Squiddies 2026

The Armchair Squid turns seventeen years old today.  It's time to hand out some hardware.  The Squiddy goes to...

Biggest Surprise: Our Kid, the Sports Fan

It was the winter of 2006, twenty years ago.  I had Olympic hockey on TV, our child's first exposure to the game.  They ran to their room and grabbed the nearest hockey stick-like object - probably a wrapping paper tube - and returned to the living room yelling "My turn! My turn!"  I was sure we had a future player on our hands. 

That didn't exactly pan out.  They grew into a performing arts kid instead.  I can't complain.  I was one, too.  

Just in the past few years, they've found an unexpected interest in spectator sports.  It started with professional wrestling, of all things.  The two of us went to see Pro Wrestling GRIND in late February which would have been plenty enough of a surprise for me in itself even though it was technically my suggestion.

The real magic came with this year's Olympics when they fell in love with women's hockey.  Wouldn't you know it, there's a relatively new professional league with a team in nearby Montreal!  We went to a game during their spring break, then followed the rest of the season together on YouTube.  When a new women's baseball league launched this summer, they were the ones who pushed for watching the inaugural game together.

This development has already had a major impact on my own sports-viewing habits and I expect it will continue to do so for a while.

Biggest Disappointment: The Little Squirt's Passing

Our cat - my all-time favorite cat - got cancer.  We tried some of the lower cost treatment options but eventually made the tough choice and had her put down.  I know it was the merciful, responsible decision.  She was in pain.  Still, I miss her.  I expect I may always miss her.

RIP, little one.  I love you.

Best Read: Human Diastrophism by Gilbert Hernandez

via Amazon

Over the past year-plus, I've gone on a deep dive with the Hernandez brothers' Love and Rockets comics.  Human Diastrophism was the second collection of Palomar stories I read.  Palomar is a fictional Central American town where we get to know the residents over several generations.  Cute little kids grow up to be young adults with complicated sex lives with the turn of a page.  Terrible things happen to the community in this volume: a serial killer's rampage, an earthquake.  Because of the intimacy of the narrative, I as the reader ache for my dear friends.  Hernandez's masterful storytelling is best exhibited in a story about Pipo, a young woman who has moved from Palomar to Los Angeles.  The tales told in the images and the text are entirely independent of one another.

Best Comics Find: Human Diastrophism by Gilbert Hernandez

See above.

Athlete of the Year: Laura Stacey

via Wikipedia

Right wing Laura Stacey was the first star of the Montreal Victoire game we went to with two goals and an assist.  Over the rest of the season, she became my favorite, the sort of player who, in addition to scoring plenty, is seemingly always diving across the ice after a loose puck.  She plays with joy and competitive fire.  Seriously, what more can you ask of a professional athlete?

The Victoire went on to win the Walter Cup, the Professional Women's Hockey League championship trophy.  Stacey isn't even the team's best player.  That would be her wife, Marie-Philip Poulin, considered by many to be women's hockey's GOAT.  Poulin is captain of both the Victoire and the Canadian national team.  Together, Stacey and Poulin form two thirds of Montreal's "Wife Line" along with left wing Abby Roque.  They are almost certainly the best first line in the league and even with expansion, they're all coming back next season.

And, of course, Canada won silver in women's hockey at the Olympics: Stacey's third medal for her career (including one gold) and Poulin's fifth (three golds).

Up for some highlights?  Here's every goal Stacey scored in the league this year: 7 in the regular season, 3 in the playoffs.

Best Family Adventure: Northampton, Massachusetts

Northampton has played a marvelous role in our lives over the past four years.  Home to Smith College, it is also one of the great hippie enclaves of New England, by census data the gayest city in the United States and more female-forward than just about any place I've ever been.  Smith, a women's college since its founding in 1871, is a big part of that, of course.  But the female energy runs a lot deeper.  No joke, I fell in love with the place and I already miss having an excuse to visit regularly.  The kid's future plans are still forming and it is absolutely possible they could end up living in that part of the world again.  But for now, I'll settle for wonderfully pleasant memories.

On the Road: DC, August 2026

I visited my parents again in DC this past week - the second time this summer.

My parents have lived in the city since the late '90s.  It's their home.  It has never quite felt like my home.  I grew up in the Maryland suburbs.  It really isn't so far and yet I haven't actually traveled out that way so much over the years.  But one day last week, I went all in: 25,000 steps for the day.  I walked around my old high school, my childhood home and beyond.

It occurred to me that part of the intimacy I feel for the places of my youth is a direct result of having spent so many years exploring it on foot.  My body knows exactly how steep a particular hill is, for instance.  The muscle memory is set firmly in my quads.  While I had driven through our old neighborhood a few times over the years, this was my first time in ages engaging with it as a pedestrian.  It felt right.

The biggest change is the newly constructed Metro line that goes right under my old street:

I did plenty of wandering in northwest DC on other days, taking in the National Cathedral,

Malcolm X Park (also know as Meridian Hill Park depending whom you ask), where I saw two different people blasting gospel music

and the unique atmosphere of Adams Morgan, well encapsulated by this store front:

On the Road: Pennsylvania 2026

As I have mentioned many times before (most recently here), my family has a cabin in the woods in central Pennsylvania.  It is part of a summer community that has enriched all of our lives for over 40 years.  This year's trip was unusual for many reasons, starting with the fact that I was on my own in the cabin.  For various reasons, neither my parents, my wife nor my child could make the trip this time.  So, it was just me.

A tornado hit the community for the first time just a few days before I arrived.  Didn't know Pennsylvania was prone to tornadoes, did you?  Well, they are unusual but not unprecedented.  Even so, the 2026 total so far is already twice the annual average.  Climate change is real, folks.  Fortunately, no one in our community was hurt and only one cabin took serious damage.  The impact on the forest, though, was dramatic.  Many trees were topped, felled and entirely uprooted.  The woods will recover, of course.  The human trauma might have more long-term impact.  Our safe haven suddenly feels considerably less so.

Our place was fine - at least regarding storm damage.  However, after 40 years without serious mouse problems, the little fuckers got in this winter and made quite a mess.  So, unfortunately, I had to devote way too much of time to cleaning it all up.

Even with all of that, it was still nice to be there, and quite enjoyable on my own.  I'm an introvert in the extreme so quality time to myself is always welcome.  Even in the midst of cleaning out all the mouse poop, I was reminded of why the place is still so important to me.  For a variety of reasons, mostly geographical, I did not grow up feeling close to my extended family.  I like them but I haven't really spent much time with them.  Rather than hauling off to Ohio, Nebraska, Texas or wherever the clan resides, we spent our summers in the Pennsylvania woods.  My spiritual cousins are there.  That's what makes the 9+ hour drive worth it.

On the Road: DC, Summer 2026

I recently visited my parents in Washington, my first summertime trip in many years.  DC's heat and humidity can be brutal and as such, it's not always the most inviting city this time of year.  But parent needs are on the increase and downsizing is likely soon.  I'm probably going to need to spend more time down there in the coming years.  

Sightseeing was not a high priority this time.  I went through all of my stuff in storage and hauled four big boxes of books to the public library.  I also touched base with old friends, including a couple I'd not seen in decades.  Overall, it was a meaningfully grounding trip.  And also very hot.

I did make it to the Smithsonian one day.  Inspired by our recent Montreal trip, I targeted the Museum of the American Indian (MAI) this time - my third visit, I think.  It's a funky spot and not especially popular, certainly not by Washington standards.  Compared with the city's other big museums about marginalized populations - the Holocaust Memorial Museum and the Museum of African American History and Culture - the MAI is not built around a single, unifying narrative and I expect it may feel inaccessible to people as a result.  

To a point, this reflects a deliberate choice made during the museum's creation.  Indigenous America is not a monolith.  There were and still are literally thousands of different cultures across two vast continents.  They speak different languages and follow different customs.  Even their post-European contact experiences have varied (though there are certainly common themes).  So, one story to represent everyone would be impossible.  

There were two exhibits I particularly enjoyed this time.  Return to a Native Place: Algonquian Peoples of the Chesapeake documents the experience of indigenous tribes of the Chesapeake region which, of course, includes both DC and the Maryland of my childhood.  

The Americans exhibits the roles and representations of indigenous peoples in contemporary American society, including a full documentation of the Trail of Tears, a tragic historical event only partially understood if at all by the vast majority of white Americans.  

One part of the museum has gotten rave reviews from the beginning: the Mitistam Native Foods Cafe, one of the Smithsonian's best restaurants.  I got a fried bread taco with chicken.  No, I did not manage to eat the entire thing. 

In many ways, I feel I have reached a crossroads in life.  Family needs are changing.  Professionally, I certainly have a lot more years behind me than in front of me - or at least, I'd damn well better!  One question I ask myself these days: "What do I still want to learn?"  Honestly, it's a long list but the last couple weeks have helped to bring focus.  I want to learn more about the non-white perspective on the history of the United States.  Obviously, a lot of the truth is uncomfortable, especially from my own white perspective.  But it's a healthy discomfort and frankly, the truth is genuinely fascinating and often even inspiring.  And the traditional white perspective is delusional.  It's well past time for all of us to pull back the veil.

Even during the height of World Cup mania, I find myself intrigued by lacrosse.  The Haudenosaunee Confederacy, also known as the Iroquois, are the only indigenous nation represented in international sport and lacrosse is their game.  The Iroquois invented lacrosse, you see, and they are a genuine power on the global scene.  In 2028, lacrosse will be an Olympic medal sport for the first time since 1908.  The Haudenosaunee are campaigning to compete independently.  In fact, many top players have said they will only compete for an indigenous team. 

Both Joe Biden and Justin Trudeau supported the movement but with Trump and his band of racist dickheads currently in charge, US follow through on that support seems unlikely.

(You didn't really think I'd miss a chance to take a dig at the Orange One, did you?)

On the Road: Montreal 2026

My wife and I went to Montreal for a few days last week to celebrate our wedding anniversary.  As we did last year, we stayed in Vieux-Montreal (Old Montreal), not far from the Basilica.  Our approach was different this year from previous trips.  All of the sights and restaurants we visited were within walking distance of the hotel - didn't take a subway or a cab anywhere.  And while we did do some sightseeing, we also spent significant time relaxing in either a bar or our room with a World Cup game on.  I suggested it was because we're getting older.  My wife thinks it's more that our relationship with Montreal has changed.  Whichever it is, the change is a pleasant one.  I've long believed the ideal vacation is one where you can feel happy doing things or doing nothing.  Mission accomplished.

A couple of our most enjoyable spots...

Chapelle Notre-Dame-de-Bons-Secours (Our Lady of Good Help), a sailors' chapel dating back to 1771:

PHI, a multi-building art museum.  In addition to the visual art, we also enjoyed a listening room experience featuring John Coltrane's masterpiece, A Love Supreme.  From Paula Pivi's exhibition, Come check it out. Lies lies lies:

We also visited the Château Ramezay, an old governor's mansion which has become a private museum telling the story of the city's history... from a deeply white perspective.  In fact, when we got home, we told the kid where we'd gone with the "deeply white" description and they knew the place exactly.  They'd gone once on a field trip.  

As an example, I provide the following caption excerpt:

With the same initiative as the merchants, missionaries arrived in Canada with the earliest settlers.  They mastered the native languages and recorded the native traditions that they aimed to modify.  The "Black Robes" settled among the Hurons in 1634 where they strove to integrate the Amerindians into the French and Catholic culture.  Some native groups reacted adversely and several missionaries were martyred.

Word choice matters.  Martyred.  It's pretty obvious who the sympathetic protagonists are in this particular telling of the tale.

Let's be clear.  Indigenous people have always been correct to push back against European encroachment.  The end result was genocide.  As for the Huron mentioned above, two thirds of the population were wiped out by European diseases.  And that was just the beginning.

It's time for a new telling of North American history.  Or rather, the story has been told over and over again.  White people need to start listening more and believing more.

Yes, I know the MAGA fuckers have pushed hard against such "woke" thinking and the effort to bury our nation's darker truths has, unfortunately, been largely successful recently.  But that's all delusional bullshit.

Fact: the nation we call the United States of America was built on genocide - multiple genocides, African and indigenous.  You can "believe" otherwise all you want but it doesn't change reality.  Is it too late to change the past?  Yes.  But it's not too late to build a better future and that starts with acknowledging the harm done, both past AND present.  Canada has done a better job in recent years than we have but as Château Ramezay demonstrates, there's still a lot of work to do - and undo.

My thinking about such matters may have an impact on travels moving forward.  Stay tuned.

Overall, our Montreal visit was very nice.  We'll be back, I'm sure, though our increased comfort and familiarity have me wondering if it's time to explore someplace new.  Ottawa isn't far...

On the Road: So Long... for Now

For the student, it's four years of transformation, self-discovery, inspiration, exploration and affirmation.  

For the parents, the adventure is partially vicarious.  Watching the child become a self-actualized adult is one of the most gratifying parts of the whole journey.  And the community - both on campus and off - becomes an important part of your own lives.  If you're lucky, and we have been, occasional visits are relatively easy and frequent.

And now, at least for a while, the family geography contracts a bit with future plans still forming.  All three of us are grateful for the experience just completed and excited for the next steps.

On the Road: The Botanic Garden of Smith College

On the Road: Noho in Two Photos

A moose head over the bar - standard New England choice

An alligator head just a few feet away - decidedly less so

Both can be found at Packard's in Northampton, Massachusetts.

On the Road: Pro Wrestling GRIND

Andy "Thiccc Daddy" Brown

Ha!  Didn't see this coming, did you?  I will admit that until fairly recently, I wouldn't have had it on my bingo card either.

A couple of Novembers ago, we went to see Judge John Hodgman perform live in Turners Falls, Massachusetts (see my post here).  One of his "cases" was between two professional wrestlers based in a gym in, of all places, Easthampton, Mass., not too far from where our child goes to college.  Before that moment, I had never even considered the possibility that "minor league" pro wrestling was a thing - though I suppose you have to work your way up, just like in any business.  Since then, a couple of developments enhanced the family curiosity in pro wrestling.  Our child discovered WWE and I discovered the comic book series Love & Rockets, which features the sport prominently in some of the Locas stories (see here).  

So we made a plan to go.  We invited my wife to join us but, not shockingly, she passed.  So I headed down on my own this past weekend so the kid and I could go to GRIND's spring season opener, entitled "Brave New World."

It was... exactly what I expected.  My own previous exposure to pro wrestling is limited.  I grew up in the '80s when WrestleMania was born and the sport was achieving its first strong footholds in mainstream culture.  I was introduced to amateur wrestling at around the same time and thought it was awesome.  "Fake" wrestling held significantly less appeal.  So even though going to GRIND was technically my idea, I still went in with considerable reservations. 

It was camp.  It was theatrical.  It was violent.  It was 100% staged and scripted.  It was also 100% impressive and entertaining.

The space was small - a local VFW, not even a high school gym - and intimate.  We were in what started as the back row (they eventually added folding chairs behind us) but never far from the action.  I got nervous every time the wrestlers fell out of the ring (even though I know it was planned).

We got five matches in all: four duals, including a women's match, and a 3-on-3 tag team event.  In as much as I like wrestling at all, I'm a sucker for tag teams.  But the final, main event was the real treat: Perry Von Vicious, the reigning in-house champion, versus Andy Brown, aka Thiccc Daddy.  Even though he was the out-of-town challenger (technically the "bad guy"), Thiccc Daddy first won over the crowd, then won the match and the championship belt with it (see top photo).  He'll also be in GRIND's next event in March.  I'm guessing there's a season-long drama planned.

Mike Graca

Grind OGs vs. The Lost Boys

The victorious OGs

Ridiculous?  Check.  Fun?  Also check.  Most importantly, the kid had a grand old time.  Would I go again?  Maybe.  I don't know if we'll have time to go see GRIND again but there is Green Mountain Wrestling in Montpelier...

The following day, the kid had to work so I had the afternoon to myself.  I perused the guidebook for something I could do that would be less appealing for the rest of my family and thus an ideal choice to explore on my own.  And there it was: the Naismith Basketball Hall of Fame in Springfield.

I have passed the silver dome of the Hoops Hall many times on the highway though always on the way to somewhere else.  And that is already one of the biggest selling points of this Hall: it's right off the Interstate.  This stands in notable contrast with baseball's Hall in Cooperstown, New York - a lovely little hamlet but it's in the middle of nowhere.  And the baseball Hall doesn't even have a proper parking lot.  Plus basketball, unlike football, baseball, ice hockey or even rock 'n' roll, has a well-documented origin story.  That story, along with many others, is well-preserved in Springfield.

Interestingly, the kid and I had just had a chat on the walk back from brunch - before I'd even concocted my Springfield plan - about the accessibility of museums.  Accessibility for the disabled, of course, but also the literal separation between exhibit and observer.  For the most part, you can't touch stuff.  Regarding the first consideration, there are a lot of stairs at the Hoops Hall, but also a lot of elevators.  Much of what is behind glass is at a relatively low eye-level so a person in a wheelchair would be able to see them easily.

Regarding the second consideration, the first thing you see when you get off the elevator at the beginning of the tour is a wall with brass (maybe copper?) basketballs on a wall with actual players' handprints on them.  The idea is to see how your own hand measures up.  Surprise, surprise, the average star basketball player's hand is enormous.  Next, you walk around a ring to see how you measure up in height with NBA and WNBA players, beginning with Muggsy Bogues (one of my all-time favorite athletes) at 5'3" and ending with Yao Ming at 7'6".  So even before you get to the other exhibits, you've established yourself in the physical world of the players.

Then the Wall of Honor, when you finally get to it near the end of the tour, is just a wall of names, no plaques.  Instead of plaques, there are huge touch screens so you can easily find the stars you care the most about - again, a tactile experience.  I found all of the Georgetown Hoyas and Washington Wizards (then the Bullets) greats.  

The entire museum surrounds a basketball court, viewable from each level and completely open for people to shoot around with their friends, their kids, whomever.  The Hall truly is built around the love of the game itself.

Best of all, the women's game is celebrated on equal footing.  Every space of the Hall that honors men also honors women.  They are not shoved away into a corner.  For the moment, more of the "stuff" is for the men than for the women but it's obvious that's changing in a hurry.  We're living in the Age of Caitlin Clark and the face of basketball is increasingly female.  The Hall is doing its part to encourage that.

I do have one criticism: not enough books in the gift shop.  I know there are books about basketball because I've read them and reviewed quite a lot of them here on The Squid.  There were a few books.  There should have been a lot more.

On the Road: Black Belt Eagle Scout

Our latest trip to North Adams, Massachusetts was inspired by a concert at Mass MoCA (Massachusetts Museum of Contemporary Art).  Black Belt Eagle Scout's real name is Katherine Paul.  She's a Swinomish/Inupiaq singer-songwriter whose indie rock sound is heavily influenced by Native American folk music.  For her current tour, she has teamed up with Mato Wayuhi, an Oglala Lakota hip-hop soul performer from South Dakota, and Ailani, a singer-songwriter in her own right from New Mexico who also serves as KP's lead guitarist.  I enjoyed all three performers, especially the hip-hop elements Mayuhi brought to the ensemble.  The full band was the highlight.  The drummer was particularly strong.  

Black Belt Eagle Scout's "Indians Never Die":

Mato Wayuhi's "KETCHUP POTATO CHIPS":

On the Road: DC, Christmas 2025

We were in Washington, DC over Christmas to visit my parents.  

As a family, we've grown fond of the Hirshhorn, The Smithsonian's modern art museum.  Modern art has always been an easy sell with our child, especially when they were little.  The Hirshhorn is also significantly less crowded than other sights on the Mall and exhibits are always changing.  A few current highlights:

Head by Nicolas Party

The Cyclist (Le cycliste) by Auguste Herbin

Woman in a Hat (Marie-Thérèse Walter) by Pablo Picasso

We did see a few National Guard folks around - what a joke.  As a community, DC detests the current president so expressions of resistance are everywhere.  This was one of my favorites, spotted on a bookstore bulletin board:

Finally, my wife and I shared this spectacular dessert, Pão de Açúcar, at The Grill from Ipanema:

Despite our best efforts, we couldn't finish it.

On the Road: Northampton, December 2025

Regular visitors have probably caught on that I've fallen in love with Northampton, Massachusetts over the past few years.  With big changes coming for our child in the near future, I'm starting to feel wistful about the place in anticipation.  Each visit feels precious.  I'm excited for new adventures ahead, too.  But Northampton is a special place.  Assuming the next step will move our family geography in new directions, I'm already starting to miss Noho.

It was just me going down this time - for a variety of reasons, not such an easy time for my wife to get away.  No worries.  I enjoy time alone with the kid.

You may have heard that it's been unseasonably cold in New England this month.  As such, sitting and chatting at a bar or café held a lot more appeal than wandering around town.  You also may have heard that the young generation doesn't drink as much alcohol as mine did.  It's certainly true in our family.  As I sampled IPAs, the kid - despite being of age AND despite the fact Dad was buying - was happy with root beer.

Chatting was wonderful.  The kid is at an exciting life stage.  College has aroused passions and helped form a vision.  Growing up, making decisions - about anything - was like pulling teeth.  No more.  They know what they want.  Finding it might be a trick.  But a vision is a great start.

With the combination of the cold weather and the engaging conversation, taking photos wasn't a high priority.  But I did get a shot of the charming Whatley Diner on the way home.