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I made A Thing

The big barrel is packed to the brim and then some with old shopping bags.
See that big cardboard barrel on the left-hand side of the photo? It’s about the size of a 50 gallon drum. It is packed solid, level-filled with plastic shopping bags – or was when this photo was taken. Mrs. Crenshaw apparently never willingly allowed a grocery bag to leave her residence.

It’s now emptied by about 1/3, as I needed the bags in order to create this:
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It is my Monstrosity.

I made it for Halloween, but since I don’t know if we’re actually going out, I may just take it down to some random First Friday and sidle up to people and make strange noises until they are suitably creeped out:

This Monstrosity highlights why I am not an Artist. I make shit, but I lack the little twist of genius required to convince others that I’m not just screwing around for my own entertainment (which, of course, I am). If I were properly an Artist, I’d have some sort of mission statement for this get-up, possibly explaining that I was making a point about the de-personalization American consumerism inflicts upon its participants, and perhaps a poignant remark about the crucial need for environmental responsibility and recycling.

I, being the flippant jerk that I am, just have this:

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Some vehicles were built for beauty: the Jade Idol, for example.

Others were built for speed. The legendary and record-setting Bluebird was a byword for speed.

Yet others, like the Pierson Brothers’ iconic ’34 Ford dry-lakes racer, managed to marry both beauty and speed.

Then again, there are some that manage to bring you neither:

I’ve dubbed it the Kübelwagen, a lame joke that will make sense only to those who speak German or who know about obscure old Volkswagen crap. The original Kübelwagen was Germany’s WWII answer to the American Jeep, an all-terrain toughie that could withstand climate and geological extremes. The name translates to “bucket-car” and refers to the four-person bucket-seat passenger arrangement.

Although in the case of my own Kübel, the bucket seat really is a bucket.
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Found in one of the many trashheaps I frequent, the seat on my mighty machine started out as a 3.5 gallon bucket of “Donut Glaze” Don’t those ingredients make you want a big, ol’ greasy, sticky Krispy Kreme? Mmmm-mmm, monoglycerides!

But back to the Kübel. I reckon years and years of Volkswagen ownership has primed me for piloting a vehicle such as I have constructed:

  • I’m used to going slowly.
  • I’m used, due to low-slung seating and rough suspension, to feel like I’m flying along at a low speed anyway.
  • Let’s face it, death-traps don’t scare me.
  • Comfort is somebody else’s problem.
  • People may point and laugh, and there’s nothing I will do to stop them.

 
The frame is composed entirely of scrap lumber. The rear end was one chunk unto itself. I screwed it to the center beam, then sat down on it and measured it to the length of my legs, minus a bit, so I could have my knees bent to control the front end steering with my feet. I laboriously sawed off the unnecessary length of the beam, then pried the surplus beam back into two individual pieces of 2X4, one of which was utilized for the front end, and the other of which was sawed into four smaller blocks to build up the rear-end of the Kübel and give me a better mounting platform for the bucket-seat, itself. Motivation comes from four cast-off rollerskate trucks, remnants of a pair of skates I received for Christmas when I was 12 and rather promptly outgrew.

Prudently, you might ask why in the hell I have wrought this monstrosity, and I’m more than happy to answer. This is my entry into the No Gas Nationals, a gravity racing expo taking place next weekend, thanks in no small part to Kansas City’s own Fast Eddie Villanueva.

This ain’t my first rodeo with gravity and unfeasible machinery. Those who shudder to remember, remember and shudder when they think of the Time Out Seat:

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Here, in fact, is Joel about to take a pass on the Naughty Chair.

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Unrepentant.

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Prior to that, we took turns caroming down a hill on a children’s bike with an adult twist – 14 beers were zip-tied to the frame, fork, and bars for ballast and refreshment…and because the rules of the day stated that your vehicle must have brakes and a beer-holder.

The previous two gravity races I’ve attended were Frank Tuesday events.

I am very much looking forward to next weekend’s outing, to seeing how my abomination performs. I have a feeling that it will be not unlike a zombie invasion: a slow, inexorable, inevitable trundle to horror and disaster.

I’ll be back next week to tell you all about it, and share photos of what will undoubtedly be a great many better-executed, less unstable, and much-faster vehicles. And a LOT of grins, I’m sure.

The past couple of days, they’ve been doing some major sewer work on the intersection right out in front of the office and today, apparently the work crew had an oopsie or two.

Mid-morning, we got an e-mail stating that effective immediately, the water was shut off to the building. Porta-Potties were on order, and until then we were warned not to use the toilets. At noon, the bulk of my co-workers went down the street to get lunch and use the restrooms at a nearby restaurant. While they were out, the big boss came into the Secretarial Cave and first asked, “where is everybody,” and then informed me to let them know the building would be closing for the day at 1:45, that the whole building’s power was going to have to be shut off while repairs were made. Apparently, when the work crew cut the water main, it caused a leak in the basement of our building, and it damaged some of the electrical equipment.

So, the upshot of it was that I had the afternoon free to spend in any manner I saw fit. What I did was take a nap, take a two hour bike ride, spend another hour playing in the garden (planting the tiger lilies that Mom gave me, and general maintenance), and I intend to wind up the rest of the evening baking cookies, to celebrate the fact that it’s not blazing-ass hot, and also in a blatant attempt to make a good early-days impression on my new co-workers.

Re-pottering

After a couple of false starts and a bit of stress, we finally made it up to visit my folks in the Panhandle and had the chance to go tubing down the Niobrara, since it’s still up for irrigation. For those of you who haven’t experienced the delights of going tubing, basically, all you need is a not-too-deep river that’s running fast and an old truck inner tube that doesn’t leak too much. If you’ve got both, plus a pair of raunchy old sneakers that you don’t mind submerging in river water for a couple of hours, you are golden. You tie a bit of twine around your tube, to make it easy to hang on to whenever you have to get out to climb over a fence, you sit your butt down in the tube (or if you are a total klutz like me, you lay on your stomach on your tube since every time you try to sit down on it, you tip the goddamn thing over) and let the river do the work.

It is gloriously relaxing, and you get to see every color of dragonfly, little birds dive-bombing deerflies out of the air, hundreds of blooming sunflowers, and a panorama of crispy prairie grasses, low-growing willows, and leathery-leaved cottonwoods as you drift along.

It’s a brief, seasonal treat, floating the river. Typically, they let the dam out for irrigation around Independence Day and the flow starts to taper off to where you’re dragging bottom by the time of the Sturgis Rally. (Or for those of you who don’t mark your time by holidays and local festivals, you can float the river in July). Due to poor vacation timing, we haven’t been out during river-floating season in ages. I think the last time I got to float the river was probably a good 8 or 9 years ago.

Besides floating the river, we managed a lot of visiting with my folks, and I got to meet up with the fellow who’s going to be bringing my old Volkswagen back from the brink. Joel squeezed in a pretty good gravel survey of southern Dawes County, and my mom hooked me up with more houseplants.

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These little guys are relatives of Jade plants and blossom frequently. The one in the little square white pot will bloom red/pink, and the one in the terra-cotta should bloom yellow.

Potted Citronella
Mom also started a Citronella plant for me about a year ago. The last time I was out visiting (late August of last year) I forgot to take it back with me. Testament to Mom’s amazing green thumb, the plant is about triple the size it was last year. Quoth Mom, “are you sure you want that stinky thing?” I assured her that I think Citronella smells delightful and of course I would be tickled several shades to claim it. It smells delightful, and I am using it as a centerpiece on our picnic table for the time being, and will bring it inside before winter, of course. This citronella is actually in the geranium family. I’m planning on getting some different geraniums within this next year, and plan to make a bit of a feature of them on the porch next summer.

While I was playing in the dirt getting the little succulents potted, I figured it was about time to re-pot some of my other plants that had outgrown their homes.

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Back row:  my small asparagus fern, Nancy’s asparagus fern.

Front row, left to right:  Jade tree, new succulent (yellow) new succulent (pink), Wandering Jew, Nancy’s new spider plant, my new spider plant.

I have a hugeaceous spider plant on my front porch, and it had made a zillion little spiders, so this morning, I filled a couple of pots with wet dirt, and went out front and snipped off every little spider and stuck it in the dirt.  This way, the big, old spider plant up front can fluff up a bit, without all the little spiders sapping its energy, and there will be two, new pots of fresh, young, vital spiders.  Nancy didn’t have any spider plants, so I thought I’d do up a small one for her.  She has a big Madagascar Dragon Tree, and it often looks pretty cute to have a spider plant or two down in the bottom of the Dragon Tree pot to keep it company.

 

If you didn’t guess it, the theme of my houseplants is “easy keepers.” I tend to have a lot of succulents and a lot of plants that will tolerate my care schedule, which is “water on Saturday, do not disturb unduly, re-pot when necessary.”

Two variations on the theme of Madagascar Dragon Tree
I’ve had these two Madagascar Dragon Trees since I lived in my second Kansas City apartment (circa 2002-3). The picture above dates back to February 2008, when I’d broken them out of their 5″ pots and combined them into this bigger tub.

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Here they are today. They’re famously easy to grow, and I have always enjoyed their Dr. Seuss looks.

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Their longtime neighbor is a “Swiss Cheese Plant,” which in the intervening years since this picture was taken, has been expanding to occupy all available space.
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Again, this is an easy-to-grow-and-maintain plant. Mom gave me the start of this from hers. Her Monstera blossomed once about 20 years ago. It pitched up this enormous, phallic looking bud which opened out into something akin to a perverse, outsized jack-in-the-pulpit parody. Then, the branch that had sprouted the flower lost all of its leaves, grew some enormous air-roots, and looked like hell. Mom cut off that branch, stuck the roots in a pot of dirt, and let me have it as an experiment. For a good three years, I had a bare branch sticking out of a pot of dirt. This bare branch had one little green nubbin on its side. Then, one day, without any notice, the nubbin turned into a spike, which unfurled into a leaf. Soon after, more leaves emerged, and here we are, 10 years later, and I have a big, dang plant doing its best to outgrow the best window in the house.

I’m particularly partial to my Monstera because I consider it an heirloom. Mom got her Monstera at the grocery store, in the floral section, on a whim, some years before I was born. When she got it, it was a very small plant, and she expected it to turn into one of those heart-leaf vining philodendrons. My Mom still has her unexpected Monstera, which has at various points in time, taken up significant real-estate in her living room. It has grown to ceiling height and been pruned down countless times. If you’re into dramatic-looking, easy-care houseplants, and aren’t too concerned about the plant getting HUGE, then a Monstera is a pretty good choice.
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You can see it in the background of this photo from Christmas 1986 (I think). At that point, it lived in a 5-gallon-bucket and spread across half of a big, plate-glass picture window.

Between the Monstera and the Dragon trees, they getting so thick that you can hardly see my absolutely darling Jade Tree, which also got repotted today.

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My friend Kim gave me this plant about three years ago, and it was just about the size of the small starter on the right-hand side. Since then, it has gotten rather large, and shot out two starters from the roots. It had gotten so top-heavy it couldn’t stay in its little 4.5″ terra-cotta flowerpot anymore. Since it was doing so well, I thought it should have an extra-pretty pot this time around, and also something with a broader base, since it is inclined to height and top-heaviness. I really like this little pot, and think it suits the character of the tree quite well. I really wanted one like this, but in red or orange, but couldn’t find anything in the right size and shape in either color. But I do think the blue is actually very pretty.

Anyway, I got to play in the dirt a bit today. Come fall, it will be a bit of a squeeze to get everything accommodated with sufficient light, but I’m sure I’ll manage somehow.


The first time I saw the movie poster for 13 Going On 30, I thought, “ohmigod, I love that dress!!”

I went and saw that movie at a double feature of it and Mean Girls. Talk about tennybopper fashionable chick-flick heaven. My only disappointment was that the fabulous polka-dotted dress from the movie poster never put in an appearance on-screen.

Anyway, what I have created today is what you could call an homage to the polka-dot dress from the movie:

I used another of my favorite patterns, Simplicity 3775, with the cape sleeve from Simplicity 4076. This is the same combination which yielded the leopard print dress with the Ultrasuede collar.

The principal differences are:

  • I didn’t use a contrast fabric on the neckband and
  • I did use the cummerbund waistband on this dress, as opposed to the plain, shaped wide waistband.

 
I first used the cummerbund waistband on the all-wool jersey dress I made this past winter:
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I’d initially been reluctant to use the cummerbund waistband, as I was afraid that it would add unnecessary and unbecoming bulk, but after seeing the results Slapdash Sewist had, I thought, “yes, that’s the ticket.” I pay attention to her pattern reviews and results, as she and I share fairly similar figure features and therefore I find her remarks on fitting issues pertinent and helpful in my own sewing adventures.

Instead of adding bulk, the ruched waistband actually creates a more curvaceous look.

This is one of those incredibly versatile patterns. You can use several waistline and sleeve variations, or, as Slapdash and I have done, integrate sleeves from other patterns, create contrast effects at the neck and waist, etc. Much like the New Look 6674 which I sewed yesterday, this is one of those patterns which for me, has basically proven infallible. It is absolutely one of my favorites, so much so that I have copied it in Tyvek as I intend to use it many times more than the tissue original would probably stand for.

My dotty new dress is by no means an exact replica of the movie dress, but it is definitely inspired by, and I like to think that it captures a similar note of sweet-and-sassy femininity.

I am about to try out a new-to-me pattern, Vogue V8685, View D (with minor sleeve modifications to get around that cap-sleeve problem that I have. The more I look at that pattern, the more I think that it could be a much closer silhouette match to the 13-Going-On-30 dress, and I may have another go at replicating/imitating that dress again sometime with 8685, if it turns out well.

Thinkin’ Pink

A while back this fabric was on sale for half price. I impulse-bought two yards, with the intention to make a dress. It turns out I didn’t buy quite enough fabric for the pattern I’d originally intended to make up, but I did, in fact, buy exactly the perfect amount to make this:

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I used the ever-reliable New Look 6674, which has yielded consistently good results for me for many a dress. It works equally well for very casual or very dressy.

I think today’s dress is a reasonable midway point and I expect to wear it to work many, many times.

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The fabric is very, very sheer, being a rather lacey textured knit. I will be wearing this dress over a neutral beige slip which is disturbingly close to my natural skin-tone!

Surprisingly, this fabric it is not very stretchy, and made up very well in this very structured style, but it sits better around the neck and across the bust than the woven cottons I have principally used with this pattern. I think future iterations of this pattern are going to be made up in ITY jersey or similar. The drape of a knit makes the neckline lay much better across the bust.

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The 100% Polyester fabric has some sheen to it, as does the nylon/spandex slip, so when shot with flash exposure, the dress looks glossier than it does under normal daylight or artificial light.

It is probably a feature of the calibration of my monitor, but I was expecting this fabric to be of a more coral/orangey tone, but it is very, very pink. Also, what they described as “maize” I would be more inclined to term “chartreuse.” It is a very bright, light green, but since I ADORE pink and green together, I’m actually quite satisfied with it after all.  

As far as technical specs go, I followed the pattern pretty closely, except:

  • I lengthened the cap sleeves by 2″.  I have kind of wide shoulders and look crappy in cap sleeves, but a short sleeve is fine and encouraged.
  • I cut a little bit more flare into the skirt.  I like a skirt that swings.  I probably increased the hem width by about 5″ and just graded it in toward the hip.
  • I eliminated the facing at the neck and bodice fronts, because I thought it would show through the sheer fabric.  The neck and bodice fronts are finished with pink stretch lace, as are the hems of the sleeves.

Let’s just clear the air and start with “animosity,” since alphabeticaly it’s the first, and it will be the predominant theme of this entry anyway.

I feel a lot of damn animosity toward taggers, especially those who just scrawl gang tags, names, or slogans all over the place. And I double-hate stencillers, especially those who use a really simplistic stencil and spray their mark on everything they pass. Even my dang dog is a little more discriminate about the territory she marks. And her pee doesn’t leave a visible reminder that she was there.

Anyway, the spraycan shitheads who have been drizzling their marks all over the Jersey barricade along Beardsley Road and on the support pillars of the iconic 12th Street Viaduct have been chapping my ass especially lately, and I decided the other day on my way to work that I would stop and snap some pictures tonight and try to rant it off my chest.

Soooo, here goes. Fasten your seatbelts, and raise your blast shields, it’s gonna be a vitriolic ride.


Right. Where to begin? I’d say first I’d like to point out that the world isn’t owned by anyone, you, me, or the King of Antarctica. If I could justify sloganizing (and I cannot), then I’d say “the world is ours” might be an acceptable sentiment. And as such, it being a collective possession, we ought to respect each others’ claims upon it. Including not impinging upon the public weal by defacing community property.

In short, I’d like to track down the girl who piddled this platitude on the Beardsley barricade and clang her upside the head with her can of Bubblegum Pink spray paint. Fucker. Think something original. And keep it to yourself. And don’t spraypaint smiley faces on public property. That inane damn smiley face just makes this fluffbrained fuzzy-hugging bullshit that much more infuriating.


This appeared on Beardsley Rd. about two months after Adam Yauch died. I find it hard to believe that someone young enough to think that defacing barricades is cool would even know who MCA was, and I find it equally hard to believe that anyone old enough to appreciate the Beastie Boys and perhaps personally admire Yauch would think that poorly-painted testimonials were a good way to express that admiration. Somehow, I feel like the act and the sentiment were not only untimely, but misguided and misplaced. Also, I am not so sure that Yauch would have found shitty graffiti enacted in his honor that great of an honor.


Do you remember back in like 1997-1998, when girls were wearing HUMONGOUS JEANS and skinny little tank tops that said Porn St☆R?  Yep.  Still “capital ‘K'” Klassy.


Now, we are on the bridge proper. 12th Street Viaduct is kind of a big deal. It’s one of the iconic bits of Kansas City’s built environment. Built in 1911, it was the first major, modern connection of the industrial West Bottoms and the commercial Downtown district, replacing the treacherous and inefficient 9th Street Incline.

I don’t know about you, but as a resident of an area with a fairly short list of historical structures to its claim, I am inclined to feel a little bit testy when I encounter evidence of blatant disrespect for what amounts to a public treasure. If the person who scribbled this really loved this bridge as much as he or she claims to, they wouldn’t have painted stupid shit on it in the first place.


The first time I saw this, I said, “Really???” Kansas City doesn’t exactly have a thriving rave culture, and I have a hard time reconciling Peace, Love, Unity, and Respect with vandalism.


And now for the piece de rantsistance, the slogan that bumped up my bile and made this all possible. Click on the image to enlarge, ’cause I know it’s hard to read at this compressed size.

Some shinyassed twee jackoff, brimming over with a heady draught of righteous earnestness and smarmy irony, ganked a line from Auntie Mame and slathered it all over several spans of the guard wall of the underside of the 12th Street Viaduct.

This sort of smug, self-satisfied sloganeering comes from somebody, most likely a callow stripling who has yet to be ground down to size out in the harsh, wide world. Quite possibly a student or recent grad who is still knocking about with his or her buddies with few responsibilities and no fucking perspective. From his or her seat, it sure does look like a lot of people are just awful grey grinds, blind to the passions and pleasures of the world. And I for one, would love to be one of the first planes to take a pass at this one.

Anyway, my last opinion for the night (because I have better things to do than be angry on the Internet all evening) is that if you’re going to deface public property, you should at least have some skill and give us something good to look at. It takes minimal skill to scrawl some words on a wall. It takes actual talent to do this:

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or this

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or this.

So, people who have been scribbling on Beardlsey and the 12th Street Viaduct: fuck you very much. Get some skill and come back and do something actually interesting.

I expect that most of the people who saw me, and especially the four teenaged skateboarders over by Penn Valley Park, were thinking, “what the hell is that crazy lady doing?”

I expect I elicit that question often.

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I encountered an abandoned rug on my way home from Friz tonight and decided I’d just as soon haul it home, ’cause it looked like it might be kind of pretty.

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It’s seven shades of fucking filthy and it smells like that godawful sprinkle-and-vacuum rug deodorizer, but I like the general look of it.

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And for F.R.E.E, how picky can you get?

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USA made, in the bargain!

Saturday, July 14, 2012, I was up and at ’em at the crack of 7:00 a.m. By golly, I had shit to do, and a finite amount of time in which to do it.

I had provisions to lay in, prizes to prepare, and most importantly, I needed to go scavenge up a few more inner tubes and strap down another whole layer of bottles to the underside of The Majestic Bastard, my newest, and most dubious raft.

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This is the business side of The Majestic Bastard in all of its majisticitudinousnessness. This is five large trash bags of mostly soda bottles, a bit of scrap lumber, three rolls of duct tape and about 20 old bicycle inner tubes.

So anyway, I was up betimes on a Saturday morning, runnin’ an’ gunnin’. Garden watered, breakfast made and eaten, Joel and I set off to Midtown where he had Tai Chi class and I had an important appointment at Sunfresh grocery store. Yeah, we needed regular food for at the house, but I also needed supplies. Supplies like store brand potato chips and a box of Franzia, the liquid of pure, sneaky insanity.

After the grocery run, I thought I’d see if I could beg a few stray innertubes from Tim. He broke off from his session of coffee-drinking and contemplating to bring me down a beautiful wreath of decommissioned inner tubes. Aaaalll right! Business time.

I left Tim with a can of delightful Izze carbonated pomegranate juice and hightailed it for the Hill, so I could get the wine chilled and the boat completed.

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Minnie helped.

Joel arrived home from class just as I was tying off the very last inner tube. The plan was lunch, short nap, and then hitch up and roll out. We strapped paddles, life vests, snacks, and prizes to the underside of our rafts, lashed the head end of the rafts to the package racks on our bikes, and rolled down the hill toward what used to be Korruption in the West Bottoms.

My rig
This is the same towing set up I used this year, but the craft you see above was my 2010 rig.

Anyway, we wobbled and lurched our way down the hill and pulled up in front of the old Korruption building. One of the tenants drove up about the same time and wondered what sort of rolling insanity had just drawn upon his doorstep. He said so long as we weren’t starting a commune on his stoop, it was cool. So, we made no long-range plans, and all was well.

Next, appeared the always-interesting Calvert on a rather classy old Motobecane. One would expect nothing less of Mr. Guthrie.

Twice, a fantastic early 1990s Jeep Cherokee drove past, with two excellent bicycles on the front of it – one a vintage Fisher mountain bike, the other a cute, be-basketed lady’s cruiser. This turned out to be Tim and Teri, who were looking to ride along on the spectator’s route!. Sweet! We were just pleased to bits and pieces to see them. They drove on to Kaw Point where the lot of us were soon met by Christi and the up-for-anything 3:00 ride. They graciously led the newcomers along a merry riverside chase, spectated with might and main, and heckled us with a right good will. Tell ya what, I reckon there’s something for everyone out there!

Then Liz purred up on her stylish motorcycle, just ahead of Jaclyn and Matt, who were following with their tri-pontoon trashboat in the back of Matt’s pickup. They were unable to fashion a satisfactory towing rig for their boat, but honestly, they built a dang boat, so I wasn’t prepared to be picky. Jaclyn is rightly a big fan of the Chunk666 and Rat Patrol efforts toward junkyard aquatics and was adorably, squeefully thrilled to be participating in the Regatta.
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I’d had word from Corinna that they’d had some technical issues with their towing rig, as well, and that they’d just meet us down at Kaw Point.
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Here you see the Detour in the parking lot of Kaw Point.

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The main tragedy of the day was the sad and untimely demise of Trailer Brian’s back wheel.

Technical issues were the words of the day for Project Detour, though travails and a capsizing didn’t dampen the spirits of its mighty crüüe.

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You know, it took them a long-ass time to get down to the launch, to get put in, to get their cargo strapped on and their crew aboard, but by gosh and by golly, they made it to Glow In The Dark Park, and not more than 5 minutes after the rest of us. Their 7-person crew were all pretty handy with their oars, and landed the Detour in much finer style than they launched her.

Thereafter, Jaclyn and Matt’s raft was converted into an impromptu picnic table and the snacks that I brought, along with quite a spread courtesy of Corinna & Rod were laid out and enjoyed.

Jaclyn and I have been chatting about putting on another Regatta in early September, after more of the art students are back in town. She’s a lot better PR woman than I am, and in a better position to rouse other like-minded maniacs out of the woodwork. So, keep a watch on this space for future news and partial entertainment.

Soooo…I don’t know how many words I’ve expended, but as the old saying goes, pictures are more eloquent, so here are mine, and here are Liz’s. Henjoy.

Breakin’ like the…

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Day!

I’ve been getting up with the crack of dawn voluntarily lately in an attempt to beat the heat. The dog needs her daily constitutional, and the garden needs to be watered. It’s been blazin’ assed hot lately and there’s no way I could get the dog’s run done in the evening – by the time it is cool enough to be safe to take her out, it’s too dark to be safe to take her out. As to watering the garden, some of these really scorching days, it gets a drink at sunrise and sunset.

As a result, the tomatoes are looking absolutely gorgeous and everything else seems to be doing pretty well.
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Here’s Ruby on Friday morning, doing her post-piddle victory dance.  Sometimes, after she has marked over somebody else’s wee, she does this ridiculous little victory dance wherein she paws the ground, one foot at a time, then prances around the area in a circle.  I’ve seen other dogs do it, and it never fails to crack me up.

When I was a kid, about 11 or 12, I guess, I was really into getting up to watch the sunrise. I’d wake up crazy early, when the sky was only just starting to turn grey, and watch the sun edge its way up over the horizon. It was a bit of a thrill to see that first tiny orange sliver come into view. Given the ambient dust in Western Nebraska, the sunrises and sunsets are often really quite glorious.
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A Kansas City sunset, 7-4-08.

Often, after the sun was up, but before it started to get hot, I’d go off for a ramble in the neighboring pastures, and take the family dog with me as a companion. I’d leave a note for Mom by the coffee pot, but plan to be back before the rest of the family was up. In the just-after-dawn cool, the rough, yellowing prairie grasses riffling in the continual wind gave off a sweet, nutty scent. There were small rabbits for the dog to chase, colorful wildflowers to pick and bring back to Mom, and the shallow, sandy Niobrara river to wade in. The dog and I would often follow along the river bank for as long as I figured was sensible, stopping to go down and wade, to chuck cow-chips in, or to look in the stagnant shallows for crawdads, planarian worms, and good, slimy moss.

You might be mistaken into thinking that I’m a morning person. I heartily dislike having to use my actual brainmeats until after at least 9:00 a.m., and with the aide of a fair quantity of coffee even then. Don’t get me wrong; I like being up early, but I like being up early, on my own terms.

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