 7% Somali. (Which is what I told the cab driver who took me to National Airport this week, when he asked, "They got any black people in Maine?") And Lewiston understands that assimilating its new immigrant population is essential to any hopes it might have for economic revival. Maine's population is aging and declining; where will growth come from, if not from immigration?

The current system is obviously not working. Demagoguery on both sides of the issue doesn't help. One of the books I read this week should be required for anyone who's making policy on these issues.

What I Read This Week

Peter Abrahams, Oblivion. A surprisingly moving thriller about a private investigator who suffers a brain trauma that causes short-term amnesia. He's lost three days of his life, and becomes convinced he can only save himself by solving the mystery of those three days. Beautifully written, ingeniously plotted, and deeply compassionate. Just terrific.

Susan Kandel, Not a Girl Detective. The second in Kandel's Cece Caruso series, about a biographer of crime writers. In this book, Cece and her two best friends get involved in a murder case that curiously mirrors the books of Cece's latest subject, Carolyn Keene, the pseudonymous creators of Nancy Drew. A fun read, with lots of great trivia about Nancy Drew's history.

Tim Dorsey, Torpedo Juice. The plots of Tim Dorsey's novels are almost irrelevant to the fun of them, which comes from the laugh-out-loud descriptions of southern Florida and the gonzo personality of Dorsey's main character, Serge A. Storms, a psychopathic Floridaphile. In his latest adventure, Serge decides to get married, and foils an evil real estate developer and a disgraced Enron-style executive along the way.

Luis Alberto Urrea, The Devil's Highway. In May 2001, 26 men -- really, 24 men and two boys -- walked into the Sonoran Desert, crossing the border with three coyotes who promised to lead them to Ajo, Arizona. Just a few days later, a Border Patrol officer found five of them near death, lost and dehydrated and cooked by the sun; ultimately, only 12 of the men made it out alive. The Sonoran Desert is stark and beautiful and inexorable, and so is this book -- which, in the chill of a Maine spring, made me reach for my bottle of water and thank God for the accident of my U.S. citizenship.

Ice going out

Who uses it: New Englanders
What it means: The day when the last of the ice disappears from a lake or river.
How you can use it: To celebrate spring.

Anna discusses this term (with pictures) at her blog; she and her husband live on China Lake, where the annual going-out of the ice is a big event.

Fishermen are out in force along the Kennebec River. A sign at Gardiner Landing reminds everyone that fishermen are limited to no more than two quarts of smelt a day between March 15 and June 15... I can't imagine what anyone would do with two quarts of smelt (a small fish like a sardine), so the limit doesn't change my lifestyle any.

I didn't wear The Coat at all yesterday, and it'll be even warmer today. It's weird, I feel kind of defenseless without it.

Umbral shadow

Who uses it: Astronomers
What it means: The shadow the moon casts on the earth during a solar eclipse, which blocks the sun.
How you can use it: Today, if you live anywhere from West Africa to Turkey.

Since umbra is the Latin word for shadow, this term strikes me as a little Pee-wee Hermanish -- "Mmm, shadowy!" -- but I am not an astronomer, so I bow to specialized knowledge.

We had a solar eclipse in northern Virginia when I was very young, and Mom told Kathy and me that we had to be inside by 3:00 in the afternoon. From that, I got the idea that the eclipse would frizzle us if we were outside, or that monsters might walk the streets in the unnatural darkness. (Even as a child, I was good at the worst-case scenario.)

Mom dismissed the idea of eclipse monsters, but said we might burn out our retinas if we were outside during the eclipse -- and so I replaced the idea of monsters with the idea of smoking black holes where my eyes used to be, because how was I supposed to know what a retina was? I was five. Or maybe six.

Anyway, Ashton's mother, Penny, is in Turkey today, seeing the eclipse, and I hope she is well protected from both eclipse monsters and retinal burns.

The Onion's A.V. Club seems to have discontinued its "Five Random Songs from Your iPod Shuffle" feature -- although this week's issue has an interview with the Beastie Boys, which fills me with joy, because they're older than I am. Since they've let me down, here were the first five songs on my Shuffle this morning.

Cat Stevens, “Sitting.” Come on, who doesn’t like Cat Stevens? Admit it. You know you do.

Bill Withers, “Ain’t No Sunshine.” Wow, it’s a ‘70s party this morning. One of the all-time great bad-love songs. “I know-I know-I know-I know-I knoooooow I ought to leave the young thing alone, but ain’t no sunshine when she’s gone…”

Big Head Todd & the Monsters, “Tower.” A lot of BHTM sounds alike to me, though it’s a sound I like. This song is a nice mix of alt-rock and funk.

Rosanne Cash, “Radio Operator.” Black Cadillac is the best album I’ve heard so far this year, and some of the songs are so powerful I can hardly listen to them.

The Connells, “Hey Wow.” A great, catchy, happy pop tune about (I think) being in a mental hospital. I love this song.

Cutting sign

Who uses it: Trackers and hunters
What it means: Identifying and following the signs that an animal or person has left behind on the way through a wilderness.
How you can use it: When you're lost.

Dizzy will never get lost, because he leaves a trail of hair and mud behind him. Jen and Grace and Dizzy picked me up at the Portland airport yesterday in Jen's Outback. Somehow, Dizzy had managed to get mud on the ceiling of the car; none of us could figure out how. He's tall, but not so tall that his paws hit the ceiling.

It'll take a few days to get back to our routine. Dizzy slept in this morning -- all the way to 7:15, which I was grateful for.

Cross-check

Who uses it: Flight attendants
What it means: Checking to see whether the emergency slides are functional on the doors of a passenger plane.
How you can use it: When double-checking your safety measures.

Home again, faithful dog at my side, plowing through my pile of work and wondering where all my mail is. Seriously... I had no first-class mail waiting for me, except for a Mass card for my mom from my cousin Deidre and her partner, Ruth. The Mass is being said at St. Patrick's Cathedral in New York on April 25, and it's barely possible I can be there in person -- if you will be in New York that day and have any interest in going, send me an e-mail and I'll give you the details.

Spring is here, and the weather is spectacular. The sun won't set until 6:00 tonight, and it'll be up again tomorrow at 5:30. It looks like most of us have made it through another winter.

Soft science

Who uses it: Physicists, geologists, chemists, and other "hard scientists"
What it means: A disparaging term for any academic discipline or experiment that has scientific aspects, but does not meet the scientific method's requirement that experiments have verifiable and reproducible results. Anthropology, economics and psychology would all be considered "soft sciences."
How you can use it: To criticize sloppy work.

My sister Susan was shelving magazines the other day at the bookstore where she works (at one point, four members of our family were working in bookstores), and came across the current issue of Fate magazine. Her inventory list told her to shelve it as "speculative science," next to that other notorious soft-science rag, National Geographic. In the world of Barnes & Noble's periodicals, the werewolves of England and the tigers of Siberia are roughly equivalent.

Thank God for places like St. John's College, where kids are still learning the process of critical thinking. My friend Megan and I went up there last night to meet the Beas and see Our Chris in a production of Neil LaBute's The Shape of Things. It's a perfect play for college students, in many ways, because it asks the fundamental questions: who are we really? Are we different in relationships than out of them, and if so, why? What are we willing to do to stay connected, and what is our moral obligation to the people we're connecting with? Finally, how much license does an artist have to create at the expense of others? Chris was great, playing somewhat against type (a careless, handsome frat boy -- he is handsome, of course, but neither careless nor the fraternity type).

It's a beautiful day here in Washington, and my back is much better. If I get enough work done, maybe I'll head up to the National Zoo to see the baby panda. I think they have a Siberian tiger, too. But no werewolves.

Blood-brain barrier

Who uses it: Neurologists and pharmacologists
What it means: A membrane that keeps most toxins in the bloodstream from reaching the brain. It is the major reason that most infections don't reach the brain.
When you can use it: When ingesting things that aren't good for you. In case you were wondering, alcohol has little trouble with the blood-brain barrier.

This term has no specific relevance to me this morning, because I didn't go out last night; my back hurt too much, and I had too much work to do. Joseph stayed in too, we ordered a pizza, and I finished writing The Mystery Bookstore's massive April newsletter, which is the second-longest of the year.

I meant to do nothing today but work, but my back is not cooperating, again; I need to loosen it up enough to go to Annapolis this evening, so have spent a while in some serious stretches. Growing old isn't much fun.

Choke artist

Who uses it: Sports fans and sportswriters
What it means: Players and teams who regularly lose important games; see Boston Red Sox, 1919-2004 and Chicago Cubs, 1908-present.
How you can use it: When your favorite team doesn't do as well as you expected.

Let's get it straight: Teams in the NCAA basketball tournament cannot be choke artists, at this point. They can blow games, they can disappoint expectations, but they cannot "choke." They've already won too many games, and how can anyone call getting to the Sweet Sixteen a failure?

I'm not in the best of moods this morning. I am panicked about my workload, my computer keeps shorting out, and I've thrown my back out again. Why do these things all seem to happen at once? I've had almost no time for reading anything that wasn't work-related, but one of those things was a very good book.

What I Read This Week

Lawrence Block, All the Flowers are Dying. Block's Matt Scudder books may have been the first "darker" detective novels I read, after plowing through all of Agatha Christie and Ngaio Marsh and Margery Allingham. Scudder has aged through the series, and must now be in his mid-60s; he's been sober for many years, and is happily married to Elaine, an ex-call girl. The books, however, remain as dark as ever, and this one is particularly disturbing. Scudder hunts a serial killer who tortured Elaine's best friend to death, and seems determined to wreak vengeance on Scudder himself. The book includes long passages narrated from the killer's point of view, which bothered me a great deal -- I know that was the point, but the almost-loving descriptions of rape, torture and murder are not what I read crime fiction for.

Merle Miller, Plain Speaking: An Oral Biography of Harry S. Truman. Journalist Merle Miller conducted a series of interviews with former President Harry S. Truman, his friends and White House colleagues in preparation for a television series that never aired. Instead, Miller turned the interviews into this wonderful book. Harry Truman never worried about polls or politics. He cared about what was right, he did his research, and he had no desire for the perks of office. Public life never had many men like him, and now seems to have none at all. The Lechners love this book so much that they own two copies, and lent one to me.

Looping

Who uses it: Filmmakers and sound technicians
What it means: Replacing live dialogue with dialogue recorded in a studio. The official name for this process is automated dialogue replacement (ADR). It may also be called "dubbing," but looping is replacing dialogue in the same language, and dubbing sometimes means replacing dialogue in a different language.
How you can use it: When you're not hearing what's being said.

The project I've just started involves recording and transcribing what will be hours of personal interviews. It's got me thinking a lot about the processes of listening and hearing.

I don't usually tape interviews. I am blessed with an exceptionally good memory (that's not bragging, because I did nothing to earn it and and do nothing to take care of it -- rather the reverse, in fact), and I've always found that my note-taking and my memory were accurate enough for anything I was doing. I do believe in allowing sources to approve their quotations, which is a controversial and objectionable practice among serious journalists. But I don't write exposes, and I think that adversarial journalism is often just as misleading as press releases can be.

Anyway, transcribing these tapes has shown me that my memory is not as good as I thought it was. When I listen to a live speaker, I fill in words that might be missing, and draw conclusions that the words themselves might not support. I don't know how dishonest that is; I don't know if I'm intuiting what the speaker actually means, or simply imposing what I think they should mean.

It's very interesting, and not a little humbling. I think I'll be taping a lot more of my interviews from now on.

Dad came up from Virginia Beach last night. Joseph and I met him at the train station, and we all had dinner at The Dubliner. Is it just me, or are there really only about a dozen Irish songs? I swear we heard three different versions of "The Wild Rover" last night. Not to be disloyal to my heritage, but one would have been enough for me.

Summary judgment

Who uses it: Judges and lawyers
What it means: A ruling that ends a trial by declaring that no facts remain to be established, and that the judge can make a decision without continuing.
How you can use it: To end an argument.

As I wrote to Claire yesterday, I might be getting a little old for this lifestyle. I was up at 4:15 yesterday morning, rushing around to finish a couple of things before leaving for Washington. I landed at Reagan National around 1:30, took the Metro into the city, and spent the next few hours talking on the phone, shooting off e-mails, and trying to finish some reading before a meeting this morning.

I had dozed on the plane, but never got a real nap, and then Joseph and I went to the 9:30 Club to see Stereolab. It was a good show -- I love watching electronic bands recreate their sound live, and any band with a female lead singer who also plays the trombone is aces with me -- but sometime around 11:00, I hit the wall. We left before the encores -- one of these days I'll rant about the practice of the automatic encore -- and walked back to Johnson Avenue in a light snowfall, which was mildly surreal. The cherry blossoms are already starting to pop, and the combination of snow and flowers in the middle of the city was breathtaking.

Anyway, all of this is to say that I'm feeling a little fragile this morning, and I still have a couple of things to do before my 9:30 appointment. Today promises to be another long day, so I'm about to have the first of many cups of coffee, and I'll be back tomorrow.

"Laugh while you can, Monkey Boy."

The Movie: The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across the 8th Dimension, 1984 (Earl Mac Rauch, screenwriter; W. D. Richter, director)
Who says it: John Lithgow as Dr. Emilio Lizardo, a mad scientist
The context: Dr. Lizardo warns the attendant at the mental hospital where he's confined.
How you can use it: When people aren't taking you seriously enough.

I'm rushing around this morning because I'm leaving for Washington, D.C. this morning, and Jen is coming to pick Dizzy and me up in about three hours.

Why, you ask, can I not drive myself to the Portland Jetport, dropping Dizzy off along the way? Ha, ha! Because it's been more than a year since my last major car trauma, and I was overdue.

Last Friday, driving up to Gardiner from Freeport, I noticed an ominous clunking sound from my engine. Jen was in the car with me, so we pulled off to the nearest gas station and added two quarts of oil to the engine -- which mystified me, because it hadn't been very long since my last oil change, and I hadn't seen any leaks.

The clunking sound improved, but didn't go away -- so I brought the car in yesterday morning, and discovered that the engine had actually slipped off one of its mounts, and was partially resting on the car's front axle. No wonder it was clunking. The mechanic's theory is that the engine mount had been loosened during one of the accident or repair adventures of 2004-05, and the recent crop of frost heaves knocked it off completely.

Remarkably, this will not be as expensive to repair as I'd feared; a week and $500 from now, my car will be as good as new. Again.

Vernal equinox

Who uses it: Meteorologists and astronomers
What it means: The date when the sun passes over the equator, traveling from south to north, and day and night in the Northern Hemisphere are roughly equal.
How you can use it: Happy first day of spring.

Day and night are not completely equal, up here in Maine; we're far enough north that it's already 12 hours and five minutes between sunrise and sunset today. And it's 14 degrees outside, but I believe that spring is here. I saw some baby birds the other day, and the trees are budding.

The sun rose at 5:45 this morning, which I know because Dizzy alerted me. For once, I was grateful, because I have a ridiculous amount of things to do before I leave for Washington again, tomorrow.

I'm 9-7 on my second round NCAA picks, which I don't care about, since Georgetown crushed Ohio State so handily. Last night's Sopranos episode was one of the best things I've ever seen on television, and yesterday's LVA fundraiser raised a few thousand dollars for the cause. I was relieved to see that most of the books for auction went for higher prices than the giant Whoopie Pie.

Functional illiteracy

Who uses it: Teachers, social workers, sociologists
What it means: Having basic reading, writing and math skills, but not being able to use those skills in everyday life.
How you can use it: Don't assume everyone can read what you're writing, and act accordingly.

The student I work with through Literacy Volunteers grew up speaking a language and using an alphabet other than English. Her English reading and writing skills are actually quite good, but business English is full of mysteries that need decoding, even for native speakers.

We spent one morning going through a newspaper's classified ads, which was a revelation to me. Classified ads aren't even written in English: F/T, P/T, EOE, exp. req.? People with low reading skills skip over the words they don't understand, and look for words they recognize -- which makes them particularly susceptible to scams and exploitation. Sometimes they pretend to be able to understand more than they do; sometimes they admit that they have to trust another person's explanation of the paper in front of them. Either way, they're vulnerable.

Literacy Volunteers of Augusta is holding its big annual fundraiser, a dessert party at the Senator Inn, this afternoon at 1:00 p.m. Tickets are $10.00; if you're in the neighborhood, drop by. If you're not, think about volunteering or making a donation to your local LVA chapter or adult education program.

Meme

Who uses it: Sociologists
What it means: Any piece of information that gets transmitted from one person to another, helping build a cultural identity -- the word comes from the Greek mimeme, something that is imitated. Richard Dawkins coined the term in his book The Selfish Gene, which I need to reread.
How you can use it: To describe everything from urban legends to your school's fight song.

In Blogworld, memes are the kind of lists we used to record in our elementary school slam books -- three places you'd like to live, five people you'd like to banish from the face of the earth, ten things you'd do with a million dollars.

NCAA tournament picks are a meme, too, and I'm feeling a little cocky about my record so far: 23-9, including Bradley's stunning upset of Kansas. HA! All of my Elite Eight teams are still in it, too. Hurray for me.

In honor of today's term, let's start a meme. Post your own answers in the comment section, and forward this to anyone you think might want to play.

1. What's the last book you finished? All the Flowers are Dying, by Lawrence Block.
2. What's the first book you remember reading on your own? The Cat in the Hat, by Dr. Seuss.
3. Name one book you still have from your childhood. A Little Princess, by Frances Hodgson Burnett.
4. Name one book you really, really wish you hadn't read. The Bridges of Madison County, by R. J. Waller.
5. Name one author, living or dead, you'd like to have dinner with. Dorothy Parker.

Oh, and if you're a Maine resident, please don't forget to sign our petition to Bring Trader Joe's to Maine. Thanks for your support.

Hoya

Who uses it: Georgetown University (est. 1789, ad majorem Dei gloriam)
What it means: "What." Really. According to tradition, Georgetown's football team used to be called the Stonewalls. The students cheered them on with the chant "Hoya Saxa," which is the Greek word for "what" and the Latin word for "stones," or "rocks." Eventually, the team became the Hoya Saxas, and then just the Hoyas. Georgetown still uses the "Hoya Saxa" cheer, which is call and response -- so if someone (not me, of course) leans in your face and yells, "HOY-AH!" you yell, "SAX-A!"
How you can use it: See if you can get a round of "Hoya Saxa" going in your place of business, around 2:30 this afternoon Eastern time. It couldn't hurt.

Answer Girl's NCAA bracket picks: 10-6. Not bad, especially since I was looking like a genius for picking Xavier, for most of that game. It's turning out not to be such a great year for the Big East -- so far -- but we'll see how things go today.

Dizzy and I are in Freeport this morning, and getting ready for a busy weekend. This afternoon, Jen and I are going up to Gardiner to watch the Georgetown game at the Kennebec Brewing Company, where we will all partake of Frank's corned beef-and-cabbage feast (I skipped meat on Wednesday, in anticipation). Then we'll roll by the RV and Camper Show in Augusta -- I'm not kidding about this, Jen really wants to go (and I do too, for the anecdotal value), before returning to the pub for more basketball and beer.

Tomorrow I need to run some errands, including picking up a giant Whoopee Pie to be auctioned off at the Literacy Volunteers of Augusta's annual fundraiser on Sunday afternoon. It's a dessert party at the Senator Inn, and we'll be auctioning off signed first editions of books by Maine-based or Maine-affiliated authors, including John Connolly, Tess Gerritsen, Linda Greenlaw, and Julia Spencer-Fleming. Gerry Boyle will give a short talk, and it should be a grand time. Tickets are $10, available at the door.

What I Read This Week

Thomas Perry, Nightlife. It's been more than three years since Thomas Perry's last novel. On his website, he says he's spent the time "learning how to write a better book," which was hard to imagine, because his earlier books (Metzger's Dog and the Jane Whitefield series, among others) are terrific. But Nightlife was worth the wait. Charlene Bruckner reinvented herself as Tanya Starling, a woman any man would want, in order to get the life she wanted. When things don't work out with the man she'd chosen, she kills him -- and then has to kill again, and again, to keep herself safe. Pursuing her is homicide detective Catherine Hobbes, who's been on her own quest for safety. When these women finally meet, the ending feels both inevitable and abrupt -- but only because we've been so completely drawn into their world. Bravo.

David Prerau, Seize the Daylight: The Curious and Contentious Story of Daylight Saving Time. I actually wish this book had been longer. It's a quick and fun history of the adoption of DST, or Summer Time, and includes some good anecdotes about the confusion of the 1950s and '60s, when every U.S. locality was allowed to make its own decision about changing the clocks. But because I am a nerd, I'd have loved to read more about the politics of it -- particularly the 1984 bill that was the last big national debate over it, and inspired a newspaper contest to see who could save the most daylight.

Pandemic

Who uses it: Epidemiologists
What it means: A worldwide or nationwide outbreak of an infectious disease.
How you can use it: Wash your hands.

My friend Dan lives on a small farm in the west of England, and lost his chickens to a marauding fox last year. ("Losing one's chickens" sounds like a euphemism for something much worse, doesn't it?) The other day I asked whether he'd be getting more, now that spring is here.

He said he was going to wait until the outbreak of avian flu had passed -- which startled me, because I hadn't given any thought to avian flu since shrugging off the press hysteria last fall.

But yesterday, the federal banking agencies sent out their own Interagency Advisory on Influenza Pandemic Preparedness, part of a nationwide federal initiative to make people aware of the possibility of a flu outbreak, and take appropriate steps.

Curious, I clicked through a few links, and managed to scare myself silly. The federal government's set up an elaborate website at www.pandemicflu.gov, with checklists to tell people what to do to prevent infection and keep from spreading the flu if they get sick.

It all boils down to three things: 1) Wash your hands a lot. 2) Cover your mouth and nose when you cough or sneeze. 3) Stay home if you're sick, and stay away from sick people if you're not. The website also provides a list of things people should have on hand for an extended stay at home, but they're things we should all have on hand anyway: canned goods, extra pet food, batteries, etc.

I've been interested in the history of the Spanish flu outbreak in Maine, because the second wave of the pandemic in the United States started in Boston. It's been hard to find contemporary local accounts, because everything simply shut down during the epidemic, and government officials didn't want to panic people by releasing too much information.

Looking at Pandemicflu.gov yesterday, I wondered whether we have the opposite problem now: with so much information available, it's hard to know what really needs our attention.

On spec

Who uses it: Writers, other creative types, entrepreneurs
What it means: Doing a job with no promise that anyone will pay you for it.
How you can use it: When you're taking a risk.

This week, among many other projects, I'm reading three spec scripts for a production company I do coverage for. Breaking into Hollywood is not as difficult as you might think... in the same way that getting your first novel published isn't that hard, either. All it takes is writing something excellent.

Hundreds of people like me read thousands of scripts every week, and speaking only for myself, three-quarters of them are absolute trash. Another fifteen percent of them have strengths but need work, or are movies that just aren't my cup of tea. About 10% of them are movies that I'd actually want to watch.

Of the scripts I'm reading this week, one is abysmal but will probably get made, because it's a marketer's dream. One is for an audience I will never be part of, and might already be too late to catch the pop culture wave it's trying to ride. One is excellent, and would make a great vehicle for any of several 30-something actresses, but will need luck and a strong advocate to make it to the screen.

This week's issue of the Onion A.V. Club is missing my favorite recurring feature, where they ask some random celebrity to name and explain the first five things that come up on their iPod's random shuffle. To remedy this absence, the first five songs that came up on mine this morning were "The Broad Majestic Shannon," by the Pogues; "Funny How Time Slips Away," by Al Green; Nina Simone, “My Baby Just Cares for Me;” Francine Reed, “I Want You to Love Me;" and Bruce Springsteen, “Spare Parts.” Contrary to what this list might suggest, I have bought new music since the turn of the century...

RPI

Who uses it: College basketball coaches, analysts and fans
What it means: The Ratings Percentage Index, used to help the NCAA Tournament selection committee choose teams and seedings. For men's basketball, the RPI is a combined numerical rating of the team's record, its strength of schedule, and its opponents' strength of schedule; the women's RPI includes a bonus factor based on the team's performance against top-ranked opponents.
How you can use it: When making your NCAA tournament picks.

Okay, let's get this out of the way first: betting on college sports is wrong. These are kids, not professionals or racing animals, and they are in no way responsible for the financial well-being of strangers.

That said, making predictions for bragging rights, or for some token reflection of those bragging rights (say, a pool that does not exceed some humble amount) doesn't really count as betting. How's that for a rationalization? (It's the same, in my mind, as saying that "Jesus, Mary and Joseph," is not taking the Lord's name in vain, it's a spontaneous prayer.)

So let's get down to it. My Final Four predictions: I think it's going to be a very, very good year for the Big East. I pick West Virginia, Pitt, UConn, and Villanova, with West Virginia and UConn in the final, and UConn winning it all. First round upset predictions: Iona, NC State, Penn, Bradley, Xavier -- yes, Xavier! -- South Alabama, Montana, Seton Hall, and George Mason. My beloved Hoyas will make it to the Round of Eight before losing -- again -- to Villanova. Only Scott Peeples will truly understand how that prediction pains me, but it's a rebuilding year.

Post your own predictions in the comments section...

UNSUB

Who uses it: Law enforcement officials
What it means: The unknown subject of an investigation.
How you can use it: When you don't know who's responsible for something.

If you watched last night's episode of "The Sopranos," you know exactly who's responsible for shooting... oh, wait. Did anyone out there not see it? I don't care about spoiling it for any American readers, but I'm not sure when this season will air in Germany or the UK... so maybe I won't say any more about it.

But I watched Don Imus this morning, and if I didn't already have plenty of reasons to loathe and despise Donald Trump, his admission that he doesn't really care about "The Sopranos" would have been the last nail in his coffin.

I will say this, though. David Chase and his writers are never willing to let us get too comfortable with these characters. Just when we've decided Tony is a jerk, they show us him cooking dinner for the uncle who tried to kill him. Just when we think we'll root for Carmela, we see that she is a nasty piece of work in her own right. And everything -- everything -- has consequences. It's the best thing on television, and I may have to watch this episode again before next week.

A friend of ours

Who uses it: Mafiosi
What it means: A fully-sworn member of an Italian crime family.
How you can use it: To identify your own inner circle.

Forming emotional attachments to fictional characters is one hazard of living alone... but I am not ashamed to say I can't wait for tonight's premiere of "The Sopranos." It is the only reason I subscribe to premium cable. I even considered cancelling my dinner plans (with live human beings) for this evening -- until I remembered that I can catch the West Coast feed at midnight, if I'm not home before 9:00 p.m.

HBO has been rerunning the series from the beginning over the past few months, and I've managed to watch a lot of the episodes again -- particularly Season 4, which seemed kind of dull when it first aired, but now seems brilliant in its careful construction of characters and plots that paid off in Season 5.

I can think of only two other TV series that have managed to sustain such a high level of quality over such an extended period of time: "Homicide" and "The Simpsons." (And it's a new episode of "The Simpsons" tonight, too. Maybe I should rethink my dinner plans after all...)

Last night's dinner cabaret at Maple Hill was just swell, in the best tradition of "let's put on a show!" community theater. Anna said on Friday night that it was like watching a Hallowell talent show, and that's the fun of it; who knew the spokeswoman for the Maine Emergency Management Agency had such a fantastic voice?

Mud season

Who uses it: New Englanders
What it means: The time after the snow melts before summer comes, when everything on the planet is covered in muck.
How you can use it: Right now.

We got three inches of snow on Thursday night, and today's temperature will be close to 50 degrees. The result is that everything -- everything -- is covered with an inch-deep layer of mud. That includes sidewalks, many streets, my parking lot, and Dizzy, who loves this time of year more than any other.

I no longer remember what color my car used to be. I haven't seen the color of its carpeting in months.

This morning I'm rushing out the door to Hallowell, because we have to move the set dressing, sound and lighting equipment from City Hall to Maple Hill Farm, the site of tonight's Gaslight Theater fundraiser. Anna, Tarren and Lek came with me to last night's performance, and a fine time it was. I'll post a longer review tomorrow.

ARC

Who uses it: Publishers and booksellers
What it means: Advance Readers' Copy, an uncorrected proof of a book distributed to booksellers, reviewers and librarians before publication.
How you can use it: When you get a sneak preview.

ARCs are the major perk of bookselling, a job that is otherwise pretty thankless. Although I no longer work inside a bookstore, my newsletter-writing for The Mystery Bookstore keeps me on the distribution list for advance copies, which means that the book storage situation in my apartment will never be under control, and my to-be-read pile will never be exhausted.

A friend with a similar problem told me not long ago that he would never again read anything he hadn't sought out for himself -- but he won't be able to keep that vow, and neither can I. If someone sends me a book for free, I feel obligated at least to look at it, and usually to read the first few chapters. Thank goodness, I no longer feel compelled to finish every book I start. Most of the ARCs I get don't merit more than fifteen minutes before I decide I don't want to read any more.

I live in terror that if I stop reading the ARCs, the publishers won't send me any more -- and then I'd miss out on the early copies of books I really do want to read, which include two of the titles in What I Read This Week.

Douglas Preston, Tyrannosaur Canyon. Doug Preston is a scholar and a gentleman who writes fascinating non-fiction and great escapist fiction, both alone and with his writing partner, Lincoln Child. His latest solo effort brings back two main characters from Codex, this time on the trail of a dinosaur fossil that could change the future, as well as our ideas about the past. As good as a vacation, and a perfect gift for any teenaged boys in your household who think reading is boring.

Harlan Coben, Promise Me. Like many of Mr. Coben's fans, I have been waiting six years for a new Myron Bolitar novel, and getting an advance copy of this one was just like Christmas. This book could be called "Myron Bolitar Grows Up," and finds the sports agent facing the issues of middle age: aging parents, the marriage of an old flame, and the adolescent perils of his friends' children. If I still ran a discussion group at the store, I'd love to have a group compare and contrast this book with Laura Lippman's To The Power of Three and Rochelle Krich's ...Now You See Me, which all explore similar issues.

Denise Hamilton, Prisoner of Memory. Seventeen years after the fall of the Berlin Wall, I sometimes get the feeling that people think of the Soviet system as rather quaint or benign, and the Cold War as a big waste of time. Denise Hamilton's latest Eve Diamond mystery does a terrific job of showing just how brutal the old regime was, and how much it cost people who suffer its effects to this day. L.A. Times reporter Eve Diamond discovers she has a long-lost Russian cousin on the same day that the teenage son of Russian emigres is killed in Griffith Park. Her personal and professional investigations lead to more violence, and the revelation of long-kept secrets. I've been recommending Denise's books for a long time to people who want to know what "the real Los Angeles" is like, but she takes a major step forward with this book.

Promise Me and Prisoner of Memory will both be in bookstores next month. Go buy them, so Putnam and Simon & Schuster will keep sending me ARCs.

Prisoner's dilemma

Who uses it: Mathematicians and logicians
What it means: A situation in which two adversaries try to gain benefits by betraying each other. In the prisoner's dilemma, A and B face the same set of charges. If both A and B remain silent, both go free. If A rats out B (while B stays silent), he goes free while B serves a full prison term. If B rats out A (while A is silent), he goes free while A serves the full term. If A and B rat out each other, both serve shorter prison terms. In game theory exercises, players generally start by betraying each other, but quickly learn to cooperate.
How you can use it: When you win by trusting your partner.

The U.N. Security Council meets today to discuss Iran's nuclear program, and I don't understand why the American press isn't paying more attention to this. Today's New York Times leads with Congressional opposition to the Dubai ports management deal; the Washington Post reports on its own poll about American perceptions of Islam; and Drudge is shrieking about National Guard troops at the Arizona border.

Have I lost my mind? Am I overreacting? Can I really be the only one who sees World War III about to start in earnest, or have I lost all touch with reality?

Even if I have lost all touch with reality (quite likely), this is more important than partisan grandstanding on Capitol Hill or Tom DeLay's primary victory, as horrifying as that might be. Yes, it's even more important than David Hasselhoff's domestic violence charges or Barry Bonds' shamelessness in spring training.

Since I do not rule the world and cannot protect myself against nuclear attack, ranting about it here is as much as I can do. I can also ask anyone who might be in the Augusta area this weekend to consider attending Gaslight Theater's winter fundraising event, "Omar Ricardo and His Many, Many Women," playing tomorrow night at 7:30 at Hallowell City Hall and as dinner theater on Saturday, at 6:30, at Maple Hill Farm. Thank you for your support. (Tomorrow's term: non sequitur...)

Affective viscosity

Who uses it: Psychologists and behaviorists
What it means: The tendency to prolong contact with other people, and to talk repetitively and in excessive detail about a narrow range of subjects.
How you can use it: The next time you're cornered.

Did you know there was a name for this? It happens to everyone -- someone decides that they really, really need you to understand something, and isn't going to let you go until you do. Of course, it has nothing to do with your understanding; it's about their need to feel understood, which you have no control over. It's my worst nightmare -- not just being the recipient of this, but doing it to other people.

People who consistently behave this way, however, often suffer from some kind of temporal lobe disorder -- epilepsy, or a lesion, or a traumatic head injury of some kind. They might or might not be aware that they do this, and they're probably incapable of changing their behavior. Medication can help, but not always.

Years ago, I met an anthropologist who studied customs of parting. He said that Westerners are very bad at saying goodbye to each other; we're great at greetings, but we slip away from each other without acknowledging the departure. I've noticed this ever since, not least because I'm bad at goodbyes myself. For me, it's a matter of fear -- if I say goodbye, will that be the end?

And is becoming good at "goodbye" something we should aspire to?

Blueline

Who uses it: Printers
What it means: A printer's mock-up of pages ready for printing, made from film on photo-sensitive paper; the last stage at which an editor can make changes before printing.
How you can use it: When you're looking at a final draft.

Digital printing has made bluelines nearly obsolete, for most printing jobs, and that's a mixed blessing. Our digital world has made proofreaders sloppy; I just finished reading another book that was full of misspellings and typographical errors.

On the other hand, technological improvements have ended printers' long tyranny. When I first started writing a weekly newsletter, in the early 1990s, I lived in terror of making changes at the blueline stage -- not only because it was expensive, but also because it annoyed my printer so much. But I know I was much more careful back then.

We're living in a virtual world. I went to a concert last night with my friend Matt, although he lives in New York, I live in Maine, and the concert was in Washington, D.C. Belle and Sebastian were playing at the 9:30 Club, streaming audio on National Public Radio; Matt and I were listening and chatting via Instant Message. Instead of standing in a smoky club with a plastic cup of wine in my hand, I was sitting on my living room sofa, sipping a mug of Theraflu (yes, I'm catching another cold). I am a complete geezer. Also, I need some real speakers for my laptop.

The crack about geezer-dom is a little too close to home this morning, after news of two deaths -- from natural causes -- of people who were roughly my contemporaries. Kirby Puckett is dead at 45, from a stroke, and Dana Reeve is gone at 44, from lung cancer. How does that happen? Terribly unfair, and sad beyond words.

Logrolling

Who uses it: Legislators and lobbyists
What it means: Agreeing to vote on a colleague's pet project in exchange for his or her vote on your pet project. This is how our deficit grows.
How you can use it: When making deals.

The Latin phrase for this is Manus manum lavat, "One hand washes the other." I haven't heard of logrolling among Oscar voters, but it wouldn't surprise me.

I watched most of the Oscars at the Lechners' last night. We agreed that Jon Stewart did well; we were shocked that Jessica Alba, who otherwise looked beautiful, was chewing gum on the red carpet; we wanted to arrange to kidnap Keira Knightley and force-feed her Whoopie Pies.

The show got a little too self-congratulatory at times -- I got very tired of hearing about Sony's "bravery" in producing Memoirs of a Geisha -- bravery? What was controversial about Memoirs of a Geisha, for heaven's sake? But I was delighted to see Wallace & Gromit win, and glad to see Crash take Best Picture. Not only is it a good movie, but -- in a nice example of logrolling -- the facade of The Mystery Bookstore appears briefly in one of its early scenes.

I am badly over-committed today, but have to get home by 8:00 p.m., for something really cool: NPR is simulcasting a concert from Washington's 9:30 Club featuring two of my favorite bands, Belle and Sebastian and The New Pornographers. Almost makes up for not being there.

Leisure society

Who uses it: Sociologists and historians of the post-industrial West
What it means: A society in which people spend more time at leisure than working.
How you can use it: To describe any retirement community.

The online retailer CafePress just issued a press release describing my cousin Sheila Cameron as an example of the new leisure society, because she works from home and has been able to turn her interests into a business. (If you don't feel like following those links, and don't remember who my cousin Sheila is, she's the founder of FreeKatie.net.)

It's extremely cool that CafePress thinks Sheila's worth applauding and/or imitating -- I could have told them that, years ago -- but I wouldn't want anyone to think that Sheila's not working hard. She doesn't receive pop culture passively; she's jumping all over it, processing it and making mental connections and figuring out what people are paying attention to. She's been doing it for so long that she may not even see it as work -- but it's a true talent, and I'd even go so far as to call it a genius.

I wonder whether the term "leisure society" is becoming outdated, as more and more people are working from home and working online. People like me, and many of my friends, don't go to an office -- but we're working all the time. I get e-mails from clients every day of the week, at all hours of day and night; one of my clients regularly sends me e-mails date-stamped before 6:00 a.m. Because my job is communicating, every bit of popular culture I absorb -- books, movies, magazines, music, TV -- helps me position my clients' work in a way that stands out from all the other information their readers or listeners receive. I couldn't explain how I do it, but I know that it's as important for me to read Entertainment Weekly as it is for me to watch C-SPAN.

Is that a leisure society? I don't know. I know that I slept all day yesterday, trying to catch up with myself after two weeks on the road and a few too many projects. Daily naps... now, that would be a leisure society. Maybe I should draft a new petition.

In the meantime, go check out Sheila's latest works of genius here.

Racino

Who uses it: Advocates of legalized gambling
What it means: A race track that also offers casino games (usually slot machines).
How you can use it: When talking to Steve Lechner.

My friend Steve represents a group of Native American tribes that are trying to open a racino Down East -- you can read all about it here. I enjoy a day at the track, though I've never been to the harness races. Casinos aren't my idea of a good time, but I'll defend the tribes' right to make money in any way they see fit.

The Bragdons and I had dinner at the Lechners' last night, a fine time brought to us in part by the bounty of Trader Joe's. Ever since Jen discovered the glory of Trader Joe's, she's been determined that Maine should have one. She is circulating an online petition that I drafted, in an effort to convince TJ's management that we need a store here; if you are a resident of Maine, please join us in this effort by clicking here. Thanks for your support.

Gerrymander

Who uses it: Politicians
What it means: Redrawing the borders of a political district in order to create a demographic profile that favors one political party. "Gerrymander" comes from Elbridge Gerry, Republican governor of Massachusetts in the early 19th-century, whose legislature redrew district boundaries to favor Republicans over the Federalist party. Ironically, Gerry himself had nothing to do with this, and privately opposed the plan.
How you can use it: When you're reorganizing for a purpose.

I moved while I was away. My apartment building is in the same place as it was, and so are all my things, but my street address changed on March 1.

I discovered this when I went to pick up my mail yesterday. "You know your address changed yesterday?" the postmistress said. "Uh -- no," I said. "We notified your landlord, he was supposed to tell you."

The new address is on the same street as the old, but the number is different by about 200 -- I'm not going to post it here, but I'll send it around to anyone who needs it. I use the P.O. Box for almost all of my mail, and that address hasn't changed. The postmistress couldn't give me an explanation for the change, and I can't help but wonder whether two blocks of my neighborhood disappeared into some black hole.

Anyway, here's What I Read This Week.

Tab Hunter and Eddie Muller, Tab Hunter Confidential: The Making of a Movie Star. Eddie Muller is a charming guy and an excellent writer (one year I gave copies of his Dark City Dames to several friends for Christmas). This collaboration is a fascinating history of Old Hollywood, and Tab Hunter emerges as a nice guy with a great sense of humor about his adventures in the screen trade. Hunter takes no cheap shots and has no axes to grind, though some of his story -- his blighted romance with Anthony Perkins, for example -- is quite sad.

Karen Armstrong, A Short History of Myth. Armstrong packs a great deal into 120 pages -- enough, in fact, to make me wish this book had been about twice as long. Early in the book she asserts that humans are the only species that create myths, which made me wonder for days about what sort of myths Dizzy might come up with, if dogs were mythmakers. The point of this book is that Myth is so powerful in the human psyche that it resists all attempts to suppress it, and reinvents itself with each civilization.

Jane Smiley, The All-True Travels and Adventures of Lidie Newton: A Novel. Jane Smiley too is a wonderful writer, and I've been working my way through her Thirteen Ways of Looking at the Novel for some time now. I was completely enthralled with the first half of this book, about a young woman who marries a Massachusetts abolitionist and lights out for Kansas territory. I expected great things from the second half, and was sadly disappointed. Lidie takes risks and has adventures that not only end in failure, but seem to teach her nothing terribly profound. The book doesn't so much end as stop, and it left me feeling flat and empty, having learned nothing except that life in Kansas Territory was really, really hard. Really. Really. Hard.

Alford plea

Who uses it: Criminal defense lawyers
What it means: A plea that does not admit guilt, but acknowledges that the prosecution has enough evidence to convict the defendant. It differs from nolo contendere (no contest) pleas in that courts consider an Alford plea one type of guilty plea. A nolo plea is not a guilty plea -- so an Alford plea counts toward three-strikes laws, and a nolo plea doesn't. In many states, lawyers use the Alford plea as a procedural method of postponing a trial until charges are eventually dismissed.
How you can use it: When you're busted.

Has anyone been paying attention to this case in Ohio where the parents stand accused of keeping their 11 adopted children in cages? Their "mother" is pleading not guilty, on the grounds that the children asked to be kept in cages.

My friend Joseph's Boston terrier, Milo, actually does like to be in his crate -- but 1) he is a dog and 2) he is a little emotionally disturbed, due to an unpleasant experience in his early doghood that we don't like to talk about. So unless these children were left alone in an apartment with their dead first owners for some period of time (that's what happened to Milo), I'm not buying this argument.

But this was the most disturbing piece of information in the article I read:

Sharen Gravelle said she met her husband in 1986 at a dinner for a child sex abuse support group. She said she was attending because a relative had been molested. Michael Gravelle was there because he was accused of inappropriate touching, a charge he denies. The couple married two months later.

...and this wouldn't have come up in the adoption home study?

Fasting and abstinence

Who uses it: Roman Catholics
What it means: "Fasting" means eating one main meal during the day, though two small meals are also allowed. "Abstinence" means not eating meat or poultry. Since Vatican II, Catholics have fasted and abstained on Ash Wednesday, Good Friday, and on Fridays during Lent. Before Vatican II, they abstained on every Friday and all through Lent.
How you can use it: Today, on Friday, and when cheating on your diet.

This is a wonderful example of a "term of art," because what Catholics mean by fasting is not what doctors mean by fasting, or what hunger strikers mean by fasting. I looked up the details of the requirement, and learned that "abstinence" does not extend to meat broths and flavorings, which are allowed, or to gelatin, an animal product, "which no one considers meat." Since I don't eat fish, abstinence in my childhood meant peanut butter and jelly, or spaghetti with melted butter and Italian seasoning.

"Can I ask you a question?" said the guy behind the counter at Sparky's Espresso Cafe this morning. He leaned toward me and said in an undertone, "Do you know you have a blotch of something on your forehead?"

I laughed, relieved that he wasn't going to tell me my nonfat cafe au lait had had a bug in it. "It's Ash Wednesday," I said.

"Oh!" the coffee man said. "That's why... there was another guy in line before you, and he had a smudge on the same place -- I didn't know what was going on."

I'm in DC again this morning. The early Mass at St. Augustine's is the Mass for their schoolchildren, which was especially nice. I should have told the coffee man what the priest told us, which is that the ashes are supposed to remind us that 1) Life is a gift; 2) Life is temporary; and 3) Life is for others.

Dizzy and I head back to Maine this morning. Thanks to everyone for their hospitality along the way.