Giant Loping Steps of Joy†

Last weekend's foray to the Mile High Music Festival was educational in so many ways.

For instance, after discussing the merits of music festivals, I claimed to have never been to one, though that's patently untrue. But the music festivals I attended were very different from this one. I'm sure people who arrange music festivals or play music festivals or attend many music festivals have names for different formats.

Mostly I just call the other ones "not music festivals."

Like Lilith Fair. I went in 1999 at Fiddler's Green. The national acts were on the one big stage in the amphitheatre while the local bands were outside the venue on small stages in the grassy areas to the north.

Inside, there were just the musicians onstage and the people in seats or in the GA grass. Outside, there were vendors of all kinds interspersed with the tiny little bands on the tiny little stages.

The KTCL Big Gig a couple of years ago was much the same way. It was at Coors Amphitheatre‡ with a clear delineation between what was centre stage and what was simply booth-worthy.

Brother tells me Monolith Festival is much like Mile High, though there are four stages at Monolith vs. five at Mile High, and that§ allows scheduling such that you can see half of every band by judicious stage-hopping.^

Due to a certain dumbassedness, MHMF is arranged such that you can miss almost all of three bands two or three times a day with ease.

At least there were plenty of ATMs.




I'll give them points for the spiffy water feature. I didn't take advantage, but it looked festive and it gave many hippies the chance to act out some of their Woodstock fantasies.¶




It should probably be noted that I generally loathe stoner music -- jam bands, reggae, Pink Floyd.# All my snippy little comments should probably be filtered through that revelation as you make your way through my version of this festival.††

Fortunately, Brother isn't any more echanted by the music of the baked than I, so we made a pretty good music-going duo for purposes of festival scheduling.

Band of Heathens was playing the Main Stage East when we got there. We quickly determined we didn't need to stick around and listen.




We wandered through the vast plains of the soccer fields+ to get the lay of the land. In the middle were the food vendors and the Mile High Music Festival arch.




It was nearly 1:00. There weren't a lot of people yet, and the temperature was climbing.

I felt kinda sorry for the Tool fans who had to wear their Tool uniforms all day waiting for Tool to take the stage at 8:45.




It's a lot of black, a lot of hair and a for-crying-out-loud HAT for ninety degree heat.

A quick tour of the various stages confirmed we didn't need to see Matt Nathanson‡‡ or Rocco Deluca, so we ducked in to the Westword tent to check out The Duke Spirit.

Musically speaking, this was the high point of the day for me.

We had alread heard knock-offs of Led Zepplin, Cream and Lynyrd Skynyrd and Brother informed me Duke Spirit was Bowie-influenced. As there's nothing new in the world, I figured at least Bowie was more my style.

Pleasantly, delightedly surprised.




Liela Moss, the lead singer, sounded a bit Björkish and I asked Brother if they were Icelandic. Turns out they're British. They were energetic and glam with a 90s alternative sensibility around the edges. I got more T-Rex from them than Bowie -- and that's not bad at all.

We stayed for the whole Duke Spirit set, then toddled in the direction of Gomez.

On the way, we had to stop and muse that we were not allowed to bring in a Frisbee, but apparently the hippies could bring in hula hoops.§§




My dork brother stopped to take a very important phone call along the way, giving me a chance to snap a pic of his inimitable self.¶¶




Perhaps it should have been a sign that the phish## phlag was phlying at the Gomez show.






I took pictures of the bird-shaped cloud and tried to pretend it didn't irk me to no end that a couple of chicks were taking up space suitable for eight or ten people doing their exotic hula hoop dances.




After a mercifully short††† couple of songs, it was nearly time for Ani DiFranco, one of the two acts I was really excited about.‡‡‡




No, really, that's Ani.

She was energetic and very Ani DiFranco, beating the crap out of her guitar and singing of tampons and egos and generally emitting rolling waves of ironic good cheer.

Our next stop, we decided, was for lunch. Dinner. Lupper. Whatever.

The food was pretty good and not exorbitantly expensive. Gyros, Mad Greens, buffalo brats, pizza, Steuben's, Mexican food, funnel cakes... all well and thoroughly represented.

One of the FAQs was, "Will there be vegan and vegetarian food?"§§§

Yes. Yes, there will.




It was about 4:00 by this time and bloody hot.

Most of the soccer fields at Dick's Sporting Goods Park are made from shredded, recycled tires. Walking across, I could see how its bouncy-yet-firm surface would be marvelous if one were actually playing soccer. The heat, however, was wafting around my ankles -- it felt like I was wading in ten inches of hot water.

My feet were burning from the bottoms up.

We looked for a shady place to sit, but there were few available.§§§

One of the complaints from the first year of the MHMF was that there wasn't enough shade, so several radio stations and the local alternative paper put up tents here and there to give respite from the heat.

They didn't put quite enough up.

People were gathered in any scrap of shade they could find. Knots of bodies were clustered in the shadows cast by cell towers and stadium lights.






We found a place on the far west end, right against the fence, and ate our Lupper. The sweet little Goths sitting one square of shade over offered hash. They left and were replaced by a couple of uniformed Tool fans, who also offered hash.

We wandered over to see Lyrics Born, which was pretty good, but hot.




The fashions around Lyrics Born were some of my favourites.

I wondered how this chick stayed on her feet on her wooden shoes all day.




And whether this was ironic glitter or if these shiny, sparkly girls were serious.




When Lyrics Born closed out, we wandered all the way back to the other side of Dick's to see if Paolo Nutini was to our liking.

The answer was a resounding NO, but at least we go to see the big, bamboo art installation on the way.




We already knew we didn't need any time with Big Head Todd,¶¶¶ since we both know them from way back and have never been particularly impressed. So we decided to settle in early for G. Love & Special Sauce. We were both looking forward to G. Love, though Brother more so than I.

The day was starting to wear on some people, causing them to take up too much damned space in the Rhapsody Tent.




We were also offered hash AGAIN. Apparently, hash is the drug of the moment.

Turns out G. Love has become more phishy over the years and was boring the spit out of us with twenty-minute galactic versions of already borderline-jamband songs.

So we sat.

This is pretty much what G. Love looked like to me.




As you can see, Brother is also thrilled.




Deciding we didn't need all of G. Love, we hit up the Westword Tent again to see what was the ups with The Black Keys.

We passed more art on the way.###




And a water station.§§§




The Black Keys, it turns out, are fantastic musicians. There are two guys, a drummer and a guitarist, and they sound like two guitars, a bass and a drum. They're very bluesy and not my cup of tea, musically speaking, but clearly talented to the rafters.

We sat outside the tent in the long shadows of the early evening and watched the fashions go by.

The boots on this chick really caught my eye, then she stopped right in front of me and I got the full effect of the off-white lace tights and the hippie jumper thingie.




I was fumbling for my camera, and I have to thank this guy...




...whose picture I had taken earlier while waiting for The Duke Spirit. He flagged Elf Boots down and delayed her long enough so I could get a picture.

Most of the attire was neo-hippie, as you can see both by the subject of this photo and the spatterings of tie-dye around the background.




Speaking of t-shirts...




What the hell do you suppose that means? And I'm sad to say I didn't get pictures of the I ♥ BOXED WINE@ and VODKA connects us t-shirts.$

The best t-shirt of the day was the brown one with the gold outline of the state of Wyoming and the legend, "Wyoming Skeptics Society: Putting the "why" in "Wyoming."

We finally puttered over to the Main Stage West for our primary reason for being: Tool.

I'm sad to report that Tool has also become Phish, and after starting 15 minutes late, stopped 15 minutes early and only played six or seven songs. Six or seven TEN MINUTE songs. That all started like Aldo Nova's "Fantasy," all swinging dicks and arena rock bravado and build-up.

At least the lights were pretty.




The horror of the aftermath... I can never adequately describe it. They turned the stage lights out and there was precious little light on the fields. We could barely see where we were going and I was feeling a sort of low grade panic about being knocked over and trampled.

We went straight to the car under the unusual auspices of a perfect sense and memory of where we'd parked. Our elation was short-lived.

There were no signs, no lights, no directions, no directors. We joined the main vein of traffic fairly quickly, but then parking lot etiquette drove most people to let the ever-growing number of feeder lanes in. It wasn't long before it looked like two parking lots trying to merge.

When we finally got to the exit, there were cones to guide our way -- along with NINE police officers, mostly standing around talking to each other and making half-hearted hand gestures in the direction the cones were already sending us.

This made me froth at the mouth.

Now, when you catalog everything I've said here, you're going to come to the logical conclusion that I hated my stay at the Mile High Music Festival. Oddly, I had a great day.

Like a blanket of fresh snow will make even a landfill seem magical, I think getting to hang around all day with Brother, the smorgasbord of music, the people watching, the colours and the overall energy blurred the black lines I could've drawn around the whole thing and made me happy.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Late in the afternoon, when I'd had my fill of joyously destructive, holier-than-thou, oblivious hippies, I was grumbling about the Phish dancing: "Go ahead, hippie man, take one of your giant, loping steps of joy and I'll hook your ankle with my foot and take you to the ground."

Brother, snickering: "Giant loping steps of joy?"

Me: "You know EXACTLY what I'm talking about."

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Formerly Fiddler's Green Amphitheatre. Only it's not Coors Amphitheatre anymore; it's back to being Fiddler's Green Amphitheatre. Fiddler's Green was once an earth sculpture and part of the Museum of Outdoor Art funded by John Madden (different John Madden). It was a large, sweeping, open park in the middle of a massive office complex (Denver Tech Center -- the second downtown of Denver). Before they fenced it off and put in a formal stage and seats, it was a place silicon chip guys and accountants would go to have a nice picnic lunch during the work day. A Colorado Symphony concert series started, during lunch hour at first, but then they added electricity for evening concerts. A few years later, they fenced it off and turned it into a large (17,900 capacity) outdoor concert venue called Fiddler'd Green Amphitheatre. Then Coor's bought it and it was the Coor's Amphitheatre. Live Nation bought it some time in the last couple of years and it's Fiddler's Green again. You're welcome.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Probably a sophistication on the part of those scheduling it as well.

^FOOTNOTE (careted): Speaking of stage hoppig, Brother was in charge of our schedule Saturday. At one point, he asked to be called, "The man with tha muthafuckin' plan." I said I was inclined to call him, "Julie, my cruise director." We compromised and I referred to him as, "Julie, my muthafuckin' cruise director."

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): But since the turf is made entirely of petroleum products, a little less mud.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Y'know... music that bores me to tears and I can only assume the stoned find it deep... because they're stoned and their brains are all slow and sticky like warm tar.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): I know some of you, and you probably love Phish and their ilk and I'm not saying you're wrong, I'm saying I HATE PHISH.

+FOOTNOTE (plussed): Best use of a soccer field EVER.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Who, from what we could hear from the Westword Tent, was funny as hell. As Brother said, "I don't want to listen to the guy's music, but I'd kinda like to have a beer with him."

§§FOOTNOTE (two swirls): We also saw a guy with a bike and a guy with a twelve-foot bamboo pole with a bandanna tied on the end. It was a day of random but constant, "Why do you suppose he could bring *that* in when we can't have a Lara Bar?"

¶¶FOOTNOTE (two gophers): He is NOT flipping me off. He's just covering his ear to hear the very important message on the other end.

##FOOTNOTE (two pounds): Please to pronounce "Puh-hish." Or, if you're PETA, "Sea Hippies."

†††FOOTNOTE (triple cross): The songs themselves weren't short. No, they were the standard ten or twelve minutes of rambling, arhythmic guitar prose. It's just that we only listened to most of one and part of another before we left twenty minutes later.

‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (track three): I asked Brother, "In an ongoing effort to prove how special I am, how many other people do you think are in the Ani DiFranco/Tool demographic?" just as a guy wearing Tool shirt walked into the tent right in front of us. He was just cutting through on the way to somewhere else, as it turned out, but his timing was perfect.

§§§FOOTNOTE (multi-purpose multiple swirls): From the blogs and articles leading up the the festival, the three biggest gaffes last year were not enough water, not enough shade and not enough vegan options.

¶¶¶FOOTNOTE (gopher triplets): Seriously. In the early 90s I had a brief and wonderful stint as a band manager just before Todd broke nationally. He'd be at our practice space (well, someone else's space, but same building) and on the same ticket now and then. Brother also has a really nice little "Do you KNOW who I AM?" story from a party he attended as "Bittersweet" was rearing its ugly head.

###FOOTNOTE (pound pound pound): This one was solar powered. One that I couldn't get near to get a decent photo was a miniature wind farm. And by miniature, I mean, "Not as big as the one in Palm Springs." It was pretty big, as art goes, but the windmills were only about five feet tall.

@FOOTNOTE (atted): Hand decorated. In those fuzzy iron-on letters.

$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): Neither the vodka shirt nor the boxed wine shirt had any corporate logos or context whatsoever. I believe the observer was meant to take them at face value.

How Fortunate

Which was just going to be a one-off smart-ass post, only I got a call yesterday afternoon from the client that gave me the Tiffany necklace a couple of years ago† and she has an extra club level seat for the Rockies game this afternoon.‡

By the time you read this, I will be sipping a mid-afternoon ballpark beer§ and musing to myself, "Self,¶ I wonder what the poor people are doing right now."#


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): I say this not to highlight the Tiffany necklace aspect, of course, but simply for context.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Also for context, as I also went to the Rockies on her [very nice and exclusive club level seats] ticket before.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Y'know... after the four-course steak lunch at Sullivan's. With wine. 'Cause nothing warms you up for ballpark beer like a fine Chianti.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I always call myself "Self."

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Dad says the correct answer is, "Who cares?"

For the Love of Chloe

This is Chloe.






Chloe needs a new home. One of her feline housemates is beating the snot out of her on a daily basis.

Specs: She is a lilac point Himalayan, spayed, chipped, healthy and current on all shots. She is six years old. She gets along great with dogs and calm cats that don't attack her. She loves to sit on your lap or beside you.

She is not possessed at all, despite the glowing eyes in the pictures.

Chloe is one of the kitty step-siblings who sent the cat-themed measuring spoons for my birthday. I can vouch for her mellow, sweet nature.

If you would like this lovely beastie or know someone who does, please let me know.

Thanks for tolerating this little foray into the unknown with me.

Step Away from the Frog

Oh, Lady Gaga, you may have gone too far this time.

Lake 2009

If you're a weather dork or you live in Denverish, you know that last night brought a storm of legendary proportion.

I drove through a nasty bit of that storm last night and I'm tired. I think I may have been struck by lightning, my head's so fuzzy.†

So I'm not going to be clever, not going to do a lot of footnotes.‡

Let's just let The Lake speak (mostly) for itself, shall we?

The ranger station says these fish are in Lake McConaughy


The ranger station also wants you to know how heavy record fish are, so they provide conveniently weighted examples for your educational entertainment.


Matt purchased this sombrero at the dollar store especially for the trip. He told his 13-year-old daughter he would be wearing the sombrero and nothing else at some point during their vacation. This led to many frantic hatnappings. Also? The hat bled pink all over Matt's nice Bronco shirt. His daughter things it served him right.


Inflatable Items was a big theme this year.


Matt, deflating at the end of the day, looked like Godzilla over a floatie Tokyo. That's what Shannon said, in any case, and it drove the rest of us to sing Blue Oyster Cult's "Godzilla" all afternoon.


The kids, of course had a marvelous time. With much threatening and cajoling, they were grouped for a nice group picture.


And a goofy group picture.


Braden and Chris, plotting the demise of their sisters.


Mary, my little datesake


It takes a floating village...


Or a floating train...


Braden discovers the projectile capabilities of a water noodle.


Curtis rides the shark, which is not at ALL like jumping the shark.


Erin


Curtis and his harem


A bad day to be a frog


Saturday was windy. The lake was choppy.


The boats danced


As did the porta-potty


And the people. The people danced. I so wish you could've seen it.


Shanny rescued Mary


And we went for the traditional farewell dinner. Peanuts on the floor, country music on the TV and over the speakers...


On the way home? Never seen the Colorado plains so green. Plus... cows!



†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Literally AND figuratively.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Just that last one. And this one.

Schadenfreude Is One of My Favourite Words

The Savage Chickens are all about zombies these days.




Except when they're not.




Also: Seriously?

Birthday: the Last Gasp

Do you feel it?

There!

That change in the air, that specific tang to the breeze, the way the light slants just so?

That's birthday season coming to a close.

[SUMMARY: Drama R Us.]

Thus I present the final photos and a eulogy for the glittering phoenix that is My Birthday.

As previously mentioned, Nathan sent a small truckload of chocolates to the office so I could share. Which I did.

Really.

Because I'm a *giver*.

Fortunately, the people in my office are pathologically opposed to taking the last of anything, so I got at least one of each kind. My review: *grrrgle*

Fran's Chocolates make Godiva look like Hershey's.†




I love the heavy, rich boxes and Miami strip club-worthy‡ satin ribbons.

But mostly I love the chocolate. I had apricots, ginger, coconut, almonds and caramels.

And figs.




I didn't really share the figs so much. One might say I didn't share them at all.

I did let Hans look at them.




They're stuffed with dark chocolate ganache and dipped in dark chocolate and *grrrgle*...

[SUMMARY: Experiencing technical difficulties.]

Juno sent me this perfume, which smells like nutmeg and cloves and vanilla and is not nearly as sugary as you might think from this description. It's rich and ever-so-slighly understated and makes you snork your wrist as you try to go about your business.§

And just look at the kick-ass bottle.¶




She even wrapped it up in pretty pink paper.

[SUMMARY: From candy to candy-coating.#]

Speaking of spiders††...

The nephews got me what they hoped would be a remote controlled nightmare.




I had to explain that I'm not so much afraid of tarantulas. It's MEDIUM-SIZED spiders that get me.

Tiny little dance-on-the-head-of-a-pin spiders, no big deal. Tarantulas are basically eight-legged gerbils.‡‡ Medium-sized spiders are forever scuttling out of corners, dangling over my head at dinner, hiding in the sheets when I get into bed at night...

*shudder*










That clicking at the end is me trying to get the tarantula to turn around, but the batteries were dead.§§

Let's see... Dad got me a family membership here. Brother got me two tickets for this. Aunt Chris sent a gift card. I got many cards and greetings and well-wishes and comments.¶¶

All in all, a delightful birthday season, but over.

[SUMMARY: Alas.]

Time to pack away the birthday suit## until next birthday season.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Please note that none of these things is in the least bit bad, just some are gooder than others.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Let's all thank Hans; I'll never look at satin the same way again.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): By "you," I mean, "I."

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I took a picture of my own bottle but somehow managed to miss it in the Blogger upload. So I kyped this from a website. It's probably just as well. Mine has nose prints all over its shiny black surface.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): If you cloak a black widow in pretty pink paper, are you not candy-coating in a metaphorical sense?

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Yes, we were.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Which is not to say if a gerbil scuttled across the kitchen floor from a dark and hidden place I wouldn't scream like a girl and possibly wet myself. Sneakiness and the scuttling really get me. But medium-sized spiders freak me out on sight.

§§FOOTNOTE (turn! turn!): I can't imagine why. We only played with it for about an hour on my birthday.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (see? I'm tearing up from the beauty of it all): Thank you. I love you all.

##FOOTNOTE (those may be extra chocolate pounds): Y'know... like when you clean your sweaters and put them in a space bag for the summer.

Who Knew?

Did any of y'all know Karen Allen was a capital-K-Knitter?


{Karen Allen Fiber Arts via The Daily Heller}

Thank Me Later

Tommy. Oh, there was a street fair and a BBQ, blah blah blah, but I know what y'all want out of these occasions. And what you want is Tommy.

Here, he posed:




And here is a candid shot:




Now why don't you go off and speculate exactly what measurement Tommy might be indicating in this shot.

Happy Friday!

Yay, Meme!

I'd like to thank Yvette for making my blog post today a no-brainer.

I'd also like to thank my iPod for not making me look like as much of a dork as it could've.†

If that Lionel Ritchie‡ ever got out, it would be TOTALLY embarrassing.§

1. Hang Wire - Pixies
2. Seven Veils - Peter Murphy
3. Hole - Catherine Wheel
4. Messin' With the Mekon - Robert Plant¶
5. True - Spandau Ballet#
6. Lucretia - Sisters of Mercy
7. Dead Man's Party - Oingo Boingo††
8. Still of the Night - Whitesnake
9. Salsbury Hill - Peter Gabriel
10. Let Me See - Morcheeba
11. La Lune - Sarah Brightman
12. Into the Fire - Sarah McLachlan
13. Add It Up - Violent Femmes
14. Rain Will Fall - I Mother Earth
15. Der Kommissar - Falco
16. Gin and Juice - Snoop Dogg
17. I Miss the Girl - Soul Coughing
18. Push It - Salt-N-Pepa
19. Golden Touch - Razorlight
20.‡‡ Over the Hills and Far Away - Gary Moore

Deep in my heart, I love this meme. I did it on Facebook and found it very pleasant. I'd highly recommend it to any of you, so tag if you want it. Just turn your music player of choice on, put it on shuffle, list the first twenty% songs (if you cheat or edit, you're missing the point) and tag anyone you want.

I'm always interested in seeing what other people listen to, so let me know if you decide to do it.

I'm leaving for The Lake in a couple of hours. This year, I may just put the old iPod on shuffle and see how that treats me.

Besides, there's the dark-corridor-in-a-horror-flick thrill that Lionel Ritchie might be lurking around every corner.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Though it did want me to list La Lune three times.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): I have a GOOD EXCUSE. For our 20th high school reunion, when I was on the committee, I volunteered to make CDs for each year we were in high school (1981-1985). I (theatre geek, underachiever, fashion disaster, metal chick) picked five songs, Heidi Dowd (cheerleader, valedictorian, golden girl, mainstream) picked five songs, and I included the Billboard Top Ten for each year. Lionel Ritchie was in the top ten a LOT in those days.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): You'll all note I've decided to stop using Neil Diamond as my measure of dorkitude in music. Neil's a hero. Neil's a classic. And he's way more hip than Lionel Ritchie.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Love me some Robert Plant.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Brother says I don't like this song. "No you don't. You really don't. You may think you do, but you don't." Apparently, this embarrasses Brother more than it embarrasses me.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): This is Steve's and my song.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Then I looked back at Yvette's instructions and she only asked for 15. But if I only do 15, I don't get Snooop and that would make me sad. Gin & Juice, btw, is the only song in common between my FB list and this one. The universe is trying to tell me something. Something about gin.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): In true Marin fashion, I now find the 20 I thought I did on FB was actually 25. I'm a rebel, making up rules as I go along... if you do the meme, pick a number from 15 to 25 and use that. *ahem*

Life, the Universe and Everything

Brother and I were talking on my birthday and he mentioned this was my Life, the Universe and Everything birthday.†

"I didn't think there was anything noteworthy after the Jesus birthday,‡ but there you have it."

[SUMMARY: For some, passage of time is noted in literary reference.]

My birthday dawned clear and vodka-soaked, as Kelley took me out for brunch,§ then to The Cooler¶ for a shitty canned beer.

I'm not being mean. That's how Kelley phrased it: "Can I buy you a shitty canned beer?"




I cheerfully mark this a white trash beginning to the day, what with the chicken and waffles breakfast and the shitty canned beer chaser.

The gifts were anything but white trash:




Tokyo Milk is a local company recently featured in The Moment in the NY Times. The owner of the company hand-sparkles the packaging.

Of course, I'm mostly in it for the skulls.




[SUMMARY: Skulls are key.]

The evening celebration was certainly more high brow. You'd expect no less -- it was Brother's turn to entertain me.#

We started not with shitty canned beer, but with the first grape Wine Spectator ever awarded a perfect 100††:






As an aside, Brother eschewed wine until about five years ago. Now he's a frickin' snob.‡‡

[SUMMARY: Reformed sinners...]

The first thing Tallest Hairiest Nephew said?

"I'm not your hairiest nephew anymore."§§




We're going with Tallest Spikiest Nephew until he shaves his head for the big swim meet in August.

Dr. Doom is his usual doomy self.¶¶




Monday, Dad and Brother were taking me to dinner.

Let me take you back in Marin history: when I was young and we'd be in a tourist trap or a Hallmark store^ and we'd see a display of personalised [ fill in the blank ].

Mom or Dad would chirp, syrup and unholy glee coating their sarcastic voices, "If you can find your name, we'll buy it for you."

I have led a life deprived of Marin license plates for my bike and Marin pencils for school.

Monday this package from Kim$ arrived just in time...




...for me to wear this button to dinner.




But the pièce de résistance##:




It's a SENSATION in the office.

Touched and grateful doesn't *begin* to cover it. A lifetime of cruel lack was wiped away in one UPS delivery.

[SUMMARY: MARIN!]

Dad and Brother surprised me with a field trip to my favourite neighbourhood Italian restaurant, Mikey's.†††

Dad and Brother had their backs to the window. I was across from them. It wasn't long before my obvious distraction distracted them.

"Sorry. I'm trying to figure out how many misspellings are on that stupid sign behind you. Pet Emporium and So? Pet Emorium and So? The paw prints are supposed to be Os, right?"




They both looked. We all marvelled. It never made sense.

The next day, my client looked at it and said, "I got it! Pet Emporium and Spa.*"

[SUMMARY: Stupid sign.]

Dad's fiancée sent a present.




This is not a present from Peach, mind you. It's a present from her cats.‡‡‡






[SUMMARY: I am not making any of this up. I have photographic proof.]

Now, this isn't *all* the birthday what's fit to print. It's all the birhday I photographed and offloaded. There's the delightful present the nephews got me,§§§ a sassy perfume from Juno¶¶¶ and a truckload of divine chocolate### from my often-Number One Bad Influence%, Nathan.

Stay tuned@...


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): 42, as if I have to explain.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): 33, which may need more explanation than 42 in my crowd.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Chicken 'n' waffles with a side of bloody mary bar -- hence, the vodka soaking.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): A place with about 100 canned beers on the menu, ranging from $2 to $8.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Because the man who coined the term "dick chakra" is nothing if not high brow.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): I asked for a straw.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Per our conversation that evening, he does recognise this is an occasion wine, but one that probably would't get him laid.

§§FOOTNOTE (turn around when you're three, turn around when you're nine): Brother's nine-year-old self is SO jealous of TSN's nine-year-old self.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (Bambi eyes): Doom has never been so sweetly goofy.

^FOOTNOTE (careted): To-may-to, to-mah-to

$FOOTNOTE (cashed): Kim is so money, and I certainly hope she knows it. *mwah!*

##FOOTNOTE (le pound pound): French for "shiznit."

†††FOOTNOTE (speaking of Jesus): Which is neither in my neighbourhood anymore, nor is it still called Mikey's. Same owner/chef (he's a French-trained Algerian who looks like a compact Andre the Giant and used to wear wife-beaters in the restaurant. We *love* him.), same menu, now called Roma Roma and situated in a strip mall in sunny Arvada.

*FOOTNOTE (asterisked, imagine that): Read: Pet Em[paw]rium and S[paw]. Yeah, I know.

‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (cat scratch times three): Yes, they say, "meow" in the bowls. Yes, they have cat heads on top. They weight about six pounds, collectively and are beautiful pieces of work.

§§§FOOTNOTE (the creeping heebie-jeebies): Hint: "Dad, what's AntiM most afraid of?"

¶¶¶FOOTNOTE (upright citizen): The bottle is worth the price of admission.

###FOOTNOTE (pounds and pounds of chocolate): Which I'm trying to figure out how to artistically photograph so it doesn't look like I've eaten 26 lbs of chocolate in the last week.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Nathan and Juno just keep leapfrogging each other. They should either be honoured or very, very ashamed. For the record, I don't believe either of them is much prone to shame.

@FOOTNOTE (atted): Is this like crying wolf at this point? Do I need to re-earn your trust?

Your Gypsy Rover

Tomorrow begins Lake 2009.

I'll be hitting the road with my trusty iPod and the Cutest Little Car in the Whole Wide World to keep me company.

I was gratified to see that my little car is in the top five Most Fun to Drive† While Still Being Fuel-Efficient‡ list from Car and Driver.§

*************

Guilt-Free Fun
by Jared Holstein





2009 Mini Cooper S

26 mpg city/34 mpg highway¶

It’s a real shame the Mini Cooper ownership experience has been ruined by the population of tattooed art-school dropouts who wear skinny jeans and ironic eyeglasses and have claimed it as their own. Lured into dealerships by espresso, wi-fi, and conformity, they leave in numbers driving a fine machine that in turbocharged S form# is just about the most ace combination of fun and fuel efficient that trust funds can buy.

Fear not, enthusiast: Roll down your windows to prove that your upper lip bears no thin mustache and you aren’t listening to electro, and pour yourself into the nearest set of mountains. A fantastic chassis, a six-speed transmission, and 192 pound-feet of torque will help you dispatch stacked hairpins with confidence; it’s this car’s poise that helped it best such machines as the Mazda Miata and Volkswagen GTI on our Lightning Lap. You can also be confident you won’t need to stop for gas on the way home, that you’ll be able to fit in a parking spot once you get there, and that cops will be too busy busting hipster-helmed Minis for coke possession to notice your imprudent velocity.

*************

More later, but for now, join me in basking in the reflected glory.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Duh.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): They don't know the half of it. See ¶, below.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): As reported by Comcast.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Mine actually gets 44 mpg on the highway, possibly because...

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): ...mine is not turbocharged, but supercharged. In practical terms, this means the new Mini S can take hills faster, but mine will blow it off a light. And, apparently, I get an extra 130 miles per tank when I take a road trip.

Herringbone: That's What She Said

I should be embarrassed to post this.†

If I had any pride% at all...

[SUMMARY: The crux of the biscuit.]

'Cause, see, I finished these socks, what? A month ago? Maybe more?‡

There is one tiny mitigating factor: I was waiting for Kim to get them§ so I didn't step¶ on her glory.

You've been on the edge of your seat this whole time, right?#

[SUMMARY: Socks? What socks? There were socks?]

Here are the pictures I took of Kim's socks in the garden.††






Note the clever calf shaping‡‡:




Public Service Announcement:

Hey, knitters! Toe-up socks are fun and practical and you know all the cool kids are doing them. Just remember, like big boobs and patriotism,§§ the ability to try on socks as you go only works if you USE IT PROPERLY.

[SUMMARY: Do as I say, not as I knit.]

You're welcome.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Since it would be even more embarrassing to reveal that I lost my camera in my own recliner for a panicky twelve hours, I'm calling this the lesser of evils and going with it.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Pride is a SIN. A BIG one. We saints-in-training have no truck with that sort of thing.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Who's counting?

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Turns out that was completely in my control too.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Hahaha! Get it? Socks... step... :D

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): And judging by the series of thuds echoing around the world, holding your breaths too!

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): In the neighbour's garden. They have more green stuff. I was going to explain that I have a red bush, but I know how your mind works and I was trying to avoid the off-colour comments.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): I had the forethought to worry about calves, but not an inkling about ankles.

§§FOOTNOTE (still reeling from the depths): How profound, Mr. Wizard.