MonsterVision

In stunning Technicolor™!

The Monster came to live with me just before Easter.% We spent a happy day playing with my new camera† and these are the results.




We started with a glamour shot‡ by the train yard.




A train came by. And the conductor *waved* at us. It may be the single greatest moment in Monster history.




LoDo§ from the wrong side of the tracks.




There was some construction we watched for awhile. They were assembling a crane.




Like this. O hai! Crane!




We headed west past the skate park¶ to stand on the bridge over the South Platte.




A nice bicyclist thought I looked awkward holding The Monster at arm's length# to get a good river picture, so he stopped to help. Not a lot of monsters wave at train conductors and make new friends all in one day.††




It was time to get down to some serious art.‡‡ Like Common Ground, the picturesque stairway to nowhere.




We started on one side of the stairway.




Took in some rays.




Used all our America's Next Top Model training to work with our surroundings.




Played with camera angles.

Climbed the stairs, crested the summit and found a bunch of irritated, stoned emo kids hiding from the cold, cruel world there. Stepped over them and went down the other side.




Kiss the ground, we made it.




Took a moment in the shade.




"I win!"




Oh, no! MONSTER JAIL!




Braved trespass charges§§ to sit on someone's front steps.




The Monster would like to conclude with a little Public Service Announcement.¶¶ Remember kids: the more you know...


%FOOTNOTE (percented): A gift from someone who knows I am fully capable of stuffed monster wrangling as an art form.

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Canon G12, for those of you scoring at home.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Flowers make everything more glamourous.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Lower Downtown. Used to be a scary industrial area. Now the hub of tragic hipness and kids you want to throw off your lawn.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Which we decided to skip. You know how hard it is to get pot smoke residue out of a monster?

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Poor, sweet man; he didn't realise that "awkward" is just my natural state of being.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): I can say this, as am now expert on monsters.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): No art is as serious as art you can climb on.

§§FOOTNOTE (boggle): Seriously - I opened a gate and went in for that shot. Totally worth it since I didn't get caught.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (magic wands): Let's just consider that proactive community service to balance out our prior trespassing on private property. Kharma!

It's 39° and Raining in Prague

Yesterday at noon, Hans whisked his girlfriend Angie away from work for a surprise trip.

Yesterday at 6:30, they took off for Prague.

BFD, you may think, particularly if you've gleaned any sense of Hans's travel habits over the last few years.†

This time, thought, he's taking his girlfriend on a trip and bringing home a fiancée.‡

He spent the last month planning, agonising over diamonds and settings, wondering how much his bonus would actually be, asking advice. He found an American photographer in Prague§ and hired him to take pictures of the proposal on the Charles Bridge.¶

At 4:30 yesterday, my boss and one of the other leads asked me if I'd heard from Hans.#

"No. I don't really expect to..." I trailed off as I saw the consternation mixed with disbelief in their eyes.

"I'll text him right now."

And we sat around, Craig Ferguson-style awkward pause in the air.

"Well..." I said, jingling my keys to indicate I really was on my way out the door.

"You'll tell us tomorrow morning."

About 6:15, Hans texted:

"She was shocked, it was awesome."

Keep in mind, that was just because he picked her up to go to the airport.

When I got in this morning, Avis% asked, "Did you hear from Hans?"

"He says she was shocked and it was awesome."

"Where are they now? What time is it in Prague? Has he asked her yet?"

I Googled to find out it was 5:45 in Prague.

"Right about now. He should be asking her any second now."

"Oh, I hope the weather is nice. Did you see what the weather was?"

"Just the time. Here, let me Google... it's raining. It's 39 degrees and it's raining."

"Oh, no! I hope it doesn't ruin their pictures!"

"Well, overcast skies are better for photography anyway..."††

From around the corner, Carla@ chimed in from her desk, "Look at you, looking on the bright side!"

People keep dropping in to find out what we know, speculate on what happened, wonder if Hans has Internet access so he can send us pictures RIGHT NOW.

Gail‡‡ came down a few minutes ago and we were chatting about it.

"I can't believe how excited I am about something that really has nothing to do with me," I said.

"I know!"

"It's like reality TV or something."§§

"It's like we're living in reality."

We both contemplated the sobering idea for a moment, then went on to daydream about wonderful, romantic, surprise proposals in exotic foreign lands.

Hey, maybe I can be Hans's best man...¶¶


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Like how he went to Thailand when we were in crunch time for the Legacy sale... or how he went to Cancun when we were in crunch time for the Albrecht sale... or how he went to Austin when we were in crunch time for the Sequel sale... not that I'm bitter.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Yep! He's trading Angie in on a new model! Haha! Just kidding!

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Google.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): When he was about 20, he was stumbling around Prague in a drunken stupour with some of his college buddies - absinthe may have been involved - and he says that even in his drunken, juvenile state, he stopped on the St. Charles bridge and decided it was the most romantic place in the world and he wanted to come back to it when he wanted to propose to someone. I can hear you "Awwwwwww" from here.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): This is a distinctly female trait. I'm, like, 70% guy, having been trained through many of my formative years by some of the guyest of the guys. It always takes me a little aback when someone asks something like, "Has Hans, who is not your boyfriend, relative or parole officer, taken time out of his very personal journey to one of the most important moments of his life to give you minute-by-minute updates, much like the newscrawl on CNN?"

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Avis is my boss, head of the Lease Records part of the Land Administration department, which consists of two branches - Lease Records and Division Orders - and is overseen by Sandy. You're welcome.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): I learned this in a real photography class. I wasn't just shooting platitudes to the masses to make the masses feel better.

@FOOTNOTE (atted): Carla is the another Lead in Lease Records and oversees the Gulf/Shreveport (basically Texas and Louisiana) region. I oversee the Rockies (Colorado, Montana, North Dakota, South Dakota and Utah... but mostly North Dakota). Again, you're welcome.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Who fielded the girly questions from Hans (who knows I'm 70% guy and maybe not the best person to ask for how Ange would feel about something). She says he'd come in and say, "If you were packing for a surprise trip, how much time would you need?" "Hans," she'd say, "why don't you just ask the question you want to ask: how much time will Angie need to pack? I'm not packing. I'm not going anywhere. Two hours, but you better be packed and on call to pick up pantyhose or mascara or whatever last-minute thing she thinks she needs."

§§FOOTNOTE (my girly little head is just all a-swirl!): I've heard it's like that on reality TiVi. *ahem*

¶¶FOOTNOTE (reality knocks twice): *ZING!* That was the sound of reality going right out the window.

Oh, Wow.

You guys really are listening.

So a duck walks into a bar...

Is This Thing On?

Can you hear me in the back?

Some NFL Teams Should be Pink*

I am NOT going to talk about what happened at the Broncos Raiders game last week.†

I will, however, make a brief‡ observation on the NFL.




Many of the teams that most need to be pink aren't.§

When all the snide and snark drains away, I still want this:




I have all kinds of good Nintendo stuff,¶ Liberace stuff,# mascara stuff†† and maybe even a bit of knitting stuff.‡‡

Really... stay tuned!§§


*FOOTNOTE (asterisked... no, seriously): That's "pink" as in "Victoria's Secret," not "Pink" as in "Get This Party Started."

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Brother texted me: "What the hell happened? I came in, it was 0-0, I put the groceries away, it was 14-0" While I was answering him, trying to find different ways to say "suck," they scored again. Dr. Doom opted for donuts at Safeway as a viable fun alternative to the game. OK, now I'm really not going to talk about it. And it truly takes a saint not to bitch about such a debacle.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Look how funny I am! I made a panty pun!

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Detroit Lions, I'm looking at you.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Wii! (and in my head that's "wheeeee!" so it's another sort of pun, just doesn't translate well to print)

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Really.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Really.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Shock and awe!

§§FOOTNOTE (the mind boggles. Twice.): This blog is what RSS feed was MADE for.

Heady Stuff

How much more cooler can you get with a cupcake wrapper? None. None more cooler.

Because this cupcake wrapper goes to eleven.

Word of the Day

Hey, look! It's my middle name!†


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Those footnotes aren't just for decoration, baby.‡

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Plus, Marin Anacoluthia Untiedt has such a nice ring to it.

My Life in Munitions Engineering

Christmas my freshman year in college, my father gave me a book called "Discover What You're Best At."† It consisted of a number of sections, each with an SAT/IQ-style test to evaluate the test-taker's proficiency at a career skill like logic, clerical, business acumen.

When I got back to my dorm room in January, I dutifully waited for my roommate to go out catting about‡ so I could have the two hours' required uninterrupted peace to get through the tests. I tested. Carefully, I tallied my scores.

I was off the charts in all categories%... except one.

You know those spatial relations tests? The ones where they show you a bunch of cubes stacked together in a configuration, then ask you to choose which one is the same, but from a different angle? That one, not so much.

Checking my scores against the career possibilities listed in the back of the book, it said I could be anything I set my pointy little head to§ except a mechanical engineer or munitions expert.

It said nothing about modular knitting. Maybe it should have.

As I may have mentioned, I'm knitting two Tamarix Quilt baby blankets¶ for my two favourite# cousins.

Now, you†† can knit the thing in 100 individual squares and sew them all together. Or you can knit it together as you go along and *not* sew 100 individual squares together.

I hear you.

Heather, the designer, is very graciously shepherding@ a KAL on Ravelry. Damned good thing for some of us who are destined never to field strip an AK-47.

There's a tutorial in the magazine, part of the pattern practically, that shows how to knit the whole thing together as you‡‡ go. Problem is, my spatial retardation doesn't allow me to go there without a fight.

First, she gives instructions on how to join a square on the left or on the right. It took me ten minutes to figure out whether it was the new knitting or the old square on the left... but I got that one on my own.

Then I cast on the requisite 39 stitches for a new square, picking them up along the edge of the existing square. Only I didn't think far enough ahead to realise that 39 stitches is two sides of a square, so I should only have picked up 19 or 20 stitches, then cast on the rest. I was halfway through the new square before I realised something was horribly wrong.

THEN, since I was knitting from left to right, it never occurred to me to think right AND left. I assumed if *I* was going from left to right, the only way anything could be done was to join the old knitting on the left end of the new knitting.




NOW I've finished the first row of squares. I told Heather I was planning on knitting ten strips of squares and sewing them together, and she pointed out§§ that I¶¶ could knit the whole thing together as I went along.

*blink blink blink*

I am paralysed. How should I proceed? Should I 1) dive in and try to knit, sometimes joining on two sides, 2) stick with my original ten-strips-and-sew plan, or 3) try building a bridge in my living room for mechanical aptitude practice?^





†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Possibly as a reaction to me telling him I was a theatre major.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): I believe it was 2.2 seconds, a statistic to make Porsche jealous. My first roommate was... social.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Which, by the way, did nothing to help me discover what I was *best* at.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): "Free to Be... You and Me" is earworming me like a mother right now - those Target commercials don't help

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): From the latest Interweave Knits.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): ...and most fertile.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): And by "you," I mean "I."

@FOOTNOTE (atted): Ha! Sheep joke!

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): I

§§FOOTNOTE (I am incapable of straight thinking): Very optimistically, given my proven inability to turn right when the situation called for it.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (beat the drum slowly): And by "I," I mean "Heather or some other munitions expert."

^FOOTNOTE (careted): Or - and I just thought of this one - I could knit in a spiral, forcing me to knit the last square together with FOUR other squares. To gain saint points, of course.

p.s. -

Responsible bloggers don't drink and blog.

Aren't you glad I *pffffft* in the face of responsibility?

Excuse #8

The "Why I Have Neglected My Blog" series:

The sun was in my eyes?

Dear IRS...

Could this make mailing the tax check palatable?†


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Pun *totally* intended

The Moment You've All Been Waiting For

At least it's the moment I've been dying to share with you.†

[SUMMARY: Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.]

I shan't drag you through the litany of "stuck in the camera" and "busy at work" and all that. You know the song, I'll let you sing it on your own.

Suffice to say I finished Dr. Doom's Christmas sweater around the end of January,‡ then through the vagaries of joint custody, finally got it to him mid-February.

I took the basic top-down raglan sweater,§ I've been using for everything Nephew, added a textured alligator belly through the miracle of intarsia-in-the-round, then winged it on the sleeves.¶

%





It was the winging it part that really mucked up the works.

There I'd be in my chair at work, madly correcting, explaining, marketing, e-schmoozing and otherwise getting the job done, when suddenly, sleeve panic would hit me and I'd start doing the alligator thing with my elbows,# using paper clips to mark the place where alligator lips should be and re-figuring where alligator mouth should go...

[SUMMARY: Every person does multi-tasking in his own way.]

Is it any wonder I was so absent for so long? I had a lot going on.

In the end, I think it worked out pretty well.




But the true test is how it works for Dr. Doom.

[SUMMARY: Proof, meet pudding.]

First, getting naked in Chipotle.††




Then test-driving the beast.






Why, arm, what big teeth you have!




Let's see, important knitting stuff:

First, this is the proudest knitting moment of my knitterly life. It's the closest I've come to designing something, and it's something unique and cool and interesting and wowing and I'm just so tickled.

The sweater was originally inspired by this genius shirt from the Discovery Channel Store. I quickly realised that a white and pale grey shirt was no match for a five-year-old supervillain, so I decided to go with the classic gator.

Other than the pupils of the eyes, which are Dark Horse Fantasy, the whole thing is knit in Cascade 220 Superwash.

I made nose-holes‡‡ of I-cord loops.

The eyes took as long as the rest of the sweater put together. I had alligator eyes all over my living room for weeks. When one gets a solid vision of what one wants, it's hard for one to accept anything different.§§

One thing I believe the pattern misses, and that I missed too, is that when you put the sleeve stitches on holders to knit the body, you cast on an inch under the arm.

Which - and this is very important - adds two inches to the body of the sweater.

[SUMMARY: Math even I can do.]

On the one hand, I was delighted to get gauge. On the other, getting gauge meant I was the full two inches bigger than I wanted.

I had planned to sew up the sides, take out a couple of inches, but figured I'd better try it on the good Doctor first.¶¶ Yes, it's just a bit too big.

The neck is also big, being unfinished. I knit a nice 3-2 rib collar about 37 times and it always seemed too small.## So I left it unfinished for maximum headroom. Yes, it's just a bit too big.

I told Brother I wanted to take it home and finish it properly and he assured me Doom will be wearing a t-shirt under it most of the time, so aesthetically it's OK.

[SUMMARY: Aesthetics are what you're looking for in a sweater for a five-year-old.]

I don't know if he doesn't want to put me out or if he's afraid they'll never see it if I get my grubby hands on it again.

Hey! We've had a fair amount of knitting around here lately. You'd almost think this was still a knitblog.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): And, y'know, it's all about me. And my lamp.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): And I would've finished it *much* faster if Dr. Doom hadn't given me a VERY COMPELLING game for my Nintendo DS for Christmas. *ahem*

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): And I'm not sure why I keep using this one, except that it's familiar. The sizing is all wrong, vis-a-vis boys S-M-L. I always ask Brother to measure a shirt that fits, then try to match the inches from there.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Wing... sleeves... heheheheheh... I'm funny.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): With the new office, I no longer have a clean white wall behind a hanger to photograph my sweaters. Whatever shall I do now?

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Sound effect: "RAWR!"

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Note the find cow hat on Brother's head, a Valentine's present from his favourite Seester. He brings me Icelandic sludge and lopi, I bring him cow hats.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): nostrils-nose holes ... to-may-to, to-mah-to.

§§FOOTNOTE (twisted definition time): Read: lesser.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (you can beat it into my head): I may not be a math genius, but I do have my moments of clarity.

##FOOTNOTE (square head, round hole, pound pound): Which I determined by trying to fit it over my own head, under the suspicion that heads grow less than anything else in a person's life, therefore kid heads must be nearly as large adult heads.

Google is a Harsh Mistress

Mom and Dad used to play S&M† and Kings in the Corner, vicious little card games that led to lots of trash talking and certain bragging rights.

Dad and the Peach have been playing Kings in the Corner, but Dad wants to branch into S&M.‡

"Didn't you say you found the rules online a couple of years ago?" he asked.

"Yeah, through the magic of Google," said I.

[SUMMARY: This is not subtle foreshadowing.§]

*************

From: "Dad"
To: "Marin"
Sent: Thursday, January 28, 2010
9:08:43 PM GMT -07:00 US/Canada Mountain
Subject: S & M

Daughter,
I googled "S & M", "Sadism & Masochism" , then put "card game" behind each... went through about a dozen pages of sex topics¶ without finding anything about the game.
Help?
dad

*************

[SUMMARY: You knew it was coming, but you still laughed.#]

I had to remind him it stands for "Spite & Malice."


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Stop it. That's my DAD you're sniggering at.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Enough! I don't laugh at your father's predilections. Of course, if you blog about them, I might.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): But you're going to laugh when you get to the punchline anyway.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I know we're not talking about my Dad's weirdities, but does anyone else think there's a sitcom moment in the fact that he apparently continued to browse through dozens of sex sites before he called for help?

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Told you so.

@RANDOM ADDITIONAL FOOTNOTE (atted): What do you suppose this post will do to *my* Google searchability?

I Kid You Not

I call this piece "Stress in Repose on Wazamba Tube Adrift a Field of Rampant Spreadsheets"

We have a monthly department meeting here in the Land of Big Oil.† To entice people to fail to skip it, there is birthday cake and a raffle.

The raffle usually consists of four gift cards to Starbucks, Jamba Juice, etc., and one coveted "get two free vacation hours" certificate.‡

Yesterday, they cleaned out the prize closet and gave everybody something with the company logo on it. There were many soccer-themed stress balls and apparently a more limited number of tape measure/levels.

Coincidentally, there are many women and only a more limited number of men in the department.

So the women got the balls and the men got the measuring devices.

Forty-two-year-old me bit twelve-year-old me's tongue really hard to stem the flow of inappropriate jokes.§

There are no such restrictions on you.¶


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Well, medium-sized oil.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): I won one of those a couple of months ago. They made me trade for a Starbucks card.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): The only thing the little angel on my shoulder let me say was, "We are all now eligible for the St. Mary Stress Soccer League." It was funnier in person.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Kim? Can I lob you a softball? OH! That's what she said!

Wherefore Art Thou, Cuisinart?

Herefore art I!†

UPDATE: In response to my‡ inquiry, Williams-Sonoma contacted me yesterday to let me know the food processor of my dreams§ is now available for mail order.

As it will not be in stores for at least a week, and then only in limited quantities, I shelled out the extra $30 to have it delivered to my doorstep.

[SUMMARY: Obsession can be an expensive thing.]

It will be home tomorrow.

You're welcome.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): I think I'm funny.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): ...somewhat stressy, breathe-in-a-bag-style...

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Though not the one where I save the world by teaching Vladmir Putin to dance.

How Fortunate

Which was just going to be a one-off smart-ass post, only I got a call yesterday afternoon from the client that gave me the Tiffany necklace a couple of years ago† and she has an extra club level seat for the Rockies game this afternoon.‡

By the time you read this, I will be sipping a mid-afternoon ballpark beer§ and musing to myself, "Self,¶ I wonder what the poor people are doing right now."#


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): I say this not to highlight the Tiffany necklace aspect, of course, but simply for context.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Also for context, as I also went to the Rockies on her [very nice and exclusive club level seats] ticket before.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Y'know... after the four-course steak lunch at Sullivan's. With wine. 'Cause nothing warms you up for ballpark beer like a fine Chianti.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I always call myself "Self."

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Dad says the correct answer is, "Who cares?"

Animal Lefts

Oh, PETA, you silly set of idle hands.

Yesterday, when every news headline and video outlet on the Innernet† was doing play-by-play, replay, colour commentary and recap on President Obama's battle with a pesky fly...




...I said, "I'm surprised we haven't heard from PETA yet."

I was *joking*.

Because I think I'm funny.

Y'know... hyperbole?

[SUMMARY: This is the definition of comic irony.]

Now, in tracking down a news account of PETA's involvement, I ran across another PETA cause that will undoubtedly be buried behind the shiny, media-friendly fly story‡: Pike Place fish flingers are doing a fish-tossing demonstration for some veterinary association gathering.

Important to note:

1. The fish are dead.
2. The fish will be eaten when it's over.
3. These are trained, professional fish flingers.
4. This is all done under veterinary supervision.

We all know how PETA feels about fishing.

Apparently fish flinging is just as bad. Live or dead, fish are our friends.




[SUMMARY: It's all very fishy.§]

The Muppets are in SUCH trouble.¶


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Hint: there are LOTS of them.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Moscagate!

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): See? This is the comedic genius that quipped that PETA would have something to say about fly-swatting. PETA is in SUCH trouble.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): And don't get me started on you, Leslie Uggams!

A Casa Bonita con Doctor Fatalidad†

You may have heard of Casa Bonita.




You may have heard that I went there last week for Dr. Doom's birthday.‡

Ah, Casa Bonita, giant pink adobe palace of the Queen City of the Plains.




For those of you out of state and unfamiliar, here is what Casa Bonita is all about§:




Tallest, Hairiest Nephew had just learned about the history of Colfax¶ in school that day, so he hipped us to some Casa Bonita facts:

1. Casa Bonita was built in 1973 and opened in 1974.
2. At a cost of $2 million.
3. With no blueprints used.

I find it a little frightening that a place with so many levels and a giant water feature in the middle was built without blueprints.




Casa Bonita has many, many live entertainment opportunities. Cliff divers, shoot-outs, wandering mariachis.




It keeps kids completely enthralled.




Until weaponry is offered.




Anyway, the purpose of the whole debacle was Dr. Doom's fifth birthday.# He requested an Army theme,†† so we had masks and helmets. I believe you've met Brother and Tallest, Hairiest Nephew.‡‡




I'd like to introduce you to the Peach, Dad's fiancee.§§




And I had to ask the FSIL@ if the cake was professionally done¶¶ because wouldn't this be an excellent Cake Wreck?




Of course, everything looks better by candlelight.##




Even Dr. Doom has that soft glow.




Once the candles go off, of course%...




There is a gift shop at Casa Bonita.†††




It looks about like you might expect a gift shop at Casa Bonita to look.




There is also an arcade at Casa Bonita. Apparently, Spider Stompin' is the Whack-a-Mole of the new millenium. If they came out with Spider Stompin' for the Wii, I could probably have the legs of a fencer.‡‡‡




Remember my rant about mash-ups? Not all mash-ups are bad.




†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Yes, I looked up "doom" in the English-Spanish dictionary.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Because I made a *huge* fuss about it.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Note the part where anybody over two has to pay $15 for a really, really bad taco salad to be at Casa Bonita.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I'm making the assumption they didn't include the hookers and blow part of Colfax in that. Then again, as my friend Jeff says, "If you make an assumption, you make an ass out of you and umption."

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): As he got in the Land Cruiser to go home, he said, glee painting every inch of his voice, "I can't *believe* that I'm FIVE!" Go on... make "awwwww" noises.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): It appears the days of Disney Princess Death Match are behind us. Dr. Doom now has a disdain of all things pink and girly. I like to thnk that secretly, in the dark of night, he says good night to each of them, Walton's Mountain-style.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Note the family resemblance.

§§FOOTNOTE (§hingles §uck): Dad was not, sadly, in attendance. I will believe to my dying day he got shingles just to get out of eating Casa Bonita "food."

@FOOTNOTE (atted): Former sister-in-law. Y'know... like FSO, only slightly less likely to drunk-dial at 2:30 in the morning.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (baloons and artillery): While the balloons were done by a professional baker, the tank candles were all eBeth.

##FOOTNOTE (the number of times I got it wrong...): Don't try to pretend you're not floored by the artistic majesty of this photo.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Then again, my flash-phobia leads to some pretty unmajestic work, so maybe it's a wash if you aren't floored by the artistic majesty of the candles but manage not to be wholly derisive about the wiggly, grainy shots.

†††FOOTNOTE (Easter's *over*): Of COURSE there's a gift shop at Casa Bonita.

‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (tracks of my tears meets tears of a clown, leaving tracks of my clown): Which would go nicely with the swimmer's arms I have hanging in the basement. *rimshot*