Tag: Misc (Page 9 of 11)

Arts Sunday

July 11, 2004 / DB

Hey, a rare Sunday post! Partially out of anticipation of a rather busy Monday ahead of me, and also to mirror the major papers of the world that have arts related features in their Sunday editions. In this post, a quick review of Anchorman as well as some thoughts prompted by my latest Zen entry.

Friday night, we braved the opening night crowds to catch Anchorman. We bought our tickets 90 minutes early and after fine Mexican cuisine at Qdoba, claimed seats a full 20 minutes before start time, just beating the rush. Not a single interesting preview. Seriously, I’m at a loss to remember anything I saw. As for the movie itself, 90+ minutes of sheer nonsense. Utter idiocy. Fortunately, that’s what I expected so there’s no disappointment there. The movie really does feel like a series of SNL skits more than a whole piece. That’s ok, because the smaller sections mostly work well on their own. It’s loaded with over-the-top scenes, but Will Ferrell is made perfectly for those situations. His humor often projects best when he’s just on the edge of totally losing it. I was laughing from the opening credits; it took the rest of the audience a bit longer to warm up, but the “I love scotch. Scotchy, scotchy, scotch. Scotch in my belly” was clearly a line made for me. The supporting performances are excellent, the many cameos are well placed, but come on; it’s all about the Will. I don’t think Anchorman is quite as good as Old School, or as charming as Elf. But in the summer, in the midst of all the other crap at your local multiplex, it’s the rare stupid movie that’s worth the $8.75 (or whatever you pay). I’ll eagerly anticipate the DVD this fall so I can go back and digest details I didn’t pick up in the first viewing, as well as what have to be classic outtakes.

I’m sure I’m not the only one who started laughing as soon as Vince Vaughn got on the screen.

Also worth noting, some jackass drove his Ferrari to the theater. We parked next to it when we bought our tickets, and had to navigate a crowd of preteen boys who were salivating over it. What kind of ego does it take to park your quarter million dollar car in a movie theater parking lot? Or total lack of intelligence, perhaps. I don’t know, you tell me.

Another pre-movie note, after dinner we walked from Qdoba down to Old Navy. Along the way, the Muzak caught my ear. It sounded familiar, but not quite right. When it got to the chorus, I confirmed they were indeed playing Morrissey’s “Everyday Is Like Sunday”. Now I know Morrissey is experiencing quite the revival thanks to his latest, highly praised album, and most excellent single “Irish Blood, English Heart”. But I couldn’t help but wonder if some of his early solo work was appropriate for a cheery, suburban shopping center. For those not familiar with his classic mopefest, the second verse goes as follows:
“Hide on the promenade/Etch on a postcard:/”How I dearly wish I was not here.”/In this seaside town/That they forgot to bomb/Come, come, come, nuclear bomb.” Yes, that makes me want to spend money! In Muzak’s defense, they did up the tempo and attempt to make it sound much happier than the original. But anyone who knows the song couldn’t help but think of cold, dark, damp Sundays in the UK. Maybe it was a plant by the anti-development lobby trying to drive people away from the suburban shopping centers? Hmmm, worth further investigation.

Moving along, I read George Pelecanos’ The Sweet Forever over the past week. His work had been recommended to me by a Mr. D. Smith and this was my first attempt to digest one of his novels. It’s a fine example of the modern crime novel, but is probably a better example of an author painting a scene by using music and events of an era. Taking place in Washington, DC in the spring of 1986, there are references to the music of RUN-DMC, Kurtis Blow, Experience Unlimited, The Replacements, the Psychedelic Furs, and The Jesus & Mary Chain along with games in that year’s NCAA tournament. What was most striking to me, though, was the strong presence of then Maryland star Len Bias. Throughout the book, drug dealers, drug addicts, and people trying to live in their midst stop what they’re doing to watch the local hero lead Maryland in the tournament. The book ends with an addict waking up in a post-binge fog, blowing a cocaine ravaged nose into a bloody Kleenex, and thinking that it’s time he made a change in his life. On a street corner, he sees a friend watching a TV, viewing images of Len Bias, with tears in his eyes. Pelecanos leaves it at that, but anyone who was a basketball fan in 1986 remembers the significance of June 19 that year.

I was sitting in my room that morning, having just watched The Price is Right. It was a warm, humid day, or at least that’s how I remember it. I was probably debating whether to go ride my bike, go shoot some hoops, practice some chipping in the backyard, or just continue to lie on the floor and stare at the TV. I was turning 15 the next day and probably already counting down the days until I could get my drivers license. Douglas Edwards came on to do the CBS newsbreak just before 11:00. He said something about Len Bias dieing of a drug overdose. What?!?! It was true; the man who had been chosen with the second pick in the NBA Draft by the World Champion Boston Celtics only two days earlier was dead. I remember just laying there and staring at the ceiling for the longest time.

Len Bias was going to be the next Michael Jordan. Hell, at that point, we didn’t know how good Jordan was going to be and many thought Bias would be better than Jordan. He came at the very end of an innocent time in college sports. College basketball was just beginning to saturate the cable waves in the winter. While Jordan spent his second NBA year healing his broken foot, two or three times a week the highlight shows were full of Bias’ latest doings. He really seemed like he could do anything on the court. Go inside and destroy people. Hit from the outside. Blow by people and take it to the rack. I’ll never forget the look of sheer joy on his face after he led the Terrapins to a win against North Carolina in the Dean Dome. Even he was in awe of what he had done that night. If you were 15 and still believed in athletes being heroes, he shone as brightly as almost anyone that winter. And then he was gone, with so much more in front of him. The early reports suggested he had used cocaine for the first time in his life at a post-draft party. I quickly made a vow that I would never, ever use any drugs, because I didn’t want what happened to Len Bias to happen to me. Almost 20 years later, other than a nasty caffeine habit and a nightly beer or scotch, it’s a vow I’ve stuck to.

Great books don’t just tell great stories, but they connect with you. The Sweet Forever may not be The Great American Novel, but it absolutely connected with me.

Little Pink Houses

July 8, 2004 / DB

Slow day, so I’m sitting here listening to the audio feed of OLN’s Tour de France coverage. Not all that dynamic. “The wind is really playing havoc with the race right now.” That doesn’t paint much of a picture for me. Much like my attempts to listen to the BBC’s Euro ’04 coverage a couple weeks back, anytime there’s real action, the feed breaks and goes into Buffering mode. Delicious.
We stopped into Babies R Us briefly last night, and it’s the first time I’ve been there and not heard a Kenny Loggins song. I swear, last time we were in there, when we were putting our registry into the system, I heard two different Loggins songs in 45 minutes. And it’s not like they were the good songs, like “I’m All Right” or “Danger Zone”. It was that pappy sappy crap from the late 70s. I don’t expect cutting edge music at a store that caters to the parents of babies. You can’t go blasting out the latest modern rock hits while newborns are already slobbering on themselves. But a little less Loggins wouldn’t hurt anyone.
In response to Stacey’s query yesterday, the beer she was so enamored with is Sam Adams’ Summer Ale. It’s a similar brew to Boulevard’s Zon, so that’s worth checking out too. When I offered her a Summer Ale, she had reached the ideal state of inebriation: the state where everything is fantastic, like you’re four years old and it’s Christmas morning. “This beer has everything I like. If I had to pick a beer for me, this would be it,” stated Stace. Damn, we have yet to purchase a camcorder, otherwise I could have taped her heart felt testimonial and got us some free beer or something.
As for the chickens, she told the story well. We were watching this crazy beagle that had just raced across a busy street to tear across the Hebert estate, when Stace said, “Are those chickens over there?” What she said didn’t register at first, since why would there be chickens in the suburbs, right? She said it again a few moments later, and I looked up to try to see what she was talking about. All I could see were yards, shrubbery, and trees. No chickens. No other wildlife that could be confused with chickens. “How many has she had today?” I wondered. Five minutes later, I glance across the road and there are six or seven chickens wandering around. So much for my attempts to convince you I live in swanky, modern suburbs. We’ve got a corn field across the road from our neighborhood and chickens running freely through major thoroughfares. Ain’t that America?

Weekend Roundup

July 7, 2004 / DB

Thanks to some Blogger downtime on Tuesday, an extra day off for the blog. It was an exciting holiday weekend in the Blog household, though. As mentioned Friday, the Johnson County Belfords paid us a visit. I’m afraid our fast paced lifestyle wore them down quickly, but they were troopers to stick to our rigorous schedule. Friday evening, we took them to the wife’s favorite pizza place, Bazbeaux’s in Broad Ripple. While dining under the stars, Pacers coach Rick Carlisle strode past us to pick up some carry out. It’s always a little frustrating to me to see former professional athletes who are not physically imposing. I imagine Carlisle had more talent than I could ever have hoped to posses, but his legs were near mirrors of the twigs I bump around town on. Very disappointing.
Saturday, we went to Bub’s, which is short for Big Ugly Burger, here in Carmel. If you eat the full pound (after cooking) burger, you get your picture on the wall. No one was man, or woman, enough to attempt more than the half pounder. But I was encouraged by the ease at which I threw that and about 2/3 of a basket of onion rings down. The next time I run a weekend race, I may have to give the true Big Ugly a shot. While dining, we were accosted by a waitress who is a student at K-State and no doubt spit in my Diet Coke, and later by a fellow KU alum that was sporting a Trolley Run shirt. Seeing my Kansas shirt, he came over and asked, “Do you go to KU?” I know I look young, but come on! Or perhaps my reputation for an extended academic career had preceded me. Anyway, I’ve now been to Bub’s three times, and on two occasions run into people from Kansas City. Weird.
That evening, we continued our run of eating out with a trip to Yat’s, a local Cajun eatery. I threw down a combo plate of red beans & sausage and their famous chili cheese etoufee. Excellent stuff! Following dinner, we retired to the Rathskeller for German styled beverages and conversation with friends. Rain squalls drove us in from the beer garden, but I enjoyed finally experiencing this downtown Indy landmark. First time I’ve been drunk in awhile, which is fun.
Sunday was the H family day to shine (it should be noted they accompanied us throughout the weekend). We used their backyard for lawn games including whiffle ball, whiffle golf, and bocce. John added to his reputation as a smoking savant by providing us with smoked chicken wings, followed by pork shoulder. I tried out a new recipe for barbecue baked beans which seemed to go over well.
Finally, on Monday, we ate lunch at Plump’s Last Shot, named after the player who Jimmy Chitwood’s character in Hoosiers was patterned after. Believe it or not, I had my first breaded pork tenderloin sandwich since moving to Indy. It was good, but I’m told there are places around town with much better offerings.
So it was an eventful weekend, from a food and beverage standpoint. I shudder to think what my total caloric intake was, though.

I consider myself to be in fairly good shape. I run 3-4 times a week, enough to go out and run a race in 8:30/mile pace. I’ve been going to the gym twice a week for months. Yet somehow my meager attempts to play whiffle ball just destroyed my hamstrings and glutes. I was still sore Tuesday morning and all we did was pitch and hit. There was no running involved.

We missed the cicada infestation of May-June but are finally getting some of the smaller broods in our woods. I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again: nothing says summer like the sound of cicadas on a warm evening.

I discovered last week if you squirt a squirrel on your bird feeder in just the right way with your Super Soaker, they scream. It’s fun. I nearly made one fall Tuesday. Some of the squirrels are smart and leap to safety as soon as I approach the door. But others wait far too long and get a good soaking, only to return in a couple minutes. Tuesday afternoon, after chasing a squirrel away, I watched some Carolina Chickadees float in to eat. Three Cardinals were eyeing me suspiciously from some low branches. And I could hear the House Finches I saw for the first time earlier in the day chatting in the leaves. While taking it all in, I looked up and saw the offending squirrel lying out on a branch, its front paws hanging below it, stomach resting on the limb, just staring at me. I blasted the hell out of that little varmint!

T-minus two days until Anchorman hits the big screens. I’ve already read one three star review on a reputable movie web site. I read somewhere last week that Will Ferrell has ten movies in some stage of production, including Anchorman. If Ferrell hadn’t called him an idiot in 2000, George W. Bush should really have thought about using the fact there are so many Ferrell movies as a sign the country is in better shape now than it was when he took office. That little tidbit just might get his approval ratings back up over 50% again. I recommend finding the Ron Burgundy audition for ESPN. I caught it on ESPNews last night. I’m sure it will be featured prominently on every ESPN program over the next three days.

Happy Fourth

July 2, 2004 / DB

Not much going on today. We have visitors coming in this afternoon (The Belfords, of the Johnson County Belfords) so I’ve got some cleaning to do. The lawn needs to be mowed before the obligatory holiday rain hits. I’m really hoping nothing work related comes up today. It’s nice to turn three day weekends into four day weekends.

Big new baby shout outs to the B’s, who welcomed little Sam into the world yesterday. Sam got his hands on the phone and dialed our number last night. He asked for the Little Girlfriend, but I had to tell him she’s not available for another 4-5 weeks. That kid has quite the vocabulary for a newborn!

As I said, rain is in the forecast here all weekend. We were hoping to go to the Indians game tomorrow night, then sample some famous Hebert smoked meats on Sunday. We’ll see how the game thing turns out, but I know meats can be smoked in any weather.

Everyone have a happy and safe Fourth of July holiday. I’m sure I’ll have lots of new stuff to share on Tuesday.

‘Tis The Season

June 30, 2004 / DB

‘Tis the season for life changes. This time last year, we had just moved, gone through our first wedding, preparing for the second, S. had finished one job and was preparing for another, I was learning how to work from home. This year, we’re getting down to the last few weeks of being prospective parents before we become real parents, I’m going through some changes in my job, we’re finishing the year-long “fill the house before the kids get here” project, we’re researching camcorders, and biggest of all, we’re about to switch from a PC to a Mac. Life is full of surprises! Along with this wave of activity has come some strange writer’s block. I can’t seem to find anything that charges up my creative juices this week. On my run last night, I thought about a few things that seemed blog-worthy, but by the time I got home, stretched, showered, and ate dinner, they had all passed.

I am going to the dentist for the first time in at least six years later this afternoon. I know it’s been longer than that, just can’t recall exactly how long. I was a strict twice a year guy until the one year I didn’t have dental coverage. Taking that year off somehow destroyed my habit of going, and I’ve never been back since. Fortunately, I’ve never had any trouble with my teeth, so hopefully this will just mean they give me the especially tough abuse they save for people who haven’t been diligent about visits. Perhaps that visit will generate some stories worthy of sharing.

More later, perhaps…

Happy Anniversary, Blog!

June 28, 2004 / DB

What does one get a blog for its first anniversary? More storage space? New fonts? Lots of links? I gave it the weekend off and $10 to have a couple drinks. The whole point of starting the blog was to use it as an electronic postcard back to my friends in Kansas City, as well as those scattered elsewhere in the country, after moving to Indianapolis last summer. Along the way, I wouldn’t have minded if I wrote something exceptionally brilliant that got some attention from an outside source that launched my brilliant literary career. I think I’ve accomplished goal #1 pretty well. I guess #2 with be a focus for year #2. My thanks to all of you who have added comments or sent e-mails over the last 12 months. The feedback is what lets me know I’m not just writing a diary, but serving an audience. With a baby on the way, the coming year promises all kinds of good blog material.

We had an excellent weekend. Saturday we went downtown for a long walk along the canal, and then had Mexican food at about 4:00 because the Little Girlfriend was hungry. Sunday, we did some shopping (purchases included a Super Soaker for spraying squirrels on the bird feeder) then went to the in-laws for a shower. That meant last night, when I was tired from the sun hitting my eyes at 5:15 AM, we were putting together a swing, trying to figure out the car seat, and organizing books. Preparation for every Christmas Eve for the next 20 years, I suppose. Now that we have the car seat, we’re literally ready for the baby. I’m not sure if she’s ready, though. I keep hearing how late in the pregnancy, the baby’s movements will lessen as they run out of space and move into position for delivery. This kid was going nuts all weekend. She now sticks her ass (or what we think is her ass) waaaaay out and wiggles it, moves her arms or legs around, and switches her back from side-to-side in mommy’s belly. Other fun games are stop on the bladder and punch the lungs.

A conversation between a married couple:
Wife: You know, I’ll be the first to admit I’ve been very luck with pregnancy and haven’t had any problems so far, but I’ve been pretty pleased with how things have gone. But those women who say they miss being pregnant are nuts.
Husband, roughly ten minutes later: So what was it you said about women who wish they were pregnant again awhile ago?
Wife: Oh, they’re crazy!

In my epic read adventure for 2004, I finally hit a wall. I checked out three books from the library three weeks ago. I raced through The Fortress of Solitude. No problem. I started Alan Paton’s Cry, The Beloved Country which is a novel about South Africa in the 1940s two weeks ago. Normally when I start a book, I work through the first 50 pages slowly, then hit my pace and quickly get through the rest. For some reason, I just couldn’t connect with this book. It’s a compelling story, beautifully written, but I just couldn’t progress. I took it and book #3 back to the library yesterday on their due date rather than renew. I feel like a failure. Expect for the fact I bought a book Friday night and had finished it by Sunday morning. For those into politics, Thomas Frank’s What’s the Matter With Kansas? is a very interesting read. Frank, who was raised in Johnson County and went to KU but now lives in Chicago, explores how the extreme right wing has taken over the political structure in Kansas, decimating what was a traditionally moderate Republican dominated system and taking a history of left wing radicalism and swinging it to the opposite side of the political spectrum. Even if you’re not from Kansas (I know a few of you break out in hives if you have any contact with the state) or consider yourself a conservative, it’s a valuable primer on how political decisions are made by citizens in this era

Where Were You When?

June 24, 2004 / DB

I finally heard the trade rumor I’ve been waiting for: Paul Pierce to the Pacers. Unfortunately, it came in a column that was being funny rather than serious. But, as my wife said, a boy can dream.

I found this list of questions yesterday on a blog I frequent. Some outstanding cultural milestones in our lives worth remembering and sharing. Your memories are welcome in the comments.

Where were you when you heard that Ronald Reagan died?
Sitting on the couch reading something when my wife saw the crawler on CNN and told me about it.
Where were you on September 11, 2001?
I had just arrived at work and was getting some coffee when one of my least favorite coworkers came in and told me a plane had hit the World Trade Center. I tried to get away from her as quickly as possible thinking, “I don’t know what’s really happened, but this can’t be the person I will always remember told me about this.” I remember how slow all the major news websites were working that morning then going down to one of our conference rooms to watch coverage after the towers had collapsed.
Where were you when you heard that Princess Diana died?
We had just returned to Bella after a night out in Westport or on the Plaza. Stayed up at least an hour watching CNN.
Do you remember where you were when you heard that Kurt Cobain had died?
As discussed here in the past, sitting on my bed reading a book about college basketball recruiting. I had the radio turned on at low volume and noticed the DJ seemed to be talking a lot. Turned it up and found out why.
Take one for the Gipper: what’s your favorite flavor of jelly bean?
Can’t say that I have a favorite. I generally eat anything in the bag except for the black licorice flavor. And I pretty much only eat jelly beans if someone else bought them and put them in front of my face.
Where were you when Magic Johnson announced he was retiring from the NBA due to HIV?
Brushing my teeth, getting ready to go to work at the cafeteria in McCollum Hall. When I got to work, I told one of my basketball buddies who didn’t believe me. He was a Celtics fan and thought I was just trying to mess with him. “You better not be joking because that’s pretty sick.” Why would I joke about that?!?!
Where were you when Reagan was shot?
Sitting in Mr. Dice’s class in 4th grade at Norfleet Elementary school. Mrs. Patterson came running in and said “The President’s been shot!” and they wheeled a TV in so we could watch the coverage.
Where were you when the Challenger exploded?
I first heard about it combing my hair in the boys restroom at Raytown High (That’s what we did after lunch, we combed our hair. Literally, no Weird Science euphemisms here.) Found out for sure when I got to science class two periods later. Our math teacher refused to speak about it.
Where were you when the OJ verdict was announced?
Sitting in my apartment in Lawrence. I had a roommate that year that was from Peru who started tossing racial bombs when the verdict was announced. We were scrambling to shut the windows before he got us all shot.

There’s A Team Called The Bobcats?!?!

June 23, 2004 / DB

We’re approaching the one year anniversary of the blog, which has brought the question, “Will you be breaking down the NBA Draft this year?” The answer: I’m not sure. A couple reasons for this vague response. First, last year I was highly interested in the order of the selections, with two Jayhawks expected to be lottery picks. It was the first big event I was able to watch on the big screen. LeBron was involved. It was an opportunity to kick the blog off with a bang. Finally, the lottery was full of players I had heard of and seen play many times. This year, there are no KU players looking at lottery selections (although rumor has it Jeff Graves is a solid 14-16 pick) and I don’t know who two-thirds of the players who will be picked early are. That said, if I find myself sitting on the couch tomorrow night with laptop on lap, I may very well put some thoughts together.

After a week off, Freak Boy called again last night.

For those interested, some bird and beer updates.
Our squirrels discovered the bird feeder Monday. Little fuckers ate their way through about half the feeder before I could chase them off long enough for birds to take over in the afternoon. The chipmunk was out munching dropped leftovers Tuesday morning. A pair of Mourning Doves occasionally drops down from our high trees to feed. My favorites the Cardinals are ever-present now, including several males who seem to be attempting to steal the one female from her mate. Tuesday afternoon, a pair of Carolina Chickadees showed up. These little guys are awesome! I would run out to shoot a water gun at the squirrels and the Chickadees would immediately swoop in. They’d grab seeds and sit less than three feet from my head, staring at me while they crunched. Good times.

In the bar, I’ve added Rogue Brewery’s Oregon Golden Ale. Hoppy, a little more than I prefer, but still a refreshing summer brew from one of Portland’s finest. For an old classic, I threw in a six pack of Mackeson’s Triple Stout. A milk stout, it’s much sweeter than Guinness, although not quite as good. It was the first stout I ever drank so it brings back fond memories of the fall after I turned 21.

Freak Boy And The Genius

June 16, 2004 / DB

As noted a week ago, I’ve got a phone stalker. Freak Boy is the guy who accosted me in the office chair section at Costco a few weeks back. For some reason I gave him my cell phone number and he left a message a little over a week ago saying he was looking forward to talking to me. Since that message, he’s called five more times. Twice when I was in Portland. Once over the weekend. Last night. Tonight. Which begs the question: unless you’re dating someone and getting the cold shoulder, why do you continue to call someone who isn’t answering nor returning your messages? It’s becoming equal parts scary and sad.

I know there’s a certain element (mostly those who don black and gold during college football and basketball seasons) who roll their eyes each time I expound on the genius of Larry Brown. Now that the NBA Finals are over, I think we can all agree that Larry is a true basketball genius. What the Pistons did to the Lakers is absolutely amazing. They made a team that was compared to the 96 Bulls, 87 Lakers, and 84 Celtics look bad. Really bad. If you don’t watch much NBA basketball, you have to understand, there just aren’t upsets in the Finals. There are upsets in the earlier rounds of the playoffs, but not in the Finals. It doesn’t happen. Ever. If you told me Detroit was going to win, I would have thought it could only happen if they somehow extended the series to seven games and got lucky in the fourth quarter of game seven. I would have expected that either Shaq or Kobe would have missed at least one game to injury. Never would I have thought it was going to be a fairly easy five game triumph, which could have been a sweep if not for one amazing shot. Much like the 1988 Kansas team he coached to an NCAA title, Brown coached the Pistons to believe in themselves at exactly the right time. The Pistons were lucky to score 25 points a quarter against the Pacers in the Conference Finals. Against the Lakers, they suddenly found their flow, started scoring more easily, and became a team that was fun to watch instead of an embarrassment to the game. The fourth quarter of game five was a joy to watch. The Pistons were all grins, playing free and loose, and until the last two minutes when things got silly, they were hitting everything. Bravo to Larry and the Pistons. Now the Pacers need to trade for Tracy McGrady so they can compete with Detroit next year.

I’m off to Arizona later today, but someone remind me that I need to comment on Larry Bird’s statement regarding white players in the NBA.

I’ve Got A High-Flying Life Style That’s Getting In The Way

June 14, 2004 / DB

I’ve not very smartly scheduled a trip to Arizona for the next two days. Actually I was told I should join someone else who was traveling out west this week. This comes after my trip last week, which I’m still trying to wrap up my list of To-Do’s from. So time is a bit tight this week. So tight I managed to totally forget about following the Italy-Denmark match yesterday in the European Soccer Championships. My love for Italia has waned somewhat since the heyday of the mid-90s, but the Azzurri are still my favored international side. I’m also quite enamored of the Dutch style of play, and favor the tradition the English national team brings to each match. As always, though, what’s most important is each game is played fairly. (I’m preparing for my future as a youth soccer coach.)

A very exciting bird update. For the last several afternoons, a peek outside the front windows has brought the pleasant site of the bright red male cardinal picking at the shrubbery in our front yard while his orange-beaked life partner skips through our grass looking for seeds. I hadn’t seen her since the winter, so it’s good to see homey is getting some. I’ve seen him chasing other males off, so she must be pretty hot by bird standards. I took some pictures Saturday. I’ll see if any are worthy of posting.

No sign of the raccoons recently, but I did see a freaking chipmunk hoping around our front yard yesterday. Little fuckers dig up the ground around our flowers and shrubs.

We’ve reached the point in pregnancy where there’s just no room left in S.’s belly. Where we used to feel the Little Girlfriend flip and flop, now she seems to move in a much smaller radius. Her booty (or what we assumed was her booty) was sticking out last night. Seemed like she was wriggling around trying to get comfy. I can’t reproduce the exact soundtrack, but S.’s reaction was something like this:
“Oooo!”
“Ouch!”
“Whoa sister!”
“Hey, those are my ribs!”
“Arrrgggghhh!”
No, S. did not try to pinch the Little Girlfriend’s ass. I patted it a couple times, but S. registered strong displeasure with the sensation she received shortly afterwards. I guess feet to the bladder don’t feel so great but what do I know?