I've only sheered a lamb once

Concert updates:

I did NOT go to the Sarah McLaughlin concert I was so desperately hoping to attend. Instead i went to the Corrs. Please note I've only been to 3 concerts in my life so i've never really witness die-hard fans. until. now. The concert was held at the amazing nature infused auditorium we call Wolf trap. I liked the concert hall more than the music but we don't necessarily need to talk about that. Fan is short for Fanatic and the literal definition of fanatic is one "marked by excessive enthusiasm and often intense uncritical devotion." Let's see excessive enthusiasm. man wrapped entirely in Irish flag and only the Irish flag waving a smaller version and throwing fist in the air with every bass note. check. uncritical devotion. some in attendance gave a standing ovation at the end of every song complete with dancing in the aisles and screams of ecstasy rippling through the suburban crowd. check. As the concert went on the masses worked themselves into a piranha-like frenzy. Flag punching guy was running up and down the center trying to grab the performers attention. The standing ovation crew were still with hands in the air in a worshipful appearance. I thought perhaps I had taken a wrong turn and ended up at a tent revival. Now had this been a Sarah McLaughlin concert i might have donned the old Canadian leaf and taken a few laps in all my northern exposure glory but it wasn't i just wanted to give you the mental image. Eh?

The Sun is still shining in Switzerland

Weekend Recap:

Friday: a.k.a. my day of gluttony. just two little words. family. style. i ate until i couldn't feel my ears. it was great.

Saturday: met an old college friend for lunch at the Green Turtle. Fells point has a reputation for being a not-so-sober destination. I got lost several times on the way there which made me understand why intoxication is an option. you almost need a drink from all of the driving dysfunction. The food...how do i describe the food? Well it is typical bar grub meaning it is tasteless and extremely filling. Overall it was a good time and since i had leftovers from Friday i pushed through.

Sunday: now before you assume i have a discernable vinter's palate let me tell you i was a big toe in the land of fingers. The festival was held on a sprawling horse farm nestled in the foothills of Virginia's Blue Ridge Mountains. The weather was beautiful, the scenery was breathtaking the fields filled with tents of wine to be tasted was daunting. If you think you have a degree of etiquette i challenge you to go to a wine festival. It is the affluent version of a bar crawl. Tent after tent. sample after sample. I knew i had enough when i mossied my way to an such a tent where they began a "red tasting" of 10 of their favorites. I had the misfortune of standing next to a woman who had a hat that had a 4 foot circumference and was made entirely of feather (natural or synthetic i don't know). i did not like this woman. The wine-maiden (they love it when you call them that) was carefully pouring samples for twelve of us in the tasting group describing the flavor as "buttery" or "austere" or "bold" to which feather head next to me emphatically nodded causing those around her to either giggle or sneeze. I understand the goal of these festivals is to get as many people drunk as quickly as possible so they buy more wine to have their own tasting parties at the estate. This wine-maiden was no exception we just finished the sip when she with bottle in hand poured some more. Descriptions filled the air "oak barreled" or "this year's gold medalist" or "chewy". This was obviously not feather head's first tent as she began to laugh a snooty-like chortle for no apparent reason. Her husband was upset because his loafers were dirty from walking in a pasture all day and looked for other understanding money bags around him. Finally the red tasting ended and everyone moved to the white tasting (faux pax but no one could really taste anything anyway) where 10 more bottles stood at attention ready for sampling. Again i got stuck next to the woman with the boa wrapped around her cranium. "this is a steel blend" and "fruity" and "great with paella" circled the tent. I had enough, i had a rash from the feathers and the wine was gross so i said "no thank you" to the woman poised to pour. You would have though i said "do you have any bud ice?" the way everyone stopped to look at me. i smiled and politely said "i'm allergic to the tannin used to ferment this blend" to which the woman with feathers hugged me and assured me it is treatable with a sip of benadryl after drinking.

Sha-ka-KAHN!

I would consider myself to be a quiet person. Always mindful, always considerate of others especially when lifting weights at lunchtime. Now I realize not all members have the same level of consideration as myself but there should be boundaries. I'm minding my own business while lifting something and i hear this whistling. Only 3 notes at a time. silence, then 7 notes. The first five minutes passed but it persisted and i couldn't locate the perpetrator. you would think with all of the mirrors you would spot someone puckering up to push out a few notes, but nothing. 10 minutes later it started to drive me nuts. I tried to tune it out to no avail. I even tried to sing along with The Cure, (even thier website is creepily sucky) who i hate with the fiery passion of serpents and lima beans. Even now the words of "why can't i be you" echo through my mind and i cringe in displeasure. I saddle up to the dumbbells to initiate some intense biceps curls (hard to keep a straight face when reading THAT line) and this woman with ear phones yells "SHA-KA-KAHN!" at the top of her lungs. I dropped 30 pounds on my left foot. Then she started whistling. My loathing for the cure quickly faded as this young lady became the object of my distaste. It was only compounded as she screamed various other portions of the song in a deep, rapper-like voice "CAIRO!" and "DAT'S RIGHT!" Granted she was new. Granted she might not know proper etiquette but she seemed to calculate her little outbursts. They always came when a heavy object was precariously positioned above my head or that of another gym member's. I was not the only victim of her cries either. The lady with the biker shorts/swimsuit combo huffed out when schreecher took her 6 pound weight.

Jack Nicholson should swim in the Olympics

I have this uncle, whom I love deeply. He reminds me, strictly in appearance and certain aged demeanor as Jack Nicholson. So this wild haired retiree asked if i would help out with some boat problems he he's been having. Gratuitous comment: i know very little about how to fix most/all mechanical things but i go along for the ride and the company. There was a plan. There were 2 boats, the fast boat and the slow boat. Uncle would be in the fast boat and i would follow in the slow boat where we would arrive at a some prime anchoring spot and leave the slow boat and rocket back to the dock in the fast boat. Naturally the slip for the boat i was captaining was nestled peacefully among 2 dozen sailboats and angry looking pillars. Somehow (i would say miracle) i managed to navigate beyond the sail boats and various obstacles in the way. I waited. 10 minutes. 20 minutes. 30 minutes. this entire time I'm attempting to stay in place becoming increasingly nervous as other Sunday boaters pass me by. Water etiquette lesson 1: always wave to other boaters. I believe aqua courtesy is very important and i follow the said rule stringently. So I'm waving and driving until my port (left) engine dies. completely. leaving me with only the starboard (right) actually functioning. now i'm going in circles and there is a sailor in his boat watching. i wave every time i see him and since i'm going in circles this is quite often. After i waved 29 times i saw on the shore my crazy haired uncle frantically signaling for me to come in. great. i have to dock. it is like parallel parking only the range of movement is more gyroscopic. somehow (again, miracle) i managed to slip nicely into the spot. ok this isn't true i hit 2 pillars and skimmed a sailboat, but the wind blew it my way.

How are my shoes going to get home?

So i'm trying to get to this concert. I love Sarah McLaughlin. Not in the razor free-sundress-Birkenstock way but enough so that i'd consider myself a serious fan. Attaining tickets has proven to be quite difficult. i forgot the persistence of patchouli and hemp. This means i have no actual means to get through the gates. So i have some plans, most of them include a significant diversionary tactic followed by otter-like maneuvering. I have since been talked out of the these "plans" as my friends like to quote with the obnoxious bunny eared gesticulations and have decided to see if anyone would like to sell their tickets to someone who would truly appreciate the music. me.
The problem is in the wardrobe. I work in the standard DC uniform. Suit. Tie. and painful shoes. I did bring a change of cloths so that i might be slightly more comfortable around so many deoderant less free spirits. I can leave the garb in the office for another day but the shoes. How do i get them home? perhaps i can carry them in my man-bag but then it's big and bulky and definitely not conducive for rush hour on the red line. Maybe I'll take one home at a time. By Friday i'd have the pair happily nesting in their respective spots. decisions. decisions. decisions. For now i will don my thrift store apparel and head into the rain filled night for one of the most enjoyable experiences i am likely to experience in August.

Miscellaneous items.

happy birthday to the sibling.

word of the day: bombast meaning "pretentious inflated speech or writing. "

When did this get educational?

The headache is beginning to fade

So yesterday i was sick. not in the conventional my-stomach/head/chest-hurts-and-i-need-to-rest sick. more of the i-can't-bear-the-thought-of-spending-a-day-at-work kind of spell. My medicine included some much needed rest and relaxation with the new book which i might add is quite good. Steinbeck has an eye for detail which is captured in phrases like "a flight of sparrows dropped into the dust and scrabbled for bits of food and then flew off like a gray scarf twisting in the light." i like it.
anyway so the new word of the day courtesy of Miriam Webster is jimjams which means jitters. I would like to find a way to include this in my daily vocabulary but have yet to be successful. so i'll keep practicing.
Not too much to report on the home front. I've been watching a lot of of this this show, may the viewer beware. This is not for the light at heart. Somehow they find a way of reducing the audience to tears, happy and sad all mixed together. it makes me want to go out and tear my neighbor's house down and start from scratch. I think when they go away i'll try it. i just know they'd appreciate their pirate-themed bathroom and their new rotating rotunda with a birds of paradise scattered in places they would least expect them, like toilets. Along the same vein of gut wrenching, my mother recommended this this book which i finished in a few hours and needed some heavy duty paper towels and someone to tell me all would be right in the world again. Watch the show and read Sparks in the same day...a visit to a funeral home would be less traumatic. Not quite sure what the recent onslaught of emotional response is for. What can i say? I'm sensitive. right. OR mass media is manipulating my purchasing power by reducing my emotional state to a piece of wet toilet paper so I'll buy more of whatever made me jimmjammy sob.

Quick!

This was too good not to share.

No really, i'm sure

So I had two problems this morning: 1) the smart trip card wasn't working so when I "swiped" it over the sensor I managed to ram myself into the non-opening turnstile. I picked myself up off the ground in copious amounts of pain and began my search for the station manager. I walked to the booth and saw no one. Then I heard "I'm right here sir". I could only see the ebb and flow of Washingtonian commuters. no woman. "here sir, right here" I started to panic, and squint, much like waiting in line at the airport for the next available gate agent. still nothing. "SIR, RIGHT HERE" and she materialized. She fixed my card and disappeared again-very Harry Potteresquish. and 2) I got to work where I have to swipe my identification badge before entry and it too didn't recognize me. Secret Service took my ID and puzzled about it's apathy. While waiting I tried to joke about it saying "you can send me home if you want" the ever-so-witty protector of peace offered (in the dryest librarian voice you can muster) "you can go home if you want." clever very clever. I'm not sure which was worse the lack of technological cooperation or the elusive persons who fix them.

I like corn

I felt like throwing everyone off and posting on Wednesday. I've read the news for the day and haven't really found anything of interest. I could comment on my life but there isn't anything interesting there either. I did go to the Josh Groban concert on Monday night. It was worse, I assume, than a backstreet boys concert. Not the actual Groban performance but the crowds...I heard 14 groups of women scream "will you marry me Josh?" another 23 screamed "I love you Josh!" to which he just held is microphone and smiled. A song would end and the shrill estrogen packed screaming would begin. To this young star's credit he performed 3 ovation songs. I don't know what the standard is but I assume it was good. Until we got to the car.
All of those happy screaming soccer moms turned ugly. very. ugly. all the pent up rage of being young mothers found an outlet in the soggy lots of the Nissan pavilion. I was surrounded by SUV's and Minivans dwarfing my little mode of transportation. The brilliant designers of this venue have one entrance/exit. enough. said. It was miserable I sat for 45 minutes in a line of the aforementioned gas guzzling, estrogen filled, angry lines. I received the finger 34 times (14 of those came from a seven passenger Pacifica). So remember if you go to a Josh Groban concert you will need 3 things: ear plugs for after the songs, beer (at $8 a pop) and several manicure/pedicure kits to throw from the car on the way out.