Putting the Duh Back in Holiduhs

For the last week or so, I feel like people are correcting me every time I open my mouth.†

Now, I'm not a particularly competitive person. And I'm too big a dork to evince a big ego. But after the 27th correction,‡ I start to become defensive. I usually won't actually defend myself, but I get irritated.

And I get competitive, as in I try to stump the corrector with frequently unrelated knowledge just to get back the points I lost in the correction.

And paranoid: what fresh correction will be around the next corner? Will I be able to keep from throttling the next person who tells me something like, "You do your shoes wrong. If you laced your shoes OVER the grommets, you'll be so much healthier and happier and also money will come to you within three weeks."?

So with all the nice people out for my own good of late, why didn't anyone tell me not to drink that last glass§ of champagne Sunday?

Y'all just wanted to watch the funny Marin circus, didn't you?

[SUMMARY: Vultures!]

OK. I get that. I'd probably have done the same to for you.

Before we get too deep into the holiday season, let me take this moment for a public service announcement:

Champagne on an empty stomach can be brutal.

You're welcome.




The 20th Annual Champagne Cascade at the Brown Palace was a benefit for the Colorado Ballet.

I tried to snap a picture of the wandering dance-urchins as they flitted amidst the crowd, but missed. They got down to the end of the balcony, had a little urchin conference and decided to come back to me.

"Hello, miss,¶ we're from the Colorado Ballet's production of The Nutcracker." And they *curtsied*.

So I asked if I could take a proper picture and they complied. That girl in the front left was very outgoing. She's eleven and she's been dancing since she was four.

They were so cute and sweet they made my ovaries ache.




Here is the tower of glasses, ready for the pouring.




Champagne and flowers on the dais.




The chandelier, unlit.




I took a movie of Marcel Pitton% pouring the champagne. It wouldn't load. Also, it was disappointing. He just poured a ceremonial splash of champagne so it cascaded from the first glass to the second level of glasses and stopped.

The disembodied voice from the loudspeaker told us if he'd poured the whole cascade, we'd be there until Thanksgiving. Most of us would have been willing to hang in for that.

Look closely. There's champagne in one of them thar glasses.


Artsy flash version.



After the "cascade," the chandelier was lit.




And a couple of scenes of The Nutcracker were performed.

We made some new friends, who only encouraged us in the drinking of champagne.

Toby and Jonathan


...with Toby's sister, Janet#


And Janetice's boyfriend, Dari (blue and white shirt -- I don't know if I'm spelling that right. Sorry, Dari!) and Isaac (suit and tie), a champagne waiter Toby and Jonathan know. And, y'know... Kelley and Marin.



[SUMMARY: Friends good. Friends with champagne, better.]

A little side note: I generally get out of the shower, put some petroleum product in my hair, then leave it as much the heck alone as I can. The less I mess with it, the less the fuzzy. Consequently, I find myself at 3:00 some afternoons, washing my hands in the bathroom, looking up to realise... I haven't looked in a mirror all day.

This was one of those days.

If ever you see me out with my hair like this, would you please take me aside and gently push me in the direction of a mirror?

There's photographic evidence here, people. Anthropologists of the future may take my hair as a symptom of our society and you don't want that.

Ooooh... do you think I'll get a name? Like Lucy?

[SUMMARY: I put way too much stock in the power of hair.]

Anyway...

Kelley called The Boy when we got to the Coral.

Shiny, happy people



And an hour later, I was lying in the middle of my living room floor saying, "I just want to be NORMAL..."

And now you're all caught up on Sunday.

You're welcome.



†FOOTNOTE (crossed): We are NOT back to the spit or swallow thing. My brother will thank me.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Some warranted, some not so much, some just plain wrong.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Maybe last glasses. Maybe the last three. Or four. I lost count anyway.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Seriously.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): You remember Marcel. From the spa anniversary?

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Or maybe Janice.