An Account of the Recent Past

How 'bout a big, ol' wide-tongued full lick of the pig?

In which we briefly explore† Dr. Doom Turns 6,% Lake McConaughy,‡ the Colorado Renaissance Festival§ and Lakeside Amusement Park.¶

Dr. Doom's 6th birthday was animal-themed and included a visit from the Jungle Lady and her many reptiles, amphibians and bugs.

There was a snake cake.




A rubber gift snake for the birthday boy...




...which maybe should have been presented at the end of the show for minimal distraction.

Anyway, there was snake discussion.




And snake jewelry, both in the form of a Scarlet Kingsnake bracelet...




...and a python necklace.




I don't know about you, but I would never want to subject a snake to a passel of six-year-olds. Six is a... squirrely age. Though it was worth the price of admission for this exchange:

"My brother found a snake when he was camping and he caught it and he brought it home and now he has, like, six snakes."

"My brother is in jail."

The turtle races were pretty good too.




[SUMMARY: And a good time was had by all... except maybe the snakes.]

The annual trip to The Lake included a record 757,000 kids this year...




...but that didn't stop me from crossing "skinny dipping" off my bucket list.

As has become tradition,†† Shanny and I stayed up late one night at the campfire chatting, stargazing and exploring the funky, soulful world of Shanny's massive music collection.

Just after the moon dipped below the southeastern horizon, Shanny said, "I don't want to freak you out or anything, but it's a beautiful night, the weather's perfect, the moon's gone down and there's nobody around. You want to try skinny dipping?"

There we were, neck-deep in water, looking at the rural sky coated in a crust of stars. The water was cool, but not chill. Nothing nibbled at protruberances. The small-town tide lapped at our every nerve ending. We chatted, then wrapped up and got warm by the fire.

The next morning, Connie greeted me with, "I understand you got naked with my husband last night." And she giggled.

I love my friends.

Other than that, there was the usual water, sky, recreation...




Well, the Wave Runner was new this year.

But there was the usual floatilla of shiny plastic inflatables.




And the campfire.




In scientific news, The Lake was up 27 feet from where it was last year when we were there - at 96% capacity.‡‡




There wasn't a lot of beach to go around and we teamed up with a group of campers to hold our grove...






...which was under surveillance from the myriad campers who didn't come in on Thursday and maybe never found a spot to pitch their tents.§§

But, like the steadfast dragonflies,@ we held our space for the weekend.




Until it was time to say goodbye for another year.




[SUMMARY: A good time was had by all.]

Steve isn't skydiving this summer, so he has a mess of time to do other things. Under the auspices of "I haven't been to the Renaissance Festival in twenty years or more," we decided to go to the Renaissance Festival.¶¶

My how things have changed. Like Times Square, Disney has had its influence. Y'all know I've got nothing against pirates, but a good quarter of the faire now seems to be devoted to Captain Jack Sparrow.

There are no wenches, those dingy, corseted broads who kissed men with overpainted lips of crimson, neon pink and orange for a dollar. All in all, the thing where absolutely everybody is trying some gimmick to get a buck is gone.

On the bright side, there were greyhounds and ducks and the cutest little piggle## you ever did see. And a spiffy carillon.




On the other hand, a museum of medieval torture devices that was simply awful. And not for the torture.

Plus? A woman in full costume was brandished a frickin' Twilight umbrella and talking on her cell phone when the rain started. That's so not 15th century.




We decided we don't need a Renaissance Festival fix for another 20 years.

[SUMMARY: Disney should stick with movies.]

Steve and I also visited Lakeside Amusement Park.

Back in the day, Steve an I both worked at the historic Elitch Gardens,††† which was only blocks from Lakeside. From the top of the Twister at Elitch's, you could see the Vegas lights of the entry tower at Lakeside.

Now, Elitch's was classier. It maybe had better rides. And it was neater, more prone to fresh paint and never a lightbulb out of place. But Lakeside had seedy charm. There was a Fun House and far fewer families went after dark. It was a brilliant hub of overdressed late-teen and twenty-something single life.

Back in the day.

Now the Fun House is gone, possibly a victim of insurance regulations.‡‡‡ Every third ride was deconstructed or closed for repair.




Though the park was supposed to open at 6:00, there wasn't the slightest movement to test the rides, set up the ticket booths, start the hot dogs a-grillin'... it was an employee ghost town until nearly 6:30. At that time, four rides were running.

As the night went on, more rides opened - the ones that weren't under repair or chopped for parts - probably to save on payroll.§§§






The Wildcat coaster was fun and the Zoom was great fun.¶¶¶

But we left at 9:30, having ridden everything but the Merry-Go-Round, and agreed that we could go another 20 years without going to Lakeside.

[SUMMARY: We are crossing things OFF the list, Steve and I.]

That's how I spent my summer vacation.

Coming soon... current events. Like tomatoes. And knitting.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Through words, pictures and footnotes, and mostly as an exercise in cleaning off my camera.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): In April.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Nudity! Alcohol! Adult situations!

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): The only place besides Steve's living room where anyone has understood my rock-paper-scissors-lizard-spock shirt.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Seedier than field full of wheat, sadder than a lost puppy.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Except that year we didn't.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Up from 54% the previous year.

§§FOOTNOTE (a twisty, windy road): Heh. Twelve.

@FOOTNOTE (atted): Of which there may been more of even than children.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (two left feet): As a tiny, geeky confession, I worked at the Renaissance Festival in the summer of 1986. It's what you do if you're a theatre major with a Dungeons & Dragons past.

##FOOTNOTE (tic tac): So cute he made me baby talk. And I usually only do that ironically. Hey! Ironic Babytalk would be a great name for a band.

†††FOOTNOTE (my cross to bear): NOT to be confused with the travesty that is Six Flags Elitch Gardens, and current home (right across the street from the theatre) of your dear ol' AntiM - I live where (I say) the floral clock used to be. Steve says it was the administration building. Until we have pictures, I'm sticking with "floral clock."

‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (old fashioned wooden coaster tracks): Steve thinks maybe an ADA thing, though he kept saying "ADD," which I thought was funny.

§§§FOOTNOTE (a shocking turn of events): Steve thinks maybe more because the employees straggle in, hungover, whenever they straggle in.

¶¶¶FOOTNOTE (upright brigade): Which is a skyshot like the one on top of the Stratosphere in Vegas, with a slow lift followed by a free-fall. I couldn't help point out (because I'm twelve) that it looked like a giant, colour-changing penis against the dusky sky, to which Steve added the image of a cock ring carrying people up and down it. Quite ruined the ride for Steve.

Hooray Football!

Don't get me wrong, the Rockies have given me a little something to hold onto through the long, dark days of summer and I'm grateful.

Golf has been pretty good, though Tom Watson missed it by * * that much and my boy Phil was out for a chunk of the season.

[SUMMARY: Sports summary. ESPN needs me.]

But it's time.

I fancy I can feel a nip in the air† and see that particular slant of the light that means the season is changing. Maybe not quite from summer to autumn, but from baseball to football.‡

Did I mention I'm a Denver Broncos season ticket holder now?

[SUMMARY: *wham!* Bad horse! Get up! *wham!* *wham!*]

Because of the, y'know, mail thing, I set up my tickets to be picked up at will call.

Last week I called, if you will.§

I took the Mile High Walk through Broncos Country...






...past horses of sky and water¶...






...to the gates of Valhalla, that sacred space I've longed to tread.#




And my dorky little heart almost burst with all the extras.

I would have been content to just get my season tickets in a plain brown wrapper, but, like a good independent sock yarn dyer,†† the Broncos know those little extra touches will keep me coming back for more.‡‡




Here it is, my peeps.% My own personal, long sought, symbolic and literal, plegmatic and devine... my holy grail:




And get this: I had them print my name on them.




For those of you who care nothing and know nothing of football, we will return to our regularly-scheduled programming@ next time.

Meanwhile, sit back, relax and enjoy the fact that we didn't talk about chickens for the fourth day running, despite the fact Marybeth§§ got them in the mail yesterday and posted a couple of wee, fuzzy chickie photos¶¶ on Facebook.##

[SUMMARY: Oops.†††]

My grail runneth over.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Despite the fact that the Weather Channel app is telling me it's going to be nearly 90 today. Did I mention I got a phone that has apps?

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Y'know... the seasons that *matter*.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): There is a chance I don't just think I'm funny, I may also think I'm clever.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): The photo doesn't quite show it, but the bronze Italian horses are running up a river.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Like sainthood with shoulder pads and cheerleaders. Ooooh... when I get all my saint points do you think I can get my own cheering section?

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): You may be witnessing the first time the Broncos organisation has been compared to sock yarn dyers.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Because you know if it wasn't for the stickers and the sweepstakes, football would just be unwatchable.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Not to be confused with Marybeth's wee fuzzy chickie peeps.

@FOOTNOTE (atted): I can hear you laughing.

§§FOOTNOTE (I get mixed up sometimes): Who is, indeed, Marybeth, and not Mary Beth as I've been so callously calling her.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (peep peep): And they would look SO fetching in tiny little sweater vests. Oh, and that's pictures of wee fuzzy chickies... not photos of chickies that are the size of a postage stamp and kinda blurry.

##FOOTNOTE (pounding the point home): If you are my Facebook friend, you've probably seen the tiny, fuzzy chickies. If you aren't my Facebook friend, what's keeping you? Tiny, fuzzy chickie pictures, people!

†††FOOTNOTE (it's your cross to bear): Chickengate: Day 4.

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?"

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?

Signifying Nothing

TTHFCIF

You Are An ENFP

The Inspirer You love being around people, and you are deeply committed to your friends. You are also unconventional, irreverent, and unimpressed by authority and rules. Incredibly perceptive, you can usually sense if someone has hidden motives. You use lots of colorful language and expressions. You're quite the storyteller! In love, you are quite the charmer. And you are definitely willing to risk your heart. You often don't follow through with your flirting or professed feelings. And you do break a lot of hearts. At work, you are driven but not a workaholic. You just always seem to enjoy what you do. You would make an excellent entrepreneur, politician, or journalist. How you see yourself: compassionate, unselfish, and understanding When other people don't get you, they see you as: gushy, emotional, and unfocused What's Your Personality Type?

Thanks to Robin for allowing me not to think on this sunny Friday.

Except to ponder that:

1. Should be amended to read: "Incredibly perceptive, you can usually sense if someone has hidden motives unless it's a boy who has romantic possibilities, particularly if he has not realised the door to that sexual identity closet opens."
2. That heartbreaker thing? Feh. I don't think I've ever broken a heart in my life.
3. My job acumen? Marin for President, 2012! Oh, hey, wait... saint isn't on the list...
4. How I see myself? They forgot fuzzy.
5. How others see me? They forgot breezy.

Shout out to my Avalanche. "Were you hoping they'd buy you breakfast?" to my Rockies.

Look! It's a Kilt... It's a Plane...

...a brooch... a pterodactyl...

I have a handful of pictures I took off the camera last night, and I can't tell you how proud I am of myself.

Not just 'cause of the photo thing, either.

I had brunch with the Breakfast Club† yesterday, then actually ran some errands, filled CLCWWW's tank‡ and went home to tidy up, do laundry and -- yes -- offload the pictures from my camera.

None of this may seem particularly noteworthy to you, but you have to understand:

1. I got up for breakfast. I even drove, which means I put in that extra effort AND my front seat was empty enough to carry another person.§
2. I ran errands instead of reverting to my natural ass-on-chair state.
3. I filled the car instead of talking myself into waiting until today, when the indicator would have been flashing red lights and probably screaming at me and I might have even whined my way out of doing it on the way to work then I would have been sweating the couple of miles to the gas station after work and it would have been stressful.¶
4. I repeat: I do not clean unless I have a good reason. "It's dirty" really isn't sufficient motivation for me.
5. I love doing laundry, but it does require some time commitment, however ass-on-couch that commitment may be. Also? I did clothes AND sheets yesterday, where I usually do one on Sunday and one on Monday. Or Tuesday. Or Wednesday. Or next week... I can wear my prom dress to work, right?
6. I don't know how other people do it, but I have to power up the Olympus software, transfer the photos from the camera to albums therein, copy the ones I want to a folder called "blogstuff" on my desktop, run them through Corel Photo to make them smaller than 42" wide and sharpen them up for the Innernets, then upload them to Blogger. It takes a long time.

So I'm feeling particularly saintly# and particularly flush†† this morning.

Also oddly chipper for a Monday.‡‡

Also? I packed my breakfast AND my lunch.

[SUMMARY: Sometimes it's the little things...]

I will be approaching this week's blogfodder in a somewhat logical manner.§§

[SUMMARY: Saintly, flush and clever!]

For today's offering, we will have a brief recap of what happened Out My Office Window last week.

Uncharacteristically, there will be no cranes.

The copy place up the street apparently got a bunch of new copiers.




And celebrated by painting new four square courts in the alley...




...and indulging in a company-wide four square tournament.




Friday, there was a man with a kilt.¶¶




There was also the customary home-opener fly-over% by some branch of the military with really sleek, fast jets that made my chair vibrate in a most pleasant way, but I was too busy watching## to take a picture.

[SUMMARY: Use your imagination.]

And isn't that what life's all about? Enjoying instead of documenting?†††

Says the blogger who just told you all about her laundry habits.

Remember: there will be knitting, if you stick around long enough. And that will make it all better.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): You know them as Bag Lady Kathryn and Angel-eek.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Premium! Ouch!

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Hey, single contractor people living alone don't have cars, they have rolling file cabinets. That's my story and I'm sticking with it.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I frequently run my gas tank to white-knuckle level; always have. The fact that I've almost never run out of gas on the freeway made that one time I did shocking in the extreme. Oh, look at me not learning my lesson.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Sarah? Are you still keeping score?

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): 'Cause, y'all know -- full gas tank, full fridge, full complement of clean clothes, tidy living room, healthy and cheap food for the day... I'm rich!

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): I'm blaming it on barometric pressure.

§§FOOTNOTE (hey, is this room spinning or is it just me?): Mostly driven by the fact that, while I cleaned off my camera, there is a whole set of photos I haven't Corel'd yet. I'm going to pretend to do this in sort of chronological order while buying myself time to use the time I would have used on laundry tonight on Corelling my photos so I can show you some knitting later this week. And dyeing!

¶¶FOOTNOTE (ball clubs): I'm sure he was heading for Coors Field for some sort of opening day festivities, but I like to close my eyes and fantasise that he was just this guy... in a kilt... on a workday... in downtown Denver.

##FOOTNOTE (pounded like jado juice): And vibrating!

%FOOTNOTE (percented): In case I didn't feel like mentioning it, the Rox lost the home opener 8 to 1 and proceeded to get swept. I don't want to talk about it. Could we talk about how they won the season opener in St. Louis instead?

†††FOOTNOTE (triple dip! wait, what did you call me?): A coat of shiny self-help shellac on the fact that I completely forgot to grab my camera when Hans said, "Look out your window! The fly-over is coming!"

Four Four

TTHFCIF

All due respect to Moses Malone.

Maybe it's just 'cause I can't count to four, but today seems extra significant somehow.

Like: Early morning, April four, shot rang out in the Memphis sky...%

A brief moment for Dr. King and all he stands for.

***

***

***

***

***

***

***

***

[SUMMARY: We all should have a dream.]

But it's hard to stay all solemn when it's Rockies Home Opening Day.

I used to go to the home opener every year. Oh, I missed the first one† and the last couple,‡ but I went every year other than that.

Some years it was for the vibe.§ Some years to get it over and out of the way.

This year... well, this year they might actually be *good*. And, of course, there's no frickin' way to get tickets.

Shanny, who works for KOA radio, says most years they were wallpapering the bathrooms with opening day tickets they couldn't give away. This year, the only seats they could get for giveaway are the Rock Pile. The $5 seats. Way out behind center field. Bleachers. Cheap seats.

[SUMMARY: We saints-to-be should get bonus points for our years of martyrdom.]

And have you been to Coors Field? I believe it is one of the most comfortable and attractive fields in all of baseball. I haven't been to that many, mind you, but it's unbelievable how clean and neat they keep it. And it's just so pretty, all deep green paint and red brick.

And mountains.

And breezes.

And Colorado sunsets.

And gorgeous Denver weather.

[SUMMARY: Testify, homer girl!]

OK, off the 4/4 track.

The last two nights, I've had knitblog-based dreams. And not even my knitblog.

Inspired, I'm sure, by Rabbitch's concert oddyssey,¶ I dreamed something the other night that left me almost as soon as I woke, but I remember this one thing: a guy saying to me, "If Springsteen hands off Dylan's dog to you, just take the damned dog."

And, apropos of NOTHING, I dreamed last night that I spent an entire afternoon driving around the Canadian countryside in the winter, listening to the Yarn Harlot on the radio and stopping occasionally to try to call her nephew, Hank, because I had to get some information from him.#

I finally got through to Hank's home phone and his dad answered. I was suddenly aware that it might seem terribly odd that a random 40-year-old woman was calling an eight-year-old boy, but when he answered, I just said, "Is Hank there?"

And he yelled for Hank and Hank picked up the phone, but then Hank and his dad had a protracted conversation about the things Hank was supposed to do before his mother got home and I kept trying to interject, "Hey, I'm here... and this is international long distance, probably... hello?" but they just kept talking.

[SUMMARY: Perhaps I need a new hobby.]

Speaking of the Yarn Harlot, she's going to be in Denverish tonight.

Well, no, actually, she's not.

She's going to be in Highlands Ranch tonight, which is why I'm not going.

Highlands Ranch is reprehensible.

The first of the beige neighbourhoods, it is a yuppie-scum, insular suburban sprawl that ruined a gorgeous storm-watching vista. It was founded in 1981, but didn't truly blight the landscape for years, when it burst forth like alien larvae out of a Nostromo crew member.

Not only do I loathe the ultra-suburban, beige nature of Highlands Ranch, it has street names like "Meadowvale Lane" and "Cherryhurst Avenue East" and "Wildflower Creek Way."

Highlands Ranch is 95% white.

Don't get me wrong, I like white people. Some of my best friends are white,^ but part of the reason I've lived near the urban centre for so long is to get away from the all-Applebee's mentality that seems to grow as white people lose touch with their ethnic brethren.

Chili's does NOT count as Mexican food.

Besides, it's a 20-mile-each-way trip that crosses all the major traffic belts in the metro area. I would be coming from where everybody else is coming from (downtown) and going where everybody else is going (Highlands Ranch) at rush hour.@

Or I could leave at 1:00 and find a way to kill six hours in Highlands Ranch.

I can think of happier ways to lose my soul.

I'm very sorry I won't hear Stephanie speak. She is warm and funny and personable with impeccable comedic timing. I'm sure the vast store of south suburban and Colorado Springs Harlot fans†† will have a lovely time.

[SUMMARY: Yeah, I'm judging.]

Instead, tonight I'll be heading to Sengers on the Fax‡‡ for Shane's 40th birthday party to do a little misbehaving.




[SUMMARY: Just a little.]

Well, after I hit Blake Street Tavern to quaff a cold one with Shanny after the game.

Friday night in the heart of the city: less sheep, more fun.


%FOOTNOTE (percented): If we could just get U2 to write songs about all the historical events in our history, our students wouldn't be so woefully ill-equipped.

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Like this year, tickets too hard to come by.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Annie had kids and I didn't have anyone to go with.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): The mystique of opening day endures, despite the decline of the sport. Also? Sitting at the ballpark when everybody else is working.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I know how to spell "oddyssey."

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): I don't remember exactly what I needed from Hank, but it was knitting-related.

^FOOTNOTE (careted): Actually, I have good friends who live in Highlands Ranch. Hate the game, not the playa.

@FOOTNOTE (atted): And I wouldn't be a bit surprised if rush hour is compounded today by people going from the baseball game downtown to the darkest suburbs.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): I can't help think Colorado Springs approves of Stephanie's choice of hobby, but not her chosen blogname. Colorado Springs has the second-highest suicide rate among major urban areas in the country. Speculation says it's because of the migrant worker population or the by-your-bootstraps Protestant mentality, but I think it's because it's a fucking creepy place that has been taken over by aggressively evangelical Christians (see: Focus on the Family) in a way that makes Colorado City look like San Francisco.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Note: I could walk home from Sengers if necessary. It would be a long walk, but I could do it. I could *not* walk home from Highlands Ranch. Not by sunrise.

Here's How Your Congressman Voted on the NLCS (the subject of an email I received this morning)

Turns out this is a bill in Congress, HR 2016, but my immediate thought was, "Well, he damned well better have voted for the Rockies."

And If We Have the Pig, Shall We Not Lick It?

TTHFCIF



And if we have three pigs, shall we not go hog wild with the pig-licking?

Don't get too excited... that may be the most fun we have all blogday here. I may have just shot my wad.%

[SUMMARY: They don't make wads like they used to.]

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

Spring Training!

I don't really have a whole lot more to say than that, but it may be the first time, um... ever, that I'm kinda excited about spring training.

[SUMMARY: The boys of summer... in February.]

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

Guess what I did last night. No, really. I could make good money betting that you'd never guess.

The first part of the evening was wrapped up in eating,† which is a good thing. It's Denver Restaurant Week‡ and I managed two outings in honour of food: Monday at the Samba Room and last night at the Jewel of India. Excellent outings, both.

And if I may sneak in a little aside here -- we are pig-licking, after all -- if you've never had the carrot pudding at an Indian restaurant,§ it is really, really good. If you like carrot cake, you'll like hot carrot pudding.

Anyway, Kelley and I have had dinner plans for last night for a week or more, so that wasn't a surprise, but Dad emailing yesterday was:

Daughter,

I have an extra ticket to a fly fishing show at the Oriental (44th & Tennyson) tonight - starts @ 7:30.

My "date" got sick. If you have absolutely nothing else to do and could stand the thought of 2+ hours of fly fishing movies...I would love to have you.

love you,
dad

So, yeah. I went to a fly fishing film festival with my dad last night.

[SUMMARY: *THIS* was the big surprise?! I want my money back!¶]

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

I never knew until last night that I want to go to Slovenia.

Slovenia, it turns out, is highly literate, sort of democratic, controls major transit routes, is extremely beautiful and very... high. Its highest point is only 2,864 metres above sea level,# but it starts at zero,†† so... tall.

It's just a little smaller than New Jersey, but judging by the pictures, it's all mountains. And trout streams. Just look...

Rafting on the Soča River

Photo by B. Kladnik


Unless you're just plain anti-outdoors, how could you not want to try this?

And they have big, fat fish. As Dad said last night, "Any fish with shoulders is a well-fed fish."

[SUMMARY: We may be licking the pig, but we're slurping the fish.]

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

Speaking of sports,^ did anyone else see the Avs put together the Old Player Nostalgia Tour this week?

At least I'll get to wear my Foote sweater again.

[SUMMARY: Desperation smells... icy.]

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

OK, I'm totally, horribly remiss.

Lia at the Fruity Sheep and Pam the Yarn Goddess both very kindly passed this You Make My Day Award to me about a bazillion years ago and I, ingrate that I am,‡‡ completely missed the boat, both in passing it on myself and in saying a big ol' thank you to those who say I make their day 'cause... well, it makes my day.



I know I'm probably the biggest dork in the world, but it really does mean something special to me.

So here's my list of ten blogpeople who make my day:

Enchanting Juno
The Chairarmed Quarterback
Fuzzy Logic
Fey
Things Look Like Things
A Long Yarn
Comfort Sphere
Skull a Day
Affiknitty
Frank Notes

It's neither inclusive or exclusive, it's just a good use of blog resources.

[SUMMARY: Manners fail. Will charm save the day?]

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

Speaking of bad manners... I really should go thank the boss's wife for the nice TV8 Vail calendar she sent me for Christmas.

[SUMMARY: What is wrong with me?]

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

The Coral Room will be hosting a (drunken) spelling bee§§ on March 22 to benefit a friend with cancer. Her medical bills are astronomical, so they've¶¶ done several fundraising events to help out.

I'm looking forward to it even though I'm sure I've aced myself out of contention by telling everybody else how easy they're going to be to beat. It nearly ensures I will go down on a word like, "tapestry" or "impala."

My old friend Shane## put in the sound system at The Coral Room and was in there one night last week. Sue related this story to me:

Sue told Shane about the spelling bee and he said, "I'm gonna beat everybody. Oh, wait... is Marin going to be there?"

"Yes, she is."

"Fuck it. I'm not even coming then."

I've asked Sue to pass that on to my competition. Maybe I can psyche them out to counteract the hubris I've been spewing to the universe.

[SUMMARY: Makin' my own yin and yang.]

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

I could go on and on,@ but it's Wahoo's Friday, so I'm outie. Happy Leap Day!


%FOOTNOTE (percented): Heheheheheh.

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): OK, this isn't the part that may surprise you. I eat. You've seen pictures -- I eat pretty well.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Where all week, various restaurants have $52.80-per-couple meals. Get it? $52.80? 5280? Like "feet in a mile"? Like "Mile High City"? Trust me, if you live in Denverish or even spend a week here on vacation, you'll never again forget how many feet are in a mile.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Which I would totally understand. I like carrots and it still sounded disgusting to me.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): And here would be where I point out that I provide a free service here at the Rickety Blog and you clearly get what you pay for.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): 9,396' feet, which may not sound all that low if you're from, say, LA or New Jersey, but my living room is at 5,460' so I live by a different altitude standard.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Colorado's lowest point, by comparison, is 3,315', with a high of 14,440'. And its mean is 6,800', making it the highest mean elevation in all 50 of these United States. The state bird is the lark bunting and our motto is, "Nil sine Numine" ("Nothing without Providence"). Colorado is the only state to have rejected the Olympics, when 62% of voters decided hosting the 1976 Winter Olympics would cause too much traffic and pollution.

^FOOTNOTE (careted): Yes, we were.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): My mother raised me better. My father raised me better. Hell, if I'd been raised by wolves I would have done better than I done.

§§FOOTNOTE (corkscrews): I'm not sure that's how they're billing it, but I am reasonably sure that's how it will end up.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (club footnote): And by "they," I mean, "Sue and Mama Love," not The Coral Room in general.

##FOOTNOTE (pounded like a tequila hangover): You may remember Shane... right up there with Tommy on the eye candy scale.

@FOOTNOTE (atted): Duh.

Close-Knit

I'm back!

OK, you may not have even known I was gone, but a quick bout with strep throat† took me out of the office Thursday and Friday, but I'm back now!

Miss me?

[SUMMARY: Tell me you missed me.]

First, because I was sadly remiss in not addressing the situation, let me alight on the Rockies: they are my home team. I still love them. I am still very, very proud of them. Even though they lost... lost their batting, lost their pitching and -- for that first miserable game -- lost all ability to field anything. They couldn't field a mouse‡ in that first game.

But they're still my boys.

And they still had an awe-inspiring last couple of months.

And they still haven't pissed anyone off enough to hate them.

And they're still 100% steroid rumour-free.

[SUMMARY: Go Rockies!]

Let's not talk about the Broncos.

I'm pretty sure I couldn't talk about the Broncos if I wanted to since the only two guys I can name on the (fielded) team I can name because one of them used to play for the Redskins and the other looked good in preseason.§

[SUMMARY: Take the Broncos with you!]

This weekend I knitted with my father.

He has finished the toe on his stocking and has changed colours and is doing swimmingly.¶

Which leads us to a cute story I must share:

When I was five, my grandmother sent me the entire Little House series, all boxed up and ready to read.

I was still at a stage where my parents were reading to me every night, though they didn't really need to. It was more bonding and ritual than "Marin can't read for herself."# My parents were so interested in the story†† that I could often talk them into more than the prescribed chapter-a-night.

In fact, we were all so enthralled I devised a brilliant scheme to stay up and read.^

Well, my first brilliant scheme was to turn my light on and read after I was supposed to be in bed. I then discovered the parents could see the light was on. I may be smart, but I'm not always that bright,% if you get my drift.

So I told my mom I had a stomachache and needed the heating pad. I then used the tiny orange light on the heating pad controller to read.

Now, the rule was that I couldn't read ahead on my own.‡‡

When I started giggling at Nellie Oleson's tangle with the leeches and when I cried over Jack's (the brindle bulldog) death two pages before the reading parent reached that point in the story, they were kinda on to my scam.

Eventually, it became a free-for-all. I checked the books out of the school library§§ so when two of us were reading the same book, we wouldn't be fighting over it.

Before we had extra copies, it got a little cutthroat around the old homestead. I'd be off, playing with my Lincoln Logs, when I'd get a yen for a little light reading. I'd mosey out to the living room where the Little House books lived and there would be Dad, reading MY BOOK.

"Let me just finish this chapter,"$ he'd say, so I'd grab the nearest reading material to occupy myself until he was done.

That's how Mom got the picture of Dad and me on the couch, dad reading, "On the Banks of Plum Creek" while I pored over that week's Time Magazine.

[SUMMARY: Cute, no? Has a point, really.]

Flash to 2007. Dad and Marin, TiVi on to fucking miserable Bronco debacle, me knitting Lizard Ridge,¶¶ Dad knitting his Christmas stocking, a sort of beer commercial it-don't-get-any-better-'n-this vibe in the air.

"Ah, you, me, football, knitting..." I said.

"Who'd've thunk it would come to this?" Dad replied.

"This would be a great follow-up picture to that one of you and me reading on the couch," I said.

We had a good laugh.

[SUMMARY: PSA: READ TO YOUR KIDS.]

Oh, and Brother? It's your turn. Your father is shaming you mercilessly with his chipper attitude and all-American stick-to-itiveness.## And mad knitta skillz.

[SUMMARY: Competitive knitting among the menfolk. Is there anything hotter? I mean if this wasn't my dad and brother?]

Ever notice how sometimes the summaries are longer than the bits they're summarising?

Me too.

[SUMMARY: Stating the obvious.]

I have to thank Cheryl Oberle. In other knitting news, I made my first successful spit-and-felt join this weekend@ in the midst of the Lizard Ridge. I'd tried and tried and then Cheryl demonstrated it for me during a break in the Annie Modesitt class and -- voilá! -- it all became clear.*

[SUMMARY: Still a knitblog!]

OK, now I have to do that "I'm back!" thing at werk. I'm guessing they missed me more than you guys did.

I hope nobody turns up with strep or I'm in trouble.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Woke up at 3:00 Thursday morning with a hellacious sore throat. The worst part of strep for me is the part where I can't swallow because I couldn't talk a doctor into talking my tonsils out so they swell to the size of golf balls and have you ever tried to swallow with two golf balls in your throat? and don't answer that I just realised how dirty that sounds. Heh. I'm twelve.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): I know, I know, but it's evocative enough of what I'm saying I feel y'all can get it even if I' m making no sense at all.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Ramsey and Graham, for those of you scoring at home.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Other than knitting very tight and occasionally forgetting to knit the first stitch on the new needle -- he just slips it to the right needle somehow, then starts saying, "Huh." Then says, "Daughter, something doesn't look right here. I think I really screwed this up." Then I magically put the loop back on the left needle and he can magically knit again. Magic!

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): I'm not bragging. OK, maybe a little. Not *just* bragging. It's actually germaine to the story.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Despite the fact that when the story opened in the woods in Wisconsin, Mom's home state, I asked (very sincerely), "Mom, did you play with Laura Ingalls Wilder when you were a little girl?"

^FOOTNOTE (careted): Early adventures in Book Problem.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Ha! Pun! Y'know... 'cause we're talking about light? And stuff? And pun? Hahahahaha!

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): I don't think it was ever spoken. Or written. It just seems the polite thing was not to read ahead when we were all enjoying the story so much.

§§FOOTNOTE (brick. house.): Which actually was against the rules. I had to get special dispensation from the librarian, my teacher and the principal of the school under Mom's request (read: demand) because the Little House books were on the second grade shelf and I was a lowly kindergartner. This was the kindergarten I eventually got kicked out of, which led me to many happy months in construction paper, glitter and rosaries at the Catholic kindergarten. But that's another story for another day.

$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): A precursor to "just one more row"?

¶¶FOOTNOTE (they kinda look like meerkats, don't they?): I finished the second strip and am nearly halfway through the third. Thanks for asking.

##FOOTNOTE (pounded like a two-penny nail -- you know you wanted the whore line): How would you spell it?

@FOOTNOTE (atted): Immediately preceeded by the weird unplied fragility that is Noro Kureyon.

*FOOTNOTE (asterisked): And the simple trick brings to mind that old joke that ends, "frayed knot." You probably already knew about the fraying part, didn't you?

The Cop-Out Post

I didn't even turn my computer on yesterday, so no pictures yet.

[SUMMARY: "Ennui" is so much prettier than "lazy."]

I had a lovely time, thank you all for your jealousy and well-wishes.

[SUMMARY: *mwah*!]

I learned an immense amount† about modern art‡, cheese making,§ Cuban food, Cormo, collisions of celestial bodies,^ Central Park, Blue Faced Leicester, fringe European metal music, Amtrak, taxis in Dutchess County,¶ humidity, tourists, luggage in subway turnstiles and expectations.#

[SUMMARY: Into the twilight, endlessly muttering.]

The way I figure it, I don't have to struggle for blogtopics for a week-and-a-half. I have my NY state of mind and the Rockies to keep me going.

[SUMMARY: Y'all are in so much trouble.]

Until I get my blogshit together, allow me to turn you on to some odd European niche metal:

Rhapsody of Fire - Italian operatic metal. Ten minutes. Worth the time, if for no other reason than the four-minute preamble by Christopher Lee and the bridge by same.

Finntroll - Finnish troll metal% sung in Swedish. Begs the question, "Yes, but do they take *themselves* seriously?"

And this little time waster I've been saving for a sub-lick-the-pig sort of day like today: Fly Guy.

[SUMMARY: Smoke and mirrors... hey! Look over there!]

Now, if y'all will excuse me, I have to go start setting up to try for Rox tix.††

Tomorrow, maybe even pictures. Depends on the level of *cough* ennui in here.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): In aggregate, not necessarily piecemeal.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): At least a good, solid confirmation of what I do and don't like and what pisses me off.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): You read right.

^FOOTNOTE (careted): Don't get excited -- not even remotely C-battery or rug burn related.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Home of Rhinebeck.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): There will be no surprises about the conclusion to which I came, but you may be surprised about the disappointments that precipitated the hackneyed and totally self-helpesque inner conversation on expectations. Don't hate me because I'm obvious.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): You read right.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Did I say that out loud? I meant WORK. I must get to WORK.

GO ROCKIES!

Bon Voyage!

Rhinebeck Countdown: T-minus and counting, play clock at 3 days

Fewer words than you're used to, I got all manner of crap to take care of before I leave at (get this) 4:00 tomorrow morning.

And, y'know... didn't get *that* much sleep last night.

Here is how the movie people Bogart a parking lot:




Here are my new earrings (glass skulls), which I am wearing every day:




Here is a funny story that you will recognise as an ideal situation to take my car keys from me: One day last week, I went for lunch and I happened to look at the old billboard (like this) because Hans said to me once, "I don't know any of the guys they have on that billboard." So I looked at the billboard. And when I came back, I glanced out the window and said, "G Brown. I know who G Brown is."

About two hours later, I looked up and this was my view:




I never saw anyone change the artwork. Either billboard installers are sneaky like cactus or I am so completely oblivious I didn't notice an acre of change right under my nose. Almost literally.

To make it all better (in case, say, you're a D'Backs fan), here are fibre pictures.

Here is Yorick as a misshapen lump of felt:

Here is Yorick as a pinned out misshapen lump of felt:

Here are two Yoricks battling for Supremacy of the Box:

The Good News: The heads shrunk (I can't tell you how much I wish I had time to play with that whole concept. I would be really funny) more than I would have liked, but the scarf is still drapey and will likely not be possessing any cats or coffee makers any time soon.

The Bad News: I still have to cut out the eye- and nose-holes. And my scissors -- all eleventy-billion pairs of them -- are missing.

And 'cause y'all are knitters (sorry, Brother... don't mean to paint you with the knitterly brush... MANY of y'all are knitters), I know how you like to see the seams:

That's a three-needle bind-off (my first). It took about two hours because I started by binding front to back with a too-short tail, then I bound front to front with a too-short tail (what do you suppose I thought had changed?), then I had to get a separate piece of yarn to do the bind-off, then I said, "Fuck it, I'm felting. I don't have to get jiggy with the join."

And 'cause I know how y'all (sorry, Brother) like to see how the back looks:




That's all, folks! See some of you in Rhinebeck, see the rest on the flip-side next week!

XOXO
M

GO ROCKIES!

And Now to Our Marin in the Street...

Note the time...


Yeah, well, Shanny called... I was all wired... I couldn't've slept with a vat of Quaaludes... I went downtown. At least I share.

GO ROCKIES!