Dan Fogelberg

It was the summer of 1975 and I, along with some friends (who are now readers of this blog), had tickets to a Dan Fogelberg/Eagles concert at Red Rocks. My two favorite artists on the same bill, at the best place on the planet to hear live music, I couldn’t imagine a more perfect concert!

Unfortunately, when my friends and I arrived at Red Rocks, we discovered that Dan Fogelberg had tonsillitis or strep throat and would not be performing that night. Instead, Tom Waits would open. This was disappointing since most of us were not familiar with Waits’ music, and he often sounded as though he had a sore throat…

A few years later, after I had met, fallen in love with, and married a beautiful young woman, another opportunity to see Dan Fogelberg at Red rocks came along. We eagerly headed to Red Rocks, and he performed that evening. It was a magical night, despite the driving rainstorm that blew through early in the first set.

As I think back upon things now (and I know this is somewhat of a cliché) Dan Fogelberg’s music was a backdrop to my younger years…

The rollicking songs,

Love when you can

Cry when you have to

Be who you must

That's a part of the plan

Await your arrival with simple survival

And one day we'll all understand

One day we'll all understand

(Part of the Plan 1974)

The poetic lyrics,

Once in a vision I came on some woods

And stood at a fork in the road

My choices were clear yet I froze with the fear

Of not knowing which way to go

Oh, one road was simple acceptance of life

The other road offered sweet peace

When I made my decision

My vision became my release

(Nether Lands 1977)

And the beautiful melodies…

Listen to “Same Old Lang Syne” from the 1981 album “The Innocent Age,” and then listen to Tchaikovsky’s “1812 Overture” (at about 4 minutes in). You will notice some remarkable similarities in the melodies of these two songs. Dan Fogelberg did as well, and thanks a “P.I. Tchaikovsky” for his inspiration on the liner notes of “The Innocent Age.”

Dan Fogelberg composed and recorded some of his best music while living near Boulder in the 70’s and 80’s, and I bought most of those albums. Still have ‘em too. His music deeply touched me and that beautiful young woman I married, and it still does, even today.

Dan Fogelberg is the first of my generations’ music icons to leave us.

He died this past Sunday. He was 56…

City of Angels

Five or so years ago, after a business trip to San Francisco, Son Rogue came out and we spent a long weekend in the City by the Bay, and had a great time. A couple of weeks ago it was finally Daughter Rogues’ turn.

My week started in Seattle, where my coworkers and I got to enjoy the 2nd wettest day in the history of the Emerald City - enjoyable in a webbed-foot sort of a way. We did, however, make it down to the waterfront for a dinner at a place called Ivars

The food was delicious, I had the Seared Northwest Wild Salmon and it was the best salmon I ever had. If you’re ever in Seattle, give Ivars a try. Just be careful though, and watch out for the petite, curly-haired waitress. She is a food snob, and doesn’t like people who eat animals. Other than that she’s a lovely girl. Oh, except for the part where she tried to stick us with extra bowls of chowder and appetizers on our check. For the remainder of our trip, our waitress was known simply as “Ultra-Bitch.”

The next night our team was in Berkeley and we again found ourselves at a seafood place at dinner time, Spengers Fresh Fish Grotto.

This restaurant is also worth a try. Just remember that you’re in Berkeley, and it’s kinda like Boulder on steroids…

On Wednesday midday we were in Sacramento for another meeting. It was warm and sunny and we ate lunch on the deck at the Blue Gecko, which you may or may not have read about in the Feb 8 edition of Suburban Rogue

We got up early on Thursday and flew to Orange County, for our fifth and final meeting of the week. Afterwards, I met DR at John Wayne Airport; we rented a car, and were off to Hollywood. Well actually Studio City, to our hotel.

We decided to have a pizza and dine on the patio of our 4th floor hotel room. You don’t get to do that much in December in Colorado. I volunteered to order the pizza…

“Mamas and Papas Pizza, what’s up dude?”

“Yeah I’d like to order a pizza for delivery.

“Awwwright! We got some tasty pies maaan.”

Do you deliver to the Sportsmen’s Lodge Hotel?”

“Is that the big one on Ventura?”

“Yes”

‘Uh, I dunno… Hang on, dude.”

It occurred to me that I was having a real life conversation with Jeff Spicoli

Friday we woke to a cool cloudy morning and decided to go sightseeing, and hope for better weather on Saturday. We headed to Pasadena and went to the Rose Bowl, but we couldn’t get past the very large security guard. The stadium is a beautiful setting, and sits in a natural bowl with mountains to the north and east. While in Pasadena, we did not see any Little Old Ladies…

We then drove along Mulholland drive, and were treated to some spectacular views of Los Angeles and the San Fernando Valley. For lunch we went to Hollywood, to the In-N-Out Burger across the street from Hollywood High School. There was quite a collection of characters in this fast food joint. Some of them might have actually been contributing members of society…

Somewhere that day we drove past a sign for Occidental College. DR wondered if that was where poor spellers Accidentally went to college…

We spent most of Saturday at Universal Studios where, as you can see, I purchased a new car. I’ve always wanted a Dodge Charger, and they just happened to have one. It was a little pricey, but what the heck. Just don’t tell Mrs. R…

On Saturday night, DR and I got all gussied up and she took me to a restaurant in Santa Monica called The Lobster , it is one of the Top 10 Seafood Restaurants in the Los Angeles area. This is a very cool, very hip place located right on the edge of the Santa Monica Pier. We enjoyed a terrific dinner, DR had Chilean Sea Bass and I had Crab Cakes, and then we followed it up with Wild Blueberry Cobbler for dessert, and a walk along the Santa Monica Pier. What a special evening!

Sunday was bright and sunny and warm, just in time for our trip home to a frigid Denver. We went back to Santa Monica, did a little sightseeing in the daylight, and then caught our plane home. It was 12 degrees when we landed Sunday evening, about 50 degrees colder than where we left, but it didn’t really seem that cold after such a great weekend.

P.S.

Another of our readers is having some health issues right now, so please keep a good thought for her… Thanks!

Homecoming

Thirty-two years is a long time…

The other day a friend sent me an e-mail that she had gotten which contained some photographs from a 1970’s era JC Penney catalog. The author of the original e-mail was having a great time making fun of the styles, and who could blame him? It was simultaneously hilarious and sobering to see those pictures. To think that my generation once looked that way (bad hair, bad clothes) is troubling…

Anyway, the photos sent me for a brief trip down memory lane, to my senior year of high school and the fall of 1975.

I really was not a BMOC at my high school, probably more of a Medium MOC, but I was an ambitious 17 year-old, and was always looking for opportunities to move into that upper echelon.

One afternoon during homecoming week, I received a call from a cheerleader asking me if I wanted to participate in a kissing contest with all of the cheerleaders during the pep assembly of homecoming week. Even for me, this was a no-brainer, and I eagerly accepted her invitation. I checked with my buddies, Bill and Mark and Doug, and they too had been asked to participate. We saw this as our chance to make the move to BMOC status (although in reality, Mark may have already been there).

The pep assembly went along as pep assemblies did in the 70’s, building toward the grand finale, the kissing contest.

All of the participants were then asked to come down to the gym floor where we were seated in front of about 1500 people (it was a big suburban high school) in a row of folding chairs that stretched across one end of the gym.

We were then told that we would be blindfolded, kissed by a cheerleader, then be asked to rate the kiss. Seemed easy enough.

As we were being blindfolded we were a) eager with excitement that we were finally going to get to kiss a cheerleader and b) eager with excitement that we were finally going to move up to BMOC. We anxiously waited for the cheerleaders…

The PA announcer said “Bring the girls out!” and as they entered the gym it erupted into a cacophony of laughter, hoots, hollers and whistles…

It was at this point that I began to suspect something was terribly wrong…

The girls lined up behind us, and when it was your turn the girl standing behind you would lean over and give you a kiss. As I recall I rated the kiss kind of low. After all of the guys had rated their kisses, the girls were asked to come around and stand in front of us, and our blindfolds were removed.

We looked up to see our mothers standing directly in front of us… That’s right, we all had just kissed our moms in front of the entire high school!

Take a close look at the picture at the top of this blog, it’s from my senior yearbook. That’s me, kissing my mom at the homecoming pep assembly, in front of my entire high school…

I never did make it to BMOC…

P.S.

50 bonus points for anyone who can identify the aerial photograph at the top of the blog.

For you AHS-ers, only 25 bonus points…

Metamorphosis

Earlier this week, the people I work for were nice enough to send me on an almost all expenses paid trip to the desert of northeastern California. My assignment was to perform an investigation of a building in which the roof beams had cracked. Now I know that looking at cracks is not that interesting for most of you, but for guys like me it doesn’t get much better. Fortunately for all of us, there aren’t that many guys like me….

I flew into the Rogue Valley International Airport in Medford, Oregon, and boy were my arms tired… (Sorry I couldn’t resist….)

Rogue Valley International

Medford sits in the Rogue Valley, which was apparently named after bloggers with marginal talent. Well, either that or the Rogue River.

The Rogue River valley was originally inhabited by Native Americans who lived along the banks of the river. The river got its name because of this, and was known as “The River of the Rogues.”

Rogue River

On the flight to Medford our plane flew a little to the west and a few thousand feet above Mt. Shasta. The mountain was on my side of the plane and we were treated to a spectacular view of this snow-capped peak. Geologically speaking, Mt. Shasta is classified as a “Big Damn Mountain,” and rises approximately 10, 000 feet above the surrounding valley floor and topping out at 14,179 feet.

Mt. Shasta

On Saturday, Mrs. R and I went to the CU-Oklahoma game in Boulder. Before the game we went to the bookstore and loaded up on some gear, then headed over to the field surrounding the Benson Earth Sciences building where the Alumni Association sets up a big ol’ tent, has some live music, and serves some good food. We were treated to a performance by the Golden Buffalo Marching Band, and then all of us got up and followed the band into the stadium.

The field around the Benson Earth Sciences building was previously known as Brackett Field, and was used primarily as a site for intramural sports such as flag football and coed softball. As a student in the fall of 1979, I was asked by some junior high buddies of mine to join their flag football team. Being all too aware of our athletic ability, we signed up for the B-League tier, which was the lowest classification possible.

I played tight end on offense, and defensive end on defense. My role in the offense was to stand at the end of line and, “if nobody else is open, maybe we’ll throw it to you.”

On defense, I was to stand at the end of the line and “if somebody runs near you carrying the ball, grab their flag.”

B-League Intramural Flag Football offenses and defenses were very sophisticated in those days….

A few days before our first “practice” I read in the school paper that the Boulder Gay Liberation (BGL) was going to field two intramural teams in the fall semester, women’s volleyball and men’s flag football. I thought to myself “that’s cool; they should be involved in all of the campus activities.”

I went to our first practice; eager to show the guys how good I was at standing at the end of the line. I saw our captain, shook his hand and said “so, who is first game against”? The poor guy turned ashen, beads of sweat formed on his forehead, and in a quivering voice he said “dude, we’ve got to win…”

It took me a few seconds, but then I got it. Our first game was going to be against the BGL. Now, intramurals was supposed to be a fun, low-stress, no-pressure way to get some exercise. But our team quickly realized that the all of the heterosexual men on campus would be counting on us. So much for fun, low-stress, no-pressure exercise…

At this time, the future Mrs. R and I had been dating for about a month or so. My father-in-law-to-be conveyed a message to me, through her, that said, “If you wish to continue seeing my daughter and to be welcome in my home, you better win the damn game!” So much for fun, low-stress, no-pressure exercise…

Game day was suddenly upon us, it was one of those glorious Colorado fall afternoons, with warm temperatures and clear blue skies. My roommate, who was also a teammate, and I left our dorm and made our way to Brackett Field. As we approached the field, we noticed quite a bit of folks surrounding the west end of the field, where our game was to take place.

Those folks included news trucks from a couple of the Denver news stations, and an all-male cheerleading squad wearing lavender shirts and white knit pants. They called themselves the “Lavender Express,” a not-to-subtle reference to the Denver Broncos Pony Express cheerleaders.

There were dozens of spectators surrounding the field, which was unusual for intramural sports. Most of the time, spectators included only the girlfriends of the two guys on the team that actually had girlfriends.

Late adolescence can be a difficult time for men, (actually anytime can be a difficult time for men, but I’ll save that for another blog) and so the unwritten code of flag football was that you used the shotgun formation for all offensive plays, be they run or pass. This was primarily done in case a couple of gorgeous coeds were to wander near the field as you were taking a snap… So our team used the shotgun, however, the BGL quarterback took the more conventional approach, and ahem, got right up under the center…

Anyway, once the game started, you forgot about all of the extra-curricular nonsense going on around the field, and played and had fun. The BGL was a good bunch of guys and they played just as hard as we did. We treated each other with respect, both sides had a lot laughs, and no one was injured. After the game, we shook hands and wished each other good luck for the rest of the season.

The final score of that game is lost to history, but let’s just say that I was allowed to continue seeing the future Mrs. R. Some video clips from the game were shown on the evening news, much to the delight of my future father-in-law, and our team went on the win the B-League Intramural Flag Football championship that year.

Last Saturday, the real football players played. Oklahoma was ranked No. 3 coming into the game and listed as a 22 point favorite. We sat up high again, and had a beautiful view of the Flatirons to the south and the mountains to the west. At the start of the game our seats were shaded by the club level seats behind us. Also, we were surrounded on three sides by OU fans.

The guy sitting next to Mrs. R., and clad in OU regalia from head to toe, asked “will it get warm when ‘at sun comes ‘round the stadium?” What I wanted to say was, “Yes, it’s the same sun you have in Oklahoma, and it makes things warm. It’s of the reasons there’s life on this planet, and because of that we get to spend our leisure time enjoying college football.” Instead, I just said “yes” and was met with a skeptical look from Mr. OU.

During timeouts scores from other games are often shown on the scoreboard. At one point the score of the Kentucky- Florida Atlantic game was flashed, and it showed Kentucky to be ahead.

I heard these sounds from Mr. OU No.2 sitting behind us.

“YepKintuckayzzzzzzzpurdygoodnissyeer.”

I had to consult with several linguistics experts, and as best as can be determined, what was actually being said was:

“Yes. The University of Kentucky has a fine football team this season.”

The Buff defense played very well once again, but the offense was having some trouble. The Sooners led 17-7 at the half. I told Mrs. R that the score was closer than I thought would be.

With 2-1/2 minutes gone in the third quarter, Oklahoma scored again, making it 24-7. I told Mrs. R. that is was over, the roof was going to cave on the Buffs, that I’d seen this happen more times than I care to remember. I was quickly chastised as being “Oh ye of little faith. Come on dude, it’s your team, don’t give up.”

She was right of course. Midway though the third quarter, CU kicked a field to make it 24-10, and that’s how the third quarter ended.

Then two amazing things happened. Mrs. R began to transform into a CU football fan before my very eyes. She was, yelling and screaming, and she even sung a couple of bars of the fight song. I started tearing up, and not because the Buffs were making a comeback.

Down on the field, the Buffs suddenly found their running game, and began to move the ball with some authority. With about four minutes left, the Buffs tied it up at 24.

The stadium was rocking. There was cheering, yelling, screaming, and big smiles on all of the Buffs fans.

Oklahoma got the ball back and went three and out. CU returned the ensuing punt to midfield, then calmly drove down to the Sooner 28 yard line and kicked the winning field goal as time expired!

Mrs. R and I screamed, high-fived each other and every CU fan we could reach, the students stormed the field, and it was the greatest afternoon ever at Folsom Field.

And one more thing very important thing folks. One of our readers is having some health issues right now, and will be having surgery week after next. Keep a good thought or two for her…

Buffaloed

Daughter Rogue and I went to the CU vs. Florida State Seminoles game Saturday night. I’m the "skinny" guy in black….

DR was mortified when I asked her to take this picture. She told everyone who walked by “He’s not my Dad!” And “I don’t even know who this guy is. He just asked me to take his picture. What a dork.”

The fun started a couple of hours earlier when DR came over before the game and remarked about my new CU (it’s not yellow, its gold) flag which I now proudly fly every game day, “Nice flag Dad. You’re a major nerd.” Ouch…

I was, however, glad to be upgraded from nerd to dork the closer we got to kickoff.

As we entered the stadium, I overheard a lot of people asking “Dude, what’s a Seminole?” I’m always so proud when the students of my alma mater display their depth of knowledge and an awareness of other cultures…

The Seminoles are Native Americans originally from Florida, with groups now living in both Florida and Oklahoma. They have the distinction of being the only Indian tribe that has never signed a peace treaty with the United States, and are known as the “Unconquered People.”

http://www.seminoletribe.com/

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Seminole

We entered the stadium and made our way to our seats near the top of the stadium. DR was very proud of me because I only need to stop twice for oxygen on the climb. I was proud of me too, until I got passed by a 68 year-old grandmother who was heading toward the top row two steps at a time, and not even breathing hard…

DR’s favorite part of a CU game is the “Ralphie Wranglers.” These are the brave young men and women who lead Ralphie onto the field before kickoff at the start of the game and after halftime. It is one of the greatest moments in college football, and not because the wrangler guys are “hot.” Not that I think they are hot, because I have no strong feelings either way, but DR seems to think that the wranglers alone are worth the ticket price.

Oh by the way, Ralphie was recently named the best mascot in college football…

Ralphie is No. 1

When FSU scores, their cheerleaders run through the end zone waving flags that spell N-O-L-E-S. DR suggested that since most people don’t know what a ‘Nole is, they should spell S-E-M-I-S instead… It’s also a good description for some of their offensive linemen.

During the first quarter we got to listen to the saga of Craig and Debbie from the people sitting behind us. It seems that C+D and met at a tailgate before the game and had agreed to meet in the stadium. The conversation went something like this:

“Go find her Craig!” said Debbie’s friend, who we’ll call Susan.

“Where is she?” Craig asked.

“She’s in row 76.” Susan replied.

“Which section?” an exasperated Craig asked.

“Our section. God Craig, you are so lame” Susan said.

You probably remember similar conversations from your high school days. The fact that Susan, Craig and Debbie are all 30-somethings is unfortunate, but pretty damn funny…

Anyway, we got to watch Craig spend most of the first quarter pacing up and down the jam-packed rows of Section 215 searching in vain for Debbie. Craig even called Susan, who was all of four rows from where he was standing, to help him home in on Debbie. Why no one thought to actually call Debbie is unclear…

Later in the game, while the rest of Section 215 was distracted by the action on the field, Susan exclaimed “Oh look, they’re sitting together! Are they holding hands? I think they’re holding hands! Oh my God!”

The CU defense was terrific, giving up only 16 points to the Seminoles, despite having to defend a short field on a couple of occasions. The Buff defense played with heart and abandon, only gave up two big plays, and never quit.

The offense played well between the 30 yard lines but seemed to self-destruct in the red zone. The Buffs do not have much of a running game this year, and finished the night with negative 27 yards rushing.

Generally the FSU fans were classy and respectful. There was, however one notable exception. On a drive in the 4th quarter, as CU was moving the ball with some ease, an FSU fan sitting a couple rows behind us kept yelling at FSU defensive coordinator Mickey Andrews to “Rush 4 Mickey! Come on! You’re so f**king stupid!” FSU was playing a prevent defense and rushing only 3 down linemen. The tactic worked quite well since the drive ended without the Buffs scoring.

I didn’t realize Coach Andrews was such a moron, because when I looked at the scoreboard it said Florida State 16, Colorado 0. I did some high level math (you know, carry the 2, divide by 1) and figured out that for a defense the best you can do is hold the other team to zero points.

I ‘m always amazed at how many coaches are in the stands instead of down on the sidelines on game day…

CU didn’t score until there was 3:38 remaining in the fourth quarter.

Final score: Florida State 16, Colorado 6.

So the score wasn't what I hoped for, but the company couldn't have been better...

A Banked Turn

So I’m at the bank the other day, and there are a few people in line ahead of me, and a few more at the teller windows. There is also a loud racket coming from behind the counter, it was the coin counting machine. Someone was cashing in a large amount of coins…

I know this because it took two tellers to lift the giant plastic fake beer bottle that contained all of the coins. Some guy had been saving his pennies since about 1972. Anyway I finally figured out who the bottle belonged too, since all of the tellers cycled through customers except for one.

This thrifty gent was about 45, pasty-skinned, and quite pleased with himself. When I got to the front of the line he turned halfway toward me and gave me that universal “half-nod, arched eyebrow, chics dig me” look that cool guys give to us un-cool guys.

I got the impression he was gonna take his $37, rent some videos, and go back to his room in the basement of his Mom’s house and watch them. Maybe go a little crazy a grab a pizza and some brewskis too…

Speaking of “chics dig me,” my name appears on page 49 of the August 20, 2007 issue of Sports Illustrated (first column, about halfway down the page). This is of course a lifelong dream of mine. The only problem is that the person they are writing about is not me, but he and I do share the same name. I really have no ethical or moral problem with achieving my dreams vicariously…

Plus, I now have a shot at moving into Mrs. R’s Top 100 (Re: http://srogue.blogspot.com/ from December 28, 2006).

Today I was outside doing some yard work in the backyard. I was home alone, and I had left the garage door open. When I do that, I lock the door from the garage to the house, and keep my keys in the front pocket of my shorts. My truck was parked in the driveway.

Big Mo has a keyless remote that also includes a panic button. It’s a nice feature, especially if some pasty-skinned 45 year old stud is thinking about beating me up in the parking lot at the bank. Sorry, I digress. Anyway, when the panic button is pushed, the horn honks rhythmically, and the lights flash.

So as I was out back and bending over to spray some weeds, I heard someone’s car alarm go off. There was all kinds of noise, a horn honking, etc. It was very annoying, and I was grumbling to myself about “the damn neighbors who don’t pay attention to a f**king thing and just let their car alarms go off and disturb everybody.”

After 3 or 4 minutes, the alarm shut off, and peace returned. By this time I had moved to other end of the backyard, closer to the front gate, and the driveway. I bent over to attack some more weeds, when that damned car alarm went off again.

At this point I am not a happy camper. I also notice that the honking horn sounds very close. Very, very close actually.

I’m thinking I’m just gonna go next door and let the neighbors have a piece of my mind. Not that I can afford to give too many pieces of my mind away, but it seemed like it was warranted in this case.

So I kicked open the gate, doing my best “that’s right, I’m bad,” getting myself all worked-up, when I notice the lights on my truck flashing and the horn rhythmically honking.

I sheepishly pushed the panic twice to stop the racket, and went inside.

So much for breaking into Mrs. R’s top 100…

Baseball, Plumb Bobs and Spoons, Oh My

In the midst of a difficult week at work, Daughter Rouge called and asked if I would like to go to the Rockies/Dodgers game on Saturday. That young lady has excellent timing and I gladly accepted her invitation.

As a youngster growing up in Colorado, I was a Dodgers fan. I’m not exactly sure how that came to be, but it seemed like a good choice. I mean Sandy Koufax, John Roseboro, Don Drysdale, what’s not to like?

In the 70’s it was Steve Garvey and Davey Lopes and Bill Russell and Ron “The Penguin” Cey; I became an even bigger Dodgers fan. The first major league game I ever saw was at Candlestick Park in San Francisco, Dodgers vs. Giants, to watch Fernando Valenzuela pitch. The dastardly (dastardly? Who still uses the word dastardly?) Giants won on a late inning grand slam by Jeffrey (don’t call me Jeff or I will kick your ass), Leonard. Not that I’m bitter or anything…

Anyway…

DR had found some great seats; we were about thirty rows up directly in line with third base. Our seats were right under the edge of the upper deck, so we were thinking that we might have some protection if it were to rain.

The game started nicely, with the Rocks jumping out to an early 5-0 lead. As we were watching the vendors work the stands, DR asked about a guy we called “Frogman.” Frogman was a beer vendor, who had a rubber frog clipped to each ear, wore beer cans for shoes and had a gravelly voice that carried two sections over. He seemed to be everywhere, we even saw him a couple of times at spring training games in Tucson. I told DR that I hadn’t seen him in a while.

Her reply? “Maybe he croaked…”

Along about the 5th inning, it began to rain. Wet sunflower seed shells were raining down from the upper deck. It was quite unpleasant for awhile, but the ushers finally got the problem under control.

It’s a good thing too, because sitting in the row in front of us were three couples, who had also received the shower. The ringleader of the group, fueled by the combustible combination of alcohol and testosterone, told one of the ushers “If you can’t get it stopped, then there are three guys here all over 200 lbs who will go up there and take of things.”

There’s a couple of things that are important to note about Mr. Testosterone and his buddies; they all had the number 4 as the first number of their age, and their 200 plus pounds were packed onto frames about 6” shorter than my 200 plus pounds are. Maybe their plan was to go up and bowl over the sunflower seed criminals…

After the game and the twelve mile walk to our car we started negotiating the streets of downtown. I got lost, no surprise there, refused to stop and ask for directions, again, no surprise. While waiting at a stoplight, a group of about 10 or so twenty-something dressed to the hilt young ladies crossed the street in front of us. They appeared to have had a couple of drinks and were likely on the way to the next bar.

“Oh my” came the remark from DR.

I think the ladies were from the I Phelta Thi sorority…

Anyway…

While stopped at the light at Colfax and 14th Street, DR exclaimed, “Look Daddy, that guy has a giant carrot in his head!”

“What? Huh?” came my thoughtful reply.

I looked over and saw this piece of “art,” which is essentially a hollowed out marble profile of a man’s head, unfolded, with a giant plumb bob hanging in the middle of the fold.

Wikipedia defines a plumb bob as “a weight with a pointed tip on the bottom that is suspended from a string and used as a vertical reference line.” These devices were quite handy in the old days (10 years ago) for folks involved in the construction business. Today they have mostly been replaced by electronic measuring devices.

I tried to explain this to DR, but she didn’t understand why you would need a plumb bob thingy when you could just use a laser. I felt the ol’ generation gap get a little wider right then…

Imagine a well-written transition paragraph right here…..

I have noticed that a lot of my mishaps seem to involve food. I’m not sure what that means, or am I sure I want to commit the $$ and time in therapy to figure it out. I guess it’s just one of those things that make me colorful…

Speaking of color, I became a little more colorful last night. DR and I went to the Coldstone Creamery for some ice cream. This is a very dangerous place, and I highly recommend it.

http://www.coldstonecreamery.com/

On the way out of the store in light rain, the lid came off of my ice cream, and my hand became covered in about $14 worth of a green-brown mix of mint-chocolate chip-fudge-brownie ice cream. Apparently the person (me) who put the lid on my cup needs some remedial training.

So now I’m standing in a parking lot in a rainstorm, frantically licking ice cream off of my hand while DR is doubled over in laughter. Actually, I think she was tripled over.

But wait there’s more…

On the drive home, DR was showing off one of the things she learned at college. As we were driving she was trying to get her plastic ice cream spoon to stick to her nose. She was successful, and kept the spoon stuck to her nose for 17 seconds, while the car was moving. Apparently this is some kind of a record, and she has now qualified for the Olympic Trials next spring.

I think I need a vacation…