Arachnisomnia

Well, the coyotes didn't come by last night.  No.  Spiders did, however.  Spiders by the dozen.  After about the twentieth time of getting out of my chair to kill a spider in the tent, the little ones decided that maybe sleeping there was not such a hot idea. So all six of them crammed into the camper to sleep.  

Nice, cozy, and comfortable.

Mom wasn't about to sleep in the tent.  So, that leaves the car.  Yes, gentle readers, we slept in the car.  Can't begin to express my happiness, the sheer joy, over the bonding experience the Mrs. and I shared.  A priceless memory, indeed.

Next year it's Chucky Cheese.  Period.  

Mild Wilds

Big man turns seven today. Seven...

He and five of his first grade buddies are coming over for a camp out. The six of them whooping it up in the woods just outside of town. Sounds fun doesn't it? There will be games, hot dogs, S'mores, and bug bites, followed by more games, late night snacks, copious Sprite consumption, and then the obligatory bug bite scratching.

The boys are sleeping in my old man's safari tent. It's like a small city under canvas. The Mrs. and I will be in our pop-up camper next door. I anticipate taking night watch shifts. Can't have half crazed, muddy urchins with distended bellies wandering off the reservation.

Last time we camped there, the coyotes came in around 2:00 am. Not sure how close they actually got, probably not close at all, but it's impressive to hear the pack warble and howl at close range. If the beasts do make another appearance, I anticipate setting a world record for the number of seven year olds that can pack into a small camper in the shortest time.

A Tale of Two Little Bitties

Been out of town for a few days. Glad to be home.

I had to use both sides of my brain equally over the last few days. Mental gymnastics is not an Olympic sport for a reason people.

The logical side of my feeble brain keeping me in check, filtering out the stupid, preventing embarrassing moments whereby a letter of apology and monetary restitution are involved, in addition to battling nerves and feelings of resume and song pedigree inadequacies. All of this while trying to turn the creative side loose to the point where I can be free enough to forget where I am and who I'm with, and just make up stories like I've been doing my whole life.

I picture a respectable fella in perfectly pressed slacks, button up dress shirt, wire framed glasses,and an accountant's disposition, probably name Edwin, or something like it, stepping into a cage match with a dude in baggy shorts, a loud Hawaiian shirt, sunglasses tan, and a 1988 Firebird mullet who goes by the name E-Dog. The thought of either of them actually winning outright is pretty scary. Equally scary is that both exist within the small confines of my skull and very routinely run into one another. The resulting chaos is both deafening and exhausting.

Edwin is tired of writing checks to support E-Dog's irresponsible ways. E-Dog thinks Edwin smells like file Folders.

When it comes to finances and business, the best I can hope for is that E-Dog is sleeping off a hangover in some strangers front lawn cuddling their plastic flamingo. When it comes to matters of love and writing, I hope Edwin takes a couple puffs from his asthma inhaler and agrees to spend the next several hours with the math club from the local university solving for pi.

Run Down III

3.5 songs in 2 days.  Great people.  Great place.  Very grateful.  

Run Down, Part Deux

One and a half today.  Brain is mush.  Great concert tonight.  I'm ready to head home.

Run Down

Two sessions today.  Two songs.  

Didn't it throw up on anyone.  Think I contributed.  

Looking forward to tomorrow.  

Update

Held the baby La Pointe.  Not sure how the physics work, but the little peanut somehow managed to yak in the pocket of my shorts.  I'm carrying her up here, she yaks in my pocket down there.  

Awesome.

I will say it again, for the record, Nick and Allie are probably the cutest couple ever.  It's just gross.