the beer has landed
Please take that extra fraction of a second to check your spelling of West Virgina. It's starting to get on my nerves. Perhaps in part because Virgina actually makes some sense as a new word, perhaps the thing all girls are born with that they later trade in for a Vagina at some adult point. And you damn sure don't live there, so spell it right (yes, you, WV Dept of Highways).
|Listening to:||Toad the Wet Sprocket|
It stormed like a bitch here last night, kept getting woken up by lightning cracks and quick thunder, and it sounded like we got an inch of rain. Today I'm off to St Marys, so hopefully there's clear sky behind it all. BTW, I have a soft spot in my heart for the little river town of St Marys, home of the Bass Festival and several groovy buds of mine.
I had a bizarre revelation not too long away. I have a bit of a fetish for little tiny bowls and plates, like the kinds you use to serve sushi and its acoutrements. I have to hold back from buying 3 or 4 little 2 inch dishes whenever I (thankfully rarely) end up perusing the goods in some fancy kitchen store. I particularly like the teeny leaf-shaped ones for your chopsticks and whatnot, but I have mostly round ones, some more bowl-shaped, some more plate-like.
Several years ago when my aunt died, the family (me, mom, her bro, his kids) went through some of her stuff in prep for selling the house. In a corner cabinet made by my grandfather there was a bevy of my Gammy's chatchkis (whose the bad speller now? I honestly have no clue, having never written that word before) to cull through. My mom kept wanting me to take various stuff, which I generally had no interest in, especially considering my burgeoning Gandhian dislike for stuff. So I compromised by accepting possession of Gammy's salt cellar collection. For my young readers, let me explain: people apparently used to serve salt in individual tiny little dishes, one for each person at the table. Each usually accompanied by a tiny little spoon for sprinkling. Wonder when some genius discovered the salt shaker? But anyhoo, my Gammy collected these little bad boys. And since that pile of stuff was the smallest of the piles, I accepted them, thinking it would at least not take up much space.
Have you had the revelation now, too? Dude, these little salt cellars are the same damn thing as my little sushi dishes. I have the same fetish as my grandmother. What a funky world in which we live, no?
I made a little trip up the backroads past Uniontown into Homestead on Saturday. A righteous journey. I picked up a keg each of Rock Bottom's Oktoberfest, a pale ale, and a hefeweizen. Oh yeah, you're licking your lips and salivating a little, aren't ya? They are safely chilling in Ned's coolers, and will be headed down to Bramwell tomorrow, to meet me in all their tasty goodness. It's time for the Bramwell Oktoberfest!!!
I have a stellar apartment right smack in the heart of downtown Bramwell for the weekend, and all my sweet and groovy o'fest pals will be there! We've got a couple new babies this year, some new wives, the teenagers are learning to drive, we're all another year older and some of us a bit grayer. It's such a beautiful event, mainly my private piece of it, getting to hang annually with an amazing collection of creative and intelligent and progressive old friends. You should be so lucky as to have an event like this in your world, it's a great way to refuel the psyche.
And it's fall, that sensational season when mother earth shows her true colors, and the beer starts tasting really good, and you can stop mowing the freakin lawn. Makes me wanna carve a pumpkin or something.
posted by cat 6:55 AM