I Have a Story for That

My friend Laura said that was my signature phrase.†

But I do.‡

For 20 years, I have made Chex Mix with M&Ms for the Super Bowl.§ Oh, sure, sometimes I bring something in addition, but always Chex Mix with M&Ms.

Two years ago, we were standing around in Matt's kitchen, reminiscing. Matt brought up that it was our 20th year of Elk Bowl mayhem and we had missed an opportunity to ramp up the festivities for the 20th.

Justice, who is becoming more of an accountant every day,¶ through a series of hand gestures and convoluted explanations, illustrated how the next year would actually be the 20th.

And there was much rejoicing.

Meanwhile, back in my brain...#

Those personalised M&Ms had just come out and I'd been dying to make my own M&Ms. It seemed a match made in silly traditions heaven.

So in January 2010, I ordered the M&Ms with the picture of the elk, the "Elk Bowl XX," "Elks 20 years" and "Elks BBB."††

Five pounds of personalized M&Ms costs about $170.

Just for the record.

So this year, the Supreme Elk sent out an email about the 20th and did we want t-shirts? and let's design some t-shirts and such.‡‡

Justice, frickin' accountant, wrote back to say, "Uh, can you not count? This is the 21st. You missed the 20th."§§

Through a series of emails and convoluted explanations, he illustrated how the previous year had been the 20th.

We'll deal with Justice at the party today.¶¶ Meanwhile, we're saying fuck it## - we don't remember half of them anyway,††† so who cares if it's 20 or 21?

Happy Super Bowl, everybody.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Along with, "I could make that," and "I have this CD."

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Have a story, that is.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): For the love of all that is holy, please sprinkle a whole flock of trademark and copyright and registered trademark stuff on that. There's enough proprietary material in there to keep a flotilla of lawyers happy for years.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): This is not a compliment.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Where it's dark and quiet. You should consider vacationing in there.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Beer Babes Brotherhood

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): "Such" mostly revolving around "t-shirts."

§§FOOTNOTE (rage... swirling...): Must... control... fist of death...

¶¶FOOTNOTE (quack quack): I'm guessing it'll involve Duck Tape and nudity. His, not ours.

##FOOTNOTE (pound the Justice!): Mostly, we're saying, "Fuck him."

†††FOOTNOTE (I can see your house from here): Turns out that's the theme of the t-shirt we eventually agreed upon.

Big Day

Shhhhh...

...I'm supposed to be working.

Only, we had our fantasy draft last night and I got to keep the premier player in the whole of the NFL,† but ended up drafting a stoopid quarterback‡ and one player simply to have someone whose bye week is ten.§

Long night.

On the up-side, we've moved our league from CBS Sports to Yahoo, which doesn't just give us great savings,¶ it gives us the ability to use the Toyota Logo Enhancer.

The BOB# is now represented by a demon sheep.††




I'm so happy right now, I could just go back to werk.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Adrian Peterson, who I hope is man enough to carry my whole miserable team.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Kyle Orton. I know. But I thought I should have at least one Bronco and Knowshon Moreno was gone. Besides, my brother kept saying, "Kyle Orton, still on the board," in a very sarcastic tone. I had to shut him up. If the boy ever learns to play, I'm going to look like a flippin' genius.



§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Hakeem Nicks of the Giants. I don't know either.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): As CBS charged us $170 for the privelege of being able to set our roster set times, apparently.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Beasts of Burden - my fantasy moniker. It's always fun if your initials spell something and "BOB" lends itself well to trash-talking. I once was beating everybody in the league so soundly, I wrote a little Christmas song and having a one-syllable name facilitated that nicely. Also? This year we have a new guy named Robert who is playing under the team name "Lesser Bob." Ask me how much I love that.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): I usually use Donkey from Shrek, but a donkey wasn't one of my options. Toyota has an elephant but not a donkey. This could raise political eyebrows among the conspiracy theorists. Oh... and for the record? Toyota offers both a knitting needle in a ball of yarn and a sock as background, but neither one showed up behind the sheep.

Lake 2009

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

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

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

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

The ranger station says these fish are in Lake McConaughy


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


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


Inflatable Items was a big theme this year.


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


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


And a goofy group picture.


Braden and Chris, plotting the demise of their sisters.


Mary, my little datesake


It takes a floating village...


Or a floating train...


Braden discovers the projectile capabilities of a water noodle.


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


Erin


Curtis and his harem


A bad day to be a frog


Saturday was windy. The lake was choppy.


The boats danced


As did the porta-potty


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


Shanny rescued Mary


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


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



†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Literally AND figuratively.

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

Thank Me Later

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

Here, he posed:




And here is a candid shot:




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

Happy Friday!

Easy Like Sunday Morning...

...and on into the night.^

Since we all but stopped celebrating Halloween and New Year's Eve,† the Super Bowl is the Grand Poobah of all parties, the laissez le bon temps roulette‡ of the social season.

That's Brother and Eric, laissezing le bon temps roulette



To refresh your memory, we have been doing this at Matt's house since before he was married.% Next year will be our 20th anniversary.§ It's a wonder we all lived through past Super Bowl parties to reach this milestone.¶

[SUMMARY: C'est la guerre... and it has been a hell of a guerre.]

We have traditions.

We have the National Anthem Chug.# We have jello shots.†† We have cigars.‡‡ We have the Lonely Guy Hour.§§ And we have Matt wearing alternative headgear.¶¶

Matt and Shanny - two of my favourite guys in the world


Matt and Bill##


Matt and Connie



[SUMMARY: Fiddler on the Roof got nothin' on us.]

I may never have mentioned it, but as an oil brat,††† we moved like the military when I was a kid. At least every three years, whether we needed it or not. Brother went from first grade through high school with the same kids. I went to seven different elementary schools.‡‡‡

The people you see in the pictures above have been my friends for nearly 30 years.§§§ To me, that's really something.

[SUMMARY: Awwwww...]

And the fact that we're all still alive I think proves miracles happen.¶¶¶

Saint points?###


^FOOTNOTE (careted): I am NOT easy. Anymore.

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Damned kids.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): A reminder: Lent is just around the corner!

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Long live the Elks: Beer, Babes and Brotherhood.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): I will be preparing my special Chex Mix with M&Ms, as always, only I will be using personalised M&Ms with pictures and beer references on them.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Cornflakes in beer for Sunday breakfast, 24-hour Shot Clock (one shot every hour until kick-off), 15-minute war (full contact, drunken football at halftime)...

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Wherein all contestants chug cheap beer (hence the empty Hamm's case prominently displayed in the Matt in the Hat gallery). The idea is ostensibly to start when the anthem starts and finish with the Home of the Brave, only by "by the dawn's early light," it's become a race. When we're done, we throw our cans with mighty force against the nearest available wall.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Amy is now in charge of making Jello shots, which are downed with each score. Or when we want. Now that 'most everybody has kids, we've had to educate them in good Jello and bad Jello (conversation with Dr. Doom: "AntiM, where's the Jello?" "You know you can't have any of that stuff, right?" "Yes, but I just want to SEE it."). The Jello shots were so stout this year, I suggested that if any of the kids scraped a knee, we could slap a Jello shot on the wound, which would both seal it and disinfect it.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Now, now... sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.

§§FOOTNOTE (whip that bottle 'round, pass 'er 'round again): Which started as a melodramatic bonding experience amongst the lonely guys (duh). Now the only vestige of the original Lonely Guy Hour is the passing of many, many bottles of many, many colours of Boone's Farm "wine."

¶¶FOOTNOTE (stick men with hats, how appropriate): I feel compelled, since Matt is a school board president, to point out that 1) he did not put the Hamm's hat on his head; someone did that for him, and 2) that is a big ol' cup of water he's drinking in that last photo.

##FOOTNOTE (what IS this number?): Bill's last name is Prince. I put he and Amy in my phone as Prince, which meant I had a weird little interlude months later where I tried to remember why I had Prince's number in my phone -- or why I thought I had Prince's number.

†††FOOTNOTE (three landmen, all in a row): It's not just me. It's congenital. Dad, Brother and I all landman.

‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (a little off track): When I was five, public schools in our city (Midland, Texas) didn't offer kindergarten, so everbody went to private kindergartens. That "seven" doesn't include either the Catholic kindergarten I ended up at (we are not Catholic) nor the kindergarten I got kicked out of.

§§§FOOTNOTE (to everything turn, turn turn): And someone still has the negatives, so I have to be nice.

¶¶¶FOOTNOTE (riot police): Someday I'll tell you about the malatov cocktails and the SWAT team.

###FOOTNOTE (in for a penny, in for three pounds): I graduated from college with 224 credit hours not because I stayed in school for ten years, not because I took classes year-round... no, I graduated with 224 credit hours because I negotiated credit hours for every single thing I did in the four years I was in college -- all my summer jobs, working at the radio station, writing for the newspaper, living behind a laundromat... If anybody's going to weasel out a few extra saint points, it's me.

FOOTNOTES: 609 words
ACTUAL POST: 229 words

Dongle!

Those of you up on your Marinology† may remember I play poker with the Elks‡ the night before Thanksgiving§ every year.¶

A lesson in flash photography:#






Ah, that's better. This is my table. Steve, Neal, Justice, Eric and my beer. We are about to discover -- then play -- Dongle, a totally workable, endlessly fascinating poker variation named after a computer gizmo.††

Dongle is six-card stud, threes wild, nickel ante. Every time a three comes up, everybody raise his beer and shouts a hearty "Dongle!"‡‡

A second lesson in flash photography:^




That was right after the bottle cap came from out of nowhere and lodged itself right between my breasts.§§

I'd like you to take a moment and marvel at the fact that, while I provide a relatively spacious target, Jack made that shot from waaayyyyy at the other end of the other table.%

After the ensuing chaos quieted,¶¶ a new rule was enstated: if a Dongle player gets a bottle cap thrown down his## or her shirt,††† the other players must ante a quarter each, plus foot the bill for the quarter ante for the bottle cap recipient.

Let the first game of Dongle be entered into history:




Eric started the game. Eric won. Eric is the only one who's ever won Dongle.‡‡‡

As a new dealer called a second round of Dongle, the final rule was enstated: the dealer may call one additional rule with each hand of Dongle dealt, not to be cumulative.§§§

Generally, the complexity and depth of the table talk that has led, over the years, to the insiders' use of "Astroglide," "towel boy to the crack whore" and "sterno bums!"¶¶¶ doesn't much allow for efficient re-telling.

This year, because of Dongle, I actually have a relatable story.###

Thanks be to Dongle.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Well, if it's not a word it should be.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): No relation. This is just my drunken guy friends, called together under the sacred chant, "My name is Matt Cook and, as usual, I am wearing no pants!"

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Like two weeks ago. I'm on Nyquil Standard Time and didn't get to it until just now.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Except when we don't. Like last year, when Matt took his kids to the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. But that was the only year since 1983 we haven't played.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): i.e. -- things not to do, limitations thereof.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Eric has a friend at work that has a USB 32-bit dongle and is very excited about it. We all were too. We were so excited, we thought it sounded like a college football team: The USB mighty THIRTY-TWO BIT DONGLES! There are cheers. With hand motions.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): It's fun! And lends itelf well to catchphrases such as, "I'm wrongle in my Dongle."

^FOOTNOTE (careted): Pink tank, green hoodie and I'm not THAT white. It's called overexposure.

That's what she said!

§§FOOTNOTE (boobs in spaaaaace...): When you use the clinical terms, it's not nearly as twelve and I'm trying to be serious here. Dongle is serious stuff.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Trust me, the only person more surprised than I was that I had to perform a bottlecapectomy of my boobs was Jack.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (OK, now everything looks like boobs): Girl noises, shrieking, giggling, flapping... then when we got Justice calmed down, the rest of us could enjoy the game again. *rimshot*

##FOOTNOTE (tic tac bottle cap): I maintain that if anyone gets a bottle cap down one of the guys' shirts, we should have to ante two quarters.

†††FOOTNOTE (holy holy holy): I was, of course, bombarded by bottle caps for the rest of the evening. And the other table wasn't even playing Dongle.

‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (chicks dig scars): Eric's a Dongle hustler.

That's what she said!

§§§FOOTNOTE (dizzying options): It's not Calvinpoker, after all.

¶¶¶FOOTNOTE (poker faces): The phrases, not the actual objects.

###FOOTNOTE (oh, the poundings you'll take): You may not have enjoyed it as much as I have, but at least there's a beginning, middle and end to it. "Sterno bums" has no end.

Shameless

Every time Tommy goes up on the blog, the hit counter whirls around like the dollars on display at the pump on a tank of premium gas for an 18-wheeler.

Note the topicality.

Sick and Twisted

Talking literally, here, folks.† I had a really spectacular flu the last three days. Poor Steve had it first, and I had to call him Monday to say, "Hey, hope you're feeling better, but I really need to know this is going to be over soon."

It was one of those where I spent a significant amount of time thinking I was going to die and another significant amount of time thinking it may not be the worst thing.

[SUMMARY: That's what she said.]

I've been gone so long... today I feel I'm a stranger‡ in a strange land.

It's going to be disjointed, but we'll all get there together. Without joints.§ And you know what that means...

That pig is gonna get the tongue-bath of his life.

[SUMMARY: That's what she said.]

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

First, happy Super Tuesday. Go read this book:




I'm a big fan of the "Click Clack Moo" series¶ anyway, but this isn't really a kids' book. Well, maybe. But you'll get more out of it than your five-year-old.

And you can read it standing up at your local B&N.

[SUMMARY: That's what he said.]

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

Second, happy Super Bowl. Don't drink this:

Me and My Main Shanny doin' what we do best



And maybe you think you have no call to drink Boone's Farm Sangria-Flavoured Wine Product Food Stuff, but, hey... this isn't what I thought I'd be using my college degree for either.

See, our Super Bowl is about tradition. The Elks have been Super Bowling for nearly 20 years. In fact, next year is our 20th anniversary.# Because most of us were just out of college when this whole mess started, a lot of our traditions revolve around alcohol.

Because we're all still wildly immature and in denial about our age,†† we've seen no reason to delete, modify‡‡ or render symbolic+ any of these alcoholic traditions.

These traditions include the National Anthem Chug, in which the *stated* object of the game is to begin chugging a grossly cheap beer§§ at the first note of the anthem, finishing as the anthem finishes. Around, "...does that star-spangled banner yet wave..." it devolves into a highly competitive race to finish first.

These traditions also include the Lonely Guy Hour, which used to mean passing around a bottle of Boone's Farm at half-time, but now means everybody brings four or five bottles, which are cracked right after the national anthem and somewhere around the post-game confetti explosion, someone says, "Gorrdamit! Where's the best of the Roone's Flarm?"

After years of delicate tasting, we have highly sophisticated Boone's Farm palates.

Thusly:

"Where's the pink?¶¶ The pink is really good!"

"Are you high? The pink made me barf. Now, the blue..."

"Oh, dude, the blue SUCKS! Ya gotta get the orange."

"You'd drink that peach shit?"

"Not PEACH, dumbass, ORANGE..."

"Ha! That's what she said!"

Anyway, our verdict is the Sangria is just bad. It actually tastes like blood.##

Also? This year we may have started a new tradition. Y'all twelve-year-olds will appreciate it: just about anytime anybody says anything, answer with, "That's what she said," or the occasionally snarf-worthier, "That's what he said."

Funniest thing ever. I still giggle every time I say it.

Maybe you had to be there.&

[SUMMARY: That's what I said.]

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

Soldier Boy called Friday night. I think I'm gonna get me some this weekend.

[SUMMARY: WOOOOOOOOOT! I mean... That's what she said!]

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

At one time, I had a lot of words to impart on the whole Queensryche/Dokken experience. Because it's so far gone, I'm going to give you some bullet points:

• Look! Bullet!
• We got our tickets under face value from a scalper. I didn't know that happened. I felt dangerous and hip and savvy.
• It was the first time in (probably) twenty years that I haven't been vigorously frisked going into a concert. 1) Damnit. It would have been the most action I'd seen in months, and 2) if I'd had a clue, I'd've brought my camera.
• Don Dokken now looks like Kenny Rogers.
• Don Dokken did an all-acoustic set, and all of Dokken's Greatest Hits sound pretty much alike, acoustially presented.
• Don Dokken pulled a Tragedy Vampire on the whole Heath Ledger thing with, "I wasn't going to play anything off the new album,% but this is for a guy... a guy who liked music. And he used a lot of music. And I met him a couple of times..." I will never forget the chorus to the alleged song because I was so intent on memorising it just so I could share with ya'll:

I've been driven by wild horses, dragged beneath their feet.
Why do the children cry? How can we get relief?

• All that said, Don Dokken was personable, friendly, cheerful (other than the Tragedy Vampire portion of the program), played the hits and got off stage. I think I could have a beer with Don Dokken.
• Queensryche rocked. Geoff Tate has lost the tiniest bit off his highest wail, but mostly just rocked like an antiformal syncline.$ They did not do "The Lady Wore Black," though I had a dork moment when I thought they were going to and I turned to Greg and said, "No way. No fucking way." Later, I had to confess I'd failed to recognise some Queensryche hit that sounded a lot like TLWB and Greg said he thought it was TLWB too. So... vindicated.
• Geoff Tate is DEADLY serious about his work. While that often makes art and culture more laughable, I came to the conclusion that if he wasn't so very, very serious, his work would be a joke.
• Geoff Tate doesn't cuss. Not so much as a "hell" or a "damn." Particularly in contrast to Don Dokken's every-other-word-is-fuck, it was kinda refreshing.
• Reservoir tip ski hats are back in. Half the roadies were wearing them, but I also saw a couple of escaped Abercrombie & Fitch models in front of us and one was wearing a Dolce & Gabbana reservoir tip hat and I have a strong feeling that if it was five minutes passé, the boy wouldn't be caught dead in it.
• I'm pretty sure the couple to my left at the encore actually had sex. Right there. Next to me. And she was wearing this strappy, complicated, dominatrix thing that took her about ten minutes to get straightened when the lights came up.

[SUMMARY: That's what she said.]

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

THIS JUST IN:

I received an plane ticket sales email thingie* from Frontier under the heading, "Why Hibernate?" and saying you could escape with low airfare. On the "to/from Denver" list? Anchorage. Chicago. Billings. Rapid City. Detroit.

What exactly am I escaping? And why would I leave hibernation to do it?

[SUMMARY: That's what he said!]

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

Speaking of concerts, did I mention Rush? At Red Rocks?@ I got my ticket last week. $120. Fuck me.^

So I guess I won't be leaving the eighties any time this year. It's a total celebration of lack of maturation.

[SUMMARY: That's what she said.]

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

While I was sick, I spent a lot of time in front of the TiVi,††† and this is on Comcast On-Demand. Watch it:



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

Dang. I'm sure there's lots more. I'll probably have to lick that lucky pig tomorrow.

[SUMMARY: All together now: THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID!]


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): I know you're used to my metaphorical... um... flights of fancy and purple prose whatsits, but there I was, sick (throwing up every hour on the hour for 22 hours) and twisted (wrapping myself around the toilet in new ways I never I could manage).

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Well, even stranger than usual.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Not those kind. If you ever saw me stoned, you'd know why I never, ever mean *those* kind. Mentally, I went straight to Lyda's zombies.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Don't judge. Anyone who has kids or has bedtimed for, "Read it again. Read it again. Read it again," appreciates a book you can both appreciate.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): There will be T-shirts.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Except for some of the guys whose daughters are rapidly approaching teenage-hood. Ah, Mateo... this is where you get it back for all your slick, horn-dog years.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): At least not to save our souls and livers.

+FOOTNOTE (plussed): You know... like substituting Crystal Light for Boone's Farm or tossing confetti instead of our cookies.

§§FOOTNOTE (now, there's a nice, tight spiral... that's what she said): In honour of our humble beginnings.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (two bottles for the price of one!): Because Boone's Farm, like Gatorade, doesn't so much come in flavours as colours.

##FOOTNOTE (pounded like a Patriot): Well, Blood-Flavoured Wine Food Product Stuff, in any case.

&FOOTNOTE (ampersanded): I will, of course, be forcing it down your throat for the rest of the post. *pause* *think* *giggle* That's what he said!

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Yes, Don Dokken has a new album coming out. Acoustic. All new stuff. Seriously.

$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): A little geology humour for those of you who are so inclined. Or synclined. Or anticlined, if you'd rather. Gosh, I think I'm funny.

*FOOTNOTE (asterisked, if you can believe that): Plane Ticket Sales Email Thingie® Frontier Airlines. All saints preserve us.

@FOOTNOTE (atted): The place where U2's "Sunday Bloody Sunday" video was shot. You know, where the girl in the polar bear jacket mauls Bono, then he waves a flag.

^FOOTNOTE (careted): That's what he said.

†††FOOTNOTE (triple your pleasure): Except for Monday, when I spent a lot of time in front of the toilet and the rest of the time chasing ducks in fever delusions. Fever delusions are kinda cool.

I Have a Fantasy

Oh, fantasy draft, how I love you.

How I loathe your aftermath.%

Boys can become real pussies over fantasy football, let me tell you.

Our league is usually pretty easy-going, but there are little flair-ups† once or twice a season that make me want to scramble all their teams and leave the commissioner duties in the not-so-capable paws of Quill, the Cat for Scale.

[SUMMARY: Really? We're whining about fantasy football now?]

Old Chicago had a fine draft party special ($6 all-you-can-eat pizza) and, well, they have beer.

In fantasy commissioning,‡ as in many things in life, I like to maintain a policy of calm-before-the-storm me-time.

When I was Meg's maid of honour, I hosted her shower at the Fourth Story, a lovely restaurant that used to be on top of what used to be the Tattered Cover in Cherry Creek. I showed up an hour early so I could set up, then have a glass of wine by myself.

I like to get to work early and get a glass of water or a cup of coffee and settle in a little before the rest of the work world is buzzing around.

I'm usually the first to a party, and I'm always happy to help the host because mostly I'm just happy to be there and have a few minutes to breathe and grab a cocktail before it gets too social.

You may note a "drinking alone" theme. Don't be alarmed.

Pretty much how I handle fantasy draft. An empty table and a full Sam Adams and I feel I've reached a goal.

Look. No men. Can you believe this falls under the heading "fantasy"?


Then the boys show up and, since I'm keeping track of everybody drafted and available, and since I'm drafting for myself and Eric (who didn't attend... again), it gets a little hectic.

To be fair -- because I'm ALWAYS fair$ -- since only six out of ten of our league made it to the draft party, most people were drafting for two. Most of the guys that don't show are lucky if their rosters don't include Michael Vick, Roger Goodell and Gisele Bundchen.

But none of them has the commissioner drafting for them, a woman held to that higher standard.

[SUMMARY: Did I accuse the boys of whining? Bad pot! Bad, bad black pot!]

Oh, look! It's the boys from poker!


And today the boy-whining begins.

"Jack gets up early and he gets all the good players. Can you make free agency random every week so he can't take all the players while I'm sleeping?"§

"Can you run up a complete list of everybody's draft and email it to us so we can have plenty of time to lodge complaints before today's free agency deadline?"§

No.

HELL no.

But this too shall pass, my team is solid and -- if nothing else -- it means football is back and hockey and basketball aren't far behind.

[SUMMARY: Are you ready for some FOOTBALL?!]

Are you ready for some KNITBLOG?!¶

Louet's Pearl for some Cookie A patterns from Wendy at Lanas de Libélula. Note the special bonus Soak and the very nice sachet thingie she sends with everything. It has lavender, I'm pretty sure, and maybe cedar. It smells really good and makes me happy and... y'know... gift with purchase.



And I got these from The Knittery in Australia. It's sock yarn. With cashmere.#:




Daphne sent a nice note (I like nice notes with my yarn. So personal) and this:

I come from a land down under



Gummy koala!

Which Cat for Scale licked shortly after this picture was snapped. He then proceeded to make biscuits†† all over the Girl Colours Big Baby, so I had to shoot him.

[SUMMARY: Still a knitblog.]

No, no... he's still alive, but I'm getting my revenge by posting a less-than-glamourous photo of him that makes him look like a Moonie after a chronic break (note the ravaged Girl Colours Big Baby in the background).

Oh, and I'm making him take over the fantasy league.


All your fantasy teams are belong to us




%FOOTNOTE (percented): Almost poetical, don't you think? The way "draft" and "aftermath" flow?

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Preparation H. I need Preparation H for my fantasy flair-ups. Wow. Imagine the potential for Google abuse with that sentence.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): commissioneering? commissionetting?

$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): Somewhere, Brother is laughing.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): I am not making these up.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I think I'm clever. I'm confident Hank Williams, Jr. would agree with me.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Once again, with nylon. 20% cashmere and 20% nylon and the nylon wins again. Nylon! Reigning champion! Spoiler of the luxury feel of luxury fibres! I now have silk/nylon and cashmere/nylon and they both feel kind of dry and fuzzy (tennis ball fuzzy, not bunny fuzzy) rather than silky or soft. Don't get me wrong, it's pretty. And I can still tell... whomever... that I knit them cashmere socks or mittens or... whatever. But it doesn't feel like cashmere.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): It's a problem -- he has claws.

Hush...

...if you close your eyes can you hear the pigskin singing on the wind?

Training Camp officially opened yesterday. The long, dark summer is almost over. Be still, my grass-stained heart.†

You may be familiar with the phrase, "It's preseason for the [fill in the blank] too," a sentence which will be spouted with increasing density from the Hall of Fame game on August 5th, right through the final preseason games on August 31. It will be used to excuse gaffes for everybody from the coaching staff to the sideline reporters.

Sometime around August 17, it will cease to be viable and start becoming a joke.

"Well, it's preseason for the hot dog vendors too, Marv," you'll hear me utter. "It's preseason for the guys who make Quizno's‡ commercials."

I'm going to preempt the joke phase and say, "It's preseason for knitblogs."

We haven't been through a football season together. I can't tell you what this will do to those who think of this as a knitblog.§

I can't tell you how much football I'll feel compelled to spread out here at the Rickety Blog.

I can't tell you I won't be spewing gleeful bile$ about the damnblasted Raiders every single week for the next seven months.

[SUMMARY: For someone who talks so much, I'm not telling you a lot.]

I can tell you I fly my mom's Bronco flag each and every game day.

I can tell you I play fantasy football. Oh, hell, let's not sugar-coat it: I have commissionered my fantasy football league for the past three or four years.¶

I can tell you I love college football as well, but I'm OK if I miss a college game. We don't know yet what happens if I miss a Bronco game, but defibrillators are standing by.

I can tell you my mom was a HUGE Bronco fan and football season might open up some space for more of that sentimental stuff that keeps anal beads from taking over the blogiverse.

I can tell you to go to NFL 101 in your local NFL city if you are a woman# who loves football or wants to learn about football.††

I can tell you I do get a LOT of knitting done during football season, so there'll still be plenty of knitting -- maybe even more FOs than you're used to from me.

[SUMMARY: Please disregard the last summary. I just talk a lot.]

We'll just have to see where the season‡‡ takes us.

Meanwhile, how 'bout them Broncos?


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): 'Cause, y'know, astroturf is for the birds. Like Falcons or Eagles maybe. Wow. That was lame even for me.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Y'all know this is a brand name, right? And it's all copyrighted and trademarked within an inch of its life? Hi lawyers! No infringing here!

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Including your dear ol' AntiM.

$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): Because they're going to suck hard this year. Much like last year. And the year before. And probably next year. Possibly until several years after Al Davis goes to that big black tracksuit in the centre of the earth.

Oh, look! It's started already!

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): And I don't want to brag, but I won the first fantasy super bowl (the Elk Bowl, in our parlance) and, by golly, I won the last. Hey, it's not bragging if you put it in the footnotes. Who reads footnotes anyway?

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Yep. Women only. Which is a pity. I've met some boys who could benefit.

I won't go into too much detail, but there's a goody bag and an equipment demonstration where they strip a fine young football specimen right down to his skivvies. And an open bar. At least in Denver.

Did I mention goody bag? And mostly naked man? And open bar? Always worth repeating...

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Brother heartily endorses NFL 101, which turned Sis-in-Law into a football fan. And one who knows what she's talking about. So it has the approval of men AND women. So go. You may still not like football, but at least you'll know exactly what you don't like about it in greater detail and with penalties and everything... and you'll get a goody bag out of the deal.

Did I mention the goody bag?

Did I mention mostly-naked man?

And open bar?

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): I'm thinking I better not tell you 'bout hockey and basketball quite yet... and it's more than a year until the Olympics...



I know, I know... I implied there would be sex. I'm holding off until, say, Monday, as there may be actual sex this weekend, rather than just confusing and dangerous hypothetical sex.§§

Rhetorical sex is rarely as interesting all on its own as rhetorical sex backed up by a little rhythm and rhyme.

[SUMMARY: eca teases Marin. Marin teases the world. eca stops teasing. Marin still thinks it would be fun. Spending my Kharmic Green Stamps right and left.]


§§FOOTNOTE (double-curvy, sexy, swervy): Is it kind of wrong that hypothetical sex has become more dangerous than real sex in my world?