Photolism

I don't even know what that means, but it sounded cool. In my head, I mean.

And here's my trip to NYC.

First, I think it's important to note that Jeff and Lorree live right around the corner from what may be the only drive-thru in Manhattan.

I took this from the subway platform.

Second, I think it's important to note that I finished Yorick for Jeff as hoped. And I know how y'all like FOs.

The only thing I've done every time I go to Manhattan (other than stay with Jeff and Lorree) is visit the American Museum of Natural History.

That's the rail on the fence surrounding the Eleanor Roosevelt Garden@ on the northwest corner of the museum grounds.

The Rose Center and the Hayden Planetarium are always worth a peek, and I buy an unlimited ticket to get me into every special exhibit they have going.

This trip's special exhibits were butterflies and mythical creatures.

The former:

The latter was basically a bunch of papier-mache critters with narrative explanations on their mythology and, y'know... how manatees looked like mermaids to weary sailors. The only picture I got was of a dragon wing, which was artsy, but not illustrative.%

The biosphere on the bottom floor with all the tiny fish.

The dinosaur in the Roosevelt Rotunda you may have seen in "Night at the Museum" or the TiVi show "Mad About You."^

And "truly large mouse," just because I think it's funny.

[SUMMARY: Go, museum geek, go!]

Friday, MoMA was ridiculously crowded, and for the first time I got genuinely pissed off at the pretentiousness of a piece of "artwork."†

I don't like to guppy up to the "my four-year-old could do that" stereotype of the artistic Luddite, but I finally found the thing hanging on a wall that did it: a piece of newsprint -- not very big‡ -- folded in half, in half and in half again, then unfolded and framed.

The accompanying blather said (paraphrasing) "The artist folds the blank paper many times, transcending tradition to create a drawing without ever putting pencil to paper."

No, the fuck he doesn't.

He folded a page in eighths like they used to make us do in the second grade to create a big-pencil-friendly version of ruled paper for us to do sums on.

It's not a drawing.

It's not even art.

[SUMMARY: My four-year-old could do that.]

The art I liked was the art I always like. Every time I looked at a painting I liked, it would be Klimt or Rothko or Dali or Ernst.§

Perhaps I stagnate.

I also love the furniture section. I don't know why an Eames chair should turn me on so, but it really does.

Although I don't like alien furniture... you know, the stuff that was conceived on the artistic construct of "how would a space creature with seven legs whose spine was rigid, but whose knees bent backwards sit?"¶

[SUMMARY: I don't know art, but I know what I don't like.]

Friday also brought weather I've never experienced before: 100% humidity with reasonably comfortable temperatures. Sleeping was weird and surreal, with fever dreams and kicking the covers on and off and getting up ten or seventeen times to pee and get water. I've never felt anything like it.

[SUMMARY: Not unlike my Amber experience.]

Saturday was, of course, the trek to Rhinebeck.

There were many people.

And fairground-appropriate accoutrement.#

And pretty trees.

This being my favourite.

And a bouncy pirate ship with (wait for it...)

...a skull and crossbones or five.

Sheep.

Goats.

Bunnies.

Outdoor yarn.

Indoor yarn.

Mohair locks by the bushel.

Quiet spaces to go to escape the madding crowd, if just for a few minutes.

And this is very important. A vendor I loved, with lovely Merino and Merino/Silk and CORMO and I somehow *forgot the name of the frickin' vendor.* If anyone knows who this is (maybe from the top floor of the big white barn?), could you please drop me a comment?

I didn't dislike everything about Rhinebeck. I loved the unknown yarn vendor and Spirit Trail Fibreworks. And Green Mountain Spinnery, from whom I got 500 yards of this:

And, as always, Brooks Farm, from whom I got 500 yards of this:

And the horses. I may be the only fibre geek in North America to get this guy from the front.

[SUMMARY: Deja vu?]

These are my peeps from the delayed train adventure.

Sunday, Lorree needed some Lorree time, so I asked Jeff if we could explore Central Park, as I've seen woefully little of it and feel it is necessary to my quintessential experience of New York.

Jeff said, "You're taking a picture of a sign?"

I said, "Yes. Some people might appreciate that there are eleventy hundred baseball diamonds here in the North Meadow."




People who have only seen snippets of the park on TiVi and such may not be aware of its full impact. It's HUGE.

You can hike through a forest reminiscent of Redwood National Park, fording streams and climbing rocks and hills... then come around a corner to the Great Lawn where upwards of 3000 people and their dogs are playing Frisbee and sunbathing.

There is the Pond (smaller than Harlem Meers, but large enough to row on).

There are turtles.

There is a castle.††

Oh, look. There is Jeff 180 degrees from the last photo on the courtyard of Belvedere Castle.

There is a highly artistic shot of the shadow of Belvedere Castle looking up to the south leg of the Great Lawn.‡‡

After rambling around Belvedere Castle, we cut across the park westward§§ to catch Riverside Park home. Jeff lives right by Riverside Park, though a ways north of where we were at the castle.

A barge.¶¶

Looking up Riverside Park.

[SUMMARY: New York!]

Tomorrow: WIP, another FO and Annie Modesitt tells me I was knitting OK all along.

@FOOTNOTE (atted): Maybe. I know she had a garden around here somewhere.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Not that artsy isn't a fine reason all on its own to post a picture. Apparently I was the victim of a rare and impulsive moment of discretion. Enjoy it while you can.

^FOOTNOTE (careted): Where young Paul and young Jamie are on class field trips to AMNH and the power goes out.

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): It's too trite to sniff at art, but I actually had a visceral reaction to the bullshit they were dishing. Spittle. Hair on end. Ears hot.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Well, size doesn't count, but I don't want you to think it's maybe six stories tall and could fall into some Christo realm of scale as art.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): I'm nothing if not prosaic.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): When Melissa Etheridge came out, a male friend was trying to articulate why it was so upsetting to him. In my usual succinct way (shut up), I said, "Because you want to believe she's singing the love songs to you." I want to believe the chair in the museum could possibly end up in my living room (maybe as part of the McDonald's Monopoly frenzy of prizes) and I'm not a seven-legged alien.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): With a festive fall theme!

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Belvedere Castle, to be specific.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): I think.

§§FOOTNOTE (a snake eats its tail): Right by the Dakota, where people take pictures of the sidewalk like they might be able to catch bloodstains from nearly 30 years ago.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (I think we just ran out of paragraphs): Maybe.

Bon Voyage!

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

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

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

Here is how the movie people Bogart a parking lot:




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




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

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




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

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

Here is Yorick as a misshapen lump of felt:

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

Here are two Yoricks battling for Supremacy of the Box:

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

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

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

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

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




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

XOXO
M

GO ROCKIES!

Time to Lick the Pig

Yes, it's brain lint time again. That time when rug burns sing, knitting goes feral and pigs get tongue-baths from winsome tots.†

Have you ever seen one of those French slice-of-life movies? Personally, I find them boring and awful, but I've seen one so I have some basis for comparison here. This first bit is basically my own little slice-of-life. It has no purpose beyond the "Huh."

When I was cosied up in my comfy chair Monday afternoon, I heard sirens from the north. They came closer and closer and a big, white fire truck pulled up right in front of my house.‡

The driver (wearing an official-looking navy blue uniform with a badge) and a fireman (wearing the giant fire coat and fire boots and placing his fire hat on his head as he hit the ground) hopped out. The fireman grabbed an axe and they both turned toward my house.

They looked up the long flight of stairs to the front door.§ They took two steps left and looked up my neighbour's stairs. They circled around opposite sides of the truck and disappeared, presumably to look at the across-the-street neighbour's door.

They came back around to my side. The fireman put the axe back in the hold of the truck and they both hopped back in.

Then they hopped out, grabbed the axe, milled¶ for a few minutes, jumped in the truck and drove off.

[SUMMARY: Huh.]

The movie people were back across the street from the office yesterday. Now they're gone again. I imagine it would be a royal pain in the ass to put up tents, take down tents, up with port-a-potties, down with port-a-potties every single day.

George Karl, Carmelo Anthony and Allen Iverson will be filming next week.

I think George Karl is going to be surprisingly good with his seven words onscreen. I seen him on the news last night and I think he's got that certain something.

[SUMMARY: Uh... really?]

Um... Brother? You won't appreciate this. I'm going to give you this 37 seconds of your life as a gift. Just skip to the next one.

I leave for New York a week from today. I think it's about time I think about my shopping list for Rhinebeck# and travel knitting.

Yorick will be done. Sparkle Socks will be done, or nearly. I'll certainly take the Massive Debt Father's day Arrrgyles for Brother and I may start a pair of Rainbow Socks out of a nice ball of Austermann Step with Aloe and Jojoba I've been hoarding.

It would probably help if I had a better Christmas plan. Both with what I should be knitting in the tens of FAA-supported hours I'll be experiencing next week and with what I should (and shouldn't) buy at Rhinebeck.

Musing.

Pig-licking.

[SUMMARY: Are we going to do this every week, AntiM?]

Oh, wait! Not this one either. Try the next exit.

Speaking of Rhinebeck... I'm going to be a bingo square in Stitchy McYarnpants's Rhinebeck Bingo.




It's not some big, unforeseen honour or anything. I volunteered.†† But, y'know... didn't get rejected.

I just thought y'all should know, just in case it makes you happy.

[SUMMARY: Attention whore.]

OK. You can tune back in now. It's football.

Just in case y'all were sitting there wondering, "Man, I haven't heard anything about Marin's fantasy football world lately. I wonder how she's doing."

I am at the top of both of my Pick 'Em leagues (one boys, one girls). Even after picking the Broncos in both leagues last week and even picking them against the Colts in one league two weeks ago.

I am firmly planted in the middle of my fantasy league, a stunningly mediocre 3-2 record and a supa-hot one-game winning streak to my name. Or the name of BOB, as it goes. Brother -- because I know you're dying to know -- has crept out of the sub-basement and is in second-to-last place with a far inferior 2-3 record.

And, while our feisty Canadian friend remains a few points ahead of me in the overall standings in the Onion Shattered Fantasies League, I whipped her sassy Canadian ass this week and am roaring toward a comeback.

[SUMMARY: I don't suck at sucking as much as you thought.]

DayQuil isn't supposed to make you dopey, is it?

You don't suppose it's just me, do you?

[SUMMARY: Getting warmer.]

I miss my Fling. I think I even miss the Male Lady just a little. Mostly I miss being able to breathe. I'm pretty sure a lack of snot-free oxygen to the brain is causing these blogblahs.

Please have a lovely Wednesday. For all our sakes.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): My father, for the record, says the kid in the pig-licking photo reminds him oh, so much of me. I was afraid to ask if it's just the blond curls or if it's the insouciant tongue action.

Hey! Stop that! My father is NOT thinking that kind of tongue action!

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): I suddenly became very aware of my insurance.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): For a moment, I honestly wondered if my house was on fire and they were seriously contemplating letting it burn so they wouldn't have to climb the stairs.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Two people can mill. I've seen it with my own two eyes. Which... don't mill. Even though there's two. Like the story about the people. Please make me stop.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Because pretty yarn out of context is a dangerous thing for the pocketbook and the stash. There are so many (whisper) useless hunks of fibre in my stash because I bought a ball or a skein in magpie mode and don't have enough to do anything compelling with it.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): With my hand waving madly in the air, shrieking, "Oo! Oo! Pick me! Pick me!"

Alas, Poor Yorick...

...I pinned him to the sofa, Horatio.†

I figured thus: I am knitting socks for Lorree and Yorick for Jeff. Yorick must be felted, blocked and dried prior to next Wednesday. The socks can be knit in the six-plus hours I will be on planes and in airports and such. The socks can be finished on the bus from Newark to Grand Central Station. The socks, if needs be, can be finished sitting at Riverside Park across the street from Jeff's building.

So Yorick wins, for the time being.%

Praise be, Yorick is a pretty quick knit, though I have made two skulls now and neither one of them came out to the right number of stitches, or even to the same number of stitches. For some reason, multiple yarn-overs can be difficult to knit in and out of while trying to count properly.




Don't Panic.‡ The one on the left is not all wonky due to my inability to count,§ I just didn't pin that one.

I'm having some palpitations over the felting process, not for any typical reason, but because I used Ella Rae Classic for this and the pattern calls for something alpaca or angora -- y'all know... bunny yarn -- but I thought bunny yarn might not be masculine enough, so I switched to this.

Then I poked at one of Bag Lady Kathryn's felted Ella Rae bags and I'm worried about it getting too dense for a scarf. I'm envisioning Jeff laying it across the back of his neck, then bending and twisting and capturing it quickly under the front of his jacket before it springs loose again.¶

I'll just have to keep a very close eye on the felting process so it gets felted enough for me to trim out the eye- and nose-holes, but not so felted it becomes a neck pillow.

I guess if worse comes to worst,# I can tell him it's one of those draft dodger things to put across the bottom of a door or window to keep cold air out.

I also turned the heel on the second Sparkle Sock yesterday just for variety. No dick warmers in my house.††

[SUMMARY: Knitting!]

Speaking of Bag Lady Kathryn,‡‡ when we went to Hotcakes (a recommended experience) Sunday morning, we came out to this:




Kathryn said, "Do you have your camera?"

Why, yes. Yes, I do.

[SUMMARY: Mini Coopers!]

Can we backtrack for a minute?^

I didn't take my camera Saturday night because I figured they wouldn't allow cameras in the concert. Turns out they didn't check anything very carefully and I could have smuggled it in just fine. As it stands, I have these great pictures on my camera phone,§§ but I don't know if I can do anything other than send them in text messages. If I can, I sure as hell don't know *how* to do it.

[SUMMARY: Technology!]

I forgot to tell you a little tidbit: when we ran up to Coors Field Saturday after Genesis, Shanny gave me his media pass to go inside and poke around. Mostly, I took pictures of the media pass on my camera phone, but I did enjoy waving that thing at all the Coors Field official-types who wanted to get in my way.

"Media!" I said,¶¶ sticking it in their faces with all the grace and cool of a three-year-old meeting Mickey Mouse at Disneyland for the first time.

[SUMMARY: Sport!]

And this last bit is just a pretty picture of a historical building across the street from my office. I thought the sky particulalry pretty. I'm sharing.




[SUMMARY: Art!]

Happy Tuesday, ev'ry-bahdy!


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): That's not even funny. I just wanted the chance to show off my crazy-big Shakespearean knowledge. The day I can toss out the primrose path speech here with jaded nonchalance... that'll be a proud, proud day. And y'all know I'm going to be looking for excuses now.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): I bet you're *stunned* at the unprecedented level of logic I am able to reach. It's all the sleep yesterday, I tell you.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): I miss Douglas Adams.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Both in and out of triple yarn-overs and to four.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): In my mental movie, he forgets about the rogue scarf and goes to pull his wallet out of his jacket to pay for a newpaper at a newsstand. He yanks the zipper down a couple of inches and starts to reach his hand into his inner pocket. The scarf pops out, the recoil snapping Jeff's wrist and zinging a woman (buying gum next to him) in the face.

THEN... the scarf's eyes glow red but only the guy in the newsstand sees it. He goes home in his '57 Chevy and dismembers his wife, then climbs into their chest freezer with a 45 of "My Boyfriend's Back."

The scarf whispers to Jeff's cat at night, causing the usually-docile feline to eat the neighbour's dog and several small children.

One night, the scarf inches into the kitchen, humming to itself before it slithers into the coffee maker.

Jeff and Lorree have friends over for brunch the next day and everybody drinks coffee filtered through the demon scarf and they all go mad, giving in to their basest impulses and acting out 1950s dead teenager songs.

Later that day, they all die on separate railroad tracks before the folksy sheriff with the dark past can capture them.

The scarf is last seen disappearing into a cargo crate off Battery Park.

Voilá. Stephen King story.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): "Worse comes to worst" or "worst comes to worse"? Each makes a sort of elegant sense... of course, I may just be high on my recent think-tank triumph in figuring out which project to knit first for the imminent trip.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): I could get all dirty-sassy-funny here if it weren't so pathetically true on so many levels.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Nice segueway.

^FOOTNOTE (careted): Just playing at polite. My blog, my backtrack.

§§FOOTNOTE (double-D curvy): Well, they seem really great when I blow them up from postage stamp-size in my head.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (para-para-para-paragraph): OK, OK... squealed.

Knitting! Mini Coopers! Technology! Sport! Art! Sometimes Sex!

Man, this blog has *everything*!

This is My Brain on Zamboni

TTHFCIF

Any Philly's fans out there?

So yesterday I was nowhere near a computer I could use all day. Then I went home and TiVi'd and knitted until bedtime.

It was lovely not going anywhere or doing anything.†

I intend to maybe do a little more of the same tonight.

[SUMMARY: Lazy and loving it.]

I'm rapidly approaching the heel on the last Sparkle Sock and I cast on Yorick last night and got the first skull and two or six or ten inches% of the scarf part done.

I may finish those up before New York after all.

[SUMMARY: Still a knitblog!]

I can't get all wild-hairy tonight anyway. I accidentally^ blew off my grandmother two weekends running and I *must* go see her tomorrow. Otherwise they will revoke my granddaughter card and my cousin Tani will take over Most Favoured Granchild status solely on the basis of having the most recent baby.

We can't be having that.

[SUMMARY: Family politics.]

Besides,‡ I do love my grandmother and it makes her really happy when I come to visit. And if we get the conversation steered the right way, I learn really cool things about Dad that I can use as leverage should I need it. Or just for fun table talk at family dinners.

[SUMMARY: And the family politics just keep coming.]

It's going to be a busy, busy weekend. Before I talk futures, let's visit Wednesday night's hockey opener.$

I love mechanical things, toys. From C-batteries to supercharged cars to jet engines, I love them all. Perhaps the Zamboni most of all.§

And look at this one:




Feng-schwogie!

Huh. It just occurred to me that I may have sub-consciously bought the Mini Cooper because it is the car that most closely resembles the Zamboni.&

Anyway...

The preamble for a game has all the subtlety of a drag queen.

The ice goes red...




...the ice goes blue...




...the ice spins and dapples and goes red and blue and flashy from all sides and there's stuff that looks like leopard spots or maybe ripples in a pond and spotlights swing in mad circles and...




...and then they bring the players on. Loudly.

Look!

One hockey player... two hockey players... three hockey players... four, four beautiful hockey players!¶




That's it, I'm out.

[SUMMARY: Can't count past four.#]

Then skate-around...




...then face-off...




...then a hat trick by Stastny. I do have a picture of hats on the ice and little maintenance people shuffling around with garbage cans, picking up the hats off the ice. But it's at home. In my other computer.

I'm pretty sure that, in looking at the 27,000 pictures I took to get this one...




...I didn't realise one of them was the hat trick and forgot to upload it so I could share.

Things you might want to know:

That shot that I am claiming is the best of 27,000 is because of the reflected skaters in the glass around the ice.

See, I have a strong shiny-object lobe in my brain.†† It finds objects and fixates on them and won't let go until some loud noise or person next to me waving their hands in front of my eyes snaps me out of it.

When I watch basketball, if I hear a shoe squeak -- just once -- I can no longer focus on the game because I can hear *all* the shoes squeaking. With football, it's night games where the lights turn the players and their shadows into highly mobile jacks.‡‡

Wednesday night, for the first time, I noticed how cool the reflections are when skaters go by the panels of glass in the corners. This may be what passes for artsy in hockey.

Despite all that distraction, I do know the Avs won. I cheered every goal.§§

[SUMMARY: Hockey hockey hockey hockey hockey hockey hockey]

Kelley drove and picked a parking lot+ under not one, but TWO cranes.

[SUMMARY: Always the cranes...]

So this weekend... ah, this weekend.

Tomorrow morning, I go see Grandma. Tomorrow night, I go see Genesis.

Sunday morning, breakfast with Bag Lady Kathryn (not too early, I admonished, Marin will be shutting down a bar Saturday night).

Possible snow.

Broncos.

Family dinner.¶¶

Avs.##

Possible Rockies.†††

Drinking with Kelley.‡‡‡

[SUMMARY: Is there such thing as too much fun?]

And late to work on Monday.

Happy Friday, ev'ry-bahdy!



†FOOTNOTE (crossed): I say that like that isn't exactly what I did all weekend last weekend. Well, except for the part where I helped Bag Lady Kathryn paint her dining room. Well, I be. I guess I was useful last weekend. Yea, me!

%FOOTNOTE (percented): How am I supposed to gauge this? The boys keep telling me ten inches looks like *this*, but then the sweaters never fit.

^FOOTNOTE (careted): Yes, it's possible. No, I won't teach you how.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): This is not the afterthought it seems. I'm nicer than that. Shut up.

$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): Mostly because I'm in love with how well my camera handled hockey.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Yes, even more than the variable-speed, purple, g-spot vibrator. That's a *lot* of Zamboni love.

And that sounds ten more kinds of dirty. What is wrong with me today?

&FOOTNOTE (ampersanded): So much Freud, so little time.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): And I do mean beautiful. Hockey players are hot. So hot. Oh, my C-batteries! Seriously, other than Scotty Bowman, who is the exceptional toad that proves the rule, hockey players have a minimum level of hotness that rivals the upper echelons of real-world male hotness.

Does the ice keep their skin pretty or something?

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Some of you may recognise the amazing improvement this represents, since I couldn't count *to* four earlier this year. Knitting has helped me grow, and I'm a better person for it. Or at least less likely to blindly accept the wrong change at Starbucks.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): No, AntiM! Say it ain't so!

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): The pick-up kind that comes with a red ball that you got when you were a kid.

§§FOOTNOTE (curvalicious): Sometimes smacking the guy in front of me in the head with my camera as I did. It's OK -- he was cheering for the other team.

+FOOTNOTE (plussed -- the opposite of non-plussed?): I just want to be sure you understand that I didn't park us somewhere just to get under the cranes (dirty!). It was Kelley's choice, all her own free will and everything.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (all the pretty paragraphs): For which I will bake the first cherry pie of safe-to-turn-the-oven-on season.

##FOOTNOTE (pounded like a beer at last call): Who moved gametime Sunday to allow for a possible Rox game.

†††FOOTNOTE (tres... tres cruces bonitos!): Y'know... if they don't put the Phillies away Saturday. Also, if you're in Denverish on Sunday, don't be. At least not downtown. Sportsfest, Oktoberfest, 12,000 women in pink hats (Race for the Cure, in case I out-clevered myself on the reference), free parking... it'll be a madhouse.

‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (railroad tracks!): Who works for a credit union and has Monday off for Columbus Day. Hey, I can't let my girl drink alone.