Sylvia's Last Stand

Sylvia's House of Fuzzy Crack is no more. The last truck took its last load this morning.

Posh will forever be the place I found knitters. People to knit with. Social knitting. Competitive knitting. Supportive knitting. Showing off knitting.




Women who can always be counted on to ooh and aah over Nathan's package.†

[SUMMARY: It's fibrelicious!‡]

Posh will forever be the place I learned about mail order chickens§ from Marybeth.




Without Posh, I might still be knitting endless scarves every football season¶... and endless baby blankets in the spaces in between.

I might never have met Bonnie# or Kate†† or Leslie...




...or (gods forbid) Genius Sarah. Who would hit me on the arm and say, "I have a question," all the way through baseball playoffs and untangle my yarn for me when I got too eager and couldn't wait until I got home to winder and swift and muddled it all up at Drunken Knitting?




Or Meg. Meg of the Mini Cooper and the motorcycle and the intense, funny intelligence. Or Heather, whose baby shower continued my knack for walking in on big, happy Posh parties.




Or Leslie, self-professed skincare whore and funny, erudite knitting writer.




Or Natalie, who makes me spit wine out my nose laughing.




Or Liza-Spelled-Lisa who accidentally got married, then accidentally adopted a second child.




Or Rosie who loves perfume, or Ligia who is an Capital-E-Educator and lives around the corner from me.




[SUMMARY: These are the people in my neighbourhood.‡‡]

It's the end of a soft, many-plied, colourful, beautiful era.

XOXOXOXO, Sylvia. It'll be sad knowing I can't just drop by on a random Friday afternoon.

See you around.

[SUMMARY: *sniffle*]

Don't ask how much I spent at the moving sale.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Oh, look what I did. Now he feels violated and I feel twelve. heheheheheh

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): And I'm not just talking about Nathan's package.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Thus continues the Summer of the Chickens. By the way, Marybeth says the chickens would, indeed, look fetching in sweater vests, but if we want to knit them we have to do it fast -- and I'm guessing not get too attached to the results -- because the chicks have already doubled in size.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): College boyfriends, high school friends, roommates... nobody was safe from the annual football scarf, twelve feet long, double-thick and ten inches wide. heheheheh. Sorry... had a moment.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Who is new, but noteworthy and has, in fact, cut her hair since this photo (just in case you see her around town).

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Who talks more than I do and gets captioned in the footnotes for it.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Y'know... my *spiritual* neighbourhood. The family you choose. The next-door neighbours of my soul. People who certainly deserve better photography than I've given them here.

That's Funny Right There...

TTHFCIF

...I don't care who you are.

Genius Sarah's mom called her from Michigan to tell her about this bumpersticker:







Democrats are sexy.
Have you ever heard of anyone looking for a good piece of elephant?







(I added the pictures myself)

Secret Pal 12 Question 12

I'm sure most of us have a proudest moment when it comes to knitting. A project or technique that you've tackled and completed beautifully. What is your proudest knitting moment?

If you've been around me enough,† you've heard my bird-by-bird philosophy of knitting. It's not pretentious or flip, it's really how I feel.‡

Generally, pride comes simply from finishing something§ because I have yet to find a pattern that didn't fall under that "it's either knit or purl" umbrella.¶

[SUMMARY: Pride is a sin, you know.# I'm still running for saint.]

And on the flip side? What is the one thing that you can't get right? What is that one project that you've never been able to complete? Or that you did complete but then hid away instantly because it was too embarrassing?

I have a *lot* of projects I haven't completed.

I haven't completed them generally because they aren't birthday or Christmas presents for someone else†† and birthdays and Christmas rolled around, necessitating deadline knitting.

Oh, wait... not quite true.

We've all of us KALers given up on the stupid Sebring tank because the pattern sizing is so very wrong and none of is *that* interested in fighting it.@ It's just a tank top. It shouldn't become rocket science.

But not because we "can't get it right" -- just 'cause the pattern is so bad.

[SUMMARY: I sleep well at night with my clear knitting conscience.]

Trust me... inasmuch as this is still a knitblog, you will know when I find that stitch that ties me in knots or that technique that simply eludes me.

There will be cussing.‡‡
*************

Bois de Iles - Chanel

Marin says: Heavy and sweet. I don't know if it's power of suggestion from knowing "Chanel" is in the name, but I get a lot of aldehyde right off the bat. Also rose and sandalwood, which I'm starting to recognise as a classic -- overdone -- combination.

It's a Bois, so there should be wood, but... well, I guess sandalwood is wood, but when I see "wood," I'm always hoping for something more like tree bark.§§

The nice part is that the aldehyde seems to be under the other stuff, so it isn't too overwhelmingly No. 5 for me.

There's some other flower... I'm thinking lilac.

Oh, there's some wood. Aldehyde + sandalwood = cedar.¶¶ I like cedar.

The Perfumed Court says: The first woody fragrance created for women (in 1926). This Oriental woody scent has notes of sandalwood,$ vetiver,% tonka bean, vanilla, ylang ylang,^ iris, coriander, rose,$ jasmine and aldehydes.$

Hans says: Whoo.## That smells like baby powder! Only... something else... my first impression is baby powder, but... I want to nail this! Maybe I'm just thinking lavender baby powder. Only it's not really lavendery.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Or been around the Rickety Blog enough.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Seriously. I've never looked at a pattern to see if I could do it. I just look to see if I like it, then figure I can do it. Wouldn't it be lovely if I could approach all tasks with that kind of calm confidence? Like dating? For instance?

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): The bigger, the prouder. Square footage counts.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Not that I'm looking.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): OK, OK... I will admit I was inordinately proud when Genius Sarah told me last week my stockinette is amazing. Do I get points for confessing?

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Which is to say there's an assload of stuff I've started for myself, some experimental just-because projects for other people and poor Brother's sadly overdue Arrrgyle socks, which now take a back seat because they're already late and I don't see the logic in making everything else late on their behalf.

@FOOTNOTE (atted): I don't think I mentioned Bag Lady Kathryn wrote to the designer of the Sebring (there's no errata available for the tank) to ask if corrections were forthcoming or if she could give us some tips, as even the fattest of us (*ahem*) knitting an extra-small were in danger of slipcovering a Jeep with the results. Said designer said nobody had ever complained and very helpfully suggested we hadn't checked our gauge (that was sarcastic -- of COURSE we checked our gauge. If you have to start a project for the third time because it's waywayway too big, you check the gauge). Then she suggested the gauge for the lace panel should actually be smaller (7 st/in) than for the stockinette (6.75 st/in). Which suggested to me she's not thinking clearly and maybe never had a test-knitter on the thing.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): And vodka.

§§FOOTNOTE (seahorses!): Pine. I mostly think of pine when I think of wood. I bet there's a fancy term for sandalwood wood vs. pine wood.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (noses!): Just a theory.

$FOOTNOTE (on the money): Ha! Got one!

%FOOTNOTE (percented): I still don't know what vetiver smells like.

^FOOTNOTE (careted): I'm beginning to think I only hate ylang-ylang in bubble bath and shower gel. Maybe it doesn't react well with soap.

##FOOTNOTE (pound one in! Wait! Pound *two* in!): He may even have said, "Whoo doggy!"

Lovely.

It's a lovely day.

I could bitch about work, but it's a lovely day.

I could bitch about the DNC, but it's a lovely day.

I could bitch about repetitive knitting injuries, but it's a lovely day.

And the Vampirates books are *outstanding*

And I just learned how to use gmail chat.

And I'm done with the four square feet of black stockinette on the Vampirates sweater and I'm allowed to start the skull with joy and no four square feet of black stockinette hanging over my head.

And Genius Sarah said my four square feet of black stockinette is amazing.

So let's just call it a good day. Only I have to get back to work.

And gmail chat.
*************
Fleurs d'Oranger - Serge Lutens (edp)

Marin says: ORANGE BLOSSOM!

I'm pretty sure I already told you this story, but when I was 14, we drove to Cali for spring break. On the way, we stopped to visit my godparents in Scottsdale. When we got out of the car in April in Scottsdale, I thought it the most magical thing ever -- the whole world smelled of flowers. I made appreciative noises and Mom said, "Those are orange blossoms."

Within about ten minutes, I was a little over orange blossoms. By day three, the smell of orange blossoms nauseated me.

It's a largely pleasant smell, sweet but natural and a tiny bit tangy, but it's enveloping to me. It's thick and I just can't get away from it. I'm a little dizzy right now. Wait... now it smells like tuberose. Or jasmine. I can't tell the difference off the tip of my nose.

Huh.

Give it a couple of hours and it's almost gone. What's left is a hint of fleurs and a touch of something woody.

The Perfumed Court says: A stunning Floriental fragrance that blends orange flower blossoms, white jasmine and tuberose from India along with white rose, green notes, musk, cumin and nutmeg.

Hans says: It smells earthy. Like incense. Does that make sense? It's incensy. I don't know how to spell that.

Weekend Between the Pipes

For those of you not hockey-literate, that has nothing to do with the crack y'all might assume I've been smoking, lo, these past 10 months.†

Genius Sarah and I toddled over to the Pepsi Center early to "help set up." I use quotes because Annie and Sandi were really on top of it and didn't so much *need* us. But it did give us an opportunity to insist the security people at the Pepsi Center call all over the arena on their radios to get us clearance.‡

[SUMMARY: Wreaking havoc wherever I go...]

Sylvia sent a load of fuzzy crack and some fantastic prizes§ along, so we lugged those up to the Interweave Sticks 'n' Stitches% table at Section 317.

Mostly we just stood around for awhile, jawing and shifting from foot to foot. Sandi was hungry, so we went in search of our complimentary hot dogs at Section 354. "Why 354?" you might ask, when there were stands so much closer to the table at 317 and our actual seating in Section 312.

I'm guessing because you had to pass a lot of mini bars on the way and they hoped knitters wouldn't be able to pass up the chance to belly up to the bar. As I liked to say when subsequent knitters asked where it was,¶ "Go past the beer stand, two Tuaca bars and the margarita bar and it's on your left."

[SUMMARY: You know more about Pepsi Center concessions than you ever needed to know.]

Sandi, my new best friend, managed to escape my camera,^ but I snapped this lovely shot of my new best friend, Annie, and Sarah# just before the floodgates opened.




Knitters started showing up in small droves, perusing the available goodies and walking away with new stash. And magazines. And patterns. And project bags. And Posh coupons.

Annie told us when we got there to grab what we wanted and I thought, "Well, I'll just wait and see if there's anything left that speaks to me. Let the other knitters have first crack."††

This would be knitters. Taking first crack.



Sarah and I manned‡‡ the table between the second and third periods, just in case there were additional donations to Warm Up America and it looked like locusts had descended upon the table. There were a few magazines and random patterns left, but the knitters had done a pretty good job of denuding the crops.

Which is OK. I don't need any more yarn.

[SUMMARY: Need is such a confining word.]

Hockey knitters at work and play



I also got to meet my new best friend, Brendan, my rock star contact at the Colorado Avalanche. Isn't he cute? He even asked after my Lizard Ridge.§§ Apparently, Brendan's brother-in-law¶¶ works at Interweave. Maybe in accounting.

[SUMMARY: Six Degrees of Interweave Press.]




Now, this one I'm sharing, despite its god-awful camera shake because it made me laugh. More than once.




I caught Genius Sarah in a yawn, but doesn't it look like she's harmonising with the guy behind her and the chick down front? And I love the look on the face of the girl in the lower right corner. Like she was caught doing something naughty.##

[SUMMARY: Everything's naughty with the wrong mindset.]

TiVi STAR UPDATE: eBeth, the SIL, caught my SupaStar appearance on the TiVi at the gym. For those of you not following along in the comments, she first recognised me by my HANDS. Which shows a dedication to the cause I find admirable.

Also? I can't help but wonder if I went to the gym more if it might not have been bigger publicity for me. Y'know... like people would look up and say, "Hey! Isn't that the chick who's on the treadmill every day? I spotted her on the free weights last week! Ooooh! Brush with greatness!"

[SUMMARY: I may have to revisit the New Year's Resolution thing to include going to the gym more simply for recognition factor.]

Happy Monday, y'all. It's going to be a long, long week -- the first time some of us have to work five full days in AGES.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): It refers to the goal... the area between the pipes that make up the frame on the net in hockey. Let it never be said I'm not wildly educational.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): They don't let people in more than one hour before the game (we were there at 5:30 for a 7:00 drop), but you see, we weren't just PEOPLE. We were VOLUNTEERS.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): I know the Columbus Blue Jackets are also hosting a Sticks 'n' Stitches, for those of my peeps in the Greater Columbus Metro Area. There may be others -- check with your local teams. If your local teams aren't on board, maybe you should look into Sticks 'n' Stitches of your own for next season.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Lovely little project bags madly run up on her serger in the back room of Posh like Nikes in a Thai sweatshop.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Because I think I'm funny.

^FOOTNOTE (careted): It was Sandi's first hockey game ever, so Annie wanted to be sure she didn't miss the skate-around or the gobo-infused introductions. Annie's from North Dakota, so she knows how important the whole hockey *experience* is for a virgin hockey watcher.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Note Sarah, in true Genius fashion, sporting the Koolhaas hat from the Interweave Holiday Issue. I'm beginning to think a good reason to knit stuff for myself would be so I have something handknit to show off at knitting events. Or so I can suck up to the Interweave crew by wearing something from their publications.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): First FUZZY crack... BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! *sniff* Sometimes I crack me up.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Knittered?

§§FOOTNOTE (tempest-toss'd): He didn't know he was asking after my Lizard Ridge, per se... he just asked what I was knitting, made some appropriately non-commital appreciative noise and exhibited extra interest by grasping the concept that I would be sewing the strip together with other strips to make a blanket.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (gone clubbing!): Or brother. Or sister-in-law. I'm old and feeble and don't necessarily remember the details, but I KNOW Brendan has family at Interweave somehow.

##FOOTNOTE (pounding like a tequila hangover): Hand-in-the-cookie-jar naughty, not rug-burns-from-the-stairs naughty.

Do You Know What Time It Is?

TTHFCIF

But we'll get back to our blogtitle in a moment. Now it's time to do something we haven't done in a long time: Lick the Pig!

[SUMMARY: You are so excited right now.]

Let me tell you a little car tale: my little car† has expired plates. Like, four months worth of expired. I didn't know. Usually, the City and County of Denver will send a notice and I can send a check and they will, in turn, send my new stickers. Turns out they're "running really far behind"‡ this year.

So I went to pick up Genius Sarah at the airport Wednesday night. Through a series of hilarious mishaps worthy of the three stooges,§ I had to circle around three times before actually connecting with her.

On the final approach, one of the police officers stationed at passenger pick-up to keep terrorists from loitering directed me into an empty space by the United door.

"I need to go down to Air Canada," I yelled out the window.

He directed me again.

"No... you see, my friend is waiting for me at Air Canada."

He pointed at the blank spot by the curb.

"Air Canada! Way down there!"

He gestured emphatically with both arms.

I huffed and probably rolled my eyes¶ and swerved into the space.

The cop came to the window and said, "Why were you yelling at me?"

"Because I didn't think you could hear me."

"I pulled you over because your license plates are expired. Could you hand me your registration and proof of insurance?"

"Oh. Yes."

Because everything except the license plate was in order, he let me go with a warning and a lecture about how very inconvenient and stupid it would be to get a parking ticket for expired plates.

"Now tell me, young lady, why didn't you pull over when I told you to?"

"I didn't know you were pulling me over. I thought you were directing traffic and directing me somewhere I didn't want to be."

"Go pick your friend up at Air Canada."

"Thank you."

Yesterday morning, about six blocks from the office, I noticed a cop behind me and a lane over. As I was operating outside the law, I started to get nervous. Sure enough, like a raindrop to a freshly-waxed car, he pulled in behind me. And followed me for six blocks. And pulled me over right in front of the office.

"Do you know why I pulled you over?"

I briefed him on my airport trip and he let me off with a warning and his business card.#

Y'all may have noticed we (until yesterday, I thought it was mostly just me) spend a certain amount of time gazing out our giant office windows at cranes, billboards, fashion disasters... the dinner theatre that is downtown.

Can you see where this is going?

When I finally stumbled in to the office, Hans greeted me with a cheery, "So what happened out there, you hardened criminal? Doesn't look like you got a ticket."

Of course, the client was watching out her window and said to Hans, "I can't believe this cop is going to pull someone over in this weather."

"Hey... that's Marin's car!"

[SUMMARY: All the world's a stage, all the Mini Coopers merely players.]

Speaking of quotation marks, I found a doozy of a sign in the Kaiser Permanente pharmacy Wednesday. I wish I'd had my camera, but I had to settle for taking very careful notes so I could share with y'all.

Yeah, you don't get any weird looks% at the clinic when you start copying instructional signs.

Punctuation, format and capitalisation [sic]. Very [sic]:

If your Name is "NOW" on the
"Name Board"
or you are "Handicapped"
Please "WAIT HERE", Until
"CALLED" to the Counter for Service
*Thank You*

[SUMMARY: Spectacular!]

Speaking of window-watching, this billboard showed up a couple of weeks before Thanksgiving.





We didn't get to watch them put it up, which was bad enough, but it's still the same old billboard now for over a month.

Apparently Keystone has more money than M&M/Mars. At least I'm not craving chocolate every hour of the day anymore.

[SUMMARY: Advertisers have my number. I am sucker, once again.]

And speaking of window-watching, it must've sucked to be this guy yesterday:




I told Hans it would suck even harder if the parking lot guy came along with his clipboard and enforced the "no free parking EVER!" rule and gave him a ticket.

Funnier, too.

[SUMMARY: Seriously, a LOT of Comedy Central over the weekend. I think in punchlines.]

Partly I just like the composition of this picture, partly I find it a fine segueway into my next piglickable subject, which is the Return of the Snow Guys.




You may remember the Snow Guys from last year.

This is either a new crew or new methodology,†† but not much less annoying.

[SUMMARY: Here it comes, friends: the Bitch of the Day!]

There are no machines this year, so I don't get the joy of listening to the snowblower run for two straight hours up and down right in front of my house, only to look out and see a guy plodding along behind a creature blowing absolutely no snow off a perfectly dry sidewalk.

Last night, there were at least two crews of four guys on this job for upwards of eight hours.

I first heard them scrape and clang at 10:30, just as I was turning off the lights to go to bed. And they woke me up at 12:30, 2:10 and 4:30. I finally got up at 4:30,‡‡ madder than all get-out. They were still puttering around when I left at 6:15.

I want to stress here that our little neighbourhood is less than nine square blocks and less than seven blocks of sidewalk. No driveways to shovel.

I would also like to stress that I could clear the whole fucking neighbourhood with a garden trowel in eight hours.

At 4:30, I peeked through my blinds in classic "you kids get off my lawn!" preamble and saw four guys standing right at the foot of my stairs, talking. When people talk in that loud, laughing social way in the street, I can hear it in my house.§§ One guy was twirling his snow shovel on one point of the blade. Sometimes, he'd lose control and it would clatter to the ground.

Then the supervisor, who had been driving by every half-hour all night to inspire a round of, "Hey, Manny!" drove by and there was a brief, shouted exchange. The shovel ballerina got bored and began BOUNCING THE SHOVEL ON THE BOTTOM STEP, which sounded like a slow jackhammer.

I was trying^ to put on sweats, practice my irate phone call to the management company and compose the story for blogging when they stopped breaking and started shoveling. Again. They shoveled my stairs and porch for the THIRD time.

It WASN'T SNOWING last night.

Can you tell the level of perturb by the number of capital letters? Oh, yeah. I'm a lot of fun when you wake me up at 4:30 in the morning.

[SUMMARY: Breezy.¶¶]

Let's lighten it up,## shall we?

Hans and I went to Wahoo's for lunch and I spied this on the light over our table:




Let's zoom in:




[SUMMARY: Funny on so many levels.]

Finally, I'd like to share my entry in Cheryl's Holiday Cheer Christmas Lights Contest:

I saw this on my way home one day last week.

View from the left


View from the centre


View from the right





I didn't actually go in and browse around their yard, at least partly because the letter posted above that sign asked that donations be made to their mission in lieu of giving money to support their light show. I can think of about a dozen ways a meeting in the Kisling's yard could go haywire for me.







[SUMMARY: Christmas if for the light of heart.†††]

I'm going for coffee.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): I think I'm clever.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): That's quotes as in "quote," not quotes as in "euphemism."

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): I'm Larry, Moe and Curly all wrapped up in one bungling package.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I know I shouldn't. Sometimes I can't help it. My inner teenaged brat is too strong.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): And by, "you," I mean, "I."

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): I had the fleeting moment of self-flattery when I mused he might be hitting on me. I had the more practical moment of self-preservation when I decided I'd flash his business card in case I got pulled over again, hoping the evidence that I'd just been warned would inspire another cop to leave me alone. I'll let you know how that works out.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): I fancy the management company may actually have listened to the myriad complaints (and death threats... more importantly, threats of lawsuits) about last year's snow removal debacle.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Hence, the blogtitle.

§§FOOTNOTE (snakey!): And your thumpy, thumpy car stereos, oh you kings of Chihuahua perpetrating the stereotype.

^FOOTNOTE (careted): It was so walking-while-chewing-gum.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (two snow shovels, bouncing in the night): Brother is laughing. See, years back I put a very brief message on my vmail -- I maintain that a lot of the standard, "I can't take your call, leave a message, I'll get back to you, have a nice day" is understood and a waste of time -- and Brother told me I sounded bitchy. I was truly crestfallen, because, as I told him, I'd been going for "breezy." Now every time I get snappish, he looks at me and says, "Ooooh. Breezy."

##FOOTNOTE (pounding like a two-day migraine): Ha! Pun!

†††FOOTNOTE (triple threat!): Seriously. I think I'm funny. Because I think puns are funny.

Genius Sarah...

...she knits, she drinks.

OK, she makes a hell of a pumpkin bread too, but for our purposes here today, she knits, she drinks.

Sarah looks at a lace pattern and says, "I don't think Row 17 is right. Here, look at this. What do you think?"†

Sarah executed the most spectacular graft on a lace shrug... it was invisible. A thing of surpassing beauty.

I did once see Sarah turn a heel, try the sock on and find the heel was sticking out of her ankle, but it only served to humanise her.

Anyway, it was Sarah's influence and connection% that led us to mingle with the pretty people in a trendy, trendy gallery, tasting pinot noir under the auspices of The Bacchanalian Society of Denver and charity work.^

We tasted so much pinot noir for so long... well, we *started* with good technique and thoughtful commentary:

"Good legs, the colour is excellent. The bouquet... grass? Definitely fresh and green."

*swish* *sip*‡

"You can taste the grass in the finish. It starts with banana, but it's a little smoky."

After an hour, our most elegant thought was, "Bad bad bad bad bad. Just just just bad. Give it a zero... no! Bad! It's bad! Give it a negative one! Was that number 68 or 86?"

[SUMMARY: In vino devistatus.]

Our team... Kate and Genius Sarah



Did I mention it was a competition?

Each team brought three bottles (all the same) of a pinot noir. Two bottles from each team were brown-bagged, assigned a number and placed on tables. We had sheets with numbered spaces to write down our impression of each wine we tasted and rate it on a scale of one to five.§

At the end of the night, we were to put our favourite and least favourite on a card. The team with the best wine, as voted by the somewhat inebriated constituents, would take all those third bottles home.

Except the worst wine. The team with the most votes for least favourite¶ was to take their own bad bottle home.

We got there and signed in and partook of the "starter wines" at the buffet table. There was bread and cheese and veggies and such.

Perhaps we should have partook of more bread and cheese and less starter wine.

[SUMMARY: Hindsight.]

Anyway, at 6:30-ish, they started the speeches. Seven of them. One guy spoke twice.

One thing I might tell the committee is that seven speeches is too many.

Also, that they could have done the speeches during the mingle hour and just let us taste the damned wine at the appointed damned wine tasting time.

Also, that starter wines might not be a good idea if you're going to give people an hour's head start.

[SUMMARY: Monday morning quarterback. Speaking of,# you can't Monday morning quarterback Jay Cutler this week. He was just too good last night. But I digress...]

Pretty people with starter wines



I'm pretty sure this was a networking exercise for most of these folks



Anyway...

There were seven or eight tables and each table had two bottles each of ten or twelve wines.

Don't try the math. It will make your eyes bleed.

Now, if I were to tell the committee something else, it would be that palate cleansers, for both the mouth and nose, should be on every table.

Also, there should be water available for rinsing glasses.

And drinking.

[SUMMARY: Oops, I did it again.]

Dave



You may wonder why I have a picture of Dave here. Dave is a regular for brunch at the Coral. It was kind of odd to see him out of context. We smiled, nodded, said hello... and a little while later, Dave said, "Hey, every time I see you, you have a glass in your hand. Do you have a drinking problem?"

"Dave, I have no problem whatsoever drinking."

Oh, how we laughed.

Anyway...

After umpteen sips of wine with thoughtful commentary, we started to devolve to "Wine bad. Lights pretty."

If I were going to tell the committee one more thing, it would be that 80 wines to taste is simply too many. Both from a quality-of-tasting standpoint and a drunk-off-my-ass-one-sip-at-a-time standpoint.

[SUMMARY: I have no solutions, only problems.]

See? One sip at a time...



Anyway...

Adam joined us and asked which wines we liked and didn't like. Funny story, that.

"Fifty!" we shouted, in chorus. "Fifty is AWFUL!"

I showed him the sheet where we'd†† written "Bad bad bad bad bad!" and given wine number 50 a negative one.

"Really?" he said. "That bad?"

"Oh, yeah. Awful. Swill. Gross. Bad bad bad bad bad," I pointed at our cheat sheet to punctuate the horror that was wine number 50.

We left shortly thereafter, off to The Hornet for to soak up some wine. On our way out, Adam said, "Do you guys know which bottle was yours?"

"56?"

"Close."‡‡

Oh, yeah. We brought the swill.

[SUMMARY: Justice is blind. So is an amateur sommelier.§§]

Adam laughed at us because we all rated our wine the worst.

Funny thing,¶¶ I just looked at the results, and our wine got six votes for favourite. Guess how many for least favourite?

Yep.

Three.

[SUMMARY: Three is a number I can count to.]

Tomorrow, the Brown Palace Champagne Cascade. Many pictures. Stay tuned!


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): And I, who can't count to four, look at the pattern and go, "Huh." I know I'm slurping Sarah pretty hard here, but it's a good opportunity to pay homage to the genius that is Sarah and also say nice things about the person who sat next to me for just about every game of the baseball postseason.

Let us not talk of the baseball postseason again.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Most specifically her brother, Adam, who is very cute and very personable and I can't believe I didn't get a picture of him. He might have popped up after pinot number 38 when I was waving the camera in the air hoping to catch good pictures like flies in a spider web.

^FOOTNOTE (careted): Please... drinking for charity? This is a concept I can so get behind. If anybody hears about a Boinking Without Borders event, let me know.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): They had the owner of a chi-chi wine store (Paul, nice guy, asked my opinion, Paul is my new best friend) go over the proper protocol for wine tasting, being the four S's, which I think were see, swirl, smell and sip. Can you see where this is going?

I turned to Sarah and said, "They forgot the most important S."

"What?"

"Spit or swallow."

Oh, how we laughed.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): It should perhaps be noted that at one point, I was deemed the responsible secretary of the group, as both Sarah and Kate had lost their sheets. It should also be noted I used a one to ten scale. With decimals. Pretty fancy for someone who can't count to four, huh?

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): "...most votes... least favourite..." Did anybody else just get dizzy?

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): And, Allie, I love your boy Emmett, but last night he told Steve Young and Stuart Scott not to count out the Houstan Texans, as they are still a "fordable" team. I rewound it three times to be sure. I know he meant "formidable," but I'm pretty sure he ended up saying they're shallow and easy to get around.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): And by "we," I mean "I."

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): You could play the theme from Jaws here. It would not be inappropriate.

§§FOOTNOTE (sssssssssssssss): Let's say, for my sake, that was clever. Yeah, I don't know what it means either. Apparently is better to sound good than to make sense, darling.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (pppppppppppp): That's a lot of funny things, isn't it? It's a funny ol' world.