Yarn-A-Go-Go

Underfoot

Four of them. Miss Idaho is up top, and Harriet, Willie and Waylon are the Black Hole. Boy, they're cute. They like me just fine even though my new hobby is stepping on animals. Every time I take a step, there's a little foot underneath mine. I used to think it was cute when Harriet and Miss Idaho followed me into every room. Then we got Clara and she did the same. Then Digit came home (o, frabjous day) and he took up the following, now that he is Mr. Indoors. The kittens don't follow me -- they just want to be where the action is. Adah, happier than she's ever been, just watches from the top of the fridge. She is the only one escaping the wrath of my heels. No wonder she's so cheerful.

But really. I feel badly every time I hear a high-pitched squeal because I know it's my fault. But they PUT their little feet there, they really do. They stick a paw out, right under my foot, I step, they scream, and I pick up and cuddle. Hey. Wait a minute. Is that a plot?

The kittens (who are not kittens anymore, look at them!)  have an amazing trick: They run at speeds of up to eighty-seven miles per hour through the house. I walk through the house at a normal human pace, maybe a bit slower. I raise a foot because I plan on moving forward, as one does while walking. Suddenly, an entire cat is beneath my foot. Right under it. I stumble, trying to place my foot somewhere other than the floor, where I'll crush that poor cat, but that poor cat has by that time circumnavigated the entire house three times.

It's just safer when they're on the couch.

Misc.

I don't have that much to say. I've been working too much, I think. I find I can work on no knitting but socks. I swear, I have a sweater that's got to be three-quarters finished, Lala's yearly sweater, and I can't look at it. It's too big. Too much work.

The house is a mess. And I don't care that much. I care in an exhausted, can't-be-bothered kind of way. There's this one ledge that I've been noticing lately -- it has a layer of fine dirt on it (the window next to it is always open), and it's something that I would normally clean off during the weekly house-clean, but I haven't had time in WEEKS. We had people over about a month ago, and the house hasn't really been cleaned since then, other than a sweeping or three and one toilet-scrub. I just can't stop thinking about that ledge, but not enough to clean it.

Struggling to do my writing. I tried to write in spare pockets of time last week, and got a thousand words which all felt like they had been ripped from under my nails. Then I wrote for an hour on Monday, my day off, and got more and better words in that hour than I had the whole week prior.

Extended-family drama is occurring around us, sad drama that is exhausting, especially for Lala. There's not much we can do but watch and wait and hope, but that's hard.

However, the animals are fine, and Lala and I are fine, and last night Digit was curled on my chest, purring, and I realized that it's all okay, it's all going to be okay, someway, somehow, and it's all right just to be tired, to rest.

The Whining is Followed by A Fun Thing Or Two

Lala's band The Whoreshoes is playing Hardly Strictly Bluegrass! DUDE! If you know about this yearly event, you know it's so exciting --  it's HUGE and it's FREE in Golden Gate Park. This year, the Whoreshoes will be playing with the likes of Gillian Welch, John Prine, Robert Earl Keen, Michelle Shocked, Steve Earle, and Emmylou Harris. You should come! Obviously, I'll be knitting at the gals' Saturday gig, and I'll be wandering the rest of the time -- knitters represent!

Also, they'll be on an episode of the upcoming reality show, Girl Meets Cowboy, premiering October 14th on the WE network. Not sure which episode, but it should be fun to see 'em play on national TeeVee!

Oh, and I'm working the Good Vibes (link not safe for work -- unless you're Lala and you work there) booth for the Folsom Street Fair this Sunday, 10-2 - come say hi!

There. I am in a better mood already.

Now It Really Counts

Hooray! I made it to the second round of that romance-novel competition! Woot!

So now I'm totally freaking out.

I really, really need your vote. The three with the most votes out of the twenty-five semifinalists go on to the final round (where the WHOLE manuscript is read by Simon & Schuster -- oh, how I would love that). There are some people with really big voting nets, but I know I can count on my knitters to come to my aid. (If you voted on the last one you can still vote on this one, since this is a different chapter.)

Will you come read my chapter? And if you like it, will you log in and give it a ten? (Only tens are counted, votes of 1-9 are thrown out -- you have to join the site to vote if you haven't already, but they won't spam you or sell your email to anyone.)

And then there's another part of me, the part that probably won't surprise you, the part that says, "um, what the hell? A contest that collects votes to move on? Why am I doing this again?"

I guess it's this: I'm still proud of myself that I finished the book. That I like the characters. That I like the premise. It's not great literature, and it won't change the world, but it changed me somehow, and oh yeah, there's a small nod to EZ in there, too.

So, it's HERE. Come over and say hello. I will now go and gibber in a corner and try not to watch the number of votes other people are getting....

Or I will go take a walk in Leona Canyon, where Lala took this picture of me a couple of weeks ago: up an oak tree!

I love climbing oak trees..... In fact, the main character in the novel falls OUT of an oak tree later on when she's out searching for her lost alpaca..... I was lucky enough not to fall that day.

Recommendations

Hello, kids.

I read the BEST book last week. I can't recommend it enough.

A Three Dog Life, by Abigail Thomas. From the Publisher's Weekly review:

Stephen King's front-cover endorsement of Thomas's memoir as the best he's ever read—and a "punch to the heart"—will surely pique interest in this wrenching, elegiac portrait of her third husband, Rich, who flounders in a miasmic present after a hit-and-run in their Manhattan neighborhood shatters his skull, destroys his short-term memory and consigns him to permanent brain trauma.

I realize that might not grab you -- sounds dark and depressing, and indeed, much of the book deals with dark, depressing things. But it's not a medical memoir, nor is it a book about dogs (although dogs are featured, wonderful dogs), it's just the author, grabbing vignettes in her life and illustrating them so clearly and immediately that I sat stunned in front of phrases, unable to move on, mumbling them to myself in wonder. Seriously. When did you last do that with a book?

It's a quick read, sadly. I tried to make it last, not allowing myself to read it in bed, only at work, lines snatched between phone calls and emergencies and gossiping co-workers. Now that I'm done, I'm considering re-reading it. I never re-read books anymore, but I want to read this one again, to live in her language some more.

Here, from page 30:

   Twenty years ago I asked a friend if he felt (as I did) a kind of chronic longing, a longing I wanted to identify. "Of course," he answered. We were having lunch by the pond at 59th Street, watching the ducks. The sun was out, the grass was thick and green, the ducks paddled around in the not very blue pond. I was between lives. "What is it?" I asked. "What is it we are longing for?" He thought for a minute and said, "There isn't any it. There is just the longing for it." This sounded exactly right. Years later and a little wiser, I know what the longing was for: here is where I belong.

"I was between lives." That sentence! Just smacked in there! Completely knocks me out. And I've never read that longing we all have so clearly described.

I'm in love with the book. Plus, she knits. (Buy it from your independent seller, though, obviously. Amazon link is just there for convenience.)

It's autumn here today! Crisp, cool -- the house was chilly when I woke up and I put on wool socks. How I love to have to put on handknit socks. I'm at the cafe, and I'm going to write for a while. Then I'm going home to meet the roofer -- get the leaks fixed before the real rains. And I want to make pumpkin bread. Then, maybe, if I have time, I'd like to go to the movies. I want to see Becoming Jane (oh, looks like I missed that one), 2 Days in Paris, and Death at a Funeral. Perhaps The Jane Austen Book Club (although I couldn't finish the book). We saw 3:10 to Yuma yesterday, and DAMN was that a good western. I'd highly recommend it. Full of recommendations today, aren't I?

I also recommend y'all love on someone today. Yep.

Dark Mark!

I made a scarf for my sister Christy's birthday. It's Slytherin in color and has a hidden Dark Mark that you can only see when the scarf is turned on its side.

Viewed head-on, it's just stripes. Free pattern is HERE.

And another pic, with your favorite dude:

Look! He looks like a cat, doesn't he? Oh, my Digit. (Tiny Miss Idaho in the background, in her permanent place on the couch.)

Chatterbox

I am at the coffee shop. Surrounded by people talking, yet so very alone. Heaven.

This is the very first time I've had to myself in.... I don't want to know how long. I think it's about..... Oh, crap. I looked at the calendar. I haven't had time to myself, all alone, since the 5th. Fourteen days ago. You mothers roll your eyes and mock me, I know, and you should. But I lived alone until a year and a half ago, and I love my time alone, and I realize now why I've been jumpy. Granted, being with Lala is in many ways better than being alone, and I'm completely comfortable with her -- I am no one but myself with her, which is what's hard about being around other people -- you always have to make sure you're acting like a responsible member of society (they'll never know).

Today is a day off. A day OFF! I'm going to do some writing -- it's been busy and hard to focus at work, and I'm ALWAYS at work, don't know if I mentioned that -- and I'm going to see my sisters -- HAPPY BIRTHDAY CHRISTY! -- and I'm going to drop clothes at the thrift store, and sell some books I purged out of my collection, and maybe, if I'm lucky, I'll get all that done in time to get to yoga for the first time in over a year. I know I'm doing too much, but this is my DAY OFF! I get to do what I want, and if I want to do too much, then hooray!

I fixed my bike! Well, really, I fixed it by plugging the cord back in, and then it didn't work, and then Lala looked at it and did the exact same thing and it was fixed, so I'm saying I fixed it. I rode it to work(ish) yesterday, and it was great. Rode it to the coffee chop this morning, and I tell you what -- it makes me feel independent, in a very strange, nice way. Using my legs! My power! Making my body take me somewhere! Granted, it's only five miles roundtrip to the coffee shop, and it's flat, but still! The power!

Oh, I'm babblish today. Happy.

I believe (but this won't be confirmed till next week) that I made it into the next round of the romance novel competition, THANKS TO YOU ALL! There will be 25 people in that round, and the top three move on, so I'll be coming to you begging again for your American Idol-style of voting (the real goal is to get into the last round, where Simon&Schuster reads your manuscript -- I honestly don't care if I win or lose, but I'd love it to be read).

Meantime, I should stop writing this and start doing the real writing. But you're so fun.

Guess who's doing great? Digit! Oh, my man. You know, every night when I'm cuddling him, I thank him for coming home. He's a big jerk, and he ignores the kittens (who aren't so much kittens anymore but rather thick juveniles) until they chase his tail and then he clobbers them while emitting a blood-curdling scream (him, not them, they just roll with the punches). Clara is back to being scared to death of him, which is just as it should be. He hasn't even really tried too hard to get outside, thank god. Seems happy to be inside, happy to be up on the table glaring at all the ridiculous animals in his house. Likes to be the manager, watching all that goes on, disapproving of everything. Man, if he could give demerits.....

And it's almost Fall! Can't you feel it? Today especially, with more clouds than usual and the threats of thundershowers later today and tomorrow (guess I won't ride tomorrow to work, no fenders yet), it just feels perfect.

Oh, and over the weekend we went to a perfect wedding, a Whoreshoes wedding. Camilla loves Kirk, and they got married in the Presidio Yacht Club, an old building where almost every window looks onto the Golden Gate Bridge, being that the place is tucked almost under it, right on the Bay. They walked down to music by the Whoreshoes and Rube Waddell, and then they got married on the dock in a wonderful Buddhist/non-traditional ceremony, then exited to Ode to Joy, performed by All on the kazoos they had thoughtfully provided. The Mexican food was great, as was the dancing that followed. Lala was hit on in a smashingly rude way by a chick that actually rolled her eyes when I introduced myself (La didn't see that). Poor Lala doesn't ever know when she's being hit on, so she had some interesting extrication moments over the shot the gal insisted on doing with her, and then Lala did a fantastic job of flattering me back into happiness. I do not struggle with jealousy, thankfully, and I am not insecure, however, if you're RUDE to me, and then hit on my wife? I will be annoyed. Also, her lipstick was ALL wrong.

(Truthfully it was one of those champagne drama-moments that made everyone feel good -- Lala knows she's still got it even though she didn't see it coming, and I get flattered and complimented and adored all night -- what could be better? And we never have drama, so when we do, it's all interesting and over in fifteen minutes. One has to enjoy it while it's happening.)

And really, who wouldn't hit on her? Besides the bride, everyone agreed she was in the best outfit:

That suit, my friends, is actually shiny and blue, and her tie was gloriously peach/pink, and that tie-tack is in the shape of a saddle (a gift from my sister, I think?). I wore my alpaca wedding stole during the outside ceremony on the water, and seriously shed on all the men wearing black. I forgot how that thing reaches out to anything black and eats it.

I am a chatterbox. I think I'm done. It's so nice here. I'm a part of all of it, near the talking, but having to talk to no one. I'm in a corner alone, and no one is talking near me, so all the voices blend into one low murmuring sound. I will get on my  bike soon and ride home and meet my sister who has to finish something for my birthday sister -- oh! I finished something that I should photograph! I've been so busy I haven't been on Ravelry in forever! Oh, Ravelry, I miss you.....

Are you still here? Aren't you nice. I like you. I hope you're having a very nice day, and that your blueberry muffin has brown sugar on top today.

One More Little Favor

The First Romance Chapter competition closes on Tuesday, and I'm still in the running to move on to round two, but it's getting down to the wire. Out of the three hundred entrants, I was number three for a long time, but I've dropped to number 11. The top 15 go on to the next round, so I only need a few more votes to keep me in the running (what, do those other people have lovely groups of knitters supporting them, too? They do? Do we know them?).

If you haven't cruised over and read my entry and voted, will you consider doing so? It's silly, and there's a typo or two (sob), but if you like it at all and want it to move on so you can read chapter two, please consider giving me a 10 (1-9 votes are thrown out). You have to join their site in order to vote but they won't sell your email or spam you if you opt out of their emails.

(If you voted before but you weren't logged in, it didn't count. Please vote only once -- they're watching for IP fraud. And dude, isn't it exciting?)

So. Yeah. It's here.

And thanks.

As a reward: (Have I shown you this one yet? I don't remember. But no worries, it's cute enough for another view.)

X marks the spot:

(They were sleeping before I snapped the picture.)

PS - If you've already voted and want to vote for a great chapter by a different writer or just want a good read, here's the chapter that's been sadly overlooked. Tough Girls in Love. I think this one should win, and I mean it. I loved this chapter, and few people have voted for it, perhaps because it starts with a T, and the three hundred chapters are listed alphabetically. It's just hard to get that far when reading through the list. Go give her a 10, too! Here's a teaser, the first few lines of her chapter:

    I'd never had such a hard time getting a man naked.
    When was I going to see some skin? I already had used my scissors to slice through the front of the man's leather coat, fleece pullover and flannel shirt. The guy was cursing me out for cutting his coat, but it wasn't like I had a choice. Somewhere, he had two extra holes in his body.

There, don't you want to read more?

Note To Self

When you drive to work, and you take the bike off the rack in the dark, and you notice the front wheel has turned backwards during the drive, make sure you UNTWIST that 1/2 turn, and not turn it in the same direction and ride away, because your front wheel will have been turned 360 degrees, and the computer cord will have twisted around the front post. Therefore, your computer connection that changes the gears automatically for you (that sweet, sweet technological perk) will have come unconnected and you will be stuck in 1st gear forever and ever or until you get it fixed, and you will feel like a hamster within thirty seconds. You will then ride the three blocks back, spinning the wheels furiously, and then you will drive to Starbucks for a coffee and a ham and cheddar breakfast sandwich.

Vineyards and Sprinklers

Guess what I did today?

I rode my bike to work! Dude!

Now, given that I live more than 30 miles from work, and given that my bike is a beach cruiser and we don't go up hills together, period, the whole ride would have taken me more than four hours, one way.

Obviously, I didn't ride the whole way. If I did that, I'd just be ready to turn around and take a $50 cab ride home.

Nope, last night when I got off work, I went to Target and bought many, many, many bike lights (it's DARK at 5am). I went home and attached them all (I felt very butch. I hate doing things like that with the screwdriver. Always makes me cranky). But now my bike lights up. I even put flashing things on the air-valve-stem thingies (that's the technical term). I think I could now land planes using my bike lights.

I borrowed a bike rack from a co-worker (but I think I'll buy one now, now that I know what it's like), and last night I attached it to the car. I wasn't really sure I'd done it right (although Lala says I did, and I trust her bike-judgment), so I used four hundred or so bungie cords to strap it down even more firmly. If I am a nervous bike-rider, I am an even more nervous driving-while-bike-is-hanging off-the-back-of-car kinda gal.

But I did it. Got up at 4:20am (no jokes), only twenty minutes earlier than I normally do, got ready, and drove to Livermore. I parked about two and a half miles away from work in front of someone's house who will surely get the cops out later to check on my extremely dirty vehicle ("Officer, it must be stolen. It looks like it's from Oakland" *gasp*).

I put my helmet on while sitting in the car which felt funny and probably looked even funnier, then I took the bike down, hopped on and rode away. I rode away!

It was so cool!

It was actually literally cool, too, but I was comfortable in my tee-shirt. I rode through the dark early morning, on broad, well-lit, bike-laned streets. I rode past sprinklers spraying, getting lightly misted as I passed. I rode past fields that smelled of fertilizer, boxes lying at the ends of the rows ready to be filled. Then the fields moved into vineyards, dark grapevines with heavy leaves, the smell of dust. Then onto the huge property where I work, past the badge gate (where I forgot, after getting out my badge, that you must put on BOTH backpack straps when you ride and not leave the backpack dangling, or you will come close to falling while the guards watch), and in to work.

I was so PLEASED with myself.

It's a little thing. A very little thing. Instead of 31 miles to work, I'm driving 26 miles. That's not really very environmental. It just kills me that there are no public transportation options available to get to my job (we work 6am to 6pm, and BART-bus connectors don't start until later -- we aren't allowed to adjust hours), but this feels like doing a good thing, albeit the smallest thing. Riding five miles. Plus, it's 40 minutes of motion, which I NEVER get on my work days -- by the time I get home at 7pm, I'm just too beat to go for a run, or even a walk.

This way, I start the day with a little ride. Boosts my energy, or at least it did today. And at the end of the day, I HAVE to ride the bike in order to get to the car to get home. No choice in the matter, no being lazy. Doesn't matter if I don't have the motivation, I'll HAVE the motivation, you know?

I am so excited. That was so fun. Oh! I've shown you before, but this is my bike (photo from Raleigh website):

There are some obvious differences. I took off that six-pack holder (with its built-in bottle opener) and put on a basket, and I added forty-two thousand watts to any place I could stick watts.

PS - I keep meaning to point you to my friend Rachel's new blog! Please go tell her hello, tell her she's sexy, and make sure you vote in her poll and make sure she knows her name is spelled wrong.

Pictures Are Good Filler

Hey, what's that bright star I've been seeing in the early morning on my way to work? It's hanging in the east, and it's gorgeous. I know you know.

Me, I'm at work. Long, long, long work hours lately -- worked an 18 hour shift on Saturday on the final day of my work week, then had Sunday off, and I was back on Monday for 72 hours this week. It's all by choice, working for people that need time off (the gal I'm working for today is in Italy, bless her), so I can't complain, but I can whinge just a little bit.

How 'bout a few pics, then?

I took an afternoon last week and spent it in the City. I had the best time that day -- I had lunch with Lala and then I went and wrote in a cafe near Dolores Park. Then I wandered up into the park and had a little lie-down on the grass in the sun, and then I got salted caramel ice cream with fleur de sel sprinkles from Bi-Rite Creamery. Then I took BART back downtown and prowled Stacey's Bookstore for a while, then met up with Lala when she got off work, and we went to Fritz and had Belgian fries with Belgian beer. While I was waiting for her to meet me, I read my book up on the top of the new Westfield Mall.

Isn't that something? I don't care for malls, but that space is pretty incredible.

And then last week, we went to the Ladies' Banjo Society Picnic, at which you need neither to be a lady nor play the banjo. But they did have a banjo choir, which was pretty rad.

Lala's in the white cowboy hat in the back.

We took Harriet. She did not play the banjo.

And this is a shot of Lala in Leona Canyon near our house.

It's this amazing canyon right in Oakland, but it feels so far away -- I think it might be the only place in Oakland where you can't hear the freeway. The smell of the creek down there, all dusty and blackberryish and riparian-moldy is exactly the same lush smell of the creek I grew up playing in. And it's an off-leash area, since it's part of the East Bay Regional Parks District, so Clara can romp through the poison oak with impunity. Thank god she sleeps in a crate, not our bed.

Realizations

It is not new for me to discover brand-new obvious things. Like when I was asked about how I got into dispatching. "Well, I went to school forever and ever and got a Master's degree in English and creative writing, and then I decided I hated teaching, so then I got a job that requires a high school diploma." And then (this was a couple of years ago) I remembered something.

Oh, my. When I graduated from high school, I was accepted to good schools. But I was one of those kids who just wasn't quite ready to fly the nest. I decided to do the community college route after taking a semester off. (My parents worried I'd never go back.)

And I remembered this: I picked up a application to be a dispatcher for the Pismo Beach Police Department. I think I filled it out -- I don't remember if I ever got to the testing process or not. But I remember desiring it, thinking it would be a great job.

So here I am, years later, fully college edemacated, working as a 911 fire/medical dispatcher. And yep, it's a great job (especially when one can fit the writing in at work, like I did today and yesterday).

I remembered something else, that's the point I'm getting to, oh so very slowly. While at work, I can't monopolize the internet computer that I share with my partner, so I have to write by hand and type it out later. I think the very process of writing longhand, and writing romance at that, brought back a memory: Me, aged ten or eleven, lying in a hammock on a warm summer day, Sugar Daddy candies close at hand, reading my handwritten romance novel out loud to my best friend Evelyn (Evelyn Bailey, if you google yourself and find yourself here, email me, wouldja?). I wonder if I still have that little novella. I know I didn't finish it (even back then I had trouble with endings) but I remember it was something about a boy (older, at least sixteen) who kissed -- KISSED -- the protagonist who was probably named something like Violette or Meaghane. I think I got to the kissing scene, wrote it, and then ran the hell away, not knowing where to go after that (and thank god I didn't).

(Hi, do I like parentheses today or what?)

It was nice, though. Writing by hand, suddenly remembering that. I have lofty ambitions sometimes, like everyone else. But honestly, I've always been more drawn to the more prosaic. Yep, I'm smart and driven, but I work a blue-collar job (literally) and I want to write romance novels (among other things).

Nothing wrong with either.

Dear Corey Flintoff,

I confused you with Scott Simon! I confused his sweet, overeager voice (when dealing with baseball only; at all other times he is professionally calm and undereager) with your fine, controlled live-from-Baghdad one. I don't know how to explain how I did that except that I was not well-enough caffeinated.

And not only did I confuse you two, but because of the tunnels in the knitters' underground (this is how we get wool from Canada), YOU FOUND OUT that I mixed up the two of you. And now, forever more, instead of thinking of me as Rachael Herron, writer and avid NPR aficionado, you will think of me as Rachael Herron, that girl who doesn't know how many minutes are in an inning AND can't tell voices apart when listening to her factory-installed cassette-tape radio on her way to work.

I hope you will forgive the gaffe.

Don't tell Scott, huh?

Be careful over there.

Yours very truly,
Rachael.

** edited to add:

Also:

Dear Corey Flintoff, Scott Simon, and Ira Glass (who is not part of this but I adore you, too),

If you would like a pair handknit socks to make up for the confusion, please specify color and size. I am not kidding. Nor am I a stalker. I just like to knit socks.

Yours very truly again,
Rachael.

Your Cat Is Bothering Me

Lala sent this photo and message to my phone.

I love that he is bothersome.

MiscSaturday

Hello kids! I'm at work. It's 7:45, and I've been up for three hours already. I hope you're still sleeping, and that your coffee-pot is pre-programmed.

I have this to say, I am not a baseball fan. I don't dislike it, I just don't know anything about it. I am the one who infamously said, at the first of the two baseball events I have attended, "how many minutes are in an inning?" I'm still not totally sure why that was so funny. I swear, people hurt themselves laughing. The rows all around us heard what I said, as it was carried from person to hysterical person.

But Corey Flintoff? On NPR? He who can speak so clearly and calmly and intelligently on just about any subject? When he talks about baseball, it's like when I talk about yarn. He just loses it, and he is so damn cute. Have you heard that? Do you know what I mean? Usually, when it comes to sports, I'll flip the radio channel when people start babbling. But him.... oh, just so adorable.

And a local item of interest: A new beginning knitting class is registering over at KnitOneOne. It starts on Tuesday Sept 11th---2 hours for 4 weeks (total of 8 hours).

From Sile's description:

In Kate's beginning class, she teaches the basics
(but of course!) and then she gets people
knitting in the round and on DPN's. And of course
Ms Kate makes the class a lot of fun for everyone!

As we tell the students, after Kate's class they
can tackle just about any knitting project. (My
coach Kevin is proof positive of that---he is
signing up for Julie's sweater class and he took
beginning knitting in May!)

Sile's classes are wonderful -- you should do it if you've been thinking about learning. This would be the place and the time.

What else? My weekend which starts tomorrow is jam-packed with fun things to do -- we're seeing Big Bad Voodoo Daddy AND Lucinda Williams tomorrow at the Oakland Art and Soul festival, and Monday is the Ladies' Banjo Society Annual Picnic, and I have Tuesday and Wednesday OFF, which is nice after this rather draining 62-hour work week.

Now you go have fun! Right now!

(Oh, one more bit of miscellaneous stuff: I've been meaning to share this with you for some time. Sil, this is for you. My friends Camilla and Kirk are getting married soon. And they have THE BEST EVER wedding website. You don't have to know them to get the humor. And if you don't get the humor, then it's best you don't know them. Oh, lordy. Sometimes, on a blue day, I'll go to the site, just to cheer myself up. Enjoy, with Camilla's blessing (but don't crash the wedding unless you get them a REALLY super-expensive present).)