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(Venice, Italy) Another little miracle – I am writing to you from inside the press room at Arsenale from the next section of La Biennale: Architecture. This morning, Paolo Baratta, the President of La Biennale, spoke at the press conference, together with a dynamic American, Aaron Betsky, who is the Director of the 11th International Exhibition of Architecture. Entitled, OUT THERE: Architecture Beyond Building, the festival opens on September 14th, and runs through November 23, 2008. I have just viewed the portion inside the Arsenale, and report that if you are in Venice during this time, YOU HAVE GOT TO COME! Do you see that image up there? That is the first thing you see when you walk into Arsenale. You can make all the points of light connect and change and move if you dance around and flash your energy up at the screen through your fingertips, just like a god. Any architecture exhibit that opens with something like that has got to be a window into the big brain, n'est pas?

Paolo Baratta said he was pleased that attendance is growing rapidly for the Architecture Biennale, both with the architects, and the journalists. Aaron Betsky confirmed that when it comes to cutting edge architecture that Venice is the place to be -- for the vehement criticisms. For the uncanny ability to debate. Betsky said, “You have to come to Venice.” The reknown architect Frank Gehry will be honored with the Golden Lion for Lifetime Achievement, and he has an installation here.

Aaron Betsky, who was born in Missoula, Montana in 1958 is feisty and outspoken, and, again, I am so happy to see Americans arriving here with this kind of energy. He began by thanking the staff at La Biennale for making his job easier, and said he was flabbergasted by the ability of the team here in Venice who worked to make these architectural concepts a reality. He said these were not final products, but catalysts.

He made a provocative statement: “The road to Utopia leads to the gas chamber.” He elaborated by saying that a totalitarian regime which uses technology and industrialization to control the environment can only hope to create a perfect static state. He said his idea of a beautiful city is one that is continually changing, both growing and shrinking. There was a lot of talk about pixels and molecules, which is right up my alley.

For example, I chatted with a young architect from Guallart Architects, "MIT's Center for Bits and Atoms," from Catalunya. I said, "So, tell me what this is." He said, "Tell me what you think it is." I said, "I think we are finally physically manifesting the unseen connections in the universe." He said, "On the planet." I said, "Okay, the planet, but, to me, the planet is part of the universe."

He said, "We want to show how that chair can also be the same as a table, and the same as a theater. That it is made up of the same corners, the same molecules." I said, "Very good, but I like that pineapple thingy you've got over there. I can't wait until architects incorporate even more fractal geometry. Mandelbrot discovered the formula for a tree, for the coastline. I'd like to see more of that -- not just in the movies."

Another one of my favorites was Diller Scofidio + Renfro, who are based in NYC. Their project was a two-screen film from the point of view of a passenger inside a gondola, with swiveling stools so you could look forward and back. The scene was the original Grand Canal (with a nice view of my apartment:), and the same scene from copies of Venice in Las Vegas, Macau, Doha, Nagoya and Tokyo -- I did not know we had so many Venices these days. In every city, there was a voice-over. Now, what, you might ask, does that have to do with architecture? Everything. When you see it, you will understand. Betsky said, "We are not proposing solutions. These are not final products." He used the word "catalyst" many times.

In any event, as I keep saying, I am totally in love with La Biennale, the organization. Perhaps it can only exist inside Venice, inside our "as it was, where it was" mentality. Perhaps the ancient, dusty energy of the past is a balance for the dynamic, creative energy of the future.

Ciao from Venice,
Cat
HOME: http://venetiancat.blogspot.com/

(VENICE, ITALY) I haven't always lived on the Grand Canal. When I first moved to Venice back in 1998, I lived way down in Castello in a tiny ground floor apartment in Corte Sarasina, off Via Garibaldi. It was sort of like living in the Bronx, I imagine. I had just moved here from Hollywood, and thought doing my own laundry would be romantic. (It has since lost its charm.) Corte Sarasina is important because it has a Madonna that works miracles, and I can personally vouch for her authenticity:)

Ten years ago, the people of Corte Sarasina did not have many Americans living among them, so I was kind of a novelty. They were friendly, warm, good-hearted people.They spoke Venetian dialect, not Italian. I didn't speak a word of Italian, let alone Venetian, but somehow we managed to communicate with our hearts.

Every afternoon the old women would put their chairs out in the corte, do their lace work, and chat -- their lace-making style was different than Burano because they were from Pellestrina. They took good care of me. Once I decided to wash my sheets. I asked my neighbor if I could use her laundry line. Since it was a ground floor apartment, you had to hang the laundry with clothes pins, then sort of hoist it like a sail. Well, I couldn't hoist it up, and blocked the entire corte. The old women came and took my laundry away from me, and told me to go away -- I had an appointment close to Piazza San Marco. You have to understand that even though it's only about 15 minutes by foot from Via Garibaldi to Piazza San Marco, some people in Castello haven't been to San Marco for thirty years. So, to them, I was going on this great adventure. While I was up there, I bought them a box of chocolate to thank them.

When I got back to Corte Sarasina, all my laundry was flying from their windows! It was a sight to behold. They had divided it up and shared their laundry lines. (That image you see is not Corte Sarasina, but it looked sort of like that.) After it was dried and neatly folded, they sent over a representative, Rosie, to deliver it. I offered the chocolates, but Rosie refused. Then five minutes later she was sent back to get the chocolates. You can just imagine that conversation: "What? You didn't take the chocolates? Get your butt back over there and get them."

Next, I saw Rosie sitting out with the others, making something new out of lace. I asked her what it was, and she went on and on in Venetian dialect. Of course, I had no idea what she said. I thought, "She's either making a gift for her granddaughter's First Holy Communion, or a fish." It turned out that she was making a gondolier rowing a gondola for ME!!! I am looking at it right now, and if I had a camera (which I promise I will buy), I'd take a photo of it and show you. It's one most precious gifts I've ever received.

The very first article I wrote for the International Herald Tribune's Italy Daily was about this Miracle Madonna of Corte Sarasina -- in fact, it's how I got the job. I did a quick search to see if there are any images of the Miracle Madonna available, and it turns out that there are! All the images you see here (except the clothesline) are from a blog by a woman named Anne called, "Churches in Venice," and can be found at: http://www.slowtrav.com/blog/annienc/2008/01/corte_de_casarasina_shrine.html
Apparently Anne wants to know what's up with this shrine, too. Since I own all my copyrights, I'll post what I wrote (with a little editing) back on Friday, January 12, 2001. (But I did NOT write that headline:) So, let's take a little trip into the past...

Cocktails and Prayers Answered in Venice
The Castello Neighborhood Holds a Mystical Madonna, a Mystifying Accent and a Proud, Venetian Apertif

Tucked away in a quiet section of Venice, there is a Byzantine Madonna who answers prayers, or so the story goes. She's been gazing down on Corte de Cà Sarasina for centuries, dating back to the beginning of the 1600s.

Corte Sarasina is off Via Garibaldi in the Castello district of Venice. It's one of the few remaining neighborhoods where Venetians outnumber the tourists. Every morning, locals scramble to buy fresh fruit and vegetables frrom a boat docked in the canal at Fondamenta Sant'Anna, and haggle over fish at the little market at the entrance to the Public Gardens.

Back in 1807, Via Garibaldi was transformed into a rio terra, a canal that was filled in and turned into a street, by Napoleon's invading forces. On the right-hand corner, at No. 1643, there is an inscription commemorating the home of the famous navigator, Giovanni Caboto, otherwise known as John Cabot. This where Via Garibaldi -- and a whole other Venice -- begins.

Castello is a working-class community, originally inhabited by fisherman, shipbuilders and lace-makers. Laundry flaps across the calli and the canals. Men gather around newsstands; mothers promenade with their babies, stopping to chat and coo.

A fun place to eat on this colorful boulevard is Trattoria Giorgione, on the right side of the street. Lucio Bisutto serenades his customers with Venetian folk songs while his wife, Ivana, cooks some of the best fish, risotto and vongole in town. A little further down on the left is Bar Mio where patrons sit outside and have a spritz, a drink rarely ordered outside Venice. It's usually sipped during lunch or after work at around 7 P.M., but is available anytime, especially for those on vacation.

There are at least three kinds: "spritz con Select," "sprintz con Aperol" or "spritz con bitter." The spritz con bitter consists of white wine, Campari and a "spritz" of soda water. Those who prefer a sweeter drink ask for Aperol. A spritz con Select (the accent lies on the first syllable) is sweeter still. Any self-respecting spritz arrives accompanied by a cube or two of ice, an olive, and a lemon or orange peel, together with a little bowl of chips or nuts.

Stumbling on the scene, Corte Sarasina would seem inhabited mostly by elderly women who spend warmer afternoons sitting outside on folding chairs, chatting and stitching lace. They speak Venetian with a thick Castello accent, the same undulating rhythm as the water lapping in the lagoon. "Rosie" is the ringleader, and she is in charge of the wish-granting Madonna, tending to the fresh and artificial flowers around it and straightening the altar.

A wood painting protected by a sheet of glass, the Madonna of Corte Sarasina greets the faithful from inside a grande sacello, a small brick and plaster structure with a typical Venetian red tile roof. On her head is a crown imbedded with imitation gemstones. A strand of white beads dangles around her face. She is surrounded by statues of Jesus and various saints, the plaster type found in a mortuary store.

Every morning, Rosie shuffles out of her apartment a few doors away and unlocks the shrine. The Madonna is open all day from 8 A.M. to 7P.M., seven days a week, although at lunch time the Madonna takes a nap like most of the folks in Garibaldi. If you arrive during lunch time, visitors need only unhook the little chain that latches the double green doors, swing them open, say a prayer, deposit their lire and close her back up. There is a small wooden box on the inside of the left-hand door to make contributions. A suggested donation is 1,000 lire (one euro by 2008 standards:), which goes to purchasing fresh flowers and maintaining the sanctuary.

No one knows who created this peculiar Madonna, but many believe it was the work of a madonnaro, or street artist from the early 1600s, and was a traditional way for the living to remember the dead. To this day, she is very much a part of the local community.

About a year ago, the locals took it upon themselves to restore the shrine. Lino Scarpa, a friendly, wise fellow, said the elderly women of Corte Sarasina begged him to do the restoration. "I repainted the doors, the statues, added some color to the lips, that sort of thing," he said.

Amazingly, many of the locals say they haven't made the trip from the Castello district to Piazza San Marco in years, even though it's only a 15 minute walk away. "Everything a person needs is down here on Garibaldi," Mr. Scarpa said. "Fish, vegetables, good places to eat, good bars, good people. The gardens are here, the lagoon is here. The sea is a quick boat trip away."

(VENICE, ITALY) Sir Elton John's performance in Piazza San Marco on Wednesday night, July 9th, makes you understand why he was knighted. He played with a quiet nobility that radiated enormous power. He was not flamboyant. He let his music do the talking, and when he spoke, his words were simple and dignified.

Napoleon is often credited with calling Piazza San Marco "the drawing room of Europe," but Wikipedia informs us that perhaps it should be attributed to Alfred de Musset (and you know how nitpicky those Wikipedia people can be:). In any event, whoever said it, the atmosphere was exactly like that: as if we were in a grand drawing room, and Sir Elton John was entertaining his guests.

The show was sold out, and to be honest, I didn't make any effort to go, but a friend called and offered a pass at the last moment. So, of course, I went! The pass allowed me to wander everywhere, and I found myself fortunate enough to land in about the tenth row, with an unobstructed view, sitting next to Carl Pagan, from the Casino di Venezia -- which happens to be the oldest casino in the world, and accounts for about 40% of Venice's income. So, of course, during the show, in the pauses between songs, I harangued Carlo about various problems around town. Poor Carlo! Just when he thinks he can relax during an Elton John concert, he finds himself sitting next to Cat Bauer!

To his credit, he hung in there and listened. So, who knows what the future many bring:)

Elton sang hit after hit after hit. It seems impossible for one human being to have so many hits, but he has them. We have grown up with Elton; Elton is always there. We have suffered with him. We have rejoiced with him. We have tried to kill him, but he did not die. The Queen has knighted him for his grand endurance and now we embrace him and ask him to do charity shows.

Elton performed this concert on behalf of SMS, which is a clever acronym for "San Marco Square" and "Short Message System." Elton raised money to fix up San Marco Square. Now, we can be sure that Elton does not have to do this. So, why would he? Well, he lives here. And I will judge by the few words he used to introduce the last song, "Don't Let the Sun Go Down on Me," that he cares.

He said, "This is dedicated to everyone who likes to live in Venice," or something to that effect. But it was weary, serious, profound. We are all very tired these days over here in the Magic Kingdom, as are most people with souls throughout the world. And then he sang, "Don't Let the Sun Go Down on Me." If you have ever had the Sun go down on you, and most of us have, you will understand. I think Bernie Taupin is one of our greatest lyricists. Elton would not be Elton without Bernie's words:

I can't light no more of your darkness
All my pictures seem to fade to black and white
I'm growing tired and time stands still before me
Frozen here on the ladder of my life

Too late to save myself from falling
I took a chance and changed your way of life
But you misread my meaning when I met you
Closed the door and left me blinded by the light

Don't let the sun go down on me
Although I search myself, it's always someone else I see
I'd just allow a fragment of your life to wander free
But losing everything is like the sun going down on me

I can't find, oh the right romantic line
But see me once and see the way I feel
Don't discard me just because you think I mean you harm
But these cuts I have they need love to help them heal

I wish I had some photos, but I always have to depend upon photographers, and they do not always come through, and there are, surprisingly, slim pickings on the net (none of the photos I am using are from the actual show). The last camera I had was destroyed during Carnevale two years ago by Red Wine within a week after purchase. The shop where I bought it in Venice sent it back to the dealer in Milano, without a reason, and the Milano shop wrote back: WE HAVE EXAMINED THIS CAMERA, AND IT WAS DESTROYED BY RED WINE. THEREFORE, WE DO NOT UPHOLD OUR WARRANTY. And, they were right! It WAS destroyed by Red Wine, but not by drunkenness -- it was because I dropped my shopping bag, and the camera was in the bag with the red wine -- there are witnesses! The Venice shop told the Milan shop, "Well, after all, it IS Carnevale."

If you can understand that story, you will understand part of the reason why Venice is sad -- so many people from Milano (and other places) have bought apartments here for profit, caring only about the money, and nothing about the Soul of Venice. If someone from Milano sent a camera back to Venice destroyed by Red Wine, the Venetians would laugh and say, "Well, THAT'S a good reason! It's Carnevale, after all. Give them another!"

Here is a video of Elton singing "Don't Let the Sun Go Down on Me" -- from long ago, not from the other night, but you get the picture (YouTube wouldn't let me take anything else). His voice is battle-worn now, and his hair is grey, but his scars become him. He looks better than ever. How amazing one song can be! It united us all! There were lighters lit, and we All Became One. When the people chanted his name, it sounded like this: "Eel-ton! Eel-ton!"

Thank you, Elton, for adding your great voice to the song of Venice.

Ciao from Venice,
Cat

Last evening there was a Pow Wow at the Guggenheim -- a phrase coined by the artist, Ludovico de Luigi, for a vernissage where the whole town gathers for a bit of gossip and wine, based around an art preview. As one guest put it: "It seems like everybody is here. I don't even see these people on the street!"

Well, that's not entirely accurate because the heavy hitters were there the night before; plus, there were some regulars who were missing-in-action.

The theme of this Pow Wow was COMING OF AGE. AMERICAN ART, 1850S TO 1950S. Since the Guggenheim hasn't put up its English translation yet, we'll swipe this one from the E-Flux site http://www.e-flux.com/shows/view/5595

"In the early 1900s, the prominence of American modernism grew so as to proclaim New York, and no longer Paris, the center of the artistic avant-garde. Proponents of American modernism such as Stuart Davis, Man Ray, and Patrick Henry Bruce defined abstraction in their use of bold, geometric shapes and colors to create an American vision deriving from European Cubism. On the other hand, Arthur Dove, Georgia O’Keeffe and others in Stieglitz’s circle were using reductive shapes and lines to create a modernism that held allegiance to organic forms. Artists such as Charles Sheeler and Edward Hopper, however, preferred representing scenes inspired by American city life, preserving in their works a link with modernism."

Still this war goes on between Paris and New York, exemplified by the battle over the Dogana. You can read about that in a New York Times article: http://www.nytimes.com/2007/04/07/arts/design/07veni.html?n=Top/Reference/Times%20Topics/People/A/Ando,%20Tadao
I try to stay in the dematerialized zone. In fact, I hear that these days everybody loves each other.

As the artist, Lawrence Carroll, strolled by, someone I was speaking to said, "He's starting to resemble his art." It was funny because I was thinking the same thing! To read more about Lawrence, go here: http://venetiancat.blogspot.com/2008/02/lawrence-carroll-at-correr-museum.html

I got some red wine and bumped into another artist, Gianfranco Perulli, who decomposes domes in general; domes in Venice in particular. I tried to swipe some images off his website, but Gianfranco moonlights as one of Venice's powerful attorneys, in addition to being a University professor and lecturer among many other things -- in fact, his Curriculum Vitae can make you dizzy -- so maybe he has some iron-clad anti-photo-theft thingy on his site. Lawyers have the strangest quirks! To view Gianfranco's site go here: http://www.gianfrancoperulli.it.

Then I spotted Ludivigo de Luigi speaking to the new American Consul of the United States of America, A. Daniel Weygandt, who is based in Milano. The conversation went something like this:

"Cat! Cat! Here is the new American counsel."
"Ludovico, I had lunch with Dan about three months ago."

Ludovico and I are sort of like the battle over the Dogana personified except it's Italy vs. America instead of France. He has been married twice to American women (in addition to other nationalities) and they are now both in the grave. At my book launch he gave a raunchy discussion about how he met his first wife and their escapades in the Church of San Giorgio Maggiore.

An owner of an art gallery here in Venice was also part of the conversation, and he introduced me as "one of Ludovico's subjects." I immediately clarified: "The only thing Ludovico has ever painted of me are my blue eyes, surrounded by red feathers, hovering over the Grand Canal close to my apartment by the Rialto Bridge. Next to my eyes was a Campbell's Soup Can tipped on its side, tomato soup spilling into the canal, a limp hand dangling from the can, entangled with a fine gold chain. I asked him to at least give me some assistance from above, some Red Light from Heaven or something, but I don't think he ever did it."

Last year, Anny Carraro (whom I adore) won the New York Film and Video Festival Best International Director for Best Documentary she a flick made about Ludovico called "Impossible Venice." To view more about Ludovico, go here: http://www.impossiblevenice.com/?lang=2

In any event, I really like our new American Consul, Dan Weygandt. He came to us from Beirut. In fact, the car he drove was bombed shortly after he left. I am not sure he is much safer here.

Ludovico said he thought the exhibit was excellent, especially because Italians would realize that Americans played an important part in modern art. I went to get more wine, and when I got back, Dan was up on the stairs next to Philip Rylands, the director of the Peggy Guggenheim Museum, speaking into a microphone that needed amplification.

Later in the evening, I went through the exhibit with an Italian woman who specialized in Old Masters. She gave us a zippy commentary, saying that American art began with Edward Hopper, and that American artists were copying Europeans before that point. I ran that comment past Philip, and he emphatically disagreed. I wish I could remember exactly what he said so I could quote him, but I can't, so I won't, but it was clever. Philip is one of the few people on this planet who still have a sense of humor.

In my completely uneducated opinion, I will say that the Europeans seem to be more about Freud, whereas the Americans tripped onto Carl Jung. I was speaking to an Italian psychiatrist after I saw the exhibit, who was a Freudian. She said, "Jung is in secret code." I replied, "Jung is not in secret code. It is all a matter of one's personal level of understanding."

Disappointingly, the effect of the disastrous dollar is showing up even at the Guggenheim: usually we get some snacks to munch on, but last evening we only got nuts.

Ciao from Venice,
Cat

COMING OF AGE. AMERICAN ART, 1850S TO 1950S
June 28 - October 12, 2008

Opening hours: daily 10 am to 6 pm (closed on Tuesday and December 25)

Peggy Guggenheim Collection
701 Dorsoduro
30123 Venice
ITALY
Phone +39 041 2405411
Fax +39 041 5206885
Email [email protected]
http://www.guggenheim-venice.it

Press Office:
Peggy Guggenheim Collection
Tel. +39 0412405404; [email protected]

Because I'm trying to be a better blogger for 2008, I'm going to post something today. Also, there's this whole thing with me not wanting to knuckle down and do any sort of work just yet. I'm sure you understand.

So, in typical TKT fashion, here are random nuggets that are looking for some air time.

Cell Phone - So, I just got a new cell phone a month or so ago. It's an upgraded version of the Razr, so I wasn't ecstatic about it. The last one I had went south on me 3 times. Seriously. 3 TIMES. But, since I'm not into spending $200 or whatever on a new phone, I always just go with whatever one they'll give me for free. Anyway, long story somewhat shorter, my new phone went south on me. I'm talking dead in the water. No amount of charging, pleading, crying and swearing would bring it back to life. Dead.

So, I went to get it replaced and confounded the guy to no end. He confounded me a bit, too.

AT&T Guy: Hi Brian.
Me: Hi, I'm Thomas.
ATTG: (looking confused) Oh, you look like Brian.
(we're off to a great start)
Me: Nope. I'm pretty sure I'm Thomas. Anyway, my phone is dead. It just took a crap on me last night.
ATTG: Really? That's weird. Did you...?
Me: No, I didn't drop it in a lake or anything. (remember, I've had 3 phones replaced. I know what questions they're going to ask)
ATTG: Huh.

The dude proceeded to try three different batteries to see if he could get it going. He even tried plugging it in. No luck.

ATTG: Yeah, this phone is dead.
Me: I know. I even tried a difribillator.
ATTG: Huh?
Me: Never mind.

Anyway, ATTG told me I had to call some warranty place and that he couldn't just swap it out. I groaned and punched a wall (no, not really) and he agreed to let me use an old, abandoned phone until I got mine back in the mail.

ATTG: I'll just wipe this one's memory, toss your SIM card in and we're golden.
Me: Fantastic, then.

He did his thing, handed me a phone that looked like it'd been punted through the uprights and sent me on my way. As soon as I got in the truck and turned it on, I noticed a friend had sent me a text message about Orange Tic-Tacs (delicious). The weird thing, I noticed some numbers that didn't look familiar.

Guess ATTG didn't wipe it out completely. The right thing to do would've been to wipe it clean, right? Right. Well, if being nosy is wrong, I don't wanna be right. Indulge your vouyerism and enjoy the one-sided text messages I found on this old, beat up phone.

If i get one more obnoxious text from eyeliner, i'm going to get as mad as a digastricus when a raptor eats his baby!

Sorry had to work too late to call try tomorrow

U know i will girl dont get too wasted in margaritaville

No i would love to arrange this lets talk and thanks again talking to u is the high light of my day u r great

In line no stars yet except us sleep tight hot pants

Riding up hillside dr sweating bullets im on top of the hill looking at the bay. Wish you were here to see this.

you're a great person and a generous one too. we will have a better time than both can probably imagine. you are wonderful and im quite smitten with you x

Im only as good as the person next to me. Cant wait to hold you.

Does this make me a dirtbag for reading this stuff? A complete sack of garbage on legs with a head on top for posting it on my blog? I don't know. Part of me feels icky for doing it, the other part of me finds it wildly interesting. Call it the curious sponge-like quality of a writer who likes to create stories out of nothing at all. I now completely have this guy in my head as a character and I've got a weird little short story already forming in my head from these completely random texts.

Oh, hey. If for some reason these text messages happen to be yours and it's making you all sorts of crazy to read these here, let me know. I'll delete 'em post haste. Otherwise, thanks dinosaur-reference guy. You've just become a character.

Here's the funny thing: For laughs, I smacked the back of my defective phone (just after calling the warranty place) and it lit up. Huh. Guess it works after all.

Potty Chronicles Ver. 2.0 - So, last night, a big victory in the Toilet Trials 2008. After a pretty good streak of squirting a little potty where it belongs, Travis decided to take a break. He boycotted the crapper for a couple of days. Sure, he'd humor us and sit down on the john for a few minutes to show that he was willing to play ball, but as soon as we tugged a Pull-Up onto him, he'd fill those things fuller than a fat guy's lunch box.

But last night? Magic.

Just before going to bed, we sat the little champ on his throne and he began to peruse a boxing magazine. (Side note: My kid LOVES boxing. Seriously. He asks Grandma (my mom) who doesn't like boxing if she likes it. You like boxing, Grandma? My mom's answer never changes: No.) I told him that if he went potty tonight he'd qualify for a new car, to which I realized how much I sound like Bob Barker. When that didn't seem to do it for him, Laura came in and tossed down the biggest bribe of our potty-training career.

Laura: Travis, if you go potty, we'll take you to the boxing store tomorrow.
Travis: Today?
Laura: No, no. Tomorrow.
Travis: Tomorrow today?

I wanted to explain that tomorrow it would be today, but I figured that wouldn't help. He looked like he was going to try and we were all excited, but it wasn't happening. The boy was merely running down the clock and it was well past his bedtime. I told him he had two minutes and then we'd have to try again tomorrow. He stood up and I looked to see if there was any deposits made in the back-side bank. There weren't.

Me: It was a good try, buddy. Oh, well. No boxing store.
Travis: No, no! I want to go potty!
Me: Well, do it then.

Travis returned to his talking toilet (which we've long shut off) and parked his little dumper on the seat. He talked to me about the boxing store and how he wanted boxing shorts, a shirt, a jump rope and new gloves. I sat there and thought...He's almost 3, and he's ready for the sweet science.

After a moment, he smiled big and wide. I listened and could hear the sound of liquid victory.

Me: Are you going potty?
Travis: Uh-huh.

Laura ran in, Travis stood up sans pants and we looked. Sure enough, he did his business like a champ. We all cheered and high-fived the little kid who shouted his victory like he'd just delivered a knock-out punch. I went and got the car box and he selected one from the movie Cars (he picked the yellow pace car) and there was much to celebrate in our house last night. The kid is on his way.

I can still hear his self-congratulatory cheers now: I did it! I did it!

Meet the Robinsons - I think it's important for everyone to admit weaknesses every once in a while. My weakness as of late has been playing a $13 video game I'd originally purchased for my son to watch and enjoy. It's the game Meet the Robinsons based off the comuter-animated Disney movie. It was cheap, it looked somewhat decent and I thought the movie was pretty cool and original. I started playing it and immediately Travis wanted me to find "Bowler Hat Guy" who is the villian in the movie and game.

Let me say for the record that I still like games like Halo 3, Call of Duty, etc. I'm all about blowing stuff up, saving the world, that kind of thing. But I'll be gosh-darned if I didn't take to this Robinsons game like a drug addict to a cocaine smoothie.

So, to all my Xbox-in' friends who happened to see what I was playing online: Don't judge.