The thing that my family taught me was:
Playing Poker is cool.
It is, really. You get chips, and you get to tip the dealer, and um, they bring you free drinks, and you get to chat and laugh...so much cooler than those machines.
My cousin Zach talked me into trying it, and now, well...I lurve it. The next time I find myself in gamblin' country, I'll be playing 4 card poker.
The thing that divides my family is:
Guns, Homosexuals, and Race.
That's more than one issue? Really? 'Cause it really seems to be one big ol' jumble to us.
The thing that sucked most was:
My camera got broken. Sob.
The odd thing about my family reunion:
I found out I am now related to an honest to god wine magnate.
Really, I'd love to post pictures, but...see above suckiness.
Friday, June 30, 2006
Friday, June 16, 2006
Wine of the Week (er, month? whatever.)
2003 Montpezant "Palombieres"
Coteaux du Languedoc, France
This is fucking good juice. Not expensive, either. A simple (I'm guessing, here) blend of Grenache and Syrah from a fairly small producer. Cow standing in a field of blackberries with a basket of coffee and vanilla next to said cow.
Yum.
Coteaux du Languedoc, France
This is fucking good juice. Not expensive, either. A simple (I'm guessing, here) blend of Grenache and Syrah from a fairly small producer. Cow standing in a field of blackberries with a basket of coffee and vanilla next to said cow.
Yum.
Thursday, June 15, 2006
A week's worth of family
So, on Wednesday, I will climb onto a plane, and fly back to my hometown. A hometown that, seriously, I don't love so much.
A hometown where two drugged out 'punks' tried to kill a homeless man while he slept in his truck in a Safeway parking lot.
Interestingly, he actually killed one of the kids. He was hurt really badly during the attack, but when he was fighting them off, he knifed one of the kids, and he ended up dying. The courts, of course, said 'self defense', which is probably one of the few things I've ever agreed with that's been handed down by the South Dakota court system.
Weirdly enough, if you google 'South Dakota Serial Killers', you will find that a whole slew of homeless, mostly of Native decent have turned up dead in Rapid City. Mostly during the time that I lived there. Oddly enough, I remember hearing nothing about it on the news.
A hometown where people protest the Planned Parenthood clinic. Fuckers.
A hometown where I was almost arrested on obscenity charges.
A hometown where my first marriage collapsed under the weight of our collective stupidity and carelessness.
Wow! Sounds like fun, you say.
Yeah, I have to say, that I hate my hometown. However, I lurve my family. My brother, my Mom, and the assorted eleventy bazillion cousins, uncles, great aunts and assorted third and fourth, once-removed people that will be there.
Because I'm very closely related to my Mom, I even get to sleep in the house, not, like in a tent out in the yard. Fancy, very Fancy.
So, today, I'm going to see what's what, and maybe, if I'm lucky ship some wine home, and figure out how the fuck I'm going to get Wheelie on the plane.
I'll ignore how much I'm going to miss the Professor, and the cats, and the bird, and the turtle.
I'll ignore the little things that make me crazy...like how nobody recycles, and how most folks don't really even think about the environment.
How, very often rural folks think hugely different things about Katrina, and the survivors, than us blue state folks. (It is scary to think that a huge portion of the U.S. population beleives that 'most Katrina survivors are better off now than they were before the tragedy'.)
And mostly, I'll reacquaint myself with people who really haven't seen me since I was 9 at the youngest, or 18 (gaaah) at the oldest.
Frightening, isn't it?
Wish me luck while I'm there, and keep your fingers crossed that I don't offend anyone.
A hometown where two drugged out 'punks' tried to kill a homeless man while he slept in his truck in a Safeway parking lot.
Interestingly, he actually killed one of the kids. He was hurt really badly during the attack, but when he was fighting them off, he knifed one of the kids, and he ended up dying. The courts, of course, said 'self defense', which is probably one of the few things I've ever agreed with that's been handed down by the South Dakota court system.
Weirdly enough, if you google 'South Dakota Serial Killers', you will find that a whole slew of homeless, mostly of Native decent have turned up dead in Rapid City. Mostly during the time that I lived there. Oddly enough, I remember hearing nothing about it on the news.
A hometown where people protest the Planned Parenthood clinic. Fuckers.
A hometown where I was almost arrested on obscenity charges.
A hometown where my first marriage collapsed under the weight of our collective stupidity and carelessness.
Wow! Sounds like fun, you say.
Yeah, I have to say, that I hate my hometown. However, I lurve my family. My brother, my Mom, and the assorted eleventy bazillion cousins, uncles, great aunts and assorted third and fourth, once-removed people that will be there.
Because I'm very closely related to my Mom, I even get to sleep in the house, not, like in a tent out in the yard. Fancy, very Fancy.
So, today, I'm going to see what's what, and maybe, if I'm lucky ship some wine home, and figure out how the fuck I'm going to get Wheelie on the plane.
I'll ignore how much I'm going to miss the Professor, and the cats, and the bird, and the turtle.
I'll ignore the little things that make me crazy...like how nobody recycles, and how most folks don't really even think about the environment.
How, very often rural folks think hugely different things about Katrina, and the survivors, than us blue state folks. (It is scary to think that a huge portion of the U.S. population beleives that 'most Katrina survivors are better off now than they were before the tragedy'.)
And mostly, I'll reacquaint myself with people who really haven't seen me since I was 9 at the youngest, or 18 (gaaah) at the oldest.
Frightening, isn't it?
Wish me luck while I'm there, and keep your fingers crossed that I don't offend anyone.
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
Saturday, June 10, 2006
Um, sure I'm high
Okay, so in the past week I've decided two things:
I should knit socks.
I need one of these
Jesus, I'm out of control.
I would show you pictures of the piles of fipping fiber stacked window-high in my front room, but I'm ashamed. I have something like way to much stacked in that room.
I know the llama weighs about 8 pounds, and then the fleece...that was 5 pounds, oh, and then...let's just say that speaking about fiber in weight really downplays the issue. Let's just say that you pick up your heaviest "winter in Chicago sweater"
That bad boy weighs maybe a pound and a half. Fiber is not that heavy.
Let's just say I have a feeling that I'm sneaking up onto twenty pounds of fiber.
That doesn't count the yarn. The yarn that is on every surface that you can think of upstairs. The yarn that's tucked into the cupboard where we keep coffee cups. The fiber and yarn that I turned into a cute little art still life in the living room. Could this be a sign that perhaps I've taken this thing too far?
No, really.
Shut up.
I'm about to order three pounds of really wonderful fiber for a sweater for The Professor, too, but that's not indicative of a problem.
No, really.
Shut up.
I'm also trying to figure out how I'm going to get Wheelie to my family reunion in South Dakota, too. Because. I. Can't. Stop.
I know that some of you have said "Why can't you just knit?"
You'll be surrounded by family, and you've even said you love that side of the family, and they're really funny, and one of them even married a vineyard owner,
and really, you'll be having such a good time, you won't even have time to spin.
or
It's ridiculous to drag your hobby with you on vacation. Wouldn't this be a good time to think about other things?
Like the huge speach that you're going to give in Portland, Oregon in July? Or how you need to find a new job soon? Shouldn't you face some of these upcomming issues instead of just diving into a pile or wool, or yarn, even, and ignoring these issues? Isn't that a little dysfunctional?
or
Honey, put down the wool. It was fun for a little while, but it's gone too far. This isn't funny anymore. You have tools like hand carders, and a diz, and a niddy noddy, and you worry about if your orifice needs oil, but shouldn't you think about the really important stuff? Like Zombie attacks?
No, really.
Shut up.
I should knit socks.
I need one of these
Jesus, I'm out of control.
I would show you pictures of the piles of fipping fiber stacked window-high in my front room, but I'm ashamed. I have something like way to much stacked in that room.
I know the llama weighs about 8 pounds, and then the fleece...that was 5 pounds, oh, and then...let's just say that speaking about fiber in weight really downplays the issue. Let's just say that you pick up your heaviest "winter in Chicago sweater"
That bad boy weighs maybe a pound and a half. Fiber is not that heavy.
Let's just say I have a feeling that I'm sneaking up onto twenty pounds of fiber.
That doesn't count the yarn. The yarn that is on every surface that you can think of upstairs. The yarn that's tucked into the cupboard where we keep coffee cups. The fiber and yarn that I turned into a cute little art still life in the living room. Could this be a sign that perhaps I've taken this thing too far?
No, really.
Shut up.
I'm about to order three pounds of really wonderful fiber for a sweater for The Professor, too, but that's not indicative of a problem.
No, really.
Shut up.
I'm also trying to figure out how I'm going to get Wheelie to my family reunion in South Dakota, too. Because. I. Can't. Stop.
I know that some of you have said "Why can't you just knit?"
You'll be surrounded by family, and you've even said you love that side of the family, and they're really funny, and one of them even married a vineyard owner,
and really, you'll be having such a good time, you won't even have time to spin.
or
It's ridiculous to drag your hobby with you on vacation. Wouldn't this be a good time to think about other things?
Like the huge speach that you're going to give in Portland, Oregon in July? Or how you need to find a new job soon? Shouldn't you face some of these upcomming issues instead of just diving into a pile or wool, or yarn, even, and ignoring these issues? Isn't that a little dysfunctional?
or
Honey, put down the wool. It was fun for a little while, but it's gone too far. This isn't funny anymore. You have tools like hand carders, and a diz, and a niddy noddy, and you worry about if your orifice needs oil, but shouldn't you think about the really important stuff? Like Zombie attacks?
No, really.
Shut up.
Friday, June 09, 2006
Oh, I laugh and laugh
So, yesterday this was what I got in my email:
edits have been made to protect the guilty
"Minion,
>
> Do you have any restrictions next week? The Manager that was really good, but is leaving us, will be gone as of Saturday
> the 10th. Can you work
> everyday, including Monday as we are doing some "deep cleaning" No
> really,
> what's your deal?
>
> Love, The Two Overlords"
Oh, yes, I laugh and laugh, because these fuckers have had over a month to find a new manager. And they haven't.
Nor have they discussed me taking more hours. I think, juding by this email, that they might have assumed some stuff, but there was no discussion.
This was the answer:
"Overlords
Um, no that's not workable, because I am visiting the old man and Her this week.
I will be out of town until Wednesday sometime, probably the evening.
Minion"
What I really want to say is
Fuck you. You haven't found a replacement, and you assume that I'm going to do it? If I were you,I would stop making assumptions, 'cause I'm not the one holding my balls in my hand, am I?
Perhaps you could have one of those 'sit downs' that you're so fond of, and actually try asking me how available I could be to the company.
That's a new idea, but by gosh, I think it just might work.
So, tonight, I will return to the hospitality mines, and work, and we'll see how this is all going to play out.
edits have been made to protect the guilty
"Minion,
>
> Do you have any restrictions next week? The Manager that was really good, but is leaving us, will be gone as of Saturday
> the 10th. Can you work
> everyday, including Monday as we are doing some "deep cleaning" No
> really,
> what's your deal?
>
> Love, The Two Overlords"
Oh, yes, I laugh and laugh, because these fuckers have had over a month to find a new manager. And they haven't.
Nor have they discussed me taking more hours. I think, juding by this email, that they might have assumed some stuff, but there was no discussion.
This was the answer:
"Overlords
Um, no that's not workable, because I am visiting the old man and Her this week.
I will be out of town until Wednesday sometime, probably the evening.
Minion"
What I really want to say is
Fuck you. You haven't found a replacement, and you assume that I'm going to do it? If I were you,I would stop making assumptions, 'cause I'm not the one holding my balls in my hand, am I?
Perhaps you could have one of those 'sit downs' that you're so fond of, and actually try asking me how available I could be to the company.
That's a new idea, but by gosh, I think it just might work.
So, tonight, I will return to the hospitality mines, and work, and we'll see how this is all going to play out.
Friday, June 02, 2006
My Husband Lurves Me
So, on Wednesday, The Professor made the ultimate sacrifice to prove his lurve for me.
What could that be? Diamond rings? Mink Coats?
God, no. He got into the car (he hates driving), and drove me to the middle of nowhere, to The Fold, which is in Maringo, Il, so that I could take a spinning lesson.
What the fuck is The Fold?
It's like heaven for fiber addicts.
It's a spinning/knitting shop. It's the same place where I bought Wheelie.
Okay, so back to how awsome Dr. Al is. After a two hour drive, with a stop at a Dairy Mart, for hamburgers...Great small-town stuff...little kids with dirty faces eating ice cream, and everybody sitting outside at picnic tables talking to each other, we got to The Fold. It's not like Dr. Al can just head to Starbucks and read, 'cause, yo', this shit is sort of remote. So he just sat outside patiently.
Because he loves me.
Pretty awsome, huh?
So, I sit down with Toni, who owns the shop, who is incredible. Super nice, not mean, very unjudgemental, and a lovely person.
And she tells me I'm doing everything pretty much right. She says that my form is fine, that my yarn is good, and that, in general, besides Wheelie's mystery noise, things look good.
She gives me a couple of tips, and tells me to fill my bobbin more carefully, and gives me free shit! (a WPI gauge/Diz...which only means something to spinners)
She compliments the roving I'm spinning with. I tell her I dyed it.
She tells me it's pretty. I leave it for her. Why?
She's like a goddess, and she liked my shit.
I have never seen another live human being spin before. It was great. I wish I could go to a guild, or find another spinner in the area, who is cool, but I don't think there are any.
Maybe someday.
This week, I dyed. I've made tons of pretty colors, and, at some point, I'll move everything dye-related upstairs, to the old kitchen. All my finished yarns from this round of dye-related insantity will be named after H.P. Lovecraft monsters.
What could that be? Diamond rings? Mink Coats?
God, no. He got into the car (he hates driving), and drove me to the middle of nowhere, to The Fold, which is in Maringo, Il, so that I could take a spinning lesson.
What the fuck is The Fold?
It's like heaven for fiber addicts.
It's a spinning/knitting shop. It's the same place where I bought Wheelie.
Okay, so back to how awsome Dr. Al is. After a two hour drive, with a stop at a Dairy Mart, for hamburgers...Great small-town stuff...little kids with dirty faces eating ice cream, and everybody sitting outside at picnic tables talking to each other, we got to The Fold. It's not like Dr. Al can just head to Starbucks and read, 'cause, yo', this shit is sort of remote. So he just sat outside patiently.
Because he loves me.
Pretty awsome, huh?
So, I sit down with Toni, who owns the shop, who is incredible. Super nice, not mean, very unjudgemental, and a lovely person.
And she tells me I'm doing everything pretty much right. She says that my form is fine, that my yarn is good, and that, in general, besides Wheelie's mystery noise, things look good.
She gives me a couple of tips, and tells me to fill my bobbin more carefully, and gives me free shit! (a WPI gauge/Diz...which only means something to spinners)
She compliments the roving I'm spinning with. I tell her I dyed it.
She tells me it's pretty. I leave it for her. Why?
She's like a goddess, and she liked my shit.
I have never seen another live human being spin before. It was great. I wish I could go to a guild, or find another spinner in the area, who is cool, but I don't think there are any.
Maybe someday.
This week, I dyed. I've made tons of pretty colors, and, at some point, I'll move everything dye-related upstairs, to the old kitchen. All my finished yarns from this round of dye-related insantity will be named after H.P. Lovecraft monsters.
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