Rush. Red Rocks.
[SUMMARY: Do it. Do either. If you get a chance, just take it.]
I had to put the summary first. Who knows how long I may gush on† about this concert?
I didn't take my camera. I watched the guy in front of me take photo after photo, and I decided it was a good thing I'd left the camera home.
For an obvious one, when you‡ spend your life behind a camera, you miss the actual connection with the bits you're recording. I wouldn't trade a hundred flat, still recordings for a single real memory of the concert.
For a less obvious two,§ there is an internal exclusivity that I store for my own joy. I don't know why or how it's related, but it gives me the same frisson of pleasure an exclusive, one-of-a-kind, goody bag thing gives me. Nobody can ever have this feeling but me.
There have been a handful¶ of times in my life I've just opened everything wide -- my eyes, my ears, my nose, my skin, my heart, my mind, my soul# -- to something because it's a one-of-a-kind and I don't want to spill a single drop.
This just happened to be one of those occasions.
[SUMMARY: Duh.]
We're on the train to Bangkok
Aboard the Thailand Express
We'll hit the stops along the way
We only stop for the best
-- A Passage to Bangkok, 2112
There are elements that make this kind of lingering magic. If you miss any element, you may miss the whole thing.††
Rush still qualifies as one of my top two favourite bands of all time,‡‡ even though I don't like the later music nearly as much as the pre-Power Windows stuff.§§
So there's the nostalgia.
And Red Rocks.
Brother went to the concert. We've seen a few concerts together, but they're generally bands we both really like, or in one instance, an educational experience for Seester.¶¶ Brother doesn't like Rush. Brother doesn't hate Rush,## but Brother doesn't like Rush. So I feel like I got to play big sister in some instructive way.
Ben and Bill and Greg and Mike and Drew... and the utterly prurient exchange with Ben via email. Priceless.
Tailgating.
Thunderstorms out over the plains, clearly visible from the 26th row and seemingly timed to the drums.
Rain in the lights.
Fire.%
The videos -- including the South Park short††† leading into "Tom Sawyer."
The playlist that included a bunch of songs I would never have guessed they would play.‡‡‡
[SUMMARY: Really. Magic.]
Wheels within wheels in a spiral array
A pattern so grand and complex
Time after time, we lose sight of the way
Our causes can't see their effects
-- Natural Science, Permanent Waves
Red Rocks is a gorgeous place. Y'all caught a glimpse of it on U2's "Sunday, Bloody Sunday" video, but... but you have to see it.
The rocks are, indeed, red, and hoisted nearly vertical by some cataclysmic tectonic event prehistory. They create a natural amphitheatre that has the best acoustics you'll probably ever hear outdoors -- maybe anywhere.
Until about 1987, all of Red Rocks was general admission. This caused people to camp out all day and drink in the hot sun and swarm the bottom rows... there were injuries.
Now it's nearly half reserved seating.^
I found years ago that I really like the last couple of rows of reserved seating just for the view. If you're up that high, you're just above the top of the rocks that form the backdrop of the stage and you can watch the entire front range.
You can almost see the curve of the earth, the horizon is so vast.
The first time I saw Robert Plant§§§ was July 3. We could see thundercells and lightning, rainbows and fireworks for miles.¶¶¶
Every concert at Red Rocks is a Grateful Dead concert. I think you could go see the London Symphony Orchestra at Red Rocks and someone would offer you pot. This doesn't do much for me on a practical level, but there's something charming about the vibe.
I've never been miserably hot or cold or wet at a Red Rocks concert. Even when it's a hot night, even when it rains, there's an insulation that keeps you safe and dry.
It's in the foothills, away from the city. There's a ruggedness and a freshness that comes from being out of the pollution and clamour of the population centre.
[SUMMARY: Suddenly, I'm outdoorsy.]
Begin the day with a friendly voice
A companion unobtrusive
That plays that song that's so elusive
And the magic music makes your morning mood
-- Spirit of Radio, Permanet Waves
Rush is just good in concert.
There are artists with personality, who can talk a ho-hum perfomance into a memorable event. There are artists who are so exacting they play through their lack of personality.
Then there are artists that can just flat perform.###
Without telling jokes and stories, without doing back flips, Rush just draws an audience in. I'll admit, the pyrotechnics and techo-pirates don't hurt a thing, but they don't overshadow and they certainly don't make up for a lack of compelling talent on the part of the band.
There was no opening band. The music before the show was orchestral versions of Rush songs piped through the stacks. They played for nearly two hours, took a break and came back for another hour or so.
The tickets were expensive, but I'd say they gave us our money's worth.
[SUMMARY: Rush at Red Rocks was like a cookie... on a lily pad.††††]
As I was drifting to sleep Wednesday night, I was making playlists in my head. I wanted to send each and every one of you a Rush CD so you could hear the brilliance I hear.
Only, you'll never hear the brilliance I hear. You may never think "brilliant" and "Rush" in the same sentence. You may think it's brilliant in a different way, for a different reason.
And that's why the camera and the iPod and the DVD will never, ever be an adequate substitute for the sheer joy of that one perfect night on the Rocks. It's mine, all mine and it's so much better 'cause it's all mine.
[SUMMARY: Greed isn't always about money.]
He's noble enough to know what's right
But weak enough not to choose it
He's wise enough to win the world
But fool enough to lose it
-- New World Man, Subdivisions
Oh, hell. I can't be that selfish. My birthday present to you:
May you find your own Rush at Red Rocks.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): "Gush on, Garth." "Gush on, Wayne."
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): You, me... whomever.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Buckle in, Betty, this could get abstract.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): More than several, less than a rash.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Or whatever it is we heathens have.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Which does make me wonder how many experiences have *just* missed and I'll never know because... well, because they missed.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): In fact, I usually just go with "favourite." They were there for me long before The Sisters of Mercy recorded "First and Last and Always."
§§FOOTNOTE (wheels within wheels...): You can look it up if you don't know what I'm talking about. I'm planning on just cruising in Rush Dork mode for awhile here, so I may lose you here and there.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (microphones): That would be the hip-hop concert I asked Brother to take me to for the joy of putting the vibe with the music. There were no black people at this concert, so I question the full validity of my experience.
##FOOTNOTE (pounded like bass amp turned up to eleven): Unlike Beavis & Butthead, who broke my heart with, "This is pretty cool. Is this that video where... oh, GOD, it's RUSH."
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Still twelve.
†††FOOTNOTE (high hats): "I'm Geddy Lee and I'll sing whatever the hell I want."
‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (the long climb up the ramp -- if you've ever been to Red Rocks, you know of which I speak): i.e. -- older stuff that they didn't play on the radio.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): Which I like. Not sitting in the hot sun all day, not fighting a bunch of fucking kids for my spot... old. I'm old and feeble and I deserve reserved seating.
§§§FOOTNOTE (oh, my curly head... how many footnotes are we going to have?): Yes, I'm a Plant Dork too.
¶¶¶FOOTNOTE (Canadian trio): The second time I saw Robert Plant, he was just heading into the last verse of "Big Log" when a shooting star went from one side of the sky to the other, right over the rocks. Everybody high enough to see cheered and screamed. Everybody down below wondered what the hell was wrong with us. Kinda like when the entire section at the top of the Pepsi Center cheered when the Rockies beat Philly during the Genesis concert and the people who paid mad green to sit on the floor weren't in on the celebration.
###FOOTNOTE (ok... turned up to TWELVE): Neil Diamond is one of these. Yes, I'm a Neil Diamond Dork too.
††††FOOTNOTE (record!): I love that commercial. See? Rush gave me a chance to use one of my favourite commercials. Rush is magic.
Friday, June 27, 2008
I Wasn't Going to Do This...
...but when the day starts with a birthday present† in the mailbox‡ from Secret Pal§ and Southern Crane Porn¶ from Kim#... well it's only my birthday,†† but it's at least worth shouting out to my thoughtful and wonderful friends.
Cuddles, y'all.
TTHFCIF
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): I pulled it out of the mailbox on the way to work, so no pictures, but it's an elegant little Malabrigo and music package... purple Malabrigo laceweight and a purple-swathed CD that goes straight in the player when I get in the car. Although it's tempting to just put it on here in the office and play the "it's my birthday" card if someone wants to complain. Oh! Oh! And a GOTH birthday card that even has a SKULL on it!
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Hey, I just went to the mailbox on Tuesday and y'all know I don't go that often, but if there's the hope of gifts, I'm there.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Glinda restored my faith in Secret Pals and New Secret Pal may even top that. This is so cool.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Her words. I love them, so I will steal them.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Thus:
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): And birthdays that don't end in zero aren't as much worth fussing about.
Cuddles, y'all.
TTHFCIF
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): I pulled it out of the mailbox on the way to work, so no pictures, but it's an elegant little Malabrigo and music package... purple Malabrigo laceweight and a purple-swathed CD that goes straight in the player when I get in the car. Although it's tempting to just put it on here in the office and play the "it's my birthday" card if someone wants to complain. Oh! Oh! And a GOTH birthday card that even has a SKULL on it!
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Hey, I just went to the mailbox on Tuesday and y'all know I don't go that often, but if there's the hope of gifts, I'm there.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Glinda restored my faith in Secret Pals and New Secret Pal may even top that. This is so cool.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Her words. I love them, so I will steal them.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Thus:
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): And birthdays that don't end in zero aren't as much worth fussing about.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Secret Pal 12 Question 3
What would you consider the perfect amount of stash?
Wow.
I don't even know how to answer that.
I suspect in an ideal world, I'd have the yarn (and patterns... and needles...) for a couple of sweaters, a half-dozen pairs of socks, a couple of scarves, a lace shawl, a couple of hats, a couple of pairs of mittens. And maybe four or five lovely yarns I just couldn't do without even though I don't know *exactly* what I'm going to do with them. Yet.
In reality, I have all of the above, plus about three dozen more pairs of socks, an extra sweater or two, an extra lace shawl or two, enough hats to keep the ears of the masses warm, mittens of all shapes and sizes, stuff I was going to use for... something, but now I don't remember, a pile of weird novelty yarn from my uninformed past and various nephew projects, a pile of single skeins out of my uninformed past, leftovers, and yet I keep finding new patterns for which there is nothing in my stash.
I need a project manager.
Wow.
I don't even know how to answer that.
I suspect in an ideal world, I'd have the yarn (and patterns... and needles...) for a couple of sweaters, a half-dozen pairs of socks, a couple of scarves, a lace shawl, a couple of hats, a couple of pairs of mittens. And maybe four or five lovely yarns I just couldn't do without even though I don't know *exactly* what I'm going to do with them. Yet.
In reality, I have all of the above, plus about three dozen more pairs of socks, an extra sweater or two, an extra lace shawl or two, enough hats to keep the ears of the masses warm, mittens of all shapes and sizes, stuff I was going to use for... something, but now I don't remember, a pile of weird novelty yarn from my uninformed past and various nephew projects, a pile of single skeins out of my uninformed past, leftovers, and yet I keep finding new patterns for which there is nothing in my stash.
I need a project manager.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
How I Got to the Rush Concert
... a tail tale in two parts.†
When last we left our heroine,‡ she had pinned the bemused male and was waiting for the count.
*************
From: Greg
Ben, I hate to see you surrender now. It just got interesting!
*************
From: Ben
OK, well, I was going to say that Marin gives a whole new meaning to "On a train to Bang-kok."§
*************
From: Ben
Of course, were I to say such a thing, I'd run the risk of getting punched in the face by, well, Marin. And maybe Bill too.
*************
From: Marin
I'd worry more about Bill than Marin. Marin appreciates a good pun. And a dirty joke. And never starts anything she can't finish.¶
(I was talking about the conversational thread, of course, but y'all can take that any way you want.)
*************
From: Ben
I’d be more worried about Bill if he didn’t owe me one (oh man, here we go...).#
By way of penance:
Husband and wife had just finished a particularly sweaty session in bed. Husband says to wife, “Honey, why don’t you ever tell me when you have an orgasm?”
Wife responds, “Because you’re never here when it happens.”
Now if y'all will excuse me, I need to go call Brother and find out what he did to Ben's sister.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): It's like a dirty SAT test: how many filthy little jokes are in this sentence?
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Keeper of the Twelvehood, Queen of Discomfort, Mistress of Bad Taste... and when you're talking blow job jokes that takes on a whole new meaning.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): This is a Rush joke. If you are a Rush dork, you got that. If not, there's this song...
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): And apparently feels a sudden need to talk about herself in third person. Who does Marin think she is... Deion Sanders?
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Oh, Brother, you got some 'splainin' to do...
When last we left our heroine,‡ she had pinned the bemused male and was waiting for the count.
*************
From: Greg
Ben, I hate to see you surrender now. It just got interesting!
*************
From: Ben
OK, well, I was going to say that Marin gives a whole new meaning to "On a train to Bang-kok."§
*************
From: Ben
Of course, were I to say such a thing, I'd run the risk of getting punched in the face by, well, Marin. And maybe Bill too.
*************
From: Marin
I'd worry more about Bill than Marin. Marin appreciates a good pun. And a dirty joke. And never starts anything she can't finish.¶
(I was talking about the conversational thread, of course, but y'all can take that any way you want.)
*************
From: Ben
I’d be more worried about Bill if he didn’t owe me one (oh man, here we go...).#
By way of penance:
Husband and wife had just finished a particularly sweaty session in bed. Husband says to wife, “Honey, why don’t you ever tell me when you have an orgasm?”
Wife responds, “Because you’re never here when it happens.”
Now if y'all will excuse me, I need to go call Brother and find out what he did to Ben's sister.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): It's like a dirty SAT test: how many filthy little jokes are in this sentence?
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Keeper of the Twelvehood, Queen of Discomfort, Mistress of Bad Taste... and when you're talking blow job jokes that takes on a whole new meaning.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): This is a Rush joke. If you are a Rush dork, you got that. If not, there's this song...
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): And apparently feels a sudden need to talk about herself in third person. Who does Marin think she is... Deion Sanders?
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Oh, Brother, you got some 'splainin' to do...
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
I Win!
From: Greg
Date: Tue, 24 Jun 2008
To: Ben, William, Marin
Cc: Mike, Bill, Ben
Subject: Rush
Despite God's best efforts, Rush is on this Wednesday. Weather report looks better this time around.
For those of us not going down on the band, I was thinking a 6:30 departure time, non-stop to Red Rocks. Show starts at 8pm. Thoughts? Mike has already booked his seat.
G.
*************
From: Marin
Wait... there was a "going down on the band" option? Why was I not informed?
I'd opt for a little earlier. I don't like fighting the traffic. I'm not saying you should take me into account, just sending out feelers for if anyone else is of a like mind.
*************
From: Ben
I guess we'll meet up with you inside? Bill T?
*************
From: Marin
Bill T has my ticket, so I'd like to arrange for that before we get to the "meet you inside" part. hint hint.
*************
From: Ben
Sorry, apparently we'll be too busy sucking cock to give you your ticket.
*************
From Marin:
See, normally that's a sentiment I can get behind, but IT'S MY TICKET!
Besides, I'm still pouting about the part where nobody told me about the going-down-on-the-band option.
*************
From Brother:
Seester and I hope to roll up on the Bill and Ben train but have some professional upintheairness about it. We will be in touch.
*************
From Ben:
That's assuming we'll let you in our car. I know I said "anyone can ride", but we DO have standards after all. Marin is fine, but you might have to go on the front bumper, Aztec sacrifice style.
*************
From Marin:
See, Brother? If you're all cheerful about giving blow jobs, people let you ride in their cars. You should try it some time.
*************
From Ben:
You know, before I realized that Marin was Bill U's sister, I thought Bill just had some random email account he was using. Then I figured it out, and felt really bad about all the bantering in front of her on this thread. Then I quickly realized my concerns were grossly misplaced. Marin, I completely owe you a beer at the show...
*************
From Marin:
The temptation to say, "And Ben, I owe you a blow job," is fierce... if just to see my brother's eyes bug.
*************
From Ben:
OK, I surrender. I am out of my league here.
And that's how I scare all the boys away.
Date: Tue, 24 Jun 2008
To: Ben, William, Marin
Cc: Mike, Bill, Ben
Subject: Rush
Despite God's best efforts, Rush is on this Wednesday. Weather report looks better this time around.
For those of us not going down on the band, I was thinking a 6:30 departure time, non-stop to Red Rocks. Show starts at 8pm. Thoughts? Mike has already booked his seat.
G.
*************
From: Marin
Wait... there was a "going down on the band" option? Why was I not informed?
I'd opt for a little earlier. I don't like fighting the traffic. I'm not saying you should take me into account, just sending out feelers for if anyone else is of a like mind.
*************
From: Ben
I guess we'll meet up with you inside? Bill T?
*************
From: Marin
Bill T has my ticket, so I'd like to arrange for that before we get to the "meet you inside" part. hint hint.
*************
From: Ben
Sorry, apparently we'll be too busy sucking cock to give you your ticket.
*************
From Marin:
See, normally that's a sentiment I can get behind, but IT'S MY TICKET!
Besides, I'm still pouting about the part where nobody told me about the going-down-on-the-band option.
*************
From Brother:
Seester and I hope to roll up on the Bill and Ben train but have some professional upintheairness about it. We will be in touch.
*************
From Ben:
That's assuming we'll let you in our car. I know I said "anyone can ride", but we DO have standards after all. Marin is fine, but you might have to go on the front bumper, Aztec sacrifice style.
*************
From Marin:
See, Brother? If you're all cheerful about giving blow jobs, people let you ride in their cars. You should try it some time.
*************
From Ben:
You know, before I realized that Marin was Bill U's sister, I thought Bill just had some random email account he was using. Then I figured it out, and felt really bad about all the bantering in front of her on this thread. Then I quickly realized my concerns were grossly misplaced. Marin, I completely owe you a beer at the show...
*************
From Marin:
The temptation to say, "And Ben, I owe you a blow job," is fierce... if just to see my brother's eyes bug.
*************
From Ben:
OK, I surrender. I am out of my league here.
And that's how I scare all the boys away.
Ho.
Hum.
And Happy Tuesday.
Other than the fact that I cast on yet another project this weekend, I don't have a lot of knitting news. I knat a lot this weekend, and I guess I could inundate you with WIP pictures, but that's mostly boring. At least the new scarf isn't blue.
About a month ago, I bought a portable evaporative cooler to replace one that stopped working. It worked so well, a week ago I bought a second one for my bedroom. The week-old cooler broke down Sunday mid-day and now I have to wedge "return defective cooler to Home Depot" into my busy schedule. 'Cause it's finally getting hot in Denverish.
My grandmother (Mom's mom) died Sunday night. Dad and I are going to Wisconsin Sunday for the funeral on Monday.
In a fit of madness, I signed up with Match.com. Men from all over Louisiana are contacting me and I can't figure out why.
My birthday is Friday. I feel way, way older this year than last. I think it's the damned dance club episode.
Rush. I'm seeing Rush at Red Rocks tomorrow night. I'm kinda excited, but getting six or eight people to agree on a carpooling schedule is like trying to get six kids to agree on pizza toppings.
I inadvertently finished most of my Christmas shopping.
I'm hostessing (sort of) a Nintendo party Saturday night. But that's a story for tomorrow or the next day. That way there's at least one blogpost this week that doesn't feature an ass-bearing quiz or a bunch of mumbling.
While we did get a new billboard Friday, there has been frighteningly little to entertain Hans and me out the office window. Still no crane; still no arms on the 1999.
I can't even tell you my current favourite joke because it has to be heard to be funny.
See? This is what happens when football, hockey and basketball end. The long, dark days of summer are upon us.
Can you feel the ennui in the air?
And Happy Tuesday.
Other than the fact that I cast on yet another project this weekend, I don't have a lot of knitting news. I knat a lot this weekend, and I guess I could inundate you with WIP pictures, but that's mostly boring. At least the new scarf isn't blue.
About a month ago, I bought a portable evaporative cooler to replace one that stopped working. It worked so well, a week ago I bought a second one for my bedroom. The week-old cooler broke down Sunday mid-day and now I have to wedge "return defective cooler to Home Depot" into my busy schedule. 'Cause it's finally getting hot in Denverish.
My grandmother (Mom's mom) died Sunday night. Dad and I are going to Wisconsin Sunday for the funeral on Monday.
In a fit of madness, I signed up with Match.com. Men from all over Louisiana are contacting me and I can't figure out why.
My birthday is Friday. I feel way, way older this year than last. I think it's the damned dance club episode.
Rush. I'm seeing Rush at Red Rocks tomorrow night. I'm kinda excited, but getting six or eight people to agree on a carpooling schedule is like trying to get six kids to agree on pizza toppings.
I inadvertently finished most of my Christmas shopping.
I'm hostessing (sort of) a Nintendo party Saturday night. But that's a story for tomorrow or the next day. That way there's at least one blogpost this week that doesn't feature an ass-bearing quiz or a bunch of mumbling.
While we did get a new billboard Friday, there has been frighteningly little to entertain Hans and me out the office window. Still no crane; still no arms on the 1999.
I can't even tell you my current favourite joke because it has to be heard to be funny.
See? This is what happens when football, hockey and basketball end. The long, dark days of summer are upon us.
Can you feel the ennui in the air?
Monday, June 23, 2008
Friday, June 20, 2008
Boy, Do I Have Good News for You!†
I don't want anyone to miss out.
Tomorrow is the first S.O.S.A.D.‡
Get your Cheetos now!
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): A line we use in our family a lot from a story (possibly an anecdote from a family friend, possibly apocryphal) about a kid who got to play the shepherd with the line in the nativity play at Christmas. "Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people..." was a bit much for him to remember -- and, besides, the light was in his eyes -- so when he got on stage, he said, "Boy, do I have good news for you!" See? It's not just misery I share.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Strangely Orange Snackfood Appreciation Day.
Tomorrow is the first S.O.S.A.D.‡
Get your Cheetos now!
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): A line we use in our family a lot from a story (possibly an anecdote from a family friend, possibly apocryphal) about a kid who got to play the shepherd with the line in the nativity play at Christmas. "Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people..." was a bit much for him to remember -- and, besides, the light was in his eyes -- so when he got on stage, he said, "Boy, do I have good news for you!" See? It's not just misery I share.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Strangely Orange Snackfood Appreciation Day.
I Could Not Stop for News...
...so it kindly stopped for me.†
TTHFCIF
In the interest of fair play and full disclosure, two overnight changes to yesterday's Fallen Feet Report:
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): "Get into the carriage, little girl..." Hey, Jeff and Todd almost fell out of their seats laughing in junior English when I did that joke.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Because it appears to be her IP address, or close enough.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Always go for the pirate.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I know that's a terrible stereotype. It could have been a dog-sledding accident.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): In fact, I'm going to go out on a limb (ha!) and say left feet are 20% tighter than right feet. Or 20% of left feet are tighter than their right foot counterparts. It's math. You can't argue with math.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Turns out it was an "animal paw." I'd like to know what animal paw had teams of forensic investigators stumped (no pun intended) all afternoon yesterday.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): 'Cause we now know a rash is six. And this is now less than six feet -- kinda like a disappointing internet date.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Heheheh.
§§FOOTNOTE (let's turn this news story around!): Anyone? Classic SNL.
TTHFCIF
In the interest of fair play and full disclosure, two overnight changes to yesterday's Fallen Feet Report:
- According to an anonymous commenter I'm going to call "Kim,"‡ all the feet but one were right feet. This leads me to believe there is either a crazed, peg-legged man§ exacting revenge on Canadians for a foot lost in a lumberjacking accident¶ or that right feet are not screwed on quite as tightly as left feet.%
- And, wow... I really jumped the gun on this one. Yesterday's foot was a hoax.# So I have to back off the "rash of feet" claim†† and revise my estimate to "handful of feet."‡‡
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): "Get into the carriage, little girl..." Hey, Jeff and Todd almost fell out of their seats laughing in junior English when I did that joke.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Because it appears to be her IP address, or close enough.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Always go for the pirate.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I know that's a terrible stereotype. It could have been a dog-sledding accident.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): In fact, I'm going to go out on a limb (ha!) and say left feet are 20% tighter than right feet. Or 20% of left feet are tighter than their right foot counterparts. It's math. You can't argue with math.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Turns out it was an "animal paw." I'd like to know what animal paw had teams of forensic investigators stumped (no pun intended) all afternoon yesterday.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): 'Cause we now know a rash is six. And this is now less than six feet -- kinda like a disappointing internet date.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Heheheh.
§§FOOTNOTE (let's turn this news story around!): Anyone? Classic SNL.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
A Conundrum
Colorado Springs has the second-highest suicide rate among major urban areas in the country.
Colorado Springs was just listed by Kiplinger as number 5 on its list of top ten places to live, work and play in the country.
Is Kiplinger trying to tell us something?
I *have* to stop reading the news.
Colorado Springs was just listed by Kiplinger as number 5 on its list of top ten places to live, work and play in the country.
Is Kiplinger trying to tell us something?
I *have* to stop reading the news.
Apparently, They Fell Off
First, let me direct you to where the AP site directed me for this story.†
Once you're there, look up at the address bar and note the tag: CANADA MYSTERY FEET?
I love that. It doesn't say that anywhere in the body or headline of the article, but there it is, the thing we were all thinking but only some lowly namer-of-URL had the guts to say.
Second, I'm a little disappointed in this Houston Chronicle version of the AP article because the reprint on Comcast included the following sentence:
"The Royal Canadian Mounted Police have said there's no evidence the feet were severed or removed from the victims' legs by force."
Hence, the blogtitle.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Because I know years from now when they are excavating this blog for archaeological reasons that link will be defunct, let me brief it for you:
Starting last summer, a rash of feet (a rash is six, in case you didn't know) have washed up near Vancouver, BC. Each was encased in an athletic shoe, each found by a casual beachgoer. Citizens speculate they belong(ed) to victims of violent crime or a plane crash. Authorities aren't committing to anything. Mounties think they fell off.
Oh, and third? There is a correction at the bottom that says, "This version CORRECTS Corrects spelling of British Columbia in lede."
Presumably, they will now be correcting the correction to reflect the correct spelling of "lead."
ETA: Ah, hubris. Years of college and high school journalism and I don't remember a single sighting of the word "lede," but a reliable source tells me the poor, wrongfully scoffed AP people are right.
Learn something new every day.
Once you're there, look up at the address bar and note the tag: CANADA MYSTERY FEET?
I love that. It doesn't say that anywhere in the body or headline of the article, but there it is, the thing we were all thinking but only some lowly namer-of-URL had the guts to say.
Second, I'm a little disappointed in this Houston Chronicle version of the AP article because the reprint on Comcast included the following sentence:
"The Royal Canadian Mounted Police have said there's no evidence the feet were severed or removed from the victims' legs by force."
Hence, the blogtitle.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Because I know years from now when they are excavating this blog for archaeological reasons that link will be defunct, let me brief it for you:
Starting last summer, a rash of feet (a rash is six, in case you didn't know) have washed up near Vancouver, BC. Each was encased in an athletic shoe, each found by a casual beachgoer. Citizens speculate they belong(ed) to victims of violent crime or a plane crash. Authorities aren't committing to anything. Mounties think they fell off.
Oh, and third? There is a correction at the bottom that says, "This version CORRECTS Corrects spelling of British Columbia in lede."
Presumably, they will now be correcting the correction to reflect the correct spelling of "lead."
ETA: Ah, hubris. Years of college and high school journalism and I don't remember a single sighting of the word "lede," but a reliable source tells me the poor, wrongfully scoffed AP people are right.
Learn something new every day.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Secret Pal 12 Question 2
As a kid, what did you look forward to most about summer vacation/break/holiday?
Swimming.
I was probably a year old -- maybe two -- when Mom took me to Mom 'n' Tot swimming lessons. I swam ever after.
When I was six, we moved to Houston and the neighbourhood swimming pool was right across the street.
That first summer, I went to the pool all the time. I took lessons, I swam with new friends, I learned to dive off the high dive.†
I saw the kids in their team suits, compelling crayon red with a white stripe and red maple leaves down the sides.‡
I coveted.
The next summer, I asked to join the swim team.
Dad said, "That's fine, but you have to stick with it the whole season. You can't just join for the suit."
Dad knew me pretty well. Somewhere between shocked he had seen into my black little heart and hurt he'd think I'd do such a thing, I insisted I really wanted to swim.
When I first started, I could barely swim from one end of the pool to the other. By the end of the season, I was swimming up an age group.§ And all season I had to tie the straps of my hard-won suit with a shoelace¶ to keep them from falling off my short, slight little frame.
I swam the next summer too.#
The summer after that, we moved back to Colorado, to the mountains where there were no swim teams.
In the sixth grade, we moved to a neighbourhood in the Denver suburbs. It had a pool and a swim team.
I swam for a couple of years. I even did pretty well until my boobs got in the way.††
Then I went to work every summer and summers just haven't had the same cachet.
Ah, youth.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): "Just keep your hands in fists," said Dad. Works pretty well, but if you forget... it's like a belly-flop on your head.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): We looked SO Canadian.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): And at the end-of-season party, one of the teenaged girls on whom I had an enormous little girl crush tried futilely to arrange my curls into some semblance of order while we were in line for hot dogs. "I think you should get Most Improved," she said. I had no idea there was such a thing. I was thrilled with the compliment from my hero, but slightly crushed -- I thought I'd been a *terrific* swimmer from day one.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Anybody else do this when you were a kid? I'm sometimes tempted to do it with my bras nowadays. Damned sloping shoulders...
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): See, Dad? Not just about the suit.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Don't boobs often get in the way of good, clean fun? I said, "clean."
Swimming.
I was probably a year old -- maybe two -- when Mom took me to Mom 'n' Tot swimming lessons. I swam ever after.
When I was six, we moved to Houston and the neighbourhood swimming pool was right across the street.
That first summer, I went to the pool all the time. I took lessons, I swam with new friends, I learned to dive off the high dive.†
I saw the kids in their team suits, compelling crayon red with a white stripe and red maple leaves down the sides.‡
I coveted.
The next summer, I asked to join the swim team.
Dad said, "That's fine, but you have to stick with it the whole season. You can't just join for the suit."
Dad knew me pretty well. Somewhere between shocked he had seen into my black little heart and hurt he'd think I'd do such a thing, I insisted I really wanted to swim.
When I first started, I could barely swim from one end of the pool to the other. By the end of the season, I was swimming up an age group.§ And all season I had to tie the straps of my hard-won suit with a shoelace¶ to keep them from falling off my short, slight little frame.
I swam the next summer too.#
The summer after that, we moved back to Colorado, to the mountains where there were no swim teams.
In the sixth grade, we moved to a neighbourhood in the Denver suburbs. It had a pool and a swim team.
I swam for a couple of years. I even did pretty well until my boobs got in the way.††
Then I went to work every summer and summers just haven't had the same cachet.
Ah, youth.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): "Just keep your hands in fists," said Dad. Works pretty well, but if you forget... it's like a belly-flop on your head.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): We looked SO Canadian.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): And at the end-of-season party, one of the teenaged girls on whom I had an enormous little girl crush tried futilely to arrange my curls into some semblance of order while we were in line for hot dogs. "I think you should get Most Improved," she said. I had no idea there was such a thing. I was thrilled with the compliment from my hero, but slightly crushed -- I thought I'd been a *terrific* swimmer from day one.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Anybody else do this when you were a kid? I'm sometimes tempted to do it with my bras nowadays. Damned sloping shoulders...
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): See, Dad? Not just about the suit.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Don't boobs often get in the way of good, clean fun? I said, "clean."
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Because I Can
I've seen bits of this here and there, but I was trolling Kari's blog and finally decided this would be today's excuse for a blogpost.
a. Type your answer to each of the questions below into Flickr Search.
b. Using only the first page, pick an image.
c. Copy and paste each of the URLs for the images into fd's mosaic maker.
1. What is your first name? Marin
2. What is your favorite food? Mexican
3. What high school did you go to? Overland
4. What is your favorite color? Purple
5. Who is your celebrity crush? Robson Green
6. Favorite drink? Grapefruit vodka
7. Dream vacation? New Zealand
8. Favorite dessert? Cupcake
9. What you want to be when you grow up? A writer
10. What do you love most in life? My family
11. One Word to describe you. Loyal
12. Your flickr name. the AntiM
1. It's life, Marin, but not as we know it., 2. Mayan Chocolate Cupcakes (with recipe), 3. Africa Overland, 4. Passion in the rain..., 5. Also Should Have Been the New James Bond, 6. grapefruit vodka martini with basil, 7. Double rainbow with sheep in the meadow, 8. mini chocolate cupcakes, 9. River Typewriter, No. 2, 10. New family on Garda lake...., 11. walk out to winter (365-115)12. Not available
a. Type your answer to each of the questions below into Flickr Search.
b. Using only the first page, pick an image.
c. Copy and paste each of the URLs for the images into fd's mosaic maker.
1. What is your first name? Marin
2. What is your favorite food? Mexican
3. What high school did you go to? Overland
4. What is your favorite color? Purple
5. Who is your celebrity crush? Robson Green
6. Favorite drink? Grapefruit vodka
7. Dream vacation? New Zealand
8. Favorite dessert? Cupcake
9. What you want to be when you grow up? A writer
10. What do you love most in life? My family
11. One Word to describe you. Loyal
12. Your flickr name. the AntiM
1. It's life, Marin, but not as we know it., 2. Mayan Chocolate Cupcakes (with recipe), 3. Africa Overland, 4. Passion in the rain..., 5. Also Should Have Been the New James Bond, 6. grapefruit vodka martini with basil, 7. Double rainbow with sheep in the meadow, 8. mini chocolate cupcakes, 9. River Typewriter, No. 2, 10. New family on Garda lake...., 11. walk out to winter (365-115)12. Not available
Monday, June 16, 2008
Chronogirl! Keeper of Time!
Guess what?
I have a new superpower. Under certain random circumstances,† I can tell -- within minutes -- what time it is.
Without a watch. Or a visible clock.
It's uncanny.
Like Saturday. Saturday, Kelley and I went the the Highlands Street Fair. We went at 9:30, before they were technically open, to get full pick of the goodies and to avoid as much heat and crowd as possible.
Felice invited us for breakfast‡ so we wandered the Fair until then.
After breakfast,§ a bigger group of us left Felice's for a turn around the Fair. We hit 32nd Street and Kelley immediately said, "It's too hot."
"I say we go directly to the Coral Room."
"That's what I'm talkin' 'bout, sister."
So we parked at the bar, had a couple of drinks, sang some Talib Kweli¶ with the bartenders and Kelley said, "What time do you think it is?"
"It's probably 4:00. With any luck a little before four."
She pulled out her cell phone: 3:47.
"How did you do that?"
"Hidden talent."^
Last night, I turned out the lights at 10:30 and fell right to sleep. Then I woke up. I groaned and said,% "Jesus Christ, it feels like I've been asleep for days. It's probably only midnight."
12:01.
So I peed# and went back to sleep.
And woke up again.
And said, "2:00."
2:00.
And peed and went back to sleep.
And woke up.
"4:35"
4:37.
Of course, at six-ish it all broke down as I calculated how many minutes I was going to doze, blinked and woke up with a hearty, "How the HELL was that a half-hour?"
We're still working out the kinks.
Which is a long way around telling you how tired and unmotivated I am today, though I know exactly how many hours before I can go home.
Six hours, thirty-eight minutes and counting...
Happy Monday!
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Full details not yet determined
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Due to hangover conditions, Felice didn't start cooking until 11:00, so we didn't eat breakfast until noon. I'm not complaining. Breakfast at noon means you can have beer with your breakfast. Miss Manners says so.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): And a couple of beers.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Oh, yes I do. I am never less white than when "Get By" comes on. Even if it's at The Gap.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): Do you suppose this could count as a miracle toward my inevitable sainthood?
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Out loud. Cat for Scale left the room. I was apparently keeping him awake.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): As has been widely advertised, I have to pee every single time I wake up, no matter how dehydrated I may be, no matter how many times I've already peed, no matter when the last time was I peed. I guess it's another superpower.
I have a new superpower. Under certain random circumstances,† I can tell -- within minutes -- what time it is.
Without a watch. Or a visible clock.
It's uncanny.
Like Saturday. Saturday, Kelley and I went the the Highlands Street Fair. We went at 9:30, before they were technically open, to get full pick of the goodies and to avoid as much heat and crowd as possible.
Felice invited us for breakfast‡ so we wandered the Fair until then.
After breakfast,§ a bigger group of us left Felice's for a turn around the Fair. We hit 32nd Street and Kelley immediately said, "It's too hot."
"I say we go directly to the Coral Room."
"That's what I'm talkin' 'bout, sister."
So we parked at the bar, had a couple of drinks, sang some Talib Kweli¶ with the bartenders and Kelley said, "What time do you think it is?"
"It's probably 4:00. With any luck a little before four."
She pulled out her cell phone: 3:47.
"How did you do that?"
"Hidden talent."^
Last night, I turned out the lights at 10:30 and fell right to sleep. Then I woke up. I groaned and said,% "Jesus Christ, it feels like I've been asleep for days. It's probably only midnight."
12:01.
So I peed# and went back to sleep.
And woke up again.
And said, "2:00."
2:00.
And peed and went back to sleep.
And woke up.
"4:35"
4:37.
Of course, at six-ish it all broke down as I calculated how many minutes I was going to doze, blinked and woke up with a hearty, "How the HELL was that a half-hour?"
We're still working out the kinks.
Which is a long way around telling you how tired and unmotivated I am today, though I know exactly how many hours before I can go home.
Six hours, thirty-eight minutes and counting...
Happy Monday!
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Full details not yet determined
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Due to hangover conditions, Felice didn't start cooking until 11:00, so we didn't eat breakfast until noon. I'm not complaining. Breakfast at noon means you can have beer with your breakfast. Miss Manners says so.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): And a couple of beers.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Oh, yes I do. I am never less white than when "Get By" comes on. Even if it's at The Gap.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): Do you suppose this could count as a miracle toward my inevitable sainthood?
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Out loud. Cat for Scale left the room. I was apparently keeping him awake.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): As has been widely advertised, I have to pee every single time I wake up, no matter how dehydrated I may be, no matter how many times I've already peed, no matter when the last time was I peed. I guess it's another superpower.
Friday, June 13, 2008
Reduce Reuse Recycle Redundant
TTHFCIF
Remember the birds?
Remember how funny I thought I was when I said, "Oh... that's why my brother doesn't have any hair"?
Remember how I sent it out to everybody I knew and everybody my brother knew and a bunch of spam addresses that were in my spam filter and some addresses I made up just because I thought I was *that* funny?
Denizens of the comments may have read about my aunt's reply:
"Yes! And why you're so fluffy and...eager! And your mom has spread her wings!"
I said it out loud, then I sent it to Brother:
"Oh, for fuck's sake..."
He replied:
"I swear jokes just die at the Boulder city limits."
Brother and I were on the phone last night cementing nephew-sitting plans for the weekend and I asked if he'd received Aunt Judy's bewildering left turn.
"Yeah, I sent you a reply... something about how jokes just die at the Boulder city limits."
"Wow. You're right. They hit that Deepak Chopra filter at the border and they just break down into their most spiritual and transcendental parts.
*pause*
"And then they're re-assembled as self help books on the other side."
We chuckled, then I said, "I really hope I remember that little chain of events."
"Oh, I do too."
"It'd make a really funny blogpost for those who know Boulder."
Ta-daaa!
Remember the birds?
Remember how funny I thought I was when I said, "Oh... that's why my brother doesn't have any hair"?
Remember how I sent it out to everybody I knew and everybody my brother knew and a bunch of spam addresses that were in my spam filter and some addresses I made up just because I thought I was *that* funny?
Denizens of the comments may have read about my aunt's reply:
"Yes! And why you're so fluffy and...eager! And your mom has spread her wings!"
I said it out loud, then I sent it to Brother:
"Oh, for fuck's sake..."
He replied:
"I swear jokes just die at the Boulder city limits."
Brother and I were on the phone last night cementing nephew-sitting plans for the weekend and I asked if he'd received Aunt Judy's bewildering left turn.
"Yeah, I sent you a reply... something about how jokes just die at the Boulder city limits."
"Wow. You're right. They hit that Deepak Chopra filter at the border and they just break down into their most spiritual and transcendental parts.
*pause*
"And then they're re-assembled as self help books on the other side."
We chuckled, then I said, "I really hope I remember that little chain of events."
"Oh, I do too."
"It'd make a really funny blogpost for those who know Boulder."
Ta-daaa!
Thursday, June 12, 2008
In Which I Bitch
...about flowers.
This may be the most pointless in a long tradition of pointless blog posts. You know me. Is that going to stop me?
[SUMMARY: Pointless, ho!†]
I have an irk.
Let me give you a little tour of my alley.‡
Here I stand, facing my garage, and I look to the right:
Look at those lovely, climbing roses! They're lush and thick! They aspire to the sky and someday soon will be climbing right onto the decks above them!
Now I turn to the left:
Look at all the lush, deep, dark clematis! Look at how they foam and unfurl and race the roses to the heights!
Only... some of you will notice a spindly, scrawny little clematis on the far right edge of that picture.
That's my clematis.
Here is my next-door neighbour's clematis§...
... and here is my clematis.
My clematis has a name like Percy and gets beat up after school a lot.
My clematis belts its too-big shorts in so tight at the waist to keep them up that it looks like a sandbag with legs.
My clematis is picked last for dodgeball.
My clematis whines about its wheat allergies and lactose intolerance and huffs, fumblingly, off an inhaler five or six times a day.
Unlike many of the gawky adolescents I'm thinking of as I'm laying attributes on my clematis, my clematis will never grow up to be Bill Gates. My clematis seems to be doomed to life as a video store clerk.¶
[SUMMARY: My clematis is a hopeless geek.]
The plants are maintained by the HOA, and my Chihuahua-foisting neighbours hardly seem the happy homemaker types to take care of their own clematis, so it's not my own damned fault everybody else's look better than mine.
Really, if I knew how to make it better, I'd even put my own time into my clematis. You know... the Charles Atlas 98-lb-weakling program for plants.
My clematis would never have sand kicked in its face again if only I knew how to help.
[SUMMARY: Now this is the part where the rap breaks down...]
I do love the blooms on my clematis.#
They're so purple, even my purplephobic camera can give you an feel for the purple.
And those reddish spots?
Those aren't splotches or discolouration, they're iridescence.
[SUMMARY: Really. Love. the Blooms.]
I did snap another tiny spider photo recently.
I'm sharing. Hey, if I gotta twitch and squirm and chase imaginary bugs all day, I'm gonna take you along with me.
I'll let you go if you can figure out how to fix my clematis.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): I really mean that more in the tradition of "land, ho!" rather than, "Oh, Marin, you pointless ho," but you may draw your own conclusions.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Don't get too excited.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Who are terrible, unworthy people who let their shivering, sniveling little Chihuahua out every morning (sometimes for an hour) to run around by himself and pee on my porch and sometimes yap to come in for ten or fifteen minutes at a time.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): And not Blockbuster. My clematis will never wear anything as cool as a blue golf shirt with a company logo on it.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): All six of them.
This may be the most pointless in a long tradition of pointless blog posts. You know me. Is that going to stop me?
[SUMMARY: Pointless, ho!†]
I have an irk.
Let me give you a little tour of my alley.‡
Here I stand, facing my garage, and I look to the right:
Look at those lovely, climbing roses! They're lush and thick! They aspire to the sky and someday soon will be climbing right onto the decks above them!
Now I turn to the left:
Look at all the lush, deep, dark clematis! Look at how they foam and unfurl and race the roses to the heights!
Only... some of you will notice a spindly, scrawny little clematis on the far right edge of that picture.
That's my clematis.
Here is my next-door neighbour's clematis§...
... and here is my clematis.
My clematis has a name like Percy and gets beat up after school a lot.
My clematis belts its too-big shorts in so tight at the waist to keep them up that it looks like a sandbag with legs.
My clematis is picked last for dodgeball.
My clematis whines about its wheat allergies and lactose intolerance and huffs, fumblingly, off an inhaler five or six times a day.
Unlike many of the gawky adolescents I'm thinking of as I'm laying attributes on my clematis, my clematis will never grow up to be Bill Gates. My clematis seems to be doomed to life as a video store clerk.¶
[SUMMARY: My clematis is a hopeless geek.]
The plants are maintained by the HOA, and my Chihuahua-foisting neighbours hardly seem the happy homemaker types to take care of their own clematis, so it's not my own damned fault everybody else's look better than mine.
Really, if I knew how to make it better, I'd even put my own time into my clematis. You know... the Charles Atlas 98-lb-weakling program for plants.
My clematis would never have sand kicked in its face again if only I knew how to help.
[SUMMARY: Now this is the part where the rap breaks down...]
I do love the blooms on my clematis.#
They're so purple, even my purplephobic camera can give you an feel for the purple.
And those reddish spots?
Those aren't splotches or discolouration, they're iridescence.
[SUMMARY: Really. Love. the Blooms.]
I did snap another tiny spider photo recently.
I'm sharing. Hey, if I gotta twitch and squirm and chase imaginary bugs all day, I'm gonna take you along with me.
I'll let you go if you can figure out how to fix my clematis.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): I really mean that more in the tradition of "land, ho!" rather than, "Oh, Marin, you pointless ho," but you may draw your own conclusions.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Don't get too excited.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Who are terrible, unworthy people who let their shivering, sniveling little Chihuahua out every morning (sometimes for an hour) to run around by himself and pee on my porch and sometimes yap to come in for ten or fifteen minutes at a time.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): And not Blockbuster. My clematis will never wear anything as cool as a blue golf shirt with a company logo on it.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): All six of them.
Secret Pal 12 Question 1
My favourite summer drink? Honestly? As much of a lush as we are here at Chez Barfly, I love iced mango Ceylon tea above almost all other summer beverages.
But the Coral Room does this pomegranate grapefruit lemonade with Parma liqueur, grapefruit vodka, lemonade and a splash of soda that's definitely slurpable.
But the Coral Room does this pomegranate grapefruit lemonade with Parma liqueur, grapefruit vodka, lemonade and a splash of soda that's definitely slurpable.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Redundant Redundant Redundant†
How to Tell if You're Mom's Favourite
I maintain this is why Brother has no hair.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Redundant because I think I've emailed it to everyone who knows my brother. You may have received it. Hell, your sister may have received it. Random strangers whose emails I made up on the spot may have received it.
I think I'm *that* funny.
This is also ironically funny because my mother's crazy sister very seriously insists that Brother was always Mom's favourite because she (my mom, not the crazy sister. That would be too weird, even for this family) was in labour with me for 36 hours.
I maintain this is why Brother has no hair.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Redundant because I think I've emailed it to everyone who knows my brother. You may have received it. Hell, your sister may have received it. Random strangers whose emails I made up on the spot may have received it.
I think I'm *that* funny.
This is also ironically funny because my mother's crazy sister very seriously insists that Brother was always Mom's favourite because she (my mom, not the crazy sister. That would be too weird, even for this family) was in labour with me for 36 hours.
I'll Have a Blue Christmas
Or Flag Day.
Or birthday.
Or 4th of July.
The blue rolls on.
[SUMMARY: Airless rut or unprecedented level of consistency? You decide.]
First, I've more or less made peace with the awful raffia silk. It's still splitty as a cheerleader, but I've had some practice and it's knitting pretty smoothly. It weighs about as much as an apple pip, but I have faith it will be a lovely accessory† when it's all done and blocked.
Have I mentioned lately how much I love lace? Something like this‡ is just interesting enough to be... interesting,§ but easy enough for TiVi.
Under the auspices of full disclosure, I should note that roughly three seconds after I snapped this shot, the ball of yarn bounded off its perch and bounced on the deck, rolling under the railing and into the rain gutter.
Could've been worse; could've fallen to the alley.
[SUMMARY: Optimist dork.]
Also? I'm working that second ball now.
[SUMMARY: And still twelve.]
I cast on Sunday night¶ -- yet another blue-ish thing -- for Sebring, by Dolce Handknits.#
The Drunken Knitters decided to KAL this... oh, probably two months ago. While I'm lagging, I know Bag Lady Kathryn was two rows in and ready to frog and Genius Sarah didn't like the gauge and was going to frog, so I may not be the wet blanket on the project it appeared I was going to be.
For the record, since this photo was taken, I have knit another six rounds.††
Also for the record, the pattern calls for 6.75 stitches/inch‡‡ and this gives me 6/in, so I went down to a small, which makes me inordinately happy, artificial though it may be.
Also for the record, that's Knit Picks Shine Sport, which I'm kinda loving, and that kinda scares me. It's cotton/modal. I have been pretty vocal about my dislike of plant fibres, but this one doesn't seem to be hurting my hands the way I'd anticipated.
[SUMMARY: Bonus!]
Also for the record?% I already made a mistake on the lace panel on one side, but I figure nobody will notice, so I ain't frogging.
You see why I had to put that after the "bonus!" gloat.
Next!
Following my usual MO,§§ I fondled this at Sylvia's House of Fuzzy Crack for about three months before settling on a pattern to justify its purchase:
Just in case you can't see the ongoing blue theme...
Another plant fibre, by the way, but a very interesting texture. Oddly silky for as bumpy as it looks. I'm just dying to see how it knits up.
I suspect the lace motif on the bottom of the tank will be mostly lost in the pebbly bits.
I suspect I don't care.
[SUMMARY: All about the journey.]
Some of you may recognise this as yarn the Harlot recently touted.
Thus, I assume some of you may be terribly jealous and impressed¶¶ at my next blue acquisition.
When I told Sylvia I was having surgery, she decided to give me an extra-special get well gift##:
What do Fiona Ellis,††† the Yarn Harlot and your dear ol' AntiM have in common?
Fiona Ellis has a skein.
The Yarn Harlot has a skein.
I have a skein.
You don't have any.
[SUMMARY: Nya-nya-n-nya-nahhhh.]
Y'all know how much I love exclusive, one-of-a-kind, limited edition, get-it-while-it's-hot stuff. More important, Sylvia knows how much I love exclusive, one-of-a-kind, limited edition, get-it-while-it's-hot stuff.
[SUMMARY: Usual MO.]
And I'm not counting this as fuss. Besides, if fuss comes in the form of silky wool, I may see if I can have open heart surgery next month.
SUMMARY: Still a knitblog!
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Cute Christopher, late of Patrick Carroll's (I'm sure we'll get to that story when he opens his new bar in July), dropped by last night and saw me knitting the fluffly little thing. "That's a for-looks scarf, isn't it? I'm from Minnesota. Scarves like that don't make much sense to me."
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): k1, yo *k3, k2tog, yo* k2tog... purl on the other side... all with a three-stitch knit selvedge
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Wow. Too many lolcats: "Interesting cat is interesting."
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): You may ask yourself, "How many blue projects does one knitter need?" You may ask yourself, "Where is my beautiful red?" You may ask yourself, "How did I get to this place?"
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Yeah, we love her touseled, provocative pose and snarly face too. There may be a mass snarly-touseled-provocative picture once we all finish our tanks.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): At 240 stitches per round, I want full credit.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): ?!?
%FOOTNOTE (percented): I have quite a record with this tank already.
§§FOOTNOTE (yo, k1, yo): Or is that redundant?
¶¶FOOTNOTE (I spy -- hey, they look like periscopes to me): Please?
##FOOTNOTE (all those extra pounds...): She also called me a brat for not telling her exactly when I was having surgery, but I can be pretty laid back about the name-calling in the presence of silk and wool. 'Specially blue silk and wool. She let me pick my own colour. I picked blue. Did I mention the blue phase?
†††FOOTNOTE (Arlington): Who did a sweater workshop at Syl's last weekend. Syl treats her celeb guests right. Y'know... like the Yarn Harlot, Fiona Ellis and me.
Or birthday.
Or 4th of July.
The blue rolls on.
[SUMMARY: Airless rut or unprecedented level of consistency? You decide.]
First, I've more or less made peace with the awful raffia silk. It's still splitty as a cheerleader, but I've had some practice and it's knitting pretty smoothly. It weighs about as much as an apple pip, but I have faith it will be a lovely accessory† when it's all done and blocked.
Have I mentioned lately how much I love lace? Something like this‡ is just interesting enough to be... interesting,§ but easy enough for TiVi.
Under the auspices of full disclosure, I should note that roughly three seconds after I snapped this shot, the ball of yarn bounded off its perch and bounced on the deck, rolling under the railing and into the rain gutter.
Could've been worse; could've fallen to the alley.
[SUMMARY: Optimist dork.]
Also? I'm working that second ball now.
[SUMMARY: And still twelve.]
I cast on Sunday night¶ -- yet another blue-ish thing -- for Sebring, by Dolce Handknits.#
The Drunken Knitters decided to KAL this... oh, probably two months ago. While I'm lagging, I know Bag Lady Kathryn was two rows in and ready to frog and Genius Sarah didn't like the gauge and was going to frog, so I may not be the wet blanket on the project it appeared I was going to be.
For the record, since this photo was taken, I have knit another six rounds.††
Also for the record, the pattern calls for 6.75 stitches/inch‡‡ and this gives me 6/in, so I went down to a small, which makes me inordinately happy, artificial though it may be.
Also for the record, that's Knit Picks Shine Sport, which I'm kinda loving, and that kinda scares me. It's cotton/modal. I have been pretty vocal about my dislike of plant fibres, but this one doesn't seem to be hurting my hands the way I'd anticipated.
[SUMMARY: Bonus!]
Also for the record?% I already made a mistake on the lace panel on one side, but I figure nobody will notice, so I ain't frogging.
You see why I had to put that after the "bonus!" gloat.
Next!
Following my usual MO,§§ I fondled this at Sylvia's House of Fuzzy Crack for about three months before settling on a pattern to justify its purchase:
Just in case you can't see the ongoing blue theme...
Another plant fibre, by the way, but a very interesting texture. Oddly silky for as bumpy as it looks. I'm just dying to see how it knits up.
I suspect the lace motif on the bottom of the tank will be mostly lost in the pebbly bits.
I suspect I don't care.
[SUMMARY: All about the journey.]
Some of you may recognise this as yarn the Harlot recently touted.
Thus, I assume some of you may be terribly jealous and impressed¶¶ at my next blue acquisition.
When I told Sylvia I was having surgery, she decided to give me an extra-special get well gift##:
What do Fiona Ellis,††† the Yarn Harlot and your dear ol' AntiM have in common?
Fiona Ellis has a skein.
The Yarn Harlot has a skein.
I have a skein.
You don't have any.
[SUMMARY: Nya-nya-n-nya-nahhhh.]
Y'all know how much I love exclusive, one-of-a-kind, limited edition, get-it-while-it's-hot stuff. More important, Sylvia knows how much I love exclusive, one-of-a-kind, limited edition, get-it-while-it's-hot stuff.
[SUMMARY: Usual MO.]
And I'm not counting this as fuss. Besides, if fuss comes in the form of silky wool, I may see if I can have open heart surgery next month.
SUMMARY: Still a knitblog!
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Cute Christopher, late of Patrick Carroll's (I'm sure we'll get to that story when he opens his new bar in July), dropped by last night and saw me knitting the fluffly little thing. "That's a for-looks scarf, isn't it? I'm from Minnesota. Scarves like that don't make much sense to me."
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): k1, yo *k3, k2tog, yo* k2tog... purl on the other side... all with a three-stitch knit selvedge
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Wow. Too many lolcats: "Interesting cat is interesting."
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): You may ask yourself, "How many blue projects does one knitter need?" You may ask yourself, "Where is my beautiful red?" You may ask yourself, "How did I get to this place?"
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Yeah, we love her touseled, provocative pose and snarly face too. There may be a mass snarly-touseled-provocative picture once we all finish our tanks.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): At 240 stitches per round, I want full credit.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): ?!?
%FOOTNOTE (percented): I have quite a record with this tank already.
§§FOOTNOTE (yo, k1, yo): Or is that redundant?
¶¶FOOTNOTE (I spy -- hey, they look like periscopes to me): Please?
##FOOTNOTE (all those extra pounds...): She also called me a brat for not telling her exactly when I was having surgery, but I can be pretty laid back about the name-calling in the presence of silk and wool. 'Specially blue silk and wool. She let me pick my own colour. I picked blue. Did I mention the blue phase?
†††FOOTNOTE (Arlington): Who did a sweater workshop at Syl's last weekend. Syl treats her celeb guests right. Y'know... like the Yarn Harlot, Fiona Ellis and me.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Breaking It Down
OK. I've been seriously debating on whether to go public with this post.
In fact, if you feel you want to read it, I'd get through it fast before I change my mind and take it down.
It's personal.
Wildly personal.†
Well... it's not something I'm unwilling to share,% but I very much don't want certain reactions.
I don't want pity.
I don't want fuss.
I don't want platitudes.
Any person who tells me they hope I'm feeling better or that they know what I'm going through or gives some version of the bright side or uses the term "so sorry" or talks about adoption gets banned for life.
Don't test me on this one. I'm deadly serious.
[SUMMARY: Pretty high maintenance for such a little thing.]
I didn't tell eBeth (the SIL) because I knew how she'd fuss.‡ And I knew she'd mean well and I'd have to pretend to appreciate it and I'd really want to snap and maybe cry. So I told Brother and let him pass it on with strict instructions not to fuss.
I didn't broadcast it here or on eVites received or to my co-workers§ or anywhere else. I've been loath to even mention it after the fact unless someone asks me to do heavy lifting or something else that I just can't do right now.
Like button my jeans, which I also can't do right now.¶
[SUMMARY: Holy fucking cats this is difficult.]
Last Tuesday I had a tubal ligation.
Through some uncharacteristically meaningful exchange with a new doctor, we found I have homogeneous Factor 5. Plus some other words I don't remember. It means I'm hypercoagulant and I get it from both sides of my family.
Because of this, they took my birth control pills away. Which sucked.
Because of this, as my doctor put it, "Your birth control options are really unattractive."
Because of this, I'm not to get pregnant. Between my age and my congenital blood thing, I'd be really likely to have a lung embolism and die.
I don't particularly want to die.
So I decided to get spayed.
[SUMMARY: TMI?]
Now, I'm nearly 41. Intellectually, I had come to grips with the idea that the odds of me having a baby were really, really slim. Kate Moss slim. MacBook Air slim. But slim and none are still two different maths.
Especially when I see certain people having babies well beyond their expiration dates.
The boss and his wife had their twins when they were 45.
Annie had hers at 40? 41?
Connie had my little datesake at 40-ish.
I knew I didn't want to be a 65-year-old room mother, but I also knew if the opportunity presented itself, I wouldn't turn it down.
So... breath of hope.
[SUMMARY: There are levels of delusion. I'm happy to hit them all.]
Being told flat out not to have kids was like hitting a brick wall head-first. It jarred. It hurt. It took my breath away.
I have little doubt I would have awakened childless the morning of my 50th birthday# with a twitch and a sigh and a shrug and my AARP card would arrive so at least I'd have that to look forward to.
Attrition through apathy: not heroic, but painless.
But being told "no" sets off all kinds of angst. And rebellion. I'm pretty sure the thought flitted through my head last Saturday morning that if I could get a good fuck in with The Boy, I might put myself in a position to play roulette with my poor little body.
Don't think I wouldn't have. Fraught with danger as that scenario is, I'd have done it.
Don't judge. My conscience went a hundred different paths over the last couple of weeks, but ultimately I made the "right" choice.
[SUMMARY: Right is a wholly subjective term.]
The surgery itself was pretty pleasant. All the doctors and nurses were really, really nice.††
General anaesthesia kicks ass.
I had no post-anaesthesia nausea and my enormous tolerance for pain served me well.
They gave me apple juice and animal crackers when I was awake.
I got to take my space blanket home with me.
Now?
I'm bloated as hell and feel like I have to pee all the time, only not really -- just that horrible pressure you feel when you really have to pee and every time you go over a speed bump or hit a pothole you groan from the pressure of it all.
My stomach is a most festive array of bruises. One incision in my belly button turned the area just below my belly button a confetti of yellow, purple, blue and green. The incision just above my pubic bone has turned the whole range of my belly from hip bone to hip bone the purple the USDA uses to stamp meat. Dark. Solid. Purple.
Cat for Scale is bewildered that he can't do the kitty dance on my stomach every time I sit or lie down.
I'm unusually tired and I'm sleeping all the way through the night, which is really unusual for me. Generally, I get up at least once or twice every night for just a few minutes.‡‡
But mostly I'm kinda sad.
Intellectually, I knew.
In my heart, I still wanted.
[SUMMARY: And I want my mommy in the worst way.]
Despite all the preamble here, I just decided I wanted to let you know.
Now go hug your kids and think of happy things.
And DON'T fuss.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Unlike, apparently, my sex life, which I trumpet from the roofs as it happens. But then, my sex life tends to be amusing, confusing and sporadic, so it's just kinda funny.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Woo-hoo! Way to back-pedal!
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): eBeth is not like the rest of us. She believes in fussing and niceties and near-pathological apologising. How she ended up in this viper's nest we call family, I'm not sure, but maybe some genetic tendency will soften up the gene pool.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Except on a need-to-know basis. Between you and me, it didn't really help, 'cause I told my boss a month ago and continued to remind him every time he'd say, "That first week of June is going to get hairy. We'll have people flying all over the place. How's your schedule at St. Mary's?"
"Well, I'm having surgery on Tuesday, so that may put a dent in your plans for me."
*long pause*
OR
"Probably not next week but the week after, I'll need you in Laramie's offices to go through the files..."
"I'm having surgery Tuesday."
*long pause*
OR
"Next week is going to be hell week. I may need you to go to Grand Junction to help Dan with the EnCana stuff..."
"Seriously. I'm still having surgery Tuesday. I will be completely unavailable Tuesday and maybe for much of the rest of the week. Don't schedule me for anything."
*long pause*
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I confess my jeans are buttoned today. I'm wearing an old pair of size 18 jeans and I can button those. Imagine my joy. Why did nobody tell me I'd be retaining water like the Hoover Dam?
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Probably still fertile in the strictest sense, since that's how we roll in this family. Except probably eBeth. She's different, you know.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): And lord knows what I said before I came out of the anaesthetic. Two minutes after I was conscious, the recovery nurse told me I was the easiest tubal ligation she'd ever worked with. "You're just so funny and nice... it's been a pleasure having you here." Seriously. I hadn't said two words I remembered to her.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): I wouldn't even get up, except that any time I wake up, I have to pee. If I didn't eat or drink anything for three days, I'd still have to pee every time I woke up.
In fact, if you feel you want to read it, I'd get through it fast before I change my mind and take it down.
It's personal.
Wildly personal.†
Well... it's not something I'm unwilling to share,% but I very much don't want certain reactions.
I don't want pity.
I don't want fuss.
I don't want platitudes.
Any person who tells me they hope I'm feeling better or that they know what I'm going through or gives some version of the bright side or uses the term "so sorry" or talks about adoption gets banned for life.
Don't test me on this one. I'm deadly serious.
[SUMMARY: Pretty high maintenance for such a little thing.]
I didn't tell eBeth (the SIL) because I knew how she'd fuss.‡ And I knew she'd mean well and I'd have to pretend to appreciate it and I'd really want to snap and maybe cry. So I told Brother and let him pass it on with strict instructions not to fuss.
I didn't broadcast it here or on eVites received or to my co-workers§ or anywhere else. I've been loath to even mention it after the fact unless someone asks me to do heavy lifting or something else that I just can't do right now.
Like button my jeans, which I also can't do right now.¶
[SUMMARY: Holy fucking cats this is difficult.]
Last Tuesday I had a tubal ligation.
Through some uncharacteristically meaningful exchange with a new doctor, we found I have homogeneous Factor 5. Plus some other words I don't remember. It means I'm hypercoagulant and I get it from both sides of my family.
Because of this, they took my birth control pills away. Which sucked.
Because of this, as my doctor put it, "Your birth control options are really unattractive."
Because of this, I'm not to get pregnant. Between my age and my congenital blood thing, I'd be really likely to have a lung embolism and die.
I don't particularly want to die.
So I decided to get spayed.
[SUMMARY: TMI?]
Now, I'm nearly 41. Intellectually, I had come to grips with the idea that the odds of me having a baby were really, really slim. Kate Moss slim. MacBook Air slim. But slim and none are still two different maths.
Especially when I see certain people having babies well beyond their expiration dates.
The boss and his wife had their twins when they were 45.
Annie had hers at 40? 41?
Connie had my little datesake at 40-ish.
I knew I didn't want to be a 65-year-old room mother, but I also knew if the opportunity presented itself, I wouldn't turn it down.
So... breath of hope.
[SUMMARY: There are levels of delusion. I'm happy to hit them all.]
Being told flat out not to have kids was like hitting a brick wall head-first. It jarred. It hurt. It took my breath away.
I have little doubt I would have awakened childless the morning of my 50th birthday# with a twitch and a sigh and a shrug and my AARP card would arrive so at least I'd have that to look forward to.
Attrition through apathy: not heroic, but painless.
But being told "no" sets off all kinds of angst. And rebellion. I'm pretty sure the thought flitted through my head last Saturday morning that if I could get a good fuck in with The Boy, I might put myself in a position to play roulette with my poor little body.
Don't think I wouldn't have. Fraught with danger as that scenario is, I'd have done it.
Don't judge. My conscience went a hundred different paths over the last couple of weeks, but ultimately I made the "right" choice.
[SUMMARY: Right is a wholly subjective term.]
The surgery itself was pretty pleasant. All the doctors and nurses were really, really nice.††
General anaesthesia kicks ass.
I had no post-anaesthesia nausea and my enormous tolerance for pain served me well.
They gave me apple juice and animal crackers when I was awake.
I got to take my space blanket home with me.
Now?
I'm bloated as hell and feel like I have to pee all the time, only not really -- just that horrible pressure you feel when you really have to pee and every time you go over a speed bump or hit a pothole you groan from the pressure of it all.
My stomach is a most festive array of bruises. One incision in my belly button turned the area just below my belly button a confetti of yellow, purple, blue and green. The incision just above my pubic bone has turned the whole range of my belly from hip bone to hip bone the purple the USDA uses to stamp meat. Dark. Solid. Purple.
Cat for Scale is bewildered that he can't do the kitty dance on my stomach every time I sit or lie down.
I'm unusually tired and I'm sleeping all the way through the night, which is really unusual for me. Generally, I get up at least once or twice every night for just a few minutes.‡‡
But mostly I'm kinda sad.
Intellectually, I knew.
In my heart, I still wanted.
[SUMMARY: And I want my mommy in the worst way.]
Despite all the preamble here, I just decided I wanted to let you know.
Now go hug your kids and think of happy things.
And DON'T fuss.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Unlike, apparently, my sex life, which I trumpet from the roofs as it happens. But then, my sex life tends to be amusing, confusing and sporadic, so it's just kinda funny.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Woo-hoo! Way to back-pedal!
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): eBeth is not like the rest of us. She believes in fussing and niceties and near-pathological apologising. How she ended up in this viper's nest we call family, I'm not sure, but maybe some genetic tendency will soften up the gene pool.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Except on a need-to-know basis. Between you and me, it didn't really help, 'cause I told my boss a month ago and continued to remind him every time he'd say, "That first week of June is going to get hairy. We'll have people flying all over the place. How's your schedule at St. Mary's?"
"Well, I'm having surgery on Tuesday, so that may put a dent in your plans for me."
*long pause*
OR
"Probably not next week but the week after, I'll need you in Laramie's offices to go through the files..."
"I'm having surgery Tuesday."
*long pause*
OR
"Next week is going to be hell week. I may need you to go to Grand Junction to help Dan with the EnCana stuff..."
"Seriously. I'm still having surgery Tuesday. I will be completely unavailable Tuesday and maybe for much of the rest of the week. Don't schedule me for anything."
*long pause*
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I confess my jeans are buttoned today. I'm wearing an old pair of size 18 jeans and I can button those. Imagine my joy. Why did nobody tell me I'd be retaining water like the Hoover Dam?
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Probably still fertile in the strictest sense, since that's how we roll in this family. Except probably eBeth. She's different, you know.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): And lord knows what I said before I came out of the anaesthetic. Two minutes after I was conscious, the recovery nurse told me I was the easiest tubal ligation she'd ever worked with. "You're just so funny and nice... it's been a pleasure having you here." Seriously. I hadn't said two words I remembered to her.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): I wouldn't even get up, except that any time I wake up, I have to pee. If I didn't eat or drink anything for three days, I'd still have to pee every time I woke up.
Friday, June 6, 2008
Posting News Links...
...is a little like getting a tattoo of a butterfly on your stomach.
There's a really good chance that in a few years, nobody will be able to recognise it for what it once was.
That's pretty deep for a Friday.
There's a really good chance that in a few years, nobody will be able to recognise it for what it once was.
That's pretty deep for a Friday.
Hell Is for Poodles
TTHFCIF
And when you get there, check out the slideshow.
Makes that Boulder woman with the pink poodle look downright sane.
And when you get there, check out the slideshow.
Makes that Boulder woman with the pink poodle look downright sane.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Quote of the Day
And why should I know better by now
When I'm old enough not to?
--Beth Orton
Stolen Car
When I'm old enough not to?
--Beth Orton
Stolen Car
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
A Pig of My Own
This was my desk:
See that yellow spongy thing next to my mouse?† That's a sample of Tempur-Pedic™ foam I got specifically to cushion my poor, abused wrist on long mousing days.‡
Then my life changed forever.
Kim, lover of Hugh Laurie, hip mom, charter member of the AntiM Imaginary Friends Community and one of the twelvest twelve-year-olds I know, sent me this§:
With a note with the secret twelvehood password:
The instructions are kinda funny, but I really love that a glow-in-the-dark pig with 45 hearts is suitable for professionals.
Awwwww... wookat da piggie...¶
So now my desk has changed. My world is brighter,# my outlook is better...
...and on slow days I can spend a lot of time doing this%:
A big, happy thank you to Kim, who had to wait while I proved my parents never taught me any manners at all†† by not letting her know I'd received the piggie and put him‡‡ to good use. So also a big apology to Kim. It is one of the coolest things I own§§ and I love it and thank you thank you thank you!
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): And, in the name of knitblog, notice the Knit Picks catalog peeking out from my legal pad.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): I thought it was a very clever solution, and when the Tempu-Pedic™ people send me sales mail, I just throw them away.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Marvel at the perfection. It's a pig. It cushions my wrist. It GLOWS IN THE DARK. And it has 45 hearts. I counted. Also note: it's part of a series. How bad do you want to see the rest of that series?
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Did you notice how photogenic the piggie is?
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): It has to be... it glows in the dark!
%FOOTNOTE (percented): *ahem* I believe this makes two movies of Marin's hands manipulating novelty pigs. 1) It's probably already a world record, 2) if The Boy isn't careful, his name may change to Novelty Pig and 3) doesn't "manipulating the pig" sound naughty?
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): The discourtesy against Kim only compounded by the fact that I only check my mail about once a week.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Yes, him. Despite the 45 pink hearts. Pigs and spiders tend to be "hims."
§§FOOTNOTE (and then I got all turned around and...): And I have a big HD TiVi and a cat.
Monday, June 2, 2008
Sex in the City!
And I didn't even see the movie this weekend.
Kelley's birthday† was the 30th, so we inhabited the Coral Room Friday night. Guess who came?‡
The Boy, of course.
And that Hot Tamale Jason.
And The Waiter.
And one of the married men from Dave's birthday who brought me to the term "flirtopause."
So I had stuff to do.§
[SUMMARY: I need my stuff to spread out more. Stop laughing.]
Let's see... long story short¶:
I was travelling light, just my skully wristlet with my keys, cards and cash. Kelley got very worried about my stuff just being out there, so she put it in her purse for safekeeping.%
Jason, The Boy and Kelley met when they worked at KMart, like, 15 years ago. Friday night, The Boy called Joel, also a former co-worker# and Joel actually showed up.††
Now, Jason had just wandered outside to sit by himself and I was going to casually wander to him‡‡ when The Waiter caught me and wanted to talk about how we never see each other anymore. And then Mr. Flirtopause wanted to chat. Then Jason came in to get another beer and I latched onto him with a coy little, "Hey, I was just going to come out and see if you wanted company."
"You can come out and keep me company."
"You looked kinda solitary sitting out there."
"I can be pretty solitary."
[light bulb]
"If you want to just be solitary, I'll let you be solitary."
"Relax. Come sit."
I started to sit opposite him at the table and he said, "No, not so far. Come sit next to me."
We sat for all of two minutes when Joel bounced outside to visit the old days with Jason. After a few minutes, everybody else followed. Because all I could do was sit there and nod and pretend to be amused when someone tossed out the seventh version of, "Remember that time Big Brandon caught that chick in the garden department...?"§§
So I went in and talked to The Waiter. And Mr. Flirtopause. And looked up just in time to see Kelley roaring out of the parking lot with Ed¶¶ in her car.
"She's coming back, right? She just went to take Ed home?"
"I don't think so. She didn't say anything. She just left."
"SHE HAS MY KEYS!"
[SUMMARY: I missed the boat on "long story short" about 200 words ago.]
So The Boy's sister## offered to take me to Kelley's place††† to wait for my keys, after which she'd bring me back to my car. But we beat Kelley home. And she didn't show up and didn't show up and then Joel showed up with a couple of his friends and we took the party indoors for noise control only they went out for a smoke and Kelley's car was there and The Boy pounded on her front door and I pounded on her back door‡‡‡ but she didn't answer and meanwhile The Boy's sister was calling her and she didn't answer and Joel and his friends were getting stoned and drunker and I was getting tired and The Boy said, "You can just crash here and get your keys in the morning" and was that enough foreshadowing for you? and The Boy's sister whispered something to him and he said, "No, Marin's all about Jason," and then he looked at me and said, "You're all about Jason," and I couldn't disagree and I called the Coral Room to promise I would come in and pay my tab as soon as I had money again and at 2:30 I couldn't stay up any more so I crashed in The Boy's bed and told him I'd go to the couch when he came to bed only when he came to bed at 4:00 Joel was passed out on the couch so I couldn't go sleep on the couch.
[SUMMARY: How old are we?]
Now I'm going to slow down, 'cause this is the good part.
He climbed in bed an just laid§§§ down for awhile, then spooned up on me and put an arm around me.
"How come we don't do this more often?"
I flipped. Literally. All the way over and looked him straight in the eye and said, "WHAT?!?"
"How come we don't do this more often?"
"Seriously?"
"Yeah."
"No... seriously? After you broke up with me? OK, OK... the answer to your question: we don't do this more often because you don't want to."
And then there was a little fooling around. And then there was more spooning.
[SUMMARY: I'm only campaigning for saint... I'm not there yet.]
And then we picked the conversation up where we left off:
"But I like this. You next to me feels good. We should do this more often."
"We'll talk about it later. Get some sleep."
And Kelley brought my keys and stuff around 8:00 and took me to my car and I spent Saturday with my favourite cousin.
Then Sunday I broke up with the poor little date¶¶¶ and celebrated Brother's and Father's birthdays### The Boy is going to see Rush at Red Rocks with me Thursday and you can just call me Carrie Bradshaw.
[SUMMARY: Not the body or the cachet, but the Big and Aidan and Burger and all.]
With less fabulous shoes.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): 40th
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Not like that. Well, yes like that, but later. Guess who showed up at the Coral Room?
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): I can hear you giggling out there...
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): -er. Shorter.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Ooooh... how clumsy is my foreshadowing?
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): And a guy with no filters, no tact and no social grace at all.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Much to everyone's surprise.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Smooth as cactus.
§§FOOTNOTE (circular logic): Followed by peals of laughter and objectless sentence fragments:
"With the..."
"And then she..."
"And the SEAHORSE!!!"
*wild laughter*
¶¶FOOTNOTE (double-fisting those long necks): Ed was h a m m e r e d.
##FOOTNOTE (pounded like a two-door apartment): I finally met the sister. I know that sounds weird when I'm talking about a guy I've technically been separated from (if you can call the passive termination of a two month thing "separated") for two years... but it seems to be a point of curiosity for a lot of people who know us that I never met his sister.
†††FOOTNOTE (my cross to bear... or have I already done that one?): Also The Boy's place and Ed's place. Wait... was that more bumbling foreshadowing?
‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (sidetracked): Quit it. We stopped being dirty two paragraphs ago. Besides, now you're talking three-way and I'm just not sure I'm cut out for that.
§§§FOOTNOTE (too confusing for words. Let me do this interpretive dance...): What a great choice of words. But, really... lay is transitive, but what's the past tense of lie? The dictionary shows lay, lain, lying... grammar is not my friend this morning.
¶¶¶FOOTNOTE (like clubbing baby seals): 1) The hook-up and the break-up had nothing to do with each other; I was going to cut the poor little date free Sunday before I ever saw The Boy this weekend, and 2) this was the first time I've *ever* broken up with someone that didn't involve a fight. Oh, guys have broken up with me before, but I've never been the one to call that shot. It was weird and uncomfortable and I'd rather not do it again if I can help it.
###FOOTNOTE (oh, the pounding we're taking here in the footnotes today): Flip-flops with bottle openers in the bottom may be the coolest invention *ever*.
Kelley's birthday† was the 30th, so we inhabited the Coral Room Friday night. Guess who came?‡
The Boy, of course.
And that Hot Tamale Jason.
And The Waiter.
And one of the married men from Dave's birthday who brought me to the term "flirtopause."
So I had stuff to do.§
[SUMMARY: I need my stuff to spread out more. Stop laughing.]
Let's see... long story short¶:
I was travelling light, just my skully wristlet with my keys, cards and cash. Kelley got very worried about my stuff just being out there, so she put it in her purse for safekeeping.%
Jason, The Boy and Kelley met when they worked at KMart, like, 15 years ago. Friday night, The Boy called Joel, also a former co-worker# and Joel actually showed up.††
Now, Jason had just wandered outside to sit by himself and I was going to casually wander to him‡‡ when The Waiter caught me and wanted to talk about how we never see each other anymore. And then Mr. Flirtopause wanted to chat. Then Jason came in to get another beer and I latched onto him with a coy little, "Hey, I was just going to come out and see if you wanted company."
"You can come out and keep me company."
"You looked kinda solitary sitting out there."
"I can be pretty solitary."
[light bulb]
"If you want to just be solitary, I'll let you be solitary."
"Relax. Come sit."
I started to sit opposite him at the table and he said, "No, not so far. Come sit next to me."
We sat for all of two minutes when Joel bounced outside to visit the old days with Jason. After a few minutes, everybody else followed. Because all I could do was sit there and nod and pretend to be amused when someone tossed out the seventh version of, "Remember that time Big Brandon caught that chick in the garden department...?"§§
So I went in and talked to The Waiter. And Mr. Flirtopause. And looked up just in time to see Kelley roaring out of the parking lot with Ed¶¶ in her car.
"She's coming back, right? She just went to take Ed home?"
"I don't think so. She didn't say anything. She just left."
"SHE HAS MY KEYS!"
[SUMMARY: I missed the boat on "long story short" about 200 words ago.]
So The Boy's sister## offered to take me to Kelley's place††† to wait for my keys, after which she'd bring me back to my car. But we beat Kelley home. And she didn't show up and didn't show up and then Joel showed up with a couple of his friends and we took the party indoors for noise control only they went out for a smoke and Kelley's car was there and The Boy pounded on her front door and I pounded on her back door‡‡‡ but she didn't answer and meanwhile The Boy's sister was calling her and she didn't answer and Joel and his friends were getting stoned and drunker and I was getting tired and The Boy said, "You can just crash here and get your keys in the morning" and was that enough foreshadowing for you? and The Boy's sister whispered something to him and he said, "No, Marin's all about Jason," and then he looked at me and said, "You're all about Jason," and I couldn't disagree and I called the Coral Room to promise I would come in and pay my tab as soon as I had money again and at 2:30 I couldn't stay up any more so I crashed in The Boy's bed and told him I'd go to the couch when he came to bed only when he came to bed at 4:00 Joel was passed out on the couch so I couldn't go sleep on the couch.
[SUMMARY: How old are we?]
Now I'm going to slow down, 'cause this is the good part.
He climbed in bed an just laid§§§ down for awhile, then spooned up on me and put an arm around me.
"How come we don't do this more often?"
I flipped. Literally. All the way over and looked him straight in the eye and said, "WHAT?!?"
"How come we don't do this more often?"
"Seriously?"
"Yeah."
"No... seriously? After you broke up with me? OK, OK... the answer to your question: we don't do this more often because you don't want to."
And then there was a little fooling around. And then there was more spooning.
[SUMMARY: I'm only campaigning for saint... I'm not there yet.]
And then we picked the conversation up where we left off:
"But I like this. You next to me feels good. We should do this more often."
"We'll talk about it later. Get some sleep."
And Kelley brought my keys and stuff around 8:00 and took me to my car and I spent Saturday with my favourite cousin.
Then Sunday I broke up with the poor little date¶¶¶ and celebrated Brother's and Father's birthdays### The Boy is going to see Rush at Red Rocks with me Thursday and you can just call me Carrie Bradshaw.
[SUMMARY: Not the body or the cachet, but the Big and Aidan and Burger and all.]
With less fabulous shoes.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): 40th
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Not like that. Well, yes like that, but later. Guess who showed up at the Coral Room?
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): I can hear you giggling out there...
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): -er. Shorter.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Ooooh... how clumsy is my foreshadowing?
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): And a guy with no filters, no tact and no social grace at all.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Much to everyone's surprise.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Smooth as cactus.
§§FOOTNOTE (circular logic): Followed by peals of laughter and objectless sentence fragments:
"With the..."
"And then she..."
"And the SEAHORSE!!!"
*wild laughter*
¶¶FOOTNOTE (double-fisting those long necks): Ed was h a m m e r e d.
##FOOTNOTE (pounded like a two-door apartment): I finally met the sister. I know that sounds weird when I'm talking about a guy I've technically been separated from (if you can call the passive termination of a two month thing "separated") for two years... but it seems to be a point of curiosity for a lot of people who know us that I never met his sister.
†††FOOTNOTE (my cross to bear... or have I already done that one?): Also The Boy's place and Ed's place. Wait... was that more bumbling foreshadowing?
‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (sidetracked): Quit it. We stopped being dirty two paragraphs ago. Besides, now you're talking three-way and I'm just not sure I'm cut out for that.
§§§FOOTNOTE (too confusing for words. Let me do this interpretive dance...): What a great choice of words. But, really... lay is transitive, but what's the past tense of lie? The dictionary shows lay, lain, lying... grammar is not my friend this morning.
¶¶¶FOOTNOTE (like clubbing baby seals): 1) The hook-up and the break-up had nothing to do with each other; I was going to cut the poor little date free Sunday before I ever saw The Boy this weekend, and 2) this was the first time I've *ever* broken up with someone that didn't involve a fight. Oh, guys have broken up with me before, but I've never been the one to call that shot. It was weird and uncomfortable and I'd rather not do it again if I can help it.
###FOOTNOTE (oh, the pounding we're taking here in the footnotes today): Flip-flops with bottle openers in the bottom may be the coolest invention *ever*.
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