WhimsyLand

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I was a little weirded out hearing that Michael died a few days after posting a video of him. 

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I'm picking up Der at the airport later today, so that he can rest up for his next fabulous trip.  The next one (fresh on the proverbial heels of his Spanish/Provence adventure) will be an extended hitchhike with Max down Pacific Coast Highway.  They became consummate Freegans on their "around the States" trip last summer, so I expect this trip will be less expensive than one would expect.  Also, there's my parents and my siblings to mooch off visit, not to mention a stay at Lin and Roy's ranchette in Arroyo Grande.  Sweet Junie has helpfully composed a list of household projects for Der, which should contribute to topping off his trip fund.  Looking at the list (it's on the fridge, under the ancient tropical fish magnet), better he than I, I'm thinking.

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I tried Tuscan Grilled Chicken from Cook's Illustrated last night.  The one where you cut through the backbone of a whole fryer (mine was a 2-pound RedBird), flatten it out, marinate in olive oil and herbs, and BBQ under a brick.  I didn't have a brick so I used this heavy aluminum dutch oven, which wasn't heavy enough, so I filled it with about a third of the coins from my giant change jar.  Which I should take to a bank as soon as I can find one that has a coin counter.  I'll be damned if I'll pay CoinStar 8% to count it.

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I think magazines have taken over my life.  Between Atlantic, Harper's, SciAm, Architectural Digest, Wine Spectator, Cook's Illustrated, Money, Business Week, Wired, Rolling Stone, Time, The Economist, 3 poetry mags, and 3 literary journals, it's beginning to feel more like a job than an enjoyment.

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I finally figured out how to take a picture with my little red Juke.  Actually, I had taken exactly one picture before of Sweet Junie, so I could have some pretty screen wallpaper.  I was helping out at the annual bash for the Boulder County Arts Alliance, when I realized that I really needed to shoot some of the fabulousity of it all, and there was the little red Juke in my front jeans pocket, the pocket where you would put a pocket watch, if anybody had a pocket watch anymore.  Actually, I guess they do, but it's now called a cell phone, so what better place to put it.

Anyway, the bash was held at Betsy the Board Member's truly amazing home in Apple Valley, just down the road from Lyons.  It's about an acre of lawn and gardens, with a small main house and a guest house, all towered over by this gigantic red rock butte.  Oh, and a river runs through it.  Really.  Artists of all stripes were there displaying and selling, and I bought a cool tie with a mullet painted on it (the fish, not the hair style).