Sculp-tastic!

Last weekend, Marcy and I decided to have craft night. It entailed a foray into Sculpey, the clay material you bake in the oven to make lovely sculptures. I turned out to be pretty darn good, and await local art critic Garv to tell all the Blurbites how we did. Enjoy!

(From left: Mr. Quacky by me, a hot dog also by me, an Easter bunny by me, jack-o-lanterns by Marcy, gnome by Marcy, and flower pot by Marcy.)

Another look at the bunny, including Easter basket by Marcy.

Has it been TWO WEEKS!?

Dear God it's been awhile. Been busy with the new job (check out here if you don't believe me).

Some randomness while I've been away:

- My mother and sister went to Costa Rica. Why? Why not!? And the trip was .... mysterious. Neither will tell me anything about it yet, but I've seen pictures of them zip-lining through the jungle. I think they stumbled on a futuristic alien that makes itself invisible and has lazer scopes, and they had to battle it by smearing mud on themselves so that it couldn't see them because it's got infrared vision and my sister got wounded but said, "I ain't got time to bleed."

- I learned how to install laminate flooring. Yep. Here's a picture of me doin' it:

- Marcy and I went to an event to look at wedding rings. She almost bought her band at half price, and it had five diamonds on it! It'll make some other girl very happy, because we decided that in the end, this is one of the things we're not going to skimp on. We want the rings to mean something, rather than go for what we can get cheap. So we left empty handed but not empty stomached: We each had a thick slab o' cake and man was it tasty. So we're going with the Celtic bands we found online. Should be pretty sweet.

- Apparently test dummies were the "alien bodies" found at Area 51 in the 1950s. But some old guy won't believe it. I mention this because there's a lesson here: Dummies are everywhere.

- Marcy made a mighty fine dinner from instructions she scribbled on a Post-It note.

- I find myself envying Joxer's life sometimes. The big decision in his life is whether to sleep on the back of the love seat or the chair in the guest room.

- Vince McMahon got his head shaved. While that doesn't directly impact my life, I am still bummed that I missed Wresltemania.

There. Had to get that out. Next post won't be so random.

And Glinda the Good Witch is a Barmaid!

Here's what it's like to visit the Sam Adams brewery, in which the brewery is Oz, the wizard is some guy named Jim, you are Dorothy, and the lion, tin man, toto, and the scarecrow are whatever boozers you bring with you. And for the purposes of this story, since she won't appear here anyway, let's say the Wicked Witch of the West is John Q. Lawman.

You get to the Emerald City after a long journey. Its doors are already open, and an ugly dude invites you in for free. There are some cool trophies and such that the Emerald City has won over the years by being the best gemstone-laden municipality there is. Some years it gets beat out by the Gold City and the Ruby City (which manufactures slippers), and occasionally even the Dull Quartz City has a good year. But the Emerald City is proud of what it is and what it's done, and wastes no time in telling you about it.

You're led into an anteroom where the fine people of the Emerald City tell you more stories and promise to take care of you and your friends, and even shine your tin man and bikini wax your lion. Then it's time for the Great Unveiling, and you're led (ok, more like pushed) into the Great Oz's chambers.

The Great Oz isn't there, but a recording of him is. Fair enough. But then you learn that magical waterfalls a la Charlie and the Chocolate Factory do not a magician make; instead his source of power comes from great steel and copper drums that are impressive when you think of how much beer they hold. Oops - got off the metaphor.

OK - so you're slightly disappointed but then Glinda the Good Witch tells you that it's all right - you're still going to Kansas. Sort of. The Wizard is instead going to ship you to Cheboygan, but will be happy to provide directions to Kansas from there. Which is fine and good, because you're still going to be closer to Kansas than you are now and at any rate, the voices from the tiny people in your head ... I mean the Yellow Brick Road ... will be quieted for awhile. Cheboygan's nice this time of year.

(The brewery was fun. They give you 7 oz. glasses for free! The guy that gives you your glass checked my ID. Apparently I own just one set of clothes because I was wearing the same outfit in my license photo. You can't buy beer there, which stinks, but they give you directions to the nearest liquor store and pub. Fine by me.)


I try me a Sam. We tasted Regular, White, and Summer ales. I'm a convert to the White.


One of the aforementioned copper kegs.


Though the original brewery is here in Boston, Sam Adams' main production facilities are in Ohio and (drumroll ...) ... Rochester, NY!! I can't escape.

Excellence par excellence

Ok, Linda Pinkow beat me to the punch on my own blog. That's what you get for hangin' around journalists.

I recently was named the editor of the Lexington Minuteman, a rather large and involved weekly out here in New England. (Remember the Lexington/Concord battles from history class? It's that Lexington. The battles of Lexington and Concord were the first military engagements of the American Revolutionary War. They were fought on April 19, 1775, within the towns of Lexington, Concord, Lincoln, Menotomy (Arlington), and Cambridge. The battles marked the outbreak of open armed conflict between Great Britain and its thirteen colonies in the mainland of British North America. (SOURCE: Wikipedia)

I was told that Lexington and Concord do not, alas, play each other in high school sports. So here are the headlines I WOULD have used if they ever did:

Just a minute, man
Lexington v. Concord: This time, it's for real
Football: It's revolutionary

And if they played Arlington:
Break the Menotomy
Marauding minutemen skewer Arrrlington

Yo hair!

The barber said it was a throwback to the newspaper editors of the 1930s.
He said it's called the Princeton, and is all the rage in the Harvard Square crowd.
But most importantly, he said it was "the balls."
I have to agree. This haircut is the balls.