Part I of today's 3-part series on why this was the best birthday ever.
Brother musics. I read.
Not that I don't listen to music and not that Brother doesn't read, but Brother has a music problem and I clearly have a book problem.†
For my 31st birthday, he got me a CD player. I got one for myself for my 20th birthday‡ and it had ceased to work long before.
As dopey% as it may be to get sentimental about a piece of stereo equipment, that 31st birthday CD player brought music back to my life. I probably hadn't listened to six hours of radio and no CDs in three years when he gave me that.
[SUMMARY: *sniff*]
Now, for my 41st, Brother has brought the music again.
He gave me a one-year subscription to emusic. Now, I have an iPod. I've been musically capable all on my own for years now, but this will bring something back I haven't had for a good, long while: exploration.
I've done most of my musical exploration through my brother for the last three or four years.§ He makes me a CD every Christmas¶ and I go buy various CDs or MP3s from the artists on it and I feel very hip and underground.
Sometimes a little dangerous.^
[SUMMARY: I am dork once removed.]
emusic doesn't trade much in the mainstream.#
I'm going to have to listen to a lot of weird stuff. I love listening to weird stuff so long as I have some means of organising the weird stuff. Just going to Cheapo Discs and randomly pulling potential weirdness out of the bins... well, actually, that might be fun once or twice,†† but guided weirdness suits my inner planning Nazi so much better.
So I get 30 tracks a month, with all the joy of musical discovery married to the complete time-suck of Music Maker.‡‡
[SUMMARY: Hey, wait...]
Brother is still trying to take over the world.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): And we will both admit to having video game problems so severe that neither of us will keep games on our computers. Brother once, in an attempt to subvert my powers and take over the world, got me Music Maker for Christmas. This is a musical video game, more or less, that allows one to remix songs, compose songs, distort notes, add syncopation, change keys... in short, I spent 17 straight hours remixing one bar of "First and Last and Always" and had to remove the software from my computer. Later, Brother admitted he really wanted Music Maker for himself but he knew he would be homeless and unhygienic within a month if he had it.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Trust me, this was a hundred years ago. I don't think anybody else at my whole college had a CD player in 1987. Not only am I influential, apparently I'm a trendspotter. I am also pleased and more than a little smug to report that my college boyfriend didn't think CDs were going to last and refused to invest in the player or the media until he was confident they'd be around to stay. I believe he was still running vinyl and cassette tapes in 1992.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Is there an "e" in dopy? Dopey? Dopie?
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): To be honest, my finding The Duhks and Margot and the Nuclear So and Sos was indirectly through Brother, as he was directly responsible for my XM Radio. Just so's you know... I keep a tiny notebook, about the size of a business card, in my car so I can write down bands and songs off obscure XM channels. I am that dork.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): With some odd stuff he thinks I need and often some utterly esoteric circa-1983 thing that's been off my radar for years.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): Y'know... hip hop...
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): I tried Rush. No Rush. I tried Sisters of Mercy... *that's* too mainstream for emusic. They do, however, trade in Duhks and Margot, so I know there's something out there for me.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): I did that at Bleecker Bob's in the Village on one of my NYC trips. Cool, but kinda like trying to kill pigeons with a scatter gun. You miss more than you hit.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): *ahem* I probably shouldn't admit this, but the first time I played computer solitaire (1992, for the trendspotter record), I discovered it (while watching the evening news - I mention that so you can get a bead on the time frame) buried in the directory of a DOS-based computer my uncle had given me to take to Antarctica. I messed around with it, gradually figuring out all the key commands (no mouse) and looked up and it was 4:00 in the morning.
No, I've never played Prisoner of Zenda. Now you see why.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Monday, July 14, 2008
Back in Body, If Not in Spirit
Let's see...
Tuesday: Finish birthday bragging
Wednesday: Lake re-cap
Thursday: Potential self-indulgent navel-gazing vis-a-vis dreams (you are SO looking forward to that)
But for now...
Lyda have you seen this?
Brainsssss!
Tuesday: Finish birthday bragging
Wednesday: Lake re-cap
Thursday: Potential self-indulgent navel-gazing vis-a-vis dreams (you are SO looking forward to that)
But for now...
Lyda have you seen this?
Brainsssss!
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Secret Pal 12 Question 5
We briefly interrupt our extended coverage of Marin's birthday for this important Secret Pal update:
1) Where is your favorite place to go for vacation/holiday?
2) Where is one place you'd like to go?
1) I have two favourites: New York and Lake McConaughy... for almost opposite reasons.
I love New York City for the energy, the museums, the seizure-inducing glut of available activities and my friends Jeff and Lorree, who are the perfect hosts for how I like to travel.†
I love the Lake because it's the only vacation I take where I really vacate. Drive four hours, just me and the Cutest Little Car and the iPod... check into the air-conditioned cabin... beers... random potluck dinner... beers... sleep... breakfast a Junie Mae's... bloody mary... sit in the water... sit in the water... lunch/nap... dinner... sit on the beach... sleep... breakfast at Junie Mae's... bloody mary... sit in the water...
[SUMMARY: Long stretches of slug punctuated by sudden bursts of vodka.]
2) I'm limiting myself on that second question to places I've never been. There's a long list of places I'd like to go back (Oh, New Zealand, how I've missed you...). I think top of my list for new adventures is England. I want to see the home of Shakespeare, Monty Python and William Smith.‡
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Fortunately, they also think I'm the perfect type of traveller to stay in their guest room, so... y'know -- symbiosis.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Arguably, the Father of Modern Geology, subject of Simon Winchester's book, "The Map That Changed the World." It also happens that book is the reason I'm no longer allowed to pick geology books for book club.
1) Where is your favorite place to go for vacation/holiday?
2) Where is one place you'd like to go?
1) I have two favourites: New York and Lake McConaughy... for almost opposite reasons.
I love New York City for the energy, the museums, the seizure-inducing glut of available activities and my friends Jeff and Lorree, who are the perfect hosts for how I like to travel.†
I love the Lake because it's the only vacation I take where I really vacate. Drive four hours, just me and the Cutest Little Car and the iPod... check into the air-conditioned cabin... beers... random potluck dinner... beers... sleep... breakfast a Junie Mae's... bloody mary... sit in the water... sit in the water... lunch/nap... dinner... sit on the beach... sleep... breakfast at Junie Mae's... bloody mary... sit in the water...
[SUMMARY: Long stretches of slug punctuated by sudden bursts of vodka.]
2) I'm limiting myself on that second question to places I've never been. There's a long list of places I'd like to go back (Oh, New Zealand, how I've missed you...). I think top of my list for new adventures is England. I want to see the home of Shakespeare, Monty Python and William Smith.‡
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Fortunately, they also think I'm the perfect type of traveller to stay in their guest room, so... y'know -- symbiosis.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Arguably, the Father of Modern Geology, subject of Simon Winchester's book, "The Map That Changed the World." It also happens that book is the reason I'm no longer allowed to pick geology books for book club.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Hookers and Blow!
That's what Eric and Jeff† used to say at poignant moments§ during D&D‡ campaigns.
Today's post is all about what my father got me for my birthday.¶
Booze and narcotics.
Seriously.
[SUMMARY: My dad knows me really well.]
See, when I turned thirty, it was like somebody threw an endocrinological# switch and suddenly I was sleeping like a normal person but I also got terrible cramps.†† The doctors rolled their eyes like I was a hysteric‡‡ and told me to take four Advil and leave them the hell alone.
Advil doesn't touch these cramps. It blows right on by the cramps and lodges somewhere... maybe my feet.§§
*************
I was sitting at lunch with Meg and it suddenly occurred to me, "I just wrote 2000 words on menstrual cramps.% Perhaps I should edit when my blood sugar is better."
*************
EDITED VERSION:
To make a long story short,¶¶ on a trip to LA, I discovered the icy magic of Vicodin. Then I discovered that 4 out of 5 gynecologists surveyed prefer a slow, painful death for their patients who have pain.
So the people in my life‡‡‡ have grown accustomed to saving Vicodin for me. And the rest of the world seems to get a lot of Vicodin: twist your ankle, get some Vicodin. Stub your toe, get some Vicodin. Feelings hurt? Have some Vicodin.
Fortunately for me, most Vicodin prescriptions are way bigger than the ailments for which they're prescribed and I have a very loving, generous Vicodin support system.
My father had a tooth pulled last week.
[SUMMARY: Is that foreshadowing I smell?]
Dad got the big pills. I'll save those for the monthly super hell days.
And he got me $100 gift card to Mondo Vino, the local and fantastic wine store featured in yesterday's blogpost.
So, y'know... booze and narcotics.
[SUMMARY: I told you so.]
I promised not to use them together.
Heh.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): High school. Y'know... the glory days. *snarf*
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Don't judge.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): When plundering an elf camp or during the obligatory meeting-in-the-tavern opening. Yeah, I said it: elf camp.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Partly because it's a short post, partly because it doesn't really require pictures.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Endocrinistic? Endocraptastic? OK, now I'm just making shit up.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Nobody asked me. The trade was made behind my back.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): One doctor -- a woman, no less -- *laughed* at me and said, "Awwwww... hurts to be a woman, doesn't it?" Bitch.
§§FOOTNOTE (hormonal maelstrom): I have tough feet.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): I don't even have cramps now. Now is the good time of the month, when the facial hair diminishes, the hormone-driven acne goes away and I'm feeling sassy. Yet, I managed 2000 words on cramps.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (two vicodin!): Too late!
‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (oh, the scars of medical science): Dad, Brother, my boss, Bag Lady Kathryn, Tani, Tani's ex-boyfriend...
Today's post is all about what my father got me for my birthday.¶
Booze and narcotics.
Seriously.
[SUMMARY: My dad knows me really well.]
See, when I turned thirty, it was like somebody threw an endocrinological# switch and suddenly I was sleeping like a normal person but I also got terrible cramps.†† The doctors rolled their eyes like I was a hysteric‡‡ and told me to take four Advil and leave them the hell alone.
Advil doesn't touch these cramps. It blows right on by the cramps and lodges somewhere... maybe my feet.§§
*************
I was sitting at lunch with Meg and it suddenly occurred to me, "I just wrote 2000 words on menstrual cramps.% Perhaps I should edit when my blood sugar is better."
*************
EDITED VERSION:
To make a long story short,¶¶ on a trip to LA, I discovered the icy magic of Vicodin. Then I discovered that 4 out of 5 gynecologists surveyed prefer a slow, painful death for their patients who have pain.
So the people in my life‡‡‡ have grown accustomed to saving Vicodin for me. And the rest of the world seems to get a lot of Vicodin: twist your ankle, get some Vicodin. Stub your toe, get some Vicodin. Feelings hurt? Have some Vicodin.
Fortunately for me, most Vicodin prescriptions are way bigger than the ailments for which they're prescribed and I have a very loving, generous Vicodin support system.
My father had a tooth pulled last week.
[SUMMARY: Is that foreshadowing I smell?]
Dad got the big pills. I'll save those for the monthly super hell days.
And he got me $100 gift card to Mondo Vino, the local and fantastic wine store featured in yesterday's blogpost.
So, y'know... booze and narcotics.
[SUMMARY: I told you so.]
I promised not to use them together.
Heh.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): High school. Y'know... the glory days. *snarf*
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Don't judge.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): When plundering an elf camp or during the obligatory meeting-in-the-tavern opening. Yeah, I said it: elf camp.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Partly because it's a short post, partly because it doesn't really require pictures.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Endocrinistic? Endocraptastic? OK, now I'm just making shit up.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Nobody asked me. The trade was made behind my back.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): One doctor -- a woman, no less -- *laughed* at me and said, "Awwwww... hurts to be a woman, doesn't it?" Bitch.
§§FOOTNOTE (hormonal maelstrom): I have tough feet.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): I don't even have cramps now. Now is the good time of the month, when the facial hair diminishes, the hormone-driven acne goes away and I'm feeling sassy. Yet, I managed 2000 words on cramps.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (two vicodin!): Too late!
‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (oh, the scars of medical science): Dad, Brother, my boss, Bag Lady Kathryn, Tani, Tani's ex-boyfriend...
Monday, July 7, 2008
Bellwether
For the first time in 75 years, Colorodans were able to purchase beer, wine and liquor at liquor stores on Sundays, starting July 6, 2008.
Guess where I was yesterday?
This is only the beginning of the good news for this week.
[SUMMARY: Boy, do I have good news for you!]
Birthday season continued in spectacular factions, sparking a semi-new Marin hobby bound to create many happy days' blogposts.
Of course, for this, I will need pictures.
[SUMMARY: Of course...]
Hang in there, Tuesday is coming...
Guess where I was yesterday?
This is only the beginning of the good news for this week.
[SUMMARY: Boy, do I have good news for you!]
Birthday season continued in spectacular factions, sparking a semi-new Marin hobby bound to create many happy days' blogposts.
Of course, for this, I will need pictures.
[SUMMARY: Of course...]
Hang in there, Tuesday is coming...
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Do Re Meme
Rules: You must answer the questions using only one word. Then tag four others.
1. Where is your cell phone? Purse
2. Your significant other? Imaginary
3. Your hair? Fuzzy
4. Your mother? Missed
5. Your father? Loved
6. Your favorite thing? Cool
7. Your dream last night? Absent
8 Your favorite drink? Vodka
9. Your dream/goal? Lottery
10. The room you’re in? Office
11. Your hobby? Knitting
12. Your fear? Spiders
13. Where do you want to be in 6 years? Here
14. What you’re not? Quiet
15. Muffins? Rarely
16. One of your wish list items? Scooter
17. Where you grew up? Didn't
18. The last thing you did? Print
19. What are you wearing? Red
20. Favorite gadget? DS
21. Your pets? Quirky
22. Your computer? Obsolete
23. Your mood? Wistful
24. Missing someone? Always
25. Your car? Cutest
26. Something you’re not wearing? Socks
27. Favorite store? Melt
28. Like someone? Maybe
29. Your favorite color? Purple
30. When is the last time you laughed? Today
31. Last time you cried? Today
Sheesh. Who needs a break from thinking about blogging? Stacey (just kidding)?
Lyda - 'cause I can
Carol - 'cause I haven't heard a peep on her blog in weeks
Sarah - ditto
Marcia - 'cause she always has the best words
1. Where is your cell phone? Purse
2. Your significant other? Imaginary
3. Your hair? Fuzzy
4. Your mother? Missed
5. Your father? Loved
6. Your favorite thing? Cool
7. Your dream last night? Absent
8 Your favorite drink? Vodka
9. Your dream/goal? Lottery
10. The room you’re in? Office
11. Your hobby? Knitting
12. Your fear? Spiders
13. Where do you want to be in 6 years? Here
14. What you’re not? Quiet
15. Muffins? Rarely
16. One of your wish list items? Scooter
17. Where you grew up? Didn't
18. The last thing you did? Print
19. What are you wearing? Red
20. Favorite gadget? DS
21. Your pets? Quirky
22. Your computer? Obsolete
23. Your mood? Wistful
24. Missing someone? Always
25. Your car? Cutest
26. Something you’re not wearing? Socks
27. Favorite store? Melt
28. Like someone? Maybe
29. Your favorite color? Purple
30. When is the last time you laughed? Today
31. Last time you cried? Today
Sheesh. Who needs a break from thinking about blogging? Stacey (just kidding)?
Lyda - 'cause I can
Carol - 'cause I haven't heard a peep on her blog in weeks
Sarah - ditto
Marcia - 'cause she always has the best words
I'd Like to Knit the World a Sock...
By the way? The moral of yesterday's Nintendo post?
When the Nigerian prince emails and says, "Let's play some Nintendo," just do it.
*************
Sheesh. I think I have about 14 projects going right now.†
Some of them, admittedly, just need finishing.
*coughlizardridgecough*
*coughgrandma'sslipperscough*
Some of them are Brother's Father's Day socks from 2007. Turns out frogging intarsia isn't as easy as it looks.
Some of them are the blue scarf. You remember the blue scarf. I can't lay my hands on the blue scarf right this minute, but when I do, it'll be highly active.
[SUMMARY: Making "some" a singular since 2006.]
Some projects are the Sebring tank top, which has been dubbed the shirt from hell by all who come across it. There's something seriously wonky about the pattern -- even those who are getting gauge are ending up with knitted bits that are WAY too big.
Now, I'm not getting gauge. I never intended to get gauge. I couldn't find yarn I liked that would seem to get 6.75 stitches per inch, so I decided I'd just do the math.‡
Yeah, ask me how that worked out.
I wonked the lace panel on the first go 'round,§ but before I frogged it I tried it on. At my bust measurement point,¶ it was probably three or four inches bigger than me.#
[SUMMARY: That's fucking huge.]
It doesn't seem to matter if you're getting gauge like Bag Lady Kathryn and Genius Sarah, or if you're a Sesame Street reject like me. The thing is just too damned big.
So I'm now knitting the extra small on the pattern... it *looks* OK...
I did wonk the lace a little. Again. But I'm willing to live with it.
[SUMMARY: Third frog's the charm.††]
So remember when Dad knit the Christmas stocking?
Well, a knitter friend of his was so excited -- she actually thought it would be the start of a wonderful new hobby for him.‡‡ In that spirit, she got him the Knitting Pattern-a-Day Calendar. Which he was going to give to me. Until she got really hurt he'd give her present away.
So it sits on top of his microwave.
Dad being Dad, he actually keeps up with it, changing patterns every day. Which is how he found this one:
Rippling Dunes Socks
"Daughter,§§ I brought you some mail and some magazines and a hint."
I pulled the pattern out of the bag and he said, "I just thought that was really neat. I even like the yarn. Without the pink."
He pondered for a moment.
"I guess the pink would be OK."
It just so happened that I had purchased a couple of hanks of Shibui Sock in Pebble with the specific intent of making socks for Dad.
Look at that. It looks an awful lot like the yarn in the picture... only without the pink.
So I started those last week and made some pretty good headway on the trip to Wisconsin.
[SUMMARY: Headway on socks.%]
I'm also working on the Wavy Leaves scarf from Fiddlesticks Knitting.
And the Malabrigo lace in the gorgeous purple¶¶ sent by Secret Pal for my birthday.
I know it doesn't look like a WIP, but if you saw the number of projects I've cast on and frogged, you'd understand my insistence that it IS a work in progress and my demand that I get credit for it as such.
I've been searching for just the right lace pattern for a lovely scarf. I may have finally found one in the lost## Barbara Walker stitch dictionary. Further updates as the situation warrants.
So that's it, poppets. All the news what's fit to print.
[SUMMARY: Sing it with me: Still a knitblog!]
Happy Holiday! Drink responsibly!
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Like, actively going. Not like, "I have a bunch of stuff in the back of the closet and technically it's a work-in-progress, but let's face it, I'm never going to get jazzed enough about 40 acres of linen stitch enough to actually pick it up again."
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): I can hear you laughing.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Actually, I wonked it once and said, "Nobody will ever notice that." Then I wonked it again and said, "Nobody will ever notice it down there by the hem." Then I wonked it again and said, "If you squint really hard..." Then I finally got over my state of denial and frogged.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): You know... the BIG number.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Circus tent proportions.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Oh, if only it worked that way for kissing them...
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Dear Barbara, have you MET my dad?
§§FOOTNOTE (I get my curly hair from my Dad too): Yes, he calls me "Daughter." And I often call him "Father." It doesn't sound nearly as posh from our end. 'Specially since he just as often calls me "Gruese." Short for "Gruesome."
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Heh.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (straights -- you know, as opposed to circs): Purple so beautiful, even my purple-hating camera deigned to capture it.
##FOOTNOTE (pound it twice and it's twice as nice!): Lost to me. In trying to find my Sherman's Lagoon book (don't judge) last night, I discovered it under the bed.
When the Nigerian prince emails and says, "Let's play some Nintendo," just do it.
*************
Sheesh. I think I have about 14 projects going right now.†
Some of them, admittedly, just need finishing.
*coughlizardridgecough*
*coughgrandma'sslipperscough*
Some of them are Brother's Father's Day socks from 2007. Turns out frogging intarsia isn't as easy as it looks.
Some of them are the blue scarf. You remember the blue scarf. I can't lay my hands on the blue scarf right this minute, but when I do, it'll be highly active.
[SUMMARY: Making "some" a singular since 2006.]
Some projects are the Sebring tank top, which has been dubbed the shirt from hell by all who come across it. There's something seriously wonky about the pattern -- even those who are getting gauge are ending up with knitted bits that are WAY too big.
Now, I'm not getting gauge. I never intended to get gauge. I couldn't find yarn I liked that would seem to get 6.75 stitches per inch, so I decided I'd just do the math.‡
Yeah, ask me how that worked out.
I wonked the lace panel on the first go 'round,§ but before I frogged it I tried it on. At my bust measurement point,¶ it was probably three or four inches bigger than me.#
[SUMMARY: That's fucking huge.]
It doesn't seem to matter if you're getting gauge like Bag Lady Kathryn and Genius Sarah, or if you're a Sesame Street reject like me. The thing is just too damned big.
So I'm now knitting the extra small on the pattern... it *looks* OK...
I did wonk the lace a little. Again. But I'm willing to live with it.
[SUMMARY: Third frog's the charm.††]
So remember when Dad knit the Christmas stocking?
Well, a knitter friend of his was so excited -- she actually thought it would be the start of a wonderful new hobby for him.‡‡ In that spirit, she got him the Knitting Pattern-a-Day Calendar. Which he was going to give to me. Until she got really hurt he'd give her present away.
So it sits on top of his microwave.
Dad being Dad, he actually keeps up with it, changing patterns every day. Which is how he found this one:
Rippling Dunes Socks
"Daughter,§§ I brought you some mail and some magazines and a hint."
I pulled the pattern out of the bag and he said, "I just thought that was really neat. I even like the yarn. Without the pink."
He pondered for a moment.
"I guess the pink would be OK."
It just so happened that I had purchased a couple of hanks of Shibui Sock in Pebble with the specific intent of making socks for Dad.
Look at that. It looks an awful lot like the yarn in the picture... only without the pink.
So I started those last week and made some pretty good headway on the trip to Wisconsin.
[SUMMARY: Headway on socks.%]
I'm also working on the Wavy Leaves scarf from Fiddlesticks Knitting.
And the Malabrigo lace in the gorgeous purple¶¶ sent by Secret Pal for my birthday.
I know it doesn't look like a WIP, but if you saw the number of projects I've cast on and frogged, you'd understand my insistence that it IS a work in progress and my demand that I get credit for it as such.
I've been searching for just the right lace pattern for a lovely scarf. I may have finally found one in the lost## Barbara Walker stitch dictionary. Further updates as the situation warrants.
So that's it, poppets. All the news what's fit to print.
[SUMMARY: Sing it with me: Still a knitblog!]
Happy Holiday! Drink responsibly!
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Like, actively going. Not like, "I have a bunch of stuff in the back of the closet and technically it's a work-in-progress, but let's face it, I'm never going to get jazzed enough about 40 acres of linen stitch enough to actually pick it up again."
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): I can hear you laughing.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Actually, I wonked it once and said, "Nobody will ever notice that." Then I wonked it again and said, "Nobody will ever notice it down there by the hem." Then I wonked it again and said, "If you squint really hard..." Then I finally got over my state of denial and frogged.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): You know... the BIG number.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Circus tent proportions.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Oh, if only it worked that way for kissing them...
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Dear Barbara, have you MET my dad?
§§FOOTNOTE (I get my curly hair from my Dad too): Yes, he calls me "Daughter." And I often call him "Father." It doesn't sound nearly as posh from our end. 'Specially since he just as often calls me "Gruese." Short for "Gruesome."
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Heh.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (straights -- you know, as opposed to circs): Purple so beautiful, even my purple-hating camera deigned to capture it.
##FOOTNOTE (pound it twice and it's twice as nice!): Lost to me. In trying to find my Sherman's Lagoon book (don't judge) last night, I discovered it under the bed.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Games People Play
I never intended to Nintendo.†
When I first got the email... well, like the first time a Nigerian prince offers you a million dollars to help smuggle his family jewels out of the country, you look around to see if anyone is watching and you consider it.‡
Then there was a second email saying, in essence, "You probably ignored the first email 'cause it looks like that Nigerian prince thing."
Turns out it was totally legit.
[SUMMARY: I am that dork.]
You may have seen the Nintendo commercials for the DS Lite with America Ferrara and Carrie Underwood and Liv Tyler.
Video games have long been the territory of 18-35§ males. Geek grrrls are certainly out there, and I'm guessing there's a healthy market for video games among the teenaged girl set, but not so much us women.
You know... mature. Responsible. Grounded.
*ahem*
On the one hand, there is a solid selection of video games that *don't* feature robots and elves and car theft... Brain Age 1 & 2, Let's Yoga, Big Brain Academy, Flash Focus Vision Training, Crosswords, My Weight Loss Coach, My Spanish Coach. These sorts of self-help, personal growth, educational games belie the concept of video games as sheer frippery.
On the other hand, have you ever seen a bunch of women driving turtles and gorillas around a virtual racetrack while trying to pick up squids and ghosts and shooting each other with mushrooms?
Mature, responsible and grounded.
I'm sticking with that.
[SUMMARY: Ladies and gentelmen, my friends... the mature, responsible, grounded women.]
As part of their marketing effort, the Girlfriends Guide to Gaming group is travelling the country, throwing parties in different cities, giving women a chance to try the DS Lite in a relaxed, comfortable atmosphere¶ with lots and lots of help.%
To construct their guest lists, they do some research and invite influential# female bloggers†† to hostess.
I supplied the 30 women, they supplied the food, wine and games. Including a DS Lite and a copy of Brain Game 2 for each and every attendee who completed the four-station "training."
[SUMMARY: Training. Like it was boot camp or something.]
Saturday, on a quiet street near the railroad tracks in central Denver...
...through a nondescript glass door...
...was a big, happy, personal welcome.
When I arrived, several of my invitees were already there.‡‡
It was a spacious, urban setting; a photographer's studio, I believe. There was a buffet of finger foods, several bottles of wine^ and soft drinks for the mature, responsible, grounded and/or pregnant.§§
Upon entering, we each received a naked charm bracelet. At each of the four game stations, we "had to" play the game, then we received a charm when we completed the task. As each woman filled her charm bracelet, she got a DS Lite of her very own. Along with Brain Age 2.
The stations? There was Brain Age 2¶¶...
...Mariokart##...
...Crossword...
...and quite possibly the most compelling, Guitar Hero.
Rock on, Jess.
Don't think I didn't try to figure out how to smuggle this out under my shirt...
...but mine was the last Denver party. When the tent comes down in one city, they pack up the entire thing, furniture, games, decorations and all and truck it to the next city.†††
It really was cool and touching. I met some people for the first time,@ had a bunch of old friends on hand and one woman teared up a little because she hadn't realised she was actually going to take a game home with her.
[SUMMARY: Awwwww... mature and grounded.]
Yeah, I really liked this part too. Besides being influential, being hearted is among my new favourite emotions.
I heart you too, guys. Thanks for making my little corner of the Nintendo world so bright, for making me look good, for being cool, for being there.
And, y'know... for calling me a hot redhead.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Yeah, I've been waiting for weeks to use that line.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): And by, "you," I mean, "I."
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): If we're being totally honest, I bet it's 12-50.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): read: No boys shouting, "Hit the A button! No! The A button! THE A BUTTON!" in your ear.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Not that some of us needed lots and lots of help. Not that some of us completely missed the part where you have to *strum* Guitar Hero to make it work. Good grief, those GGG women were patient.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Ask me how much I love being termed "influential." In fact, I tell everybody I meet -- including shop clerks and landscapers -- that I'm influential. "Apparently, I'm influential," I tell them.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Maybe female astronauts too. Or female senators. I mean, they're influential too.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): I swear I was trying to get there first. I was 15 minutes early. I guess the mature, responsible and grounded are also eager. And fewer of them may have stopped across the street for a shot of Patron.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): Not that the wine part had anything to do with the needing lots of help part.
§§FOOTNOTE (twisted like a Mariokarts track): Hey, Tani! Love you!
¶¶FOOTNOTE (plug-ins!): I don't want to brag, but I had the lowest brain age there. Of course, the nice GGG people also sent me a game like a month ago (mine has a pink crystal heart bling on it), so I've had lots of practice.
##FOOTNOTE (pounded like a Guitar Hero): The DS Lites communicate with each other, so if you have a game like this, you can go multi-player against people in your vicinity. We did. Squids were thrown, blood was shed.
†††FOOTNOTE (crosswords?): In this case, San Diego. Pause with me a moment and contemplate how cool a job these GGG women have: they travel from city to city playing and teaching video games, and everywhere they go they get to give out DS Lites and games to delighted party-goers. It's like Willie Wonka for the new millenium.
@FOOTNOTE (atted): I love it when imaginary friends migrate to the IRL list.
When I first got the email... well, like the first time a Nigerian prince offers you a million dollars to help smuggle his family jewels out of the country, you look around to see if anyone is watching and you consider it.‡
Then there was a second email saying, in essence, "You probably ignored the first email 'cause it looks like that Nigerian prince thing."
Turns out it was totally legit.
[SUMMARY: I am that dork.]
You may have seen the Nintendo commercials for the DS Lite with America Ferrara and Carrie Underwood and Liv Tyler.
Video games have long been the territory of 18-35§ males. Geek grrrls are certainly out there, and I'm guessing there's a healthy market for video games among the teenaged girl set, but not so much us women.
You know... mature. Responsible. Grounded.
*ahem*
On the one hand, there is a solid selection of video games that *don't* feature robots and elves and car theft... Brain Age 1 & 2, Let's Yoga, Big Brain Academy, Flash Focus Vision Training, Crosswords, My Weight Loss Coach, My Spanish Coach. These sorts of self-help, personal growth, educational games belie the concept of video games as sheer frippery.
On the other hand, have you ever seen a bunch of women driving turtles and gorillas around a virtual racetrack while trying to pick up squids and ghosts and shooting each other with mushrooms?
Mature, responsible and grounded.
I'm sticking with that.
[SUMMARY: Ladies and gentelmen, my friends... the mature, responsible, grounded women.]
As part of their marketing effort, the Girlfriends Guide to Gaming group is travelling the country, throwing parties in different cities, giving women a chance to try the DS Lite in a relaxed, comfortable atmosphere¶ with lots and lots of help.%
To construct their guest lists, they do some research and invite influential# female bloggers†† to hostess.
I supplied the 30 women, they supplied the food, wine and games. Including a DS Lite and a copy of Brain Game 2 for each and every attendee who completed the four-station "training."
[SUMMARY: Training. Like it was boot camp or something.]
Saturday, on a quiet street near the railroad tracks in central Denver...
...through a nondescript glass door...
...was a big, happy, personal welcome.
When I arrived, several of my invitees were already there.‡‡
It was a spacious, urban setting; a photographer's studio, I believe. There was a buffet of finger foods, several bottles of wine^ and soft drinks for the mature, responsible, grounded and/or pregnant.§§
Upon entering, we each received a naked charm bracelet. At each of the four game stations, we "had to" play the game, then we received a charm when we completed the task. As each woman filled her charm bracelet, she got a DS Lite of her very own. Along with Brain Age 2.
The stations? There was Brain Age 2¶¶...
...Mariokart##...
...Crossword...
...and quite possibly the most compelling, Guitar Hero.
Rock on, Jess.
Don't think I didn't try to figure out how to smuggle this out under my shirt...
...but mine was the last Denver party. When the tent comes down in one city, they pack up the entire thing, furniture, games, decorations and all and truck it to the next city.†††
It really was cool and touching. I met some people for the first time,@ had a bunch of old friends on hand and one woman teared up a little because she hadn't realised she was actually going to take a game home with her.
[SUMMARY: Awwwww... mature and grounded.]
Yeah, I really liked this part too. Besides being influential, being hearted is among my new favourite emotions.
I heart you too, guys. Thanks for making my little corner of the Nintendo world so bright, for making me look good, for being cool, for being there.
And, y'know... for calling me a hot redhead.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Yeah, I've been waiting for weeks to use that line.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): And by, "you," I mean, "I."
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): If we're being totally honest, I bet it's 12-50.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): read: No boys shouting, "Hit the A button! No! The A button! THE A BUTTON!" in your ear.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Not that some of us needed lots and lots of help. Not that some of us completely missed the part where you have to *strum* Guitar Hero to make it work. Good grief, those GGG women were patient.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Ask me how much I love being termed "influential." In fact, I tell everybody I meet -- including shop clerks and landscapers -- that I'm influential. "Apparently, I'm influential," I tell them.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Maybe female astronauts too. Or female senators. I mean, they're influential too.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): I swear I was trying to get there first. I was 15 minutes early. I guess the mature, responsible and grounded are also eager. And fewer of them may have stopped across the street for a shot of Patron.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): Not that the wine part had anything to do with the needing lots of help part.
§§FOOTNOTE (twisted like a Mariokarts track): Hey, Tani! Love you!
¶¶FOOTNOTE (plug-ins!): I don't want to brag, but I had the lowest brain age there. Of course, the nice GGG people also sent me a game like a month ago (mine has a pink crystal heart bling on it), so I've had lots of practice.
##FOOTNOTE (pounded like a Guitar Hero): The DS Lites communicate with each other, so if you have a game like this, you can go multi-player against people in your vicinity. We did. Squids were thrown, blood was shed.
†††FOOTNOTE (crosswords?): In this case, San Diego. Pause with me a moment and contemplate how cool a job these GGG women have: they travel from city to city playing and teaching video games, and everywhere they go they get to give out DS Lites and games to delighted party-goers. It's like Willie Wonka for the new millenium.
@FOOTNOTE (atted): I love it when imaginary friends migrate to the IRL list.
Secret Pal 12 Question 4
The "perfect sized" stash was a tough question for many of you to answer. Maybe these stash related questions will be easier:
1) What yarn (that you don't have/haven't used) would make your stash"complete"?
2) What yarn do you never want to be without?
1) Well, now... is a stash ever really complete?† There are currently two yarns I'm lusting after: Wollmeise and Therapi.
Wollmeise because I've admired certain patterns and the rich, rich colours for a long time. I almost bought a skein or two, but having to get it from Germany and paying a premium and the shipping and the no instant gratification and... and I missed the opportunity, since there are now issues. And no Wollmeise has been available for a long time and maybe for a long time yet.
You *know* the scarcity only makes me want it more.
Therapi just trips my trigger 'cause it's made with 30% rocks.‡ Jade. And Syl has a sample at the House of Fuzzy Crack and it feels like an iron fist in a velvet glove. So soft, so strong. And did I mention rock? Rock on, SWTC. Rock on.
2) I bet I'm not the only person to answer thus§: sock yarn. Lovely, useful, portable, pretty, always-has-a-project sock yarn.¶
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Yeah, I'm getting all solipsistic and kinda intellectual jackass because I'm waffling. I'll say, "Ah..." and chew on the stem of my glasses with a smug look on my face any minute now.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Rocks friends.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): In fact, if less than 60% of the people vote for sock yarn, I'd be flabbergasted.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Funny, in college, my retail therapy was to buy socks because they were smallish, you could get cool colours and designs, they didn't cost a bunch and they always made me smile. Now it's sock yarn. Perhaps I have a foot fetish. Or just a sock fetish.
1) What yarn (that you don't have/haven't used) would make your stash"complete"?
2) What yarn do you never want to be without?
1) Well, now... is a stash ever really complete?† There are currently two yarns I'm lusting after: Wollmeise and Therapi.
Wollmeise because I've admired certain patterns and the rich, rich colours for a long time. I almost bought a skein or two, but having to get it from Germany and paying a premium and the shipping and the no instant gratification and... and I missed the opportunity, since there are now issues. And no Wollmeise has been available for a long time and maybe for a long time yet.
You *know* the scarcity only makes me want it more.
Therapi just trips my trigger 'cause it's made with 30% rocks.‡ Jade. And Syl has a sample at the House of Fuzzy Crack and it feels like an iron fist in a velvet glove. So soft, so strong. And did I mention rock? Rock on, SWTC. Rock on.
2) I bet I'm not the only person to answer thus§: sock yarn. Lovely, useful, portable, pretty, always-has-a-project sock yarn.¶
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Yeah, I'm getting all solipsistic and kinda intellectual jackass because I'm waffling. I'll say, "Ah..." and chew on the stem of my glasses with a smug look on my face any minute now.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Rocks friends.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): In fact, if less than 60% of the people vote for sock yarn, I'd be flabbergasted.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Funny, in college, my retail therapy was to buy socks because they were smallish, you could get cool colours and designs, they didn't cost a bunch and they always made me smile. Now it's sock yarn. Perhaps I have a foot fetish. Or just a sock fetish.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
How I Got Back from Rush
Or: Three Tails are Better than Two
The saga continues...
*************
From: BillT
Hope you all enjoyed the show.... I have attached the pic of Ben and I with the boys.
*************
From: Marin
Does anybody else wonder where Bill's left hand is?
*************
From: Ben
All I'm saying is that he needed TP afterwards. Even though I have both hands behind my back, I couldn't stop him. I feel so violated.
*************
From: Marin
You're smiling pretty big for someone who was just violated... just sayin'.
*************
From: Ben
I don't remember saying it had already happened at the moment of the photo. Sure, blame the victim you heartless slug.
*************
From: Greg
Can't we all just get along?! Come on everyone, group hug. Bill, hands where we can see them please.
*************
From: Ben
You're next Greg.
*************
From: Marin
And I'll blame Greg too. Society makes me what I am. Besides, did my brother not tell you Heartless Slug is my middle name?
For the record, this may be the poorest writing ever on my blog (and that's really saying something), but if y'all want to see me gush and slurp and fail to complete sentences over Rush:
http://theantim.blogspot.com/2008/06/three-rs.html
Hey, Bill... can I put your picture on the blog? All six of my readers would love to see y'all with the band.
*************
From: BillT
I don't know if that's a good idea.... it might be considered "evidence" if Ben decides to press charges. If Ben vows to keep his mouth shut like a good little boy, post away.
*************
From: Marin
Take back the night, Ben.
*************
From: Ben
Hmmm...something salient...how about, “Knock, knock boys?” “Who’s there?” “Fuck off!!!”
*************
From: Marin
Bill, can I take that as permission from Ben to post the picture?
*************
Fuck it. I'm posting the picture. Let this be a lesson, boys and girls: Never do anything in front of a camera you wouldn't want to see on the Innernets.
Alex and Bill and Ben and Geddy
The saga continues...
*************
From: BillT
Hope you all enjoyed the show.... I have attached the pic of Ben and I with the boys.
*************
From: Marin
Does anybody else wonder where Bill's left hand is?
*************
From: Ben
All I'm saying is that he needed TP afterwards. Even though I have both hands behind my back, I couldn't stop him. I feel so violated.
*************
From: Marin
You're smiling pretty big for someone who was just violated... just sayin'.
*************
From: Ben
I don't remember saying it had already happened at the moment of the photo. Sure, blame the victim you heartless slug.
*************
From: Greg
Can't we all just get along?! Come on everyone, group hug. Bill, hands where we can see them please.
*************
From: Ben
You're next Greg.
*************
From: Marin
And I'll blame Greg too. Society makes me what I am. Besides, did my brother not tell you Heartless Slug is my middle name?
For the record, this may be the poorest writing ever on my blog (and that's really saying something), but if y'all want to see me gush and slurp and fail to complete sentences over Rush:
http://theantim.blogspot.com/2008/06/three-rs.html
Hey, Bill... can I put your picture on the blog? All six of my readers would love to see y'all with the band.
*************
From: BillT
I don't know if that's a good idea.... it might be considered "evidence" if Ben decides to press charges. If Ben vows to keep his mouth shut like a good little boy, post away.
*************
From: Marin
Take back the night, Ben.
*************
From: Ben
Hmmm...something salient...how about, “Knock, knock boys?” “Who’s there?” “Fuck off!!!”
*************
From: Marin
Bill, can I take that as permission from Ben to post the picture?
*************
Fuck it. I'm posting the picture. Let this be a lesson, boys and girls: Never do anything in front of a camera you wouldn't want to see on the Innernets.
Alex and Bill and Ben and Geddy
Famine to Feast
Ain't that just the way it goes?
Nothing to say,† no wisdom to impart,‡ no pictures to share, no good news, no nothing... then *BAM! *
Something!
And on a short week! When I spent the first blogday§ in Wisconsin! Eating Swedish meatballs!¶ When I should have been catching up! It's not even news anymore, people!
[SUMMARY: I'm late, I'm late for a very important date...]
So I'm putting myself on a very strict schedule:
...then I won't be too far behind†† going into the holiday weekend and Lake Week. And then I won't have to sweat and panic and worry about protocol and how do I do this and can I combine and is this boring or important or funny or think of the children and...
[SUMMARY: This is what the inside of my head looks like every night when I try to go to sleep.]
Most birthdays are disappointing in some lingering way.
It seems there's always something I really wanted I didn't get or someone who cancelled on my party at the last minute or I don't even get a birthday cake or a bad day at work.‡‡
Etcetera.
Despite my lifelong commitment to "please don't fuss," I do like acknowledgment.
You know Dante's constant refrain in Clerks? Well, there have been a lot of birthdays where I really wanted to whine a birthday version of, "I'm not even supposed to be here today!"
For many of my childhood birthdays, none of my friends were in town, so a birthday party was impossible.
When I turned eight, I'd lost a bunch of school library books and Mom told me I could either find a way to pay for them myself or forego a birthday party that year and have her pay my piper.§§
When I turned fourteen,¶¶ Mom made me pick strawberries in the backyard for dinner.
For one, I absolutely hated picking strawberries: dirt, hot, spiders... hated.
For two, I never heard her stick her head through the back door to say, "Your brother and I are going to run some errands. We'll be back in a little while."
So when I got finished with my horrible drudge strawberry duties, I went inside to find I'd been abandoned.
Abandoned.
On. My. Birthday.
[SUMMARY: I'm not even supposed to be here today!]
I was grounded for my sixteenth birthday, in serious Mom-not-speaking-to-me trouble for my 21st, cancelled upon in a most last-minute of ways by my stupid boyfriend for my 24th, nursing broken ribs and a nasty black eye by the hand of my roommate for my 25th, too hot to bake a cake for my 40th... and after Mom died, nobody called at midnight anymore to sing me happy birthday.
[SUMMARY: see, "‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed)," below.]
This birthday was as close to perfect as we're likely to see in our collective lifetime.&
I got Secret Pal's package.
I got acknowledgment-without-fuss at work.
I got Kim's cranes.
I got the lovely comments right here from all y'all.
On the way home, I listened to Secret Pal's CD. Holy cow, can that girl sing. And she did... she sang me a Marin birthday song with my name and angels and everything. It ranks up there with the coolest birthday gifts EVER.%
*************
NOTE TO SECRET PAL: Yes, you pronounce my name correctly. I love the disc and as I got deeper into it, I thought, "I'll have to tell Secret Pal about The Duhks.## I bet she'd like The Duhks."
And then there were Duhks.
*************
When I got home, my dad had called mid-morning to sing Happy Birthday to me on my voice mail.^
I met Bag Lady Kathryn at the Coral Room for dinner and wine, which was lovely all by itself. She brought me flowers and a card.†††
And they'd had a wine tasting dinner on Tuesday that hadn't been as popular as they'd hoped, so they did a mini version Friday -- three courses, each with wine. That's what I had.
And I got a birthday card from the Coral Room signed by all the waiters and bartenders and dishwashers and all the people I know and love at my favourite bar.
And Brother showed up and had a couple of glasses of wine with us. I told him we'd be there and to drop by, but I figured being sans wife as he was, he probably had all sorts of bacheloresque activities with his single friends planned and I never, ever would have bet a single dollar he'd show up. But he did. And he was charming.
And Kelley came and we had some drinks. There were shots.
And my pheremonally-charged‡‡‡ vampire§§§ of an ex-boyfriend¶¶¶ took me home and I got laid on my birthday for the first time ever.###
[SUMMARY: Ringing in my own personal new year right.]
When I got home Saturday morning, an orchid I was sure I'd maimed for life and would eventually have to throw out had budded. I'm pretty sure overnight.
It's going to bloom again.
[SUMMARY: *WHAM!* Don't let the symbolism catch you upside the head.*]
When I got to the Coral Room for Saturday brunch, I had SuzyQ all to myself for awhile and there were special cocktails and free food and... it just wrapped everything up so nicely.
[SUMMARY: Birthdays need not be constrained to a single day. I like Birthday Season.]
I'm still all glowy and content -- like those Buddha statues@ people put in their Feng Shui decor. I feel just how they look.
If you can swing it,$ I highly recommend getting laid on your birthday.
Double points if he smells like burnt sugar and almonds and will rub your feet while you watch War Games.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Not that that stopped me from babbling on.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): I'm not necessarily including the extensive Rush slurp in the "wisdom" thing, though I clearly think it counts.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): That would be Monday, for those of you who haven't caught on to how little commune I have with a computer on weekends.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Entire menu: Baked chicken (skin on) with festive parsley flakes, Swedish meatballs, mashed potatoes, corn, white rolls... a tiny bowl of pasta salad with bits of peppers and onions amid the pepperoni (a Wisconsin nod to 5 a Day)... dessert bars... a choice of coffee, water or whole milk (it *is* America's dairy land, after all). Thank goodness for my new Door-to-Door Organic delivery service. I need food that's not white.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Because I am. And this still is.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): So much for
If you're obligated to yourself, is that OK?
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): I know, I know, there are starving children in Third World countries who don't even have birthdays.
§§FOOTNOTE (so hard to make a decision!): At twenty-five cents a week allowance, me paying my own bills was a pipe dream... you'd think I'd have more sympathy for the working poor now. However, you can also see where the beginnings of my loathing of libraries began. This was apparently a weird bookmark in my psychological makeup.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (beat the drums slowly): I think. Coulda been fifteen. Coulda been twelve. Twelve might explain my devotion to Brainless Twelvehood. As shallow and whiny as this post is, it might be a great treatise on the psychology that is Marin. Apparently, my whole life has been dictated by birthdays.
&FOOTNOTE (ampersanded): Not that I'd discourage you to keep from trying to make next year's birthday even better. Just sayin'.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Like with the Great Ticket Birthday and the Dovetail skull mug.
##FOOTNOTE (pounded like the spankéd ass of an elderly birthday girl): For those of you not Secret Pal or myself... as in Daffy and Donald. Quack.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): I do love it when someone will sing to me. With all the musicians I've dated, you'd think it would have happened more often.
†††FOOTNOTE (are we heading into triple-doubles?): Which said I was the queen for the day, but she got to be Vice Queen. VQ for short. Which I think is very, very funny.
‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (the primrose path of dalliance): That boy always smells like burnt sugar and almonds and if I nuzzle the back of his neck I get just a little high. The Universe clearly wants us to reproduce, so why couldn't it give him the ability to keep a date?
§§§FOOTNOTE (oh, my curly head!): Throat, chest, belly, arms, neck... I am a marked woman. Sorry, Brother.
¶¶¶FOOTNOTE (golf clubs, seal clubs... that was an inside joke only two people in the world would get): The Boy, for those of you scoring at home.
###FOOTNOTE (man, did that spankéd ass take a pounding. Sorry, Brother): This is NOT little brother approved.
*FOOTNOTE (staid, conventional asterisk): I'm not talking about The Boy. I'm just talkin' about me. I figure some of you may be worried about that.
@FOOTNOTE (I just can't bring myself to go to four): And did I mention that's where the resemblance between me and those statues ends? I believe my post-surgery water blob has dispersed. I got into my normal-sized pants for my birthday. Can I get a w00t-w00t!?
$FOOTNOTE (money shot!): Pun!
Nothing to say,† no wisdom to impart,‡ no pictures to share, no good news, no nothing... then *BAM! *
Something!
And on a short week! When I spent the first blogday§ in Wisconsin! Eating Swedish meatballs!¶ When I should have been catching up! It's not even news anymore, people!
[SUMMARY: I'm late, I'm late for a very important date...]
So I'm putting myself on a very strict schedule:
- Tuesday: brief mention of Wisconsin, birthday recap
- Wednesday: Nintendo party (with pictures!)
- Thursday: knitting#
...then I won't be too far behind†† going into the holiday weekend and Lake Week. And then I won't have to sweat and panic and worry about protocol and how do I do this and can I combine and is this boring or important or funny or think of the children and...
[SUMMARY: This is what the inside of my head looks like every night when I try to go to sleep.]
Most birthdays are disappointing in some lingering way.
It seems there's always something I really wanted I didn't get or someone who cancelled on my party at the last minute or I don't even get a birthday cake or a bad day at work.‡‡
Etcetera.
Despite my lifelong commitment to "please don't fuss," I do like acknowledgment.
You know Dante's constant refrain in Clerks? Well, there have been a lot of birthdays where I really wanted to whine a birthday version of, "I'm not even supposed to be here today!"
For many of my childhood birthdays, none of my friends were in town, so a birthday party was impossible.
When I turned eight, I'd lost a bunch of school library books and Mom told me I could either find a way to pay for them myself or forego a birthday party that year and have her pay my piper.§§
When I turned fourteen,¶¶ Mom made me pick strawberries in the backyard for dinner.
For one, I absolutely hated picking strawberries: dirt, hot, spiders... hated.
For two, I never heard her stick her head through the back door to say, "Your brother and I are going to run some errands. We'll be back in a little while."
So when I got finished with my horrible drudge strawberry duties, I went inside to find I'd been abandoned.
Abandoned.
On. My. Birthday.
[SUMMARY: I'm not even supposed to be here today!]
I was grounded for my sixteenth birthday, in serious Mom-not-speaking-to-me trouble for my 21st, cancelled upon in a most last-minute of ways by my stupid boyfriend for my 24th, nursing broken ribs and a nasty black eye by the hand of my roommate for my 25th, too hot to bake a cake for my 40th... and after Mom died, nobody called at midnight anymore to sing me happy birthday.
[SUMMARY: see, "‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed)," below.]
This birthday was as close to perfect as we're likely to see in our collective lifetime.&
I got Secret Pal's package.
I got acknowledgment-without-fuss at work.
I got Kim's cranes.
I got the lovely comments right here from all y'all.
On the way home, I listened to Secret Pal's CD. Holy cow, can that girl sing. And she did... she sang me a Marin birthday song with my name and angels and everything. It ranks up there with the coolest birthday gifts EVER.%
*************
NOTE TO SECRET PAL: Yes, you pronounce my name correctly. I love the disc and as I got deeper into it, I thought, "I'll have to tell Secret Pal about The Duhks.## I bet she'd like The Duhks."
And then there were Duhks.
*************
When I got home, my dad had called mid-morning to sing Happy Birthday to me on my voice mail.^
I met Bag Lady Kathryn at the Coral Room for dinner and wine, which was lovely all by itself. She brought me flowers and a card.†††
And they'd had a wine tasting dinner on Tuesday that hadn't been as popular as they'd hoped, so they did a mini version Friday -- three courses, each with wine. That's what I had.
And I got a birthday card from the Coral Room signed by all the waiters and bartenders and dishwashers and all the people I know and love at my favourite bar.
And Brother showed up and had a couple of glasses of wine with us. I told him we'd be there and to drop by, but I figured being sans wife as he was, he probably had all sorts of bacheloresque activities with his single friends planned and I never, ever would have bet a single dollar he'd show up. But he did. And he was charming.
And Kelley came and we had some drinks. There were shots.
And my pheremonally-charged‡‡‡ vampire§§§ of an ex-boyfriend¶¶¶ took me home and I got laid on my birthday for the first time ever.###
[SUMMARY: Ringing in my own personal new year right.]
When I got home Saturday morning, an orchid I was sure I'd maimed for life and would eventually have to throw out had budded. I'm pretty sure overnight.
It's going to bloom again.
[SUMMARY: *WHAM!* Don't let the symbolism catch you upside the head.*]
When I got to the Coral Room for Saturday brunch, I had SuzyQ all to myself for awhile and there were special cocktails and free food and... it just wrapped everything up so nicely.
[SUMMARY: Birthdays need not be constrained to a single day. I like Birthday Season.]
I'm still all glowy and content -- like those Buddha statues@ people put in their Feng Shui decor. I feel just how they look.
If you can swing it,$ I highly recommend getting laid on your birthday.
Double points if he smells like burnt sugar and almonds and will rub your feet while you watch War Games.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Not that that stopped me from babbling on.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): I'm not necessarily including the extensive Rush slurp in the "wisdom" thing, though I clearly think it counts.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): That would be Monday, for those of you who haven't caught on to how little commune I have with a computer on weekends.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Entire menu: Baked chicken (skin on) with festive parsley flakes, Swedish meatballs, mashed potatoes, corn, white rolls... a tiny bowl of pasta salad with bits of peppers and onions amid the pepperoni (a Wisconsin nod to 5 a Day)... dessert bars... a choice of coffee, water or whole milk (it *is* America's dairy land, after all). Thank goodness for my new Door-to-Door Organic delivery service. I need food that's not white.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Because I am. And this still is.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): So much for
If you're obligated to yourself, is that OK?
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): I know, I know, there are starving children in Third World countries who don't even have birthdays.
§§FOOTNOTE (so hard to make a decision!): At twenty-five cents a week allowance, me paying my own bills was a pipe dream... you'd think I'd have more sympathy for the working poor now. However, you can also see where the beginnings of my loathing of libraries began. This was apparently a weird bookmark in my psychological makeup.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (beat the drums slowly): I think. Coulda been fifteen. Coulda been twelve. Twelve might explain my devotion to Brainless Twelvehood. As shallow and whiny as this post is, it might be a great treatise on the psychology that is Marin. Apparently, my whole life has been dictated by birthdays.
&FOOTNOTE (ampersanded): Not that I'd discourage you to keep from trying to make next year's birthday even better. Just sayin'.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Like with the Great Ticket Birthday and the Dovetail skull mug.
##FOOTNOTE (pounded like the spankéd ass of an elderly birthday girl): For those of you not Secret Pal or myself... as in Daffy and Donald. Quack.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): I do love it when someone will sing to me. With all the musicians I've dated, you'd think it would have happened more often.
†††FOOTNOTE (are we heading into triple-doubles?): Which said I was the queen for the day, but she got to be Vice Queen. VQ for short. Which I think is very, very funny.
‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (the primrose path of dalliance): That boy always smells like burnt sugar and almonds and if I nuzzle the back of his neck I get just a little high. The Universe clearly wants us to reproduce, so why couldn't it give him the ability to keep a date?
§§§FOOTNOTE (oh, my curly head!): Throat, chest, belly, arms, neck... I am a marked woman. Sorry, Brother.
¶¶¶FOOTNOTE (golf clubs, seal clubs... that was an inside joke only two people in the world would get): The Boy, for those of you scoring at home.
###FOOTNOTE (man, did that spankéd ass take a pounding. Sorry, Brother): This is NOT little brother approved.
*FOOTNOTE (staid, conventional asterisk): I'm not talking about The Boy. I'm just talkin' about me. I figure some of you may be worried about that.
@FOOTNOTE (I just can't bring myself to go to four): And did I mention that's where the resemblance between me and those statues ends? I believe my post-surgery water blob has dispersed. I got into my normal-sized pants for my birthday. Can I get a w00t-w00t!?
$FOOTNOTE (money shot!): Pun!
Friday, June 27, 2008
Three Rs
Rush. Red Rocks.
[SUMMARY: Do it. Do either. If you get a chance, just take it.]
I had to put the summary first. Who knows how long I may gush on† about this concert?
I didn't take my camera. I watched the guy in front of me take photo after photo, and I decided it was a good thing I'd left the camera home.
For an obvious one, when you‡ spend your life behind a camera, you miss the actual connection with the bits you're recording. I wouldn't trade a hundred flat, still recordings for a single real memory of the concert.
For a less obvious two,§ there is an internal exclusivity that I store for my own joy. I don't know why or how it's related, but it gives me the same frisson of pleasure an exclusive, one-of-a-kind, goody bag thing gives me. Nobody can ever have this feeling but me.
There have been a handful¶ of times in my life I've just opened everything wide -- my eyes, my ears, my nose, my skin, my heart, my mind, my soul# -- to something because it's a one-of-a-kind and I don't want to spill a single drop.
This just happened to be one of those occasions.
[SUMMARY: Duh.]
We're on the train to Bangkok
Aboard the Thailand Express
We'll hit the stops along the way
We only stop for the best
-- A Passage to Bangkok, 2112
There are elements that make this kind of lingering magic. If you miss any element, you may miss the whole thing.††
Rush still qualifies as one of my top two favourite bands of all time,‡‡ even though I don't like the later music nearly as much as the pre-Power Windows stuff.§§
So there's the nostalgia.
And Red Rocks.
Brother went to the concert. We've seen a few concerts together, but they're generally bands we both really like, or in one instance, an educational experience for Seester.¶¶ Brother doesn't like Rush. Brother doesn't hate Rush,## but Brother doesn't like Rush. So I feel like I got to play big sister in some instructive way.
Ben and Bill and Greg and Mike and Drew... and the utterly prurient exchange with Ben via email. Priceless.
Tailgating.
Thunderstorms out over the plains, clearly visible from the 26th row and seemingly timed to the drums.
Rain in the lights.
Fire.%
The videos -- including the South Park short††† leading into "Tom Sawyer."
The playlist that included a bunch of songs I would never have guessed they would play.‡‡‡
[SUMMARY: Really. Magic.]
Wheels within wheels in a spiral array
A pattern so grand and complex
Time after time, we lose sight of the way
Our causes can't see their effects
-- Natural Science, Permanent Waves
Red Rocks is a gorgeous place. Y'all caught a glimpse of it on U2's "Sunday, Bloody Sunday" video, but... but you have to see it.
The rocks are, indeed, red, and hoisted nearly vertical by some cataclysmic tectonic event prehistory. They create a natural amphitheatre that has the best acoustics you'll probably ever hear outdoors -- maybe anywhere.
Until about 1987, all of Red Rocks was general admission. This caused people to camp out all day and drink in the hot sun and swarm the bottom rows... there were injuries.
Now it's nearly half reserved seating.^
I found years ago that I really like the last couple of rows of reserved seating just for the view. If you're up that high, you're just above the top of the rocks that form the backdrop of the stage and you can watch the entire front range.
You can almost see the curve of the earth, the horizon is so vast.
The first time I saw Robert Plant§§§ was July 3. We could see thundercells and lightning, rainbows and fireworks for miles.¶¶¶
Every concert at Red Rocks is a Grateful Dead concert. I think you could go see the London Symphony Orchestra at Red Rocks and someone would offer you pot. This doesn't do much for me on a practical level, but there's something charming about the vibe.
I've never been miserably hot or cold or wet at a Red Rocks concert. Even when it's a hot night, even when it rains, there's an insulation that keeps you safe and dry.
It's in the foothills, away from the city. There's a ruggedness and a freshness that comes from being out of the pollution and clamour of the population centre.
[SUMMARY: Suddenly, I'm outdoorsy.]
Begin the day with a friendly voice
A companion unobtrusive
That plays that song that's so elusive
And the magic music makes your morning mood
-- Spirit of Radio, Permanet Waves
Rush is just good in concert.
There are artists with personality, who can talk a ho-hum perfomance into a memorable event. There are artists who are so exacting they play through their lack of personality.
Then there are artists that can just flat perform.###
Without telling jokes and stories, without doing back flips, Rush just draws an audience in. I'll admit, the pyrotechnics and techo-pirates don't hurt a thing, but they don't overshadow and they certainly don't make up for a lack of compelling talent on the part of the band.
There was no opening band. The music before the show was orchestral versions of Rush songs piped through the stacks. They played for nearly two hours, took a break and came back for another hour or so.
The tickets were expensive, but I'd say they gave us our money's worth.
[SUMMARY: Rush at Red Rocks was like a cookie... on a lily pad.††††]
As I was drifting to sleep Wednesday night, I was making playlists in my head. I wanted to send each and every one of you a Rush CD so you could hear the brilliance I hear.
Only, you'll never hear the brilliance I hear. You may never think "brilliant" and "Rush" in the same sentence. You may think it's brilliant in a different way, for a different reason.
And that's why the camera and the iPod and the DVD will never, ever be an adequate substitute for the sheer joy of that one perfect night on the Rocks. It's mine, all mine and it's so much better 'cause it's all mine.
[SUMMARY: Greed isn't always about money.]
He's noble enough to know what's right
But weak enough not to choose it
He's wise enough to win the world
But fool enough to lose it
-- New World Man, Subdivisions
Oh, hell. I can't be that selfish. My birthday present to you:
May you find your own Rush at Red Rocks.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): "Gush on, Garth." "Gush on, Wayne."
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): You, me... whomever.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Buckle in, Betty, this could get abstract.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): More than several, less than a rash.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Or whatever it is we heathens have.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Which does make me wonder how many experiences have *just* missed and I'll never know because... well, because they missed.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): In fact, I usually just go with "favourite." They were there for me long before The Sisters of Mercy recorded "First and Last and Always."
§§FOOTNOTE (wheels within wheels...): You can look it up if you don't know what I'm talking about. I'm planning on just cruising in Rush Dork mode for awhile here, so I may lose you here and there.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (microphones): That would be the hip-hop concert I asked Brother to take me to for the joy of putting the vibe with the music. There were no black people at this concert, so I question the full validity of my experience.
##FOOTNOTE (pounded like bass amp turned up to eleven): Unlike Beavis & Butthead, who broke my heart with, "This is pretty cool. Is this that video where... oh, GOD, it's RUSH."
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Still twelve.
†††FOOTNOTE (high hats): "I'm Geddy Lee and I'll sing whatever the hell I want."
‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (the long climb up the ramp -- if you've ever been to Red Rocks, you know of which I speak): i.e. -- older stuff that they didn't play on the radio.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): Which I like. Not sitting in the hot sun all day, not fighting a bunch of fucking kids for my spot... old. I'm old and feeble and I deserve reserved seating.
§§§FOOTNOTE (oh, my curly head... how many footnotes are we going to have?): Yes, I'm a Plant Dork too.
¶¶¶FOOTNOTE (Canadian trio): The second time I saw Robert Plant, he was just heading into the last verse of "Big Log" when a shooting star went from one side of the sky to the other, right over the rocks. Everybody high enough to see cheered and screamed. Everybody down below wondered what the hell was wrong with us. Kinda like when the entire section at the top of the Pepsi Center cheered when the Rockies beat Philly during the Genesis concert and the people who paid mad green to sit on the floor weren't in on the celebration.
###FOOTNOTE (ok... turned up to TWELVE): Neil Diamond is one of these. Yes, I'm a Neil Diamond Dork too.
††††FOOTNOTE (record!): I love that commercial. See? Rush gave me a chance to use one of my favourite commercials. Rush is magic.
[SUMMARY: Do it. Do either. If you get a chance, just take it.]
I had to put the summary first. Who knows how long I may gush on† about this concert?
I didn't take my camera. I watched the guy in front of me take photo after photo, and I decided it was a good thing I'd left the camera home.
For an obvious one, when you‡ spend your life behind a camera, you miss the actual connection with the bits you're recording. I wouldn't trade a hundred flat, still recordings for a single real memory of the concert.
For a less obvious two,§ there is an internal exclusivity that I store for my own joy. I don't know why or how it's related, but it gives me the same frisson of pleasure an exclusive, one-of-a-kind, goody bag thing gives me. Nobody can ever have this feeling but me.
There have been a handful¶ of times in my life I've just opened everything wide -- my eyes, my ears, my nose, my skin, my heart, my mind, my soul# -- to something because it's a one-of-a-kind and I don't want to spill a single drop.
This just happened to be one of those occasions.
[SUMMARY: Duh.]
We're on the train to Bangkok
Aboard the Thailand Express
We'll hit the stops along the way
We only stop for the best
-- A Passage to Bangkok, 2112
There are elements that make this kind of lingering magic. If you miss any element, you may miss the whole thing.††
Rush still qualifies as one of my top two favourite bands of all time,‡‡ even though I don't like the later music nearly as much as the pre-Power Windows stuff.§§
So there's the nostalgia.
And Red Rocks.
Brother went to the concert. We've seen a few concerts together, but they're generally bands we both really like, or in one instance, an educational experience for Seester.¶¶ Brother doesn't like Rush. Brother doesn't hate Rush,## but Brother doesn't like Rush. So I feel like I got to play big sister in some instructive way.
Ben and Bill and Greg and Mike and Drew... and the utterly prurient exchange with Ben via email. Priceless.
Tailgating.
Thunderstorms out over the plains, clearly visible from the 26th row and seemingly timed to the drums.
Rain in the lights.
Fire.%
The videos -- including the South Park short††† leading into "Tom Sawyer."
The playlist that included a bunch of songs I would never have guessed they would play.‡‡‡
[SUMMARY: Really. Magic.]
Wheels within wheels in a spiral array
A pattern so grand and complex
Time after time, we lose sight of the way
Our causes can't see their effects
-- Natural Science, Permanent Waves
Red Rocks is a gorgeous place. Y'all caught a glimpse of it on U2's "Sunday, Bloody Sunday" video, but... but you have to see it.
The rocks are, indeed, red, and hoisted nearly vertical by some cataclysmic tectonic event prehistory. They create a natural amphitheatre that has the best acoustics you'll probably ever hear outdoors -- maybe anywhere.
Until about 1987, all of Red Rocks was general admission. This caused people to camp out all day and drink in the hot sun and swarm the bottom rows... there were injuries.
Now it's nearly half reserved seating.^
I found years ago that I really like the last couple of rows of reserved seating just for the view. If you're up that high, you're just above the top of the rocks that form the backdrop of the stage and you can watch the entire front range.
You can almost see the curve of the earth, the horizon is so vast.
The first time I saw Robert Plant§§§ was July 3. We could see thundercells and lightning, rainbows and fireworks for miles.¶¶¶
Every concert at Red Rocks is a Grateful Dead concert. I think you could go see the London Symphony Orchestra at Red Rocks and someone would offer you pot. This doesn't do much for me on a practical level, but there's something charming about the vibe.
I've never been miserably hot or cold or wet at a Red Rocks concert. Even when it's a hot night, even when it rains, there's an insulation that keeps you safe and dry.
It's in the foothills, away from the city. There's a ruggedness and a freshness that comes from being out of the pollution and clamour of the population centre.
[SUMMARY: Suddenly, I'm outdoorsy.]
Begin the day with a friendly voice
A companion unobtrusive
That plays that song that's so elusive
And the magic music makes your morning mood
-- Spirit of Radio, Permanet Waves
Rush is just good in concert.
There are artists with personality, who can talk a ho-hum perfomance into a memorable event. There are artists who are so exacting they play through their lack of personality.
Then there are artists that can just flat perform.###
Without telling jokes and stories, without doing back flips, Rush just draws an audience in. I'll admit, the pyrotechnics and techo-pirates don't hurt a thing, but they don't overshadow and they certainly don't make up for a lack of compelling talent on the part of the band.
There was no opening band. The music before the show was orchestral versions of Rush songs piped through the stacks. They played for nearly two hours, took a break and came back for another hour or so.
The tickets were expensive, but I'd say they gave us our money's worth.
[SUMMARY: Rush at Red Rocks was like a cookie... on a lily pad.††††]
As I was drifting to sleep Wednesday night, I was making playlists in my head. I wanted to send each and every one of you a Rush CD so you could hear the brilliance I hear.
Only, you'll never hear the brilliance I hear. You may never think "brilliant" and "Rush" in the same sentence. You may think it's brilliant in a different way, for a different reason.
And that's why the camera and the iPod and the DVD will never, ever be an adequate substitute for the sheer joy of that one perfect night on the Rocks. It's mine, all mine and it's so much better 'cause it's all mine.
[SUMMARY: Greed isn't always about money.]
He's noble enough to know what's right
But weak enough not to choose it
He's wise enough to win the world
But fool enough to lose it
-- New World Man, Subdivisions
Oh, hell. I can't be that selfish. My birthday present to you:
May you find your own Rush at Red Rocks.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): "Gush on, Garth." "Gush on, Wayne."
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): You, me... whomever.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Buckle in, Betty, this could get abstract.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): More than several, less than a rash.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Or whatever it is we heathens have.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Which does make me wonder how many experiences have *just* missed and I'll never know because... well, because they missed.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): In fact, I usually just go with "favourite." They were there for me long before The Sisters of Mercy recorded "First and Last and Always."
§§FOOTNOTE (wheels within wheels...): You can look it up if you don't know what I'm talking about. I'm planning on just cruising in Rush Dork mode for awhile here, so I may lose you here and there.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (microphones): That would be the hip-hop concert I asked Brother to take me to for the joy of putting the vibe with the music. There were no black people at this concert, so I question the full validity of my experience.
##FOOTNOTE (pounded like bass amp turned up to eleven): Unlike Beavis & Butthead, who broke my heart with, "This is pretty cool. Is this that video where... oh, GOD, it's RUSH."
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Still twelve.
†††FOOTNOTE (high hats): "I'm Geddy Lee and I'll sing whatever the hell I want."
‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (the long climb up the ramp -- if you've ever been to Red Rocks, you know of which I speak): i.e. -- older stuff that they didn't play on the radio.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): Which I like. Not sitting in the hot sun all day, not fighting a bunch of fucking kids for my spot... old. I'm old and feeble and I deserve reserved seating.
§§§FOOTNOTE (oh, my curly head... how many footnotes are we going to have?): Yes, I'm a Plant Dork too.
¶¶¶FOOTNOTE (Canadian trio): The second time I saw Robert Plant, he was just heading into the last verse of "Big Log" when a shooting star went from one side of the sky to the other, right over the rocks. Everybody high enough to see cheered and screamed. Everybody down below wondered what the hell was wrong with us. Kinda like when the entire section at the top of the Pepsi Center cheered when the Rockies beat Philly during the Genesis concert and the people who paid mad green to sit on the floor weren't in on the celebration.
###FOOTNOTE (ok... turned up to TWELVE): Neil Diamond is one of these. Yes, I'm a Neil Diamond Dork too.
††††FOOTNOTE (record!): I love that commercial. See? Rush gave me a chance to use one of my favourite commercials. Rush is magic.
I Wasn't Going to Do This...
...but when the day starts with a birthday present† in the mailbox‡ from Secret Pal§ and Southern Crane Porn¶ from Kim#... well it's only my birthday,†† but it's at least worth shouting out to my thoughtful and wonderful friends.
Cuddles, y'all.
TTHFCIF
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): I pulled it out of the mailbox on the way to work, so no pictures, but it's an elegant little Malabrigo and music package... purple Malabrigo laceweight and a purple-swathed CD that goes straight in the player when I get in the car. Although it's tempting to just put it on here in the office and play the "it's my birthday" card if someone wants to complain. Oh! Oh! And a GOTH birthday card that even has a SKULL on it!
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Hey, I just went to the mailbox on Tuesday and y'all know I don't go that often, but if there's the hope of gifts, I'm there.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Glinda restored my faith in Secret Pals and New Secret Pal may even top that. This is so cool.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Her words. I love them, so I will steal them.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Thus:
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): And birthdays that don't end in zero aren't as much worth fussing about.
Cuddles, y'all.
TTHFCIF
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): I pulled it out of the mailbox on the way to work, so no pictures, but it's an elegant little Malabrigo and music package... purple Malabrigo laceweight and a purple-swathed CD that goes straight in the player when I get in the car. Although it's tempting to just put it on here in the office and play the "it's my birthday" card if someone wants to complain. Oh! Oh! And a GOTH birthday card that even has a SKULL on it!
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Hey, I just went to the mailbox on Tuesday and y'all know I don't go that often, but if there's the hope of gifts, I'm there.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Glinda restored my faith in Secret Pals and New Secret Pal may even top that. This is so cool.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Her words. I love them, so I will steal them.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Thus:
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): And birthdays that don't end in zero aren't as much worth fussing about.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Secret Pal 12 Question 3
What would you consider the perfect amount of stash?
Wow.
I don't even know how to answer that.
I suspect in an ideal world, I'd have the yarn (and patterns... and needles...) for a couple of sweaters, a half-dozen pairs of socks, a couple of scarves, a lace shawl, a couple of hats, a couple of pairs of mittens. And maybe four or five lovely yarns I just couldn't do without even though I don't know *exactly* what I'm going to do with them. Yet.
In reality, I have all of the above, plus about three dozen more pairs of socks, an extra sweater or two, an extra lace shawl or two, enough hats to keep the ears of the masses warm, mittens of all shapes and sizes, stuff I was going to use for... something, but now I don't remember, a pile of weird novelty yarn from my uninformed past and various nephew projects, a pile of single skeins out of my uninformed past, leftovers, and yet I keep finding new patterns for which there is nothing in my stash.
I need a project manager.
Wow.
I don't even know how to answer that.
I suspect in an ideal world, I'd have the yarn (and patterns... and needles...) for a couple of sweaters, a half-dozen pairs of socks, a couple of scarves, a lace shawl, a couple of hats, a couple of pairs of mittens. And maybe four or five lovely yarns I just couldn't do without even though I don't know *exactly* what I'm going to do with them. Yet.
In reality, I have all of the above, plus about three dozen more pairs of socks, an extra sweater or two, an extra lace shawl or two, enough hats to keep the ears of the masses warm, mittens of all shapes and sizes, stuff I was going to use for... something, but now I don't remember, a pile of weird novelty yarn from my uninformed past and various nephew projects, a pile of single skeins out of my uninformed past, leftovers, and yet I keep finding new patterns for which there is nothing in my stash.
I need a project manager.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
How I Got to the Rush Concert
... a tail tale in two parts.†
When last we left our heroine,‡ she had pinned the bemused male and was waiting for the count.
*************
From: Greg
Ben, I hate to see you surrender now. It just got interesting!
*************
From: Ben
OK, well, I was going to say that Marin gives a whole new meaning to "On a train to Bang-kok."§
*************
From: Ben
Of course, were I to say such a thing, I'd run the risk of getting punched in the face by, well, Marin. And maybe Bill too.
*************
From: Marin
I'd worry more about Bill than Marin. Marin appreciates a good pun. And a dirty joke. And never starts anything she can't finish.¶
(I was talking about the conversational thread, of course, but y'all can take that any way you want.)
*************
From: Ben
I’d be more worried about Bill if he didn’t owe me one (oh man, here we go...).#
By way of penance:
Husband and wife had just finished a particularly sweaty session in bed. Husband says to wife, “Honey, why don’t you ever tell me when you have an orgasm?”
Wife responds, “Because you’re never here when it happens.”
Now if y'all will excuse me, I need to go call Brother and find out what he did to Ben's sister.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): It's like a dirty SAT test: how many filthy little jokes are in this sentence?
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Keeper of the Twelvehood, Queen of Discomfort, Mistress of Bad Taste... and when you're talking blow job jokes that takes on a whole new meaning.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): This is a Rush joke. If you are a Rush dork, you got that. If not, there's this song...
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): And apparently feels a sudden need to talk about herself in third person. Who does Marin think she is... Deion Sanders?
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Oh, Brother, you got some 'splainin' to do...
When last we left our heroine,‡ she had pinned the bemused male and was waiting for the count.
*************
From: Greg
Ben, I hate to see you surrender now. It just got interesting!
*************
From: Ben
OK, well, I was going to say that Marin gives a whole new meaning to "On a train to Bang-kok."§
*************
From: Ben
Of course, were I to say such a thing, I'd run the risk of getting punched in the face by, well, Marin. And maybe Bill too.
*************
From: Marin
I'd worry more about Bill than Marin. Marin appreciates a good pun. And a dirty joke. And never starts anything she can't finish.¶
(I was talking about the conversational thread, of course, but y'all can take that any way you want.)
*************
From: Ben
I’d be more worried about Bill if he didn’t owe me one (oh man, here we go...).#
By way of penance:
Husband and wife had just finished a particularly sweaty session in bed. Husband says to wife, “Honey, why don’t you ever tell me when you have an orgasm?”
Wife responds, “Because you’re never here when it happens.”
Now if y'all will excuse me, I need to go call Brother and find out what he did to Ben's sister.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): It's like a dirty SAT test: how many filthy little jokes are in this sentence?
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Keeper of the Twelvehood, Queen of Discomfort, Mistress of Bad Taste... and when you're talking blow job jokes that takes on a whole new meaning.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): This is a Rush joke. If you are a Rush dork, you got that. If not, there's this song...
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): And apparently feels a sudden need to talk about herself in third person. Who does Marin think she is... Deion Sanders?
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Oh, Brother, you got some 'splainin' to do...
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
I Win!
From: Greg
Date: Tue, 24 Jun 2008
To: Ben, William, Marin
Cc: Mike, Bill, Ben
Subject: Rush
Despite God's best efforts, Rush is on this Wednesday. Weather report looks better this time around.
For those of us not going down on the band, I was thinking a 6:30 departure time, non-stop to Red Rocks. Show starts at 8pm. Thoughts? Mike has already booked his seat.
G.
*************
From: Marin
Wait... there was a "going down on the band" option? Why was I not informed?
I'd opt for a little earlier. I don't like fighting the traffic. I'm not saying you should take me into account, just sending out feelers for if anyone else is of a like mind.
*************
From: Ben
I guess we'll meet up with you inside? Bill T?
*************
From: Marin
Bill T has my ticket, so I'd like to arrange for that before we get to the "meet you inside" part. hint hint.
*************
From: Ben
Sorry, apparently we'll be too busy sucking cock to give you your ticket.
*************
From Marin:
See, normally that's a sentiment I can get behind, but IT'S MY TICKET!
Besides, I'm still pouting about the part where nobody told me about the going-down-on-the-band option.
*************
From Brother:
Seester and I hope to roll up on the Bill and Ben train but have some professional upintheairness about it. We will be in touch.
*************
From Ben:
That's assuming we'll let you in our car. I know I said "anyone can ride", but we DO have standards after all. Marin is fine, but you might have to go on the front bumper, Aztec sacrifice style.
*************
From Marin:
See, Brother? If you're all cheerful about giving blow jobs, people let you ride in their cars. You should try it some time.
*************
From Ben:
You know, before I realized that Marin was Bill U's sister, I thought Bill just had some random email account he was using. Then I figured it out, and felt really bad about all the bantering in front of her on this thread. Then I quickly realized my concerns were grossly misplaced. Marin, I completely owe you a beer at the show...
*************
From Marin:
The temptation to say, "And Ben, I owe you a blow job," is fierce... if just to see my brother's eyes bug.
*************
From Ben:
OK, I surrender. I am out of my league here.
And that's how I scare all the boys away.
Date: Tue, 24 Jun 2008
To: Ben, William, Marin
Cc: Mike, Bill, Ben
Subject: Rush
Despite God's best efforts, Rush is on this Wednesday. Weather report looks better this time around.
For those of us not going down on the band, I was thinking a 6:30 departure time, non-stop to Red Rocks. Show starts at 8pm. Thoughts? Mike has already booked his seat.
G.
*************
From: Marin
Wait... there was a "going down on the band" option? Why was I not informed?
I'd opt for a little earlier. I don't like fighting the traffic. I'm not saying you should take me into account, just sending out feelers for if anyone else is of a like mind.
*************
From: Ben
I guess we'll meet up with you inside? Bill T?
*************
From: Marin
Bill T has my ticket, so I'd like to arrange for that before we get to the "meet you inside" part. hint hint.
*************
From: Ben
Sorry, apparently we'll be too busy sucking cock to give you your ticket.
*************
From Marin:
See, normally that's a sentiment I can get behind, but IT'S MY TICKET!
Besides, I'm still pouting about the part where nobody told me about the going-down-on-the-band option.
*************
From Brother:
Seester and I hope to roll up on the Bill and Ben train but have some professional upintheairness about it. We will be in touch.
*************
From Ben:
That's assuming we'll let you in our car. I know I said "anyone can ride", but we DO have standards after all. Marin is fine, but you might have to go on the front bumper, Aztec sacrifice style.
*************
From Marin:
See, Brother? If you're all cheerful about giving blow jobs, people let you ride in their cars. You should try it some time.
*************
From Ben:
You know, before I realized that Marin was Bill U's sister, I thought Bill just had some random email account he was using. Then I figured it out, and felt really bad about all the bantering in front of her on this thread. Then I quickly realized my concerns were grossly misplaced. Marin, I completely owe you a beer at the show...
*************
From Marin:
The temptation to say, "And Ben, I owe you a blow job," is fierce... if just to see my brother's eyes bug.
*************
From Ben:
OK, I surrender. I am out of my league here.
And that's how I scare all the boys away.
Ho.
Hum.
And Happy Tuesday.
Other than the fact that I cast on yet another project this weekend, I don't have a lot of knitting news. I knat a lot this weekend, and I guess I could inundate you with WIP pictures, but that's mostly boring. At least the new scarf isn't blue.
About a month ago, I bought a portable evaporative cooler to replace one that stopped working. It worked so well, a week ago I bought a second one for my bedroom. The week-old cooler broke down Sunday mid-day and now I have to wedge "return defective cooler to Home Depot" into my busy schedule. 'Cause it's finally getting hot in Denverish.
My grandmother (Mom's mom) died Sunday night. Dad and I are going to Wisconsin Sunday for the funeral on Monday.
In a fit of madness, I signed up with Match.com. Men from all over Louisiana are contacting me and I can't figure out why.
My birthday is Friday. I feel way, way older this year than last. I think it's the damned dance club episode.
Rush. I'm seeing Rush at Red Rocks tomorrow night. I'm kinda excited, but getting six or eight people to agree on a carpooling schedule is like trying to get six kids to agree on pizza toppings.
I inadvertently finished most of my Christmas shopping.
I'm hostessing (sort of) a Nintendo party Saturday night. But that's a story for tomorrow or the next day. That way there's at least one blogpost this week that doesn't feature an ass-bearing quiz or a bunch of mumbling.
While we did get a new billboard Friday, there has been frighteningly little to entertain Hans and me out the office window. Still no crane; still no arms on the 1999.
I can't even tell you my current favourite joke because it has to be heard to be funny.
See? This is what happens when football, hockey and basketball end. The long, dark days of summer are upon us.
Can you feel the ennui in the air?
And Happy Tuesday.
Other than the fact that I cast on yet another project this weekend, I don't have a lot of knitting news. I knat a lot this weekend, and I guess I could inundate you with WIP pictures, but that's mostly boring. At least the new scarf isn't blue.
About a month ago, I bought a portable evaporative cooler to replace one that stopped working. It worked so well, a week ago I bought a second one for my bedroom. The week-old cooler broke down Sunday mid-day and now I have to wedge "return defective cooler to Home Depot" into my busy schedule. 'Cause it's finally getting hot in Denverish.
My grandmother (Mom's mom) died Sunday night. Dad and I are going to Wisconsin Sunday for the funeral on Monday.
In a fit of madness, I signed up with Match.com. Men from all over Louisiana are contacting me and I can't figure out why.
My birthday is Friday. I feel way, way older this year than last. I think it's the damned dance club episode.
Rush. I'm seeing Rush at Red Rocks tomorrow night. I'm kinda excited, but getting six or eight people to agree on a carpooling schedule is like trying to get six kids to agree on pizza toppings.
I inadvertently finished most of my Christmas shopping.
I'm hostessing (sort of) a Nintendo party Saturday night. But that's a story for tomorrow or the next day. That way there's at least one blogpost this week that doesn't feature an ass-bearing quiz or a bunch of mumbling.
While we did get a new billboard Friday, there has been frighteningly little to entertain Hans and me out the office window. Still no crane; still no arms on the 1999.
I can't even tell you my current favourite joke because it has to be heard to be funny.
See? This is what happens when football, hockey and basketball end. The long, dark days of summer are upon us.
Can you feel the ennui in the air?
Monday, June 23, 2008
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)