Red letter day

The scenario went something like this...

I saw on the artist's website that he would be performing here in concert. I followed a link to the venue's page, which made no mention of the event. I e-mailed someone there for more information but did not receive a reply. Earlier this week I called the place and was given an individual's phone number. I called it, left a message, and shortly thereafter received a return call.

The person who called me is a lawyer who independently puts on and promotes singer/songwriter concerts on the side. He maintains an e-mail list, which is how people generally become aware of the shows. Apparently he's been doing this for fifteen years. I just needed to bring twenty dollars, cash or check, to get in tonight.

I didn't have any concerns about this being on the up and up. In fact, it merely adds another level of curiosity to what I did this evening: attend a country music concert in a German arts organization/social club's ballroom.

I was happy to be able to see Bruce Robison in Columbus as seeing him or his wife in concert has previously required a drive of at least two hours every other time I've seen them individually or together. While Robison isn't a household name, especially outside of Austin, Texas or the country scene, he's enjoyed a pretty good amount of success by virtue of his songs being covered by the Dixie Chicks, Tim McGraw and Faith Hill, and George Strait.

So, for a guy who seems to be well-thought of in the industry and has six full-length solo albums, an EP, a greatest hits collection, and a Christmas record with Kelly Willis to his name, it's a strange sight to see him and his four-piece band putting on a concert for approximately ten dozen people in such a location. Sure, the music was better suited for a honky-tonk, but with his German ancestry, this spot was oddly fitting.

Plus, unlike bars, I can't imagine there was anyone present tonight who didn't want to be there. The audience may have been smaller than what he deserves to be playing in front of, but it was appreciate and attentive. There was no talking or texting--I was among the youngest among the many grayhaired attendees--but rather people out to enjoy a night of live music.

Robison and his band played an hour-long first set, took a break, and then returned to the stage for another forty-five minutes. It struck me as a very professional performance. The word "professional" may have negative connotations in music, but I mean it with respect in this instance.

He and his support appeared to be having a good time while also striving to entertain the crowd. He tells stories, both sad and humorous, through the straightforward songs that you don't need to "get" to enjoy, unlike some of the music I write about here. That can be refreshing.

I imagine it's pretty difficult to make a career out of being a songwriter, but Robison strikes me as someone who has worked at his craft and, against the odds, can make a living at it even if on some nights it means playing in a central Ohio beer hall for 100-something people on an e-mail list or who, like me, found the concert date on his website.

Take me out to the ballgame

The Columbus Clippers opened a new ballpark this spring and in doing so moved from its west side home since 1932 to downtown. (Here's my entry about going to Cooper Stadium for the last time.) With free tickets in hand, I made my way to the new stadium last night and hoped the threatening clouds would hold onto their rain.

The weather cooperated, mostly, and I lucked into seeing the AAA affiliate of my favorite team visiting the hometown Clippers, who are now tied to the Major League team in northeast Ohio. For me minor league games aren't about having a rooting interest but simply enjoying what's happening on the field. That said, I did take some pleasure in the Reds' farmhands beating Cleveland's, even if it meant going against the local nine.

The brownstone Huntington Park is an attractive building with some interesting features. I like that there are bars in the right field fence that allow spectators outside the stadium to get a free peek at the action. There's a section in left field that functions like the bleacher seats constructed atop apartment buildings across from Wrigley Field. (These are in the park, though.) The concourse is more open and easy to get around. And of course, there's not a bad seat in the place.

There are, of course, better seats. My vantage point along the right field line was not an ideal spot for viewing the scoreboard, but you get what you pay for, right?

I'm usually loathe to buy much, if anything, in the way of concessions, but I was tempted to try the funnel fries. After all, who can turn down fried dough topped with powdered sugar? Essentially this was a less messy way of consuming a funnel cake, although I think the preparers overdid it, as my funnel fries were more brown than golden brown, and, uh, underdid it, as they needed more powdered sugar.

The stadium is next door to an indoor/outdoor concert venue, so I could hear O.A.R. playing relatively clearly while attending the game. It will be interesting to see if any conflicts arise when bands with objectionable lyrics are performing at the same time as a game is going on.

The game I saw was kind of a snoozer. The pitchers worked deliberately, and most of the scoring occurred in the first inning. Still, for an inexpensive night at a ballgame, it's a nice option to have in town, and the new stadium may entice me down there more than old place.

(On a photographic note, since I didn't want to risk getting my digital camera soaked, all pictures were taken with my cell phone. Shooting with it is inexact at best. Next time I go I'll try to do a better job of documentation.)

Baseball preview

I was planning to relax at home tonight, something my schedule hasn't afforded me lately, but I won a pair of tickets to tonight's Columbus Clippers game from my employer. So, I headed downtown for my first visit to the brand new Huntington Park and hoped the rain would hold off.

I'm posting this picture and jotting down just a few sentences for now because I need more time and brainpower to write up the entry properly. More tomorrow...

Nothing to see here

Please excuse the non-activity today. In an effort to keep lurking illness at bay--I can feel it coming on--I slept for the better part of this afternoon. Then, with news that heating and cooling people will be in my apartment on Tuesday, I spent the evening straightening up the place. Both efforts were necessary, but there's not really anything to say about them.

If I don't start knitting soon, this blog is going to become a disaster zone, if it isn't already.

Anyway, enjoy a photograph of this tree. (Actually, it's of the stadium behind it.) I snapped a shot of Ohio Stadium from my car on the way home from my first of two trips to Ohio State yesterday. Perhaps you've seen it before with a blimp's eye view.

Pop

Columbus has been the only North American stop for the exhibition Andy Warhol: Other Voices, Other Rooms. It was a major get for the Wexner Center and for the city, but leave it to me to wait until it's nearly gone to visit it.

I had purchased a ticket for tonight's Times New Viking ♥ The Velvets, a concert celebrating the exhibition's closing. The ticket was also good for admission to the galleries, so I went down first thing this morning to check it out.

I'm a little more than passingly familiar with Warhol's work, but I certainly don't have a deep knowledge of it. This exhibition certainly could have changed that as I could have spent a few days consuming all of his film and TV work. For instance, Empire, a single shot of the Empire State Building, lasts slightly longer than eight hours. It was one of several projected films in the galleries. Another space was set aside for monitors displaying all of his television work. Factory diaries and other videos line the walls leading to the galleries. It's more than one person can take in.

Frankly, it's more than I would want to watch. I sampled bits from several pieces, but for me Warhol's film work holds greater appeal in concept than as a viewing experience. My impression is that he foresaw a future in which daily life is treated as though we are performers, whether in so-called reality television or in the videos uploaded to YouTube.

Seeing his reproduction of products--the Campbell soup can paintings, plywood containers painted to look like cardboard boxes of Brillo pads--made me think that such work predicted the idea of brands becoming artistic and self-expression. People wear clothing where the brand is the focus, as if it says something about them. As far as I know, Warhol saw it first.

I returned this evening for the Times New Viking concert, which saw the trio joined by a violinist and another guitarist while pixelated Warhol and Velvet Underground-related imagery was projected behind them.

The rock and roll drones were fun to hear even if TNV's versions were, shall we say, pretty rough around the edges. Then again, Lou Reed and Nico would never be accused of meeting the traditional definition of vocal excellence.

Downtown

Some photos not taken in the voting line yesterday... Above is a view of downtown Columbus from my car at Neil and near Long.

After voting I decided to stop in at Tip Top Kitchen and Cocktails for lunch. I'd eaten at this downtown establishment once before months ago and really liked it, and I was not disappointed with the pot roast sandwich on a pretzel roll and a side of sweet potato fries. Unbelievably good.

The Ohio Statehouse. Umm, I parked my car underneath it while I had lunch.

It is a little weird seeing the disembodied head of Andy Warhol gazing at downtown while walking south on 3rd to Broad St.

Yeah, it was pretty bright yesterday afternoon. This is the north side of the statehouse.

Looking east from the northwest side of the statehouse lawn. I imagine this will be a slightly busier place for the Obama rally Sunday.

Not much

The long weekend began with a slow day that saw some public knitting in a coffee shop, which may have elicited a half-heard derogatory comment, and in my car while waiting for a movie's start time to roll around. The scarf is progressing quite nicely, if I do say so myself.

Not really much else to say today, so how about a couple photos to tag as part of my infrequent hometown tourist postings?

This is the Union Station arch. It's across the street from Nationwide Arena. And, umm, I was pleased to find a parking meter near it with 38 minutes remaining.

And here's a closer look at the arch.

Oh, while I didn't take any pictures of it--better to avoid getting hit crossing Neil Avenue--I got a glimpse of the ballpark where the Clippers are relocating next season. It's been awhile since I've been in this part of downtown, so it was surprising to see how much is up.

Screened

Not a whole lot to say today. Went to the latest Woody Allen movie here.

And caught the new Guy Maddin film here.

The weather has been ridiculously good in these parts. Temperature in the 70s, little to no humidity, breezes that slip over one like a silky cloak. I've even had the air conditioning off for a good portion of the week.

I'm off work for most of next week. Being spoiled with this weather, plenty of movies, the Olympics on TV, and a lot of knitting time (when I'm not stuck), it's going to be tough to go back. Better enjoy it while it's still here.

Well, it's something

Nope, I didn't feel any earthquake here. Maybe I would have if I'd been awake.

It's been a fallow week for writing topics. For lack of anything better, I'm tacking up a couple photos I took in Grandview today. I really like seeing the blossoming trees. It'll be a pity when they have all turned green. The whites and reds I see on a lot of trees in the area make for such a nice difference.

I plopped myself down at this sidewalk table to work on a crossword puzzle while waiting for a movie to start at the nearby theater. Honestly, it was a shame to be inside at all today. Between two theaters I took in three films, one outright stinker and two I thought were OK, but I also got my time outside with a long morning walk and during this leisurely moment. But hey, I didn't have to pay for the films--ah, press status--and I even got a free ice cream cone because the register wouldn't open at the shop a couple doors down from where I was sitting in this picture.

Things ought to even out soon. I hit the road again next week, and that always seems to get the creativity going. At worst I'll have celebrity encounters or near-encounters to dish about.

Main Street USA

Looking west on Market St. in Brookville

Hope you're up for one more day of small town Ohio photos and reflections. I may have an FO to write about tomorrow.

Brookville, which is about five miles from my hometown, was among my day trip destinations for one reason: soft pretzels. I wanted to buy a case of them. Since the pre-baked pretzels must be kept frozen until ready for consumption, the company doesn't mail them.

Soft pretzels!

Walking into the business was like a blast from the past in that it appeared only one person was working and wasn't at the front. This was not unusual at our family business, but it's not something I run into much around Columbus. What I didn't anticipate--but should have--was that they don't take debit cards for single transactions. (It isn't a retail storefront really, just the place where everything is made and given to bulk purchasers.) When so many stores are geared around electronic purchases, it was a bit unexpected to have to pay cash and get a handwritten receipt with carbons. (For the record, it did occur to me that it would be easier to store the pretzels in the freezer without having the box in it.)

Since I had to track down my bank branch and dawdled a bit in my hometown, I ended up changing plans for the order of where I was going to go for the day. (I hadn't intended to go here first until I saw they were open only until 3 p.m.) I had lunch in a local restaurant that provided a taste of home, although the strawberry rhubarb pie wasn't quite up to snuff. Still, it was a good, inexpensive meal.

Looking west on Market St.

The area surrounding I-70 looked as though it was prospering, but the Market St. area seemed relatively barren. (This dynamic is one of the reasons why Cars touched me. It hits close to home.) Now, it isn't fair of me to generalize about economic conditions based on brief observations of the absence of people on the sidewalks on a cold, windy day but...it didn't look to me like this street was thriving. Of course, that's a common theme in America these days. Small, independent businesses are having a hard time making a go of it.

Looking northeast on Main St. in Troy

Looking southeast on Main St.

I was able to see how a main street (and Main St.) was doing in another southwestern Ohio city when I drove to Troy. From what I recall, it's a typical small city in the state. It was encouraging to see this old Main Street appear to be doing somewhat better, or at least have some activity. I thought I might have to go round and round in the traffic circle while looking for the local yarn shop. It was a nightmare to navigate when I was a young driver. Fortunately I spotted an open parking space, decided to pull into it, and figured I'd search for the LYS on foot.

Ewetopia Fiber Arts Boutique

As it turns out, Ewetopia Fiber Arts Boutique was directly across from where I left my car. The worker greeted me and then let me free to browse while I tried to determine if any yarn caught my eye. I'm not one who often buys without a project in mind, so that was a strike against the place even if I did have a 20% discount coupon burning a hole in my pocket.

It quickly became apparent that I am terribly spoiled with the number of good yarn shops around Columbus. I don't intend that as a slight of this one. I imagine that it is a wonderful resource for local knitters and crocheters who want something the chain stores don't stock, but the selection was more limited compared to where I usually go here.

Looking southeast on Main St.

Looking northwest on Main St.

I chatted with the store employee for awhile about how knitting and how local businesses are doing. In my observation it seemed as though more places were open and people were drawn to the area. She said that it had improved some, that there were strings of shops that attracted foot traffic. The fact remains, though, that these Main Street areas struggle, although with this being a historic district, it might fare a little better. There's even a small independent movie theater, the likes of which I'd bet are increasingly rare.

IKEA in West Chester

My final destination on the trip was the newly opened IKEA in West Chester. How ironic that I get wistful for small entrepreneurial enterprises and then wrap the day at an international enormo-store built at an artificial center of commerce by the highway. Who needs Main Street when there's exit number 19? All I can say is that's how things are, like it or not. And, umm, IKEA is cool.

I try to support local businesses when possible, although not foolishly so. I have a soft spot for those trying to eke out livings against the mega-corporations, but I'm not going to practice a consumer philosophy that ignores unsatisfactory service, high prices, or poor products just because one is the little guy.

As someone whose family business was harmed in part by big box retailers, I know the playing field isn't level and that Main Street USA often suffers for it. This trip wasn't meant to be a survey of local economies, and I certainly don't have the answers to what ails these parts of the country. I guess what I see in it all are familiar faces from home trying to get by and something important being lost. I know that there are other critical issues in this election year--and I don't mean to get political--but the candidates would do well to remember that this is where the country succeeds or fails.

Hometown remnants

The Brookville library

Tuesday's trip back to my hometown and other parts of southwestern Ohio yielded more than one post could contain, meaning I have a few other photos and reflections to add.

A note on the pictures: most of those taken in my hometown were shot pseudo-surreptitiously. Usually I sat in my car and snapped them quickly so as not to draw attention to myself. It didn't feel right to stand in front of other people's homes and near the school while aiming the camera. How strange to feel so exposed in such a familiar place.

The top picture is of one of my places of teenage employment. I had a few jobs prior to this--mowing the church lawn, working at the family business, umpiring Little League games-- but the library job in Brookville, about five miles away, was probably the first one for which I had to interview. I started it prior to my senior year of high school and quit sometime in the late fall/early winter. I already had a lot on my academic plate plus the stresses of the college search. If I'm being completely honest about my reasons for quiting, I should mention I was also angry that the head librarian was blaming me for misshelved books when I was certain it was a co-worker and the patrons themselves.

Except for the internet stations, the small library looks pretty much the same as it did years ago. I stopped in to use those computers to try and secure the basketball game ticket that my mom had yet to get. The friendly staff set me up since I no longer have a Dayton Metro Library card. (One must reserve a station, so I had to be assigned a visitor's random user number and PIN.) Who knows what they must have thought I was doing as I navigated the internet while using my cell phone to walk my mom through the ticket ordering process. It helps if you envision this scene with Dunkard women and children browsing the stacks.

Beyond my second home's backyard

Certainly I wasn't so bold as to go into the backyard to take this picture, so you need to imagine an empty field in front of that house rather than a dead patch of grass. The Dunkard family that used to live there (or still lives there for all I know) was a little more liberal in that they drove a light blue pick-up truck instead of a horse and buggy. I don't think the truck had a radio in it, but I don't remember. Their children, who dressed traditionally, went to school with me until they were permitted to be pulled out, which I want to say was after eighth grade.

Ball diamond in the neighboring park

This map should clarify the area we're talking about. The farmhouse was at the south end of the alley that extended the road that ended at our corner and was parallel to the community park. This diamond is a stone's throw from the yard on our home's west side. My dad, brothers, and I would sometimes take batting practice and shag flies on it. At one time it was used for Babe Ruth League baseball, but I think it was mostly for organized adult softball games when we lived there.

On the right in the distance you can see the building where the village offices were moved to. It used to be the community center. I can remember spending many Tuesday evenings there when my grandmother and great aunt served food to Rotary members while we played in the big back room. Tennis courts are next to it. In my later high school years I spent a good deal of time playing my dad and a brother on the concrete surface.

Not pictured but to the left of the diamond is the Hunters Club. Honestly, I don't really know much about it, but I recall that they would shoot clay pigeons on some Saturday mornings. It seems amazing to me that they would shoot so close to a park and homes, but unless I have a faulty memory, they indeed did this. Contrary as it might seem to where I grew up, I've never fired a gun and may never have held one.

I don't have any more Phillipsburg pictures left, but I have some others from the day trip that I'll post in a future entry. Library photo aside, it feels appropriate to let everything about the village stand on its own.

I didn't think I had this much to say about the place, but why wouldn't I have lots to write about the formative location in my life? Although my family no longer lives there, I have a feeling that I'll visit again at some point to cover the parts of town that I didn't photograph.

This process can be bittersweet, but it's useful as a way of understanding myself and for you to get to know me. From time to time I struggle with feeling like a fraud--as a professional, as a film critic--and I imagine that a large part of it stems from my roots. I'm not ashamed of them, but I feel it is necessary to respect them somehow. They are the hands that have shaped me, even if they are invisible.

My hometown

No home delivery here

Today's travels provided more content than one blog post can handle, so I'm going to limit this entry to photos of and reflections on my hometown.

Phillipsburg is a single stop light village in the western part of Ohio and the southern half of the state. This rural community is bordered by farms, but the suburbs probably aren't more than five to ten miles away.

Other than his time in college and the military, my father lived here his entire life until he and my mom moved in December 2000. His mother lived here or on a nearby farm her entire life, and I reckon the same is true for his father, although I faintly recall that he might have been born in Germany. My grandfather built the grain elevator in the middle of town, and he and my grandmother lived across the street in a house he also built. The family business had been in operation for fifty years when it closed in the mid-1990s.

Looking south on State Route 49 at Main St.

It was a sleepy little place to grow up, but I have no complaints. I was able to roam around on foot or bike without any worries. I could drop in at my grandmother's at any time, visit my dad at work and probably get a bottle of pop (or a can, eventually) from the old Pepsi machine, go to the ball fields at the community park or the elementary school playground practically out our front door, and wander to friends' homes. Chances are that I knew most people I might encounter in the village.

We lived at two different homes. Until I was in second grade we lived on Walnut Street on the east side of town. To the house's east was a large yard that was also directly behind the Lutheran church. It was big enough to practice baseball with my dad, although obviously a lot of room wasn't necessary because I wasn't very old while we lived there.

My first home

I'm beginning to wonder if I have my time line correct because there would have been three of us kids when I think we moved from this house, but I'm not sure where there would have been room for the youngest. Anyway, I shared the bedroom at the front left in the above photo. The house was becoming too small as brothers arrived, which was what led to a move to the west side of Phillipsburg.

My second home

Again I shared the front left bedroom, but the big excitement about moving here, aside from more space, was the above ground pool in the backyard. And we were a hop, skip, and a jump from the elementary school and park, but it was all about the pool for us kids. I remember when my parents looked at houses that they checked some older ones that weren't in the village limits. My big concern was that moving into an old house meant changing one's lifestyle to the olden ways, which was also the impression I had of how people lived in Virginia. (Apparently I assumed that things hadn't changed there since the days of Jamestown's founding.)

It was at this location that I wore out a patch on the east lawn (and later on the west side) throwing a tennis ball against the side of the house to practice pitching and fielding skills. Of course, it was also a time of dreaming of future athletic greatness and, I suppose, trying out sportscasting in my head as I imagined entire games and scenarios. Thinking about it now, I wonder how I didn't drive my parents crazy, even though it was my bedroom wall that I was throwing against. It was thump, thump, thump as I tried to pitch the ball just above the gas meter, although errant throws would go in the bushes or hit the tube coming down from the gutter. To my credit, I never broke a window, and I do have pretty good accuracy when it comes to throwing things.

Sign commemorating Phillipsburg's hometown hero

Baseball was my favorite sport as a kid, and I imagine if forced to commit, it's tops on my list now. Although I'm from a small place, a Hall of Famer called it home. Jesse Haines, who was from here and lived next to the Methodist church, is in Cooperstown. Undoubtedly, this was a big deal to a certain kid who dreamed of playing for the Reds.

The elementary school

I attended kindergarten through sixth grade at the old school pictured above. At one time it held classes through high school levels. (I'm fairly sure my dad went to high school for one year here.) Come August it was always a big deal to run to the front of the school to see if the teacher and class lists were taped to the inside of one of the sixth grade classroom windows.

Rear view of the school

This photo is similar to a view I would have had of the school from home, although I was next door in the park's parking lot. It should show how close we lived to it, though. I just now realized that the storage building that was next to where we played kickball is no longer there. (Throws fired at you en route to first base would ricochet off of it.) It's possible that it was torn down while I was still around and merely forgot, although passing through today I noticed that many lots had been cleared of what used to stand there.

Former site of the grain elevator

The family business was knocked down years ago, although it's still weird to go past the space where it once was and not see it. (It's stranger still to be there and realize that I would now be violating the posted no trespassing signs.) The old firehouse that had been across the street hasn't been there for ages, but I'm still not used to seeing a decorative bandstand in its spot.

The building where the small independent grocery store stood has been reduced to concrete rubble. If anyone in the family said they were going uptown, that's where they meant. In some ways the village looks the same and looks like the intervening years haven't been particularly kind.

I stopped by the bank--the only bank--to get some cash and had to go inside because it doesn't have an ATM. I was shocked that it still looked about how I remembered it. The tellers are behind old-timey bars that may well have been there since the bank opened in nineteen aught whenever. (I have no idea how long it's been there, but it looks like something out of an old movie.) The Toledo scale is still in there, for what purpose I don't recall. The classic looking vault is easily visible from the customer's side. I wish I'd asked if I could take a picture because it is really cool.

I mentioned to the teller that it didn't seem as though it had changed. She agreed that it hadn't. (The outside appearance is different, but that's not what is so striking about the bank.) We talked briefly about this place and that it seemed like a lot of buildings had been knocked down.

The Phillipsburg airport

I visited with a lot of mixed emotions. I have no ill feelings toward my tiny hometown, which I know is not true for a lot of people who grew up in spots like it. I didn't have any burning desire to stay there, but I wasn't looking to run from it as soon as possible either. It's a quiet, unassuming place where a kid could go day to day without feeling the outside worries of the world. This is the sort of place people laugh at, an attitude likely stemming from classism, but it served me well.

The water tower

This is not a fancy exurb by any means; it's probably even more working class and lower than I realized at the time. I have fond memories of the place, but it makes me sad to see the state that it is in. I know that growing up here had a lot to do with making me who I am. I suspect that I probably don't fit in here any longer, which is to say that what I want and what it offers are not the same. That doesn't mean I've betrayed the community but that it is, I fear, being left behind.

From time to time I think it helps to remember where we've come from. It reminds me where I get the slight twang in my voice. Growing up I didn't hear that mild southern (or midwestern, rather) accent, but it was unmistakable when listening to the people around me today. It reminds me of my foundation in hard work and humility. And yes, even though it no longer is, it reminds me of home.

Jackets time

There was talk of a record high for the unseasonably warm day here. It was more like what it should be for baseball or early season football than what one would associate with the beginning of hockey season. Regardless, the NHL schedule began for the Columbus Blue Jackets, and I started the long weekend.

I got downtown two hours before the puck dropped and strolled north on Front Street to get some supper at the North Market. I saw the train hauling coal and took the picture at the top of the post. This seemed like exactly the sort of thing to photograph for a hometown tourist entry. I guess I am also a little fascinated by once dominant technology that has largely faded into the background. Trains are still in regular operation, but surely they aren't employed at a rate they once were. Aside: I can't explain why, but hearing a train's whistle in the distance is something I find comforting.

I made the rounds at the North Market before settling on a freshly made calzone, which I chased with a Thai chili ice cream cone from Jeni's Ice Creams. Normally I'm not so gastronomically adventurous, but Jeni's has a sterling reputation for its unique and delicious flavors. The ice cream has a base made from Columbus' own Krema Peanut Butter and is mixed with toasted coconut, cayenne, and coconut milk. It's very creamy and, most assuredly, very fattening. The creamy peanut butter gives way to some heat at the back of your throat from the cayenne. Good stuff.

I did not sample the chocolatier's wares. Apparently just looking at all that sugar caused the camera to go into a diabetic fog and lose focus. Front and center you can see buckeyes of the edible variety. For those who don't know, buckeye candies are peanut butter fudge dipped in chocolate to resemble the poisonous nut.

Healthier fare abounds too. After all, this is a local market. Since it was almost 6:00 p.m., it was time to head over to the arena.

The team's nickname derives from the state's history with the Union Army. The club is embracing the historical angle this year. A fife and drum corp was on hand. (You can partially see them on the right toward the back.) A replica cannon was installed inside for firing during the team's entrance and when the Blue Jackets score goals. A bugler dressed in Union garb played a song to rally the crowd.

U.S. figure skating champion Todd Eldredge has no Civil War connection that I'm aware of, but he performed as part of the pre-game show. Having watched plenty of Olympic figure skating on TV but never seeing it in person, I have to say that I was impressed with his short program. But then it was time for some different kind of skating...

The hometown team has not had a winning season in its short existence, but for one night it seemed like the sky was the limit for what the new year might bring. They shredded the defending Stanley Cup champion Anaheim Ducks. In all fairness to the opponent, they played two games in London, England and one in Detroit within the past week, so I have a feeling they might be road weary. Still, the Jackets played with an intensity that was pretty rare last season. All four goals were scored at the end where I was seated. I was kind of surprised how celebratory yells roared from me when they posted their two first period goals. Talk about blowing off steam.

Although Nationwide Arena was the site of my first solo knitting in public, I didn't bring it with me today. The blanket was far too bulky to bring. I bought a six game package, so there will still be other opportunities for knitting before hockey games.

By the time the game was over I figured it was already too late to catch all of the Arcade Fire concert across the street. The only taste I got was hearing a couple lines sung while I drove by Lifestyle Communities Pavilion. (What has corporate sponsorship wrought? It's a good venue, bu that name is awful, awful, awful.) Even without seeing one of the (supposedly) best live bands currently touring, it was a fun night and a terrific way to get the weekend going.