Papa Was a Rodeo, Mama Was a Rock n Roll Band
The Magnetic Fields closed with that song. Before that they played about 25 songs, including Reno Dakota, The Book of Love, and most of the new album. And yes, even though they seem to specialize in "non-rock" venues, they did have a merch table and shirts.
Stephin Merritt is exceedingly short. Claudia is charming and did most of the talking, with Mr Merritt making snide side comments and corrections. The other two guys (I'm sorry, I don't know their names) were quiet but played very very well. There were no synths, no drums, no extra singers. It was all very dignified. Except that between song banter was mostly about tiki bars.

And You Have No Idea How Stupid I Would Feel
While on my rainy ride yesterday--and I hate the very idea of riding in the rain, since no one's paying me to do it, I'd rather not--I was taking a...what do they call it? a nature break? comfort break? ...anyway, it's when you pee on the side of the road...when along comes this early 90s Mercury Topaz (white and rusty). Well, I got myself back together as nonchalantly as possible and hopped back on to ride away. I wonder what those hick girls thought?
Probably the standard epithet, that I often hear yelled at me from pickups or cars held together with tape and rope: "faggot!" As if Lycra automatically determines sexual preference! Oh yeah? Well, I'm sure I'm twice the man your boyfriend/husband/uncle is! He just sits on the couch in your cousin's trailer engulfing pizzas and Mountain Dew, spilling the remains down his front onto his Orange County Choppers t-shirt (but he doesn't even own a motorcycle!). I'm out here doing everything I can to increase my strength, stamina and fitness. You guy is just a heartattack waiting to happen. That's if he can stay off the sauce long enough to have one. I'm sick of you swerving TOWARD me or gunning your engines or screaming at me. I'm NOT scared of you. You're just lucky I haven't applied for my brand-new Ohio concealed-carry handgun permit. Or is a Glock in my jersey pocket just too faggoty?
Sorry, that was not directed at you girls, per se.

Not My Day
It must be yours.
It should have been great...
8:20am...the sun cracked through the clouds...no wind...a 50 mile ride planned.
Within a few miles the sun went away...the wind picked up.
At mile 23 the clouds let loose first a spitty rain, then full-on showers. A road that I've ridden on before recently had been tarred and gravelled. That's the way they pave country roads around here--they put down tar and then gravel on top. It all gets mashed down together after a while and seems like real pavement. Usually it's peas-sized pieces, but sometimes it's big hunks of gravel. Today it was pretty powdery. I could have gone another way but since the next crossroad was pretty much the same distance as the last one I decided to press on. Bad decision. A few miles after that, still in the rain, I notice my front tire is flat. Before that I noticed that the wheels felt slippery, more than they usually do in the rain. So I stopped and tried to call Lauran for some sag. It never connected. (What did I expect in the middle of nowhere?) So I grumbled and got my spare tube out of the seat bag. In a few minutes it was fixed (cuz I'm really good at that), but I was annoyed. I rode home the rest of the way grumpy until almost the end, when I realized that, physically, the ride had been great. Yes, all sorts of external things went wrong, but it didn't hurt ever and I was even able to do quite a bit of it in the big ring. So, it was...OK, in the end.

But then later Gabe came back from playing at a friend's house and reported on his friend's farts.

I Was Happy for a Day in 1975

Flux You
My deep and abiding apprecciation for Fluxus art once inspired me to turn in a box of old socks for a term paper. In grad school. Luckily for me, the teacher got it, and I got an A. Perhaps she liked the snipped up paintings that were in there, too. There was some writing--a few thousand words on why this was my paper, all very deliberately self-conscious, self-referential, and unabashedly pretentious. It was about half in German, too, I recall. Joseph Beuys, who never had the chance to be my teacher, would have been proud--only there was no lard or felt.

Feeling Used
I've been using a lot of my old tools lately.

Short Stem Roses
Today was much better, cycling-wise. Went out for about 2 hours at the end of the day. Lauran warned me not to come back before dark.
Tech Report: OK, so I reported earlier that I'd like to flip the stem, because I wondered if the drop was too much for me. I did, but it just ended up ridiculously erect.

So I put it back to normal, which is a flat angle (actually -17 degrees).

It's OK for me, but I wanted to see if a slight rise and a little less extension might feel better.

Tonight's ride was a test, and, I must say, I am very pleased with the new stem. It's about 5mm shorter and has a 5 degree rise, which all add up to what feels so far like comfort. Weight weenies can take comfort in the fact that it's a whole 40 grams lighter. Plus, it's carbon, so it looks all status symbol-y. And we all know that appearances are everything, right?

Player of Unpopular Songs
The other night, after a hearty swig of cinnamon schnapps, I thought my guitar playing had immensely improved. For quite a while I sat on my stool and obsessively played through my current favorite strumfests: We Rule The School, Red Right Ankle, Grace Cathedral Hill, As I Rise. No one else seemed to appreciate my quantum leap in skill, so I got sleepy and drifted off, dreaming that I had a full board of pedals in front of me to stomp. Every chord was right. The changes were smooth as silk. When I woke up my fingers wouldn't work right and the dang guitar had gone horribly out of tune overnight! Imagine! Oh well.


We're not talking about cycling today because I seem to have, very temporarily, lost my motivation. Well, I've lost a certain "oomph" to be more precise (ha!). I WANT to ride, and it's as enjoyable as ever, but it just leaves me completely knackered. Maybe it's just that the pneumonia back in March really took something out of me (plus I never let myself rest as I should have). I don't usually get sick, so I didn't want to waste any time on it. The last time I was sick in bed was 7 years ago, so I figure I'm good until 2011 now. If I could just get some energy. No amount of caffeine or caffeine accesories seems to do it. Not Sudafed either. Not vitamin B6. Nothing. So I guess I need a rest? Or maybe to ride more and harder? I dunno. I ride by lots of crystal meth labs out in the country. (Yes, I do, as the County Prosecutor tells me.) Maybe I should stop in for a quick fix. Is meth like speed? Who knows? But...Nah. That's not the answer. Perhaps a good night's rest, a juicy steak and a stiff cuppa coffee in the morning will fix me up. Cuz that's what I always want, the easy way out.

Foul, Foul, Foul
Is the smell that comes from the milk factory that I pass on my nice day rides into the office. If it wasn't for that disgusting odor, my charmed life would be nearly perfect. Now it's a little less so.
What's it like, you wonder? Well, imagine burnt milk, then add, maybe soy sauce, vomit, and charcoal. I swear I'm gonna go vegan if it keeps smelling so bad.

Now Hear This
Now Eating: Bagel with gorgonzola spread. Why hasn't this caught on? It's kind of like cream cheese, only smellier.
Now Playing: The Long Winters, thanks to Whit, pro cyclist, Decemberists fan, and, (must be) all-around cool guy.
Now Dowloading: David Bowie, live in NJ [!], last date of recent North American tour. It's like 1GB on sharingthegroove, so it's still got about 15 hours to go, even though I started it YESTERDAY!
Also Now Playing: The new Harry Potter movie. I haven't read a book yet, but I liked this movie the best. The new director made it darker and gothic-er--a welcome change from the Cinderella/Halloween imagery of the first two. I thought Michael Gambon made a better Dumbledore than Richard Harris (RIP). David Thewlis was great as Lupin--he's intrigued me ever since that Prime Suspect he was in. Emma (O, Emma!) Thompson was perhaps not so great as the kooky divination professor. (Her ex was fantastic in the last one, though.)


Have I ever told you about our vast collection of Rubbermaid bins that we use to move, rather than crush-prone, unpleasant-smelling cardboard boxes? We also loan them out for other people's moves, free of charge, of course.

Streetcore
For Father's Day I "got" the Timbuk2 messenger bag that I'd had a for a while. I think Lauran may be getting a road bike. She's been riding every day herself for the last month. I must be a good influence (after all). I also went out for a little "stretch out the legs ride" at the end of a long day. It was weird. I wasn't sore, it didn't feel good either, my legs were just numb--and weak. I could barely move along at more than 15mph. But that's still better than staying in and and getting stiff and sore.
My dad already had the Truffaut videos. But, I'm one step ahead of him--I've got a newly formatted plan for another occasion [thinly-veiled reference].
Over at the Belle & Sebastian site in the Q&A section it was mentioned that they were not really planning any more trips over to this side of the Atlantic this year, which is either true or their usual red herring publicity.

The Answer, My Friend, Is Blowin' in the Wind
Ride report: near-perfect conditions, some good cycling karma has come my way! Sunny, 70s, only mildly breezy (and in the right direction, so that the second half of my ride had an unmitigated tailwind). Did a metric century (62 miles). I even found the nearest thing to hills in this county.

!*$#@! (As They Say in the Comics)
Got a new lawnmower. (The old one died weeks ago.) And the house keys and locks fixed. (Our house-checker couldn't get in cuz the locks were so worn out, so that's why the flooding went unnoticed.) The basement has been "extracted." Now, when the remaining moisture and the sanitizer have evaporated they'll come back to clean the carpet. This is the kind of stuff that makes me want to run off and become the crazy anti-social artist I was perhaps meant to be.



Oh! Not to get political on this blog, but, goddammit!, crazies in the Middle East have got to stop beheading civilians! That's so f*cking medieval, it's disgusting! It just makes me sick. War is, of course, hell, but...beheading goes too far. Why not break out the old mustard gas or Zyklon-B? And I don't think more force is the answer. Nor do I believe we can all be friends. It's all just such a stupid waste.

Everybody’s Sayin’ That You’ll Take the News Gracefully
The plan is to get out of this place as soon as possible, so we can see if our basement is flooded. If it is we have a big moldy mess to clean up. The house’ll probably be very moist. I hope my guitar doesn’t warp. I detuned it before I left, as I have been led to understand that this is a good thing to do.

Flood Report Yes.

Cycling Update Thunderstorms, so no club ride.

It Was Morning Before the Cheering Died
I’m sitting here in presentations and still bored. Mind-numbingly bored. So much so that I can’t even find the inspiration to write this. I’ve been doodling the whole time, but nothing very substantial, art-wise, has come from it.
I think I’m gonna need to make some minor modifications to my road bike for my upcoming century. That part of Michigan is kinda hilly, so I think I’ll move the Shimano 105 12-25 cassette from my bulletproof training wheels to my much lighter good wheels. I don’t think my Ultegra 11-23 will be the best choice for the ride. I also am gonna flip my stem (it’s designed for that) so that instead of being at a flat angle (-17 degrees from the steerer), it’ll have a bit of a rise to it and I won’t have to stretch into any kind of flat back position to ride those hills. If that rise is too much I might order a cheapo carbon stem from Supergo. And then if I like it I might leave it on. I’m beginning to wonder if the drop from my saddle to the handlebars is just a tad too much and maybe that’s why my hands go numb a lot. But I really don’t see a need to buy a lot of gear this year. I do hope that 10 speed trickles down from the higher gruppos by the time I buy another bike in, like, 2007. Word on the street is that the Ultegra stuff will get the big double digits this year. Let’s hope it’s prettier than the 2004 Dura Ace.

Went poolside for a while this evening. There was a maybe 13 year old skinny boy and his slightly younger rotund sister. They splashed all over the pool together, apparently fondling each other underwater, from the sound of their squeals. It was yucky. And, yes, they were brother and sister, not young lovers. Or maybe they were. Ew. Another family came in to swim, and the inappropriate contact seemed to stop. Oh, and the pool was disgusting, it was way overheated and stepping in felt like walking into a vat of pee. And, yes, I know a thing or two about being peed on—but only from my two little boys in the middle of the night. I’m usually bone-tired at night and if (well, when is more like it) the boys, singly or together, climb into our bed I don’t notice—until the leakage occurs.

Shame on you for thinking anything else.

Dinner: an un-cyclist-y meal of a big hunk of sausage, ice cream, sushi, and pina colada coolers (“a malt beverage”). Plus, since it rained I didn’t get to sneak out of presentations for a ride. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll get home in time to go for the club ride.

I Know Every Yardarm from Main Mast to Jib Sheet
Today is Matthew’s birthday. I remember being almost 10 when he was born. It always strikes me as funny, that he’s such chunk of years younger than me. I already took care of his present(s). One was a copy of The Decemberists Live at UCLA DVD. I also got him a gift certificate for the iTunes Music Store—and I don’t even expect him to share with me what he downloads. I really AM a great big brother. Of course, if he got something he knows I would enjoy, he might, of his own accord, offer to give me a copy. Which would be very nice.
Since this blog is not for reporting on my work, I won’t mention how my benefits are being cut or how I am possibly worth more dead in a catastrophic accident than I am alive.

While safely within the borders of this blog I often present an image of myself as some sort of epitome of 30something hipness, but the truth is, my indie universe is not all that exapansive. I never liked the Breeders or the Pixies. I’ve tried to like Pavement and My Bloody Valentine (I have, I have!), but I just can’t. It’s only just now that I’m discovering Pedro the Lion and the New Pornographers. So, that’s my confession.

Dinner: smoked ribs, a local restaurant's specialty.

Sweetly Tipsy by the Half Light
Well, I hope you’ve had a good time perusing the archives. While I’ve been away I’ve been preparing posts the whole time, all for your interneting pleasure. It’s all about you, folks. I don’t NEED to do any of this, but the 8 or 10 of you that come here regularly seem to get something out of it all, so I’m happy to provide.
No WiFi here. Not even a closed net for the venue AV staff. Surely they have an ethernet LAN? Or do they have no network at all? There’s computers all over the place. They must be connected somehow.
I am, perhaps, bored. I have to be here until most of Thursday is over. I did get to go for a ride, but it wasn’t very long, as I didn’t have the time or the energy. Then there were some more brutal storms.
I’ve finally started reading Philip Roth’s The Human Stain. Matt gave it to me to borrow years ago. Over the years I’ve come to regard old Nathan Zuckerman as a sort of family friend, albeit a depraved, loquacious one.

A Man You Don't Meet Every Day
OK, I'll leave you with this. Gabe shot it yesterday at the lake. I'm thinking of using it as my new publicity shot, as it mercifully crops out my pendulous man-boobs.

Just kidding. I don't have any...really.
Anyway, if you just can't get enough of me--and who could?--take a look back at the archives for a few days. I suggest December...

There's A Wrinkle in the Water
The boys and I went to Clear Lake with the former Mayor (and all around great guy), "Uncle" Fred. Gabe splashed, Sam industriously rearranged the water. I got the tops of my feet sunburnt. (Doh!)

Yes, we are white people of Northernish Europeanish stock, which means only that we should stay inside and be nerds.

Pretty Vacant
Most of next week I have to be gone for work, so unless blogger has a way to post things at specific intervals, I won't have much for you all after Sunday. I'll keep at it on my own, however. Fear not. All might well be well. I still have 2 days to waste your time before this humble blog goes quiet for a few days.

Human Behavior
Rain, all the time. Or hot, then storms. Certainly the weather affects our moods.
Lauran got her throat scoped at the hospital, and because her blood pressure bottomed out (normal for her), they wouldn't let her go for quite a while. She also couldn't get doped up properly because of her migraine medicine restrictions, so she was painfully aware of the whole thing. Ouch! Then, and nobody told us this, she'd have to be watched all day, as she would be dizzy and sleepy. No driving, cooking, etc. It turned out kinda funny because every time she sat still for more than 2 seconds she fell asleep for an hour! I had an unplanned day at home, but plenty of work to do between watching the little monkeys and keeping in touch with the office via email. I had a video editing project to do, so that took up most of my time. I successfully made it all into a DVD. Yeah, I used Apple's iDVD and the built-in themes, but still, it has a menu, music, and scene selection. It pushed the top limit, time-wise, so it took all night to encode. I'm always amazed that Hollywood produces any movies at all, since editing is so stinkin' tedious and time-consuming. I didn't really get much else done. It was raining, of course, so I stayed in and put in some time on the trainer, but was really tired, since we'd started the day at 5am. Then I fell asleep with post-nasal drip.
Aren't you glad you read all this stuff?

I Had a Dream and You Were in It
Name Update: none yet.

Lauran got glasses! I am fascinated by the whole idea. She is bemused by my interest. Whenever people appear in my dreams, they wear glasses.

I Guess I Was Hoping for Something More
My new iBook still has the "Macintosh HD" name. Usually, I like to give my hardware biblical names, as technology is our society's new faith. My old old PowerBook 165 was named Onesimus. My PowerBook 1400cs was named Methuselah. My PowerMac 4400 desktop was named Son of Methuselah. My last iBook was Archippus. My Airport network is Jesse. Now, I am stumped, or at least uninspired. I thought about Bezalel, the artist who made all the furnishings for the Israelites, but it doesn't roll off the tongue very well. Any suggestions?



Apotheosis Update I heard on NPR at lunchtime that people are lining up for hours to see Reagan's casket. It's just a casket, right? I might be willing to line up for a little bit of time at an amusement park, to get on the really thrilling new roller coaster, but not for a dead Republican.

Picking Up What Our Mothers Always Stigmatized
While driving and listening to cool tunes today, Sam (4), asked me what a Chimbley Sweep is. I explained about an alcoholic Welsh poet, a square-spectacled young songwriter, creosote, Victorian economics, and the chemistry of fires. He promptly fell asleep.
The plan in our little family is to push the boys into the truths that we hold self-evident--offbeat music, cycling, art, literature, etc. So the boys both have ample opportunities to pursue such things. Their schoolmates seem to get issued baseballs, footballs, and NASCAR t-shirts. Sports with balls are for circus animals, in my opinion.


Adoringly, they gaze upon him...Clearly, he WAS meant for the stage.

I'll Admit I'm Feelin' Strange
I wasn't completely in my right mind when I wrote my review. I hadn't slept all night because of the necessity of driving back from Chicagoland. I bought the wrong groceries and forgot to wash my hair in the shower.
Lest I give the untrue sexist impression that I am only interested in the boy Decemberists, I will add to my review that Rachel was in especially fine form, twirling drumsticks and singing with artful abandon. I managed to get a picture of her drum this time.

Jenny is always so into it when she plays, it's like she's in a sort of trance--in a good way. She had her little blue stuffed guy on her keyboard again. Some sort of good voodoo musician thing?
Also, the crowd was really into the songs. There was much singing. Colin caught on right away and changed his timing and delivery a little once in a while, with an impish grin. Usually I object to boistrous singing at shows, as I have paid my hard-earned cash to hear the band, not some drunken frat boy, though quiet mouthing of lyrics by obsessive fans like myself is perfectly OK. There were a few of them near me, it seemed, always yelling for Grace Cathedral Hill or Legionnaire, and, later in the show, they were joined by a chorus of girls, who sang, very loudly, the smutty bits of The Tain, which made Jenny laugh, I noticed. (Me too.)
Oh, and I haven't mentioned poor Nate at all. He's really great, the way he switches between bowing, plucking, and bass guitar so seemlessly. I was entranced by his tuner, set up on top of his amp. It has strobing red chase lights and lit up with notes as he played.
And, while I'm being so inclusive, I'll mention the merch girl. She was very nice and rolled Ada's poster with expert care. I noticed that during the band's set she was taking video. Hopefully she won't keep it all to herself.

Oh, My Love, My Love

Another unsolicited review.

Friday, June 4, 2004, Metro, Chicago.

I won’t bore you now or later with the details of my traveling to and from that great city (from whence I originated as a human).

We (me and friend Jamie, a recent convert to the faith) arrived in plenty of time to scout the place out, though we missed the merch booth entirely, as it was in the hall before you actually enter the club. Fear not, we found it ($38 dollars later—a new t-shirt, a new sticker pack, and a limited-edition poster for Ada)
Before long (and an overpriced Miller) it was time for Head of Femur. They were certainly fun, and energetic. Kind of like The Cure meets Belle & Sebastian and they get in a fight (for lack of a more descriptive term). There were at least nine of them! Horns! Violins! Maracas! Gongs! How do they make any money that way?
The Places followed. Both of them.
Then, The Long Winters, of Seattle. They were fantastic! Just fantastic! I’d heard a song or two before and liked it, but they were really at the top of their game last night. Now I know why before everything started someone asked me, “So who are you here to see?” And I responded first with a glance down at my prized Carson Ellis airplane shirt. I MUST get their albums. Kind of like Death Cab For Cutie, only happier.
Then…
What we’d been waiting two months for…well, who, I should say. Or is it whom?
Nevermind all that!
Right before our beloved songsters started Jenny customarily passed out the set lists to the band.
The set (from my sometimes faulty, but you didn’t hear that from me, old man memory—see, I tried to get a set list but the cute girls got there first and guess who Crutchy McGee gave them to?):

The Bachelor and the Bride [no guitar notes this time, I had a sharp side angle view and Colin frequently faced the neck away from me…sigh]
Leslie Anne Levine
We Belong [my favorite new song]
The Soldiering Life
Apology Song [finally, live!]
Billy Liar
The Chimbley Sweep [frantic instrument duel, Colin declares everyone wins]
Kingdom of Spain [with Mr Meloy on the piano]
Los Angeles, I’m Yours [I never get tired of this song]
The Tain [in all its gritty glory]
encore:
Red Right Ankle [Colin solo]
July, July! [perhaps their finest moment?]
A Cautionary Song [complete with Chris Funk in beard with bass drum]
Ask [no one, I repeat NO ONE, should cover Smiths/Morrissey songs except these guys]

I think that was it. At the very end it seemed like there might be another encore, as the sound guy and stagehand were frantically gesturing to each other, but, alas, one never materialized and the house lights came up. I hope some Brigadier or bootlegger recorded it. Maybe it’s on eMusic?

Other, non-musical highlights of the evening.
The guy at the lot waited for us until 1:30 Central Time. That was nice, as we didn’t want to sleep on the street.
I got to meet up with fellow feg Dolph Chaney. He owed me a beer for the free ticket to the last show at Schubas. I remembered that I DID meet him at the Soft Boys show in 2002 at the Double Door. At that show he was dancing in my vicinity with a curly redhead, Carissa [sic?].
And, and this is perhaps most important--I am finally back on speaking terms with my favorite band. Yahoo listmembers with good memories for trivial matters might recall that I insulted The Funk’s guitar in my review of the April 2nd Schubas show. Since then I repented of my sin and apologized to him, off list. In order to make amends I offered to buy him a drink, as his alter-ego always seems to want one. He agreed, and at the time I was very pleased, however it presented a new problem: how to get to him and offer said drink? I lost a little, but not much, sleep over it, and finally resigned myself to fate. If we didn’t get to meet, he might think me a heel, but that would be the will of the universe, I told myself. Well, guess what? Oh, you know! Yes! Yes! During Head of Femur’s set he appeared a few scant feet from me. I introduced myself and reminded him that I owed him a drink for insulting his guitar. He laughed! He pointed out that he had a coffee at the moment, so he was good, and then said something, I couldn’t make it out above the hilarious din. Perhaps I still owe him that drink? I hope he’s not still there, standing at the Metro bar, pining for me. He’s a classy guy, that Chris Funk, though, as always happens when you meet a famous person, he seemed shorter than I expected. I’ll try and mail him one.

Here's a fairly worthless picture from my oblique angle.

My Little Glowing Friend
Well, FedEx tracking is a little off--the new iBook wasn't even supposed to be in my hands until Monday--but their efficiency is commendable. Obvisouly, it has arrived. I spent the evening moving over files and applications, preferences, bookmarks, that sort of thing, and it appears to be pretty much exactly where I left off with the old one. Only the screen is bigger. And even though it has the exact same resolution as the 12", it feels a lot bigger. It is bigger than our CRT iMac. Much easier on my aging eyes.
Preliminary review: I like the keyboard, but I'm not sure about the matte grey interior. I burned a DVD just to make sure there really is a SuperDrive in there--I'll have a lot of fun with that! Let the cinematics begin! The super speedy G4 processor really makes things snappy. Quartz graphics are an improvement. I think I have plenty of RAM for a while (512), and it's weird to have more free space on the HD than my old iBook even had in the first place. It can't really make the internet any faster, and I don't know where and when I'll get near a "g" network, so good old vanilla WiFi will have to do. All in all, I'll keep this one for a while.

Like a beacon of hope in the night...

PS I still need to retrieve my iTunes scripts and figure out where my email addresses went. Other than that, it seems great! As they say in Ronald McDonald land, "I'm lovin' it!"

Blinking on and off
Tomorrow is gonna be really good.
The Decemberists at night, but even before that a new iBook should be at my house. I won't have any time to fiddle with it before and possibly after the trip to Chicago, but whenever I wake up it'll be there, patiently waiting, its little glowing sleep light pulsing on and off just for me... As Gabe would say, "He's a cute little fella." Usually about his brother when he wants to drive him crazy.

White Hot Grease Fires of Pure Entertainment!
If people can, I think they should have children. Not just to continue the species--we don't want those mice or some other vermin species to take over the earth!--but because they're so absurdly entertaining. The other day, while riding in the car, Sam announced, "Sam means Jesus, so I'm the Son of God." OK, that's a little weird. Do most 4 year olds say stuff like that? And Gabe is always trying to cut some deal or manipulate someone. Which is reassuring for a parent--I'm sure he'll be fine in this nasty old world, maybe even successful. I wish I could remember some of the other crazy things they've said recently...

Gabe wasn't settling down very well last night and Sam was a tired grouch, so I separated them. I gave Gabe the new mini guitar and tried to teach him to play the SpongeBob theme. He got the concept pretty well. He went and tried to play it for Lauran but her migraine medicines had already claimed her for the evening. I went in and tried to wake her up with it, but also to no avail. This morning, though, she woke up and said that she remembers watching SpongeBob last night. Ha!

Witness
Day off yesterday, as it was a holiday.
Went to Shipshewana, Indiana, with some friends. There's a big flea market there in the middle of Amish country. I bought a miniature guitar. Lauran didn't buy much. It's all kind of surreal. Amish kids running around, speaking perfectly fine Amerian English, in expensive sneakers, checking out the cheapo CD players and smart-ass t-shirts. Lots of produce, flowers (real and plastic), tools, cleaning products, and few good old fashioned junk stalls. Here's some pictures of the weirdness: wigs, rope (?!), socks with no added sugar, swords...and creepy dolls. (I think porcelin dolls are like clowns--they're supposed to be cute, but they're actually creepy.)



After the shopping we went to a supposedly Amish restaurant, Das Essenhaus, which is in actuality a sprawling complex of shops, miniature golf, hotel rooms, and a big conference center. The restaurant building must seat at least several hundred. The food was fine, if you like big slabs of meat and potatoes (which I often do).