Saturday, September 27, 2008
This evening marks the final night of the MidPoint Music Festival, the seventh annual event to celebrate live music (and live spinning) in bars around Downtown Cincinnati, Over-the-Rhine and Newport.
My commitments barred me from getting down and dirty Friday, so I am more than anxious to put on my fun clothes (or as Sweet said, "It's time to bring the boobs out,") and enjoy a couple shows tonight.
I could wax poetic about all the acts I want to see (in some cases, I wish I had a doppelganger), so instead I'll throw up some of the highlights I'm anxious to catch.
10:30 p.m. at Know Theater Downstairs Jackson Street Underground: William Sides Atari Party out of Chicago. The write-up on the MPMF website sez this guy uses Atari sound effects to compose his tunes. I can't wait to hear what he does with the warble that accompanied Pac-Man's voracious appetite.
Cincinnati's own The Faux Frenchmen take the stage at New Stage Collective at 11 pm. I've heard of this jazzy quartet before, but I've never heard them. Their sound is called "Gypsy Jazz" or swing pop a-la Squirrel Nut Zippers. What ever it is, it sounds good.
While enjoying TFF, I would send my evil twin to Inner Peace Holistic Center Center Stage to check out Paper Airplane out of Columbus. The MPMF reviewer calls them Power Pop, refers to Beatles influences and compares the group to ELO, and that alone makes me want to shake my Rockaria!
When the clock strikes midnight, I hope my dancin' shoes take me to Cadillac Ranch. Critic's Pick, Flow, has journeyed all the way from Israel to give the Queen City a taste of alt rock. I'm not really familiar with their work, but they're compared to U2, Incubus and Coldplay - tasty.
That's just a handful of what you can discover at MidPoint - a festival that is very well endowed, and growing every year.
Friday, September 26, 2008
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
I told you about the incident I had almost a month exactly ~ when I found my car (and every other on my street) missing thanks to an encounter with a tow truck.
Construction crews were doing some work on a Monday morning and the posted signs demanded that every car be moved prior to 7 am. Now, I insist to this day the sign was not posted until that morning - I made it home the night before at around 10:30 and am certain that nary a notice was hung on any area tree, utility post or stake.
The cop promised he had cruiser cam video of the signs getting posted, and that's when I politely conceded and agreed to fork over the $102.50 at the Spring Grove impound.
Flash forward to this morning.
It was a morning full of obligation - extra curricular writing assignments and daily viewing of the local morning shows. I noticed the clock was ticking and I wasn't going to make it to work respectably late on time if I had intentions of doing my hair.
There I was, enjoying my frothy shower puff and a dynamite smelling shower gel (Suave Cucumber Melon, if you must know) when I heard my antiquated door bell chime, followed by several firm poundings on the front door.
My brain immediately thought Holy God. It's the nightmare I have from time to time - someone is going to break into my apartment (or break down the door, in this instance) while I'm dripping wet and taking care of business.
Aside: does anyone else worry about that?
The pounding sounded urgent. I was pissed. I yelled my classic Excuse Me! at the top of my lungs and threw a dry bath sheet around my dripping, sudsy body.
I made it half way to the door when I immediately remembered ~ I had parked my car next to a temporary "No Parking" sign the night before. My mind raced to those moments last night, when I consciously decided, Sure, I'll park right outside the apartment building for now, and will move the car later when Dewey's parking lot has thinned out.
I flung the door open and saw an officer standing there, and I immediately shouted, "I'll move it! I'm moving it right now! Please don't tow!"
He nodded and said, "Well, I had to give you a citation, but if you move it now, it won't get towed."
I didn't completely get off ~ but a $40 ticket is far better than the $102.50 towing fee.
I threw on a loose summer skirt, a bra and a shirt - I still had soap suds on my arms and legs - and moved the car to its intended parking lot, eleven hours later than planned.
Que sera, right?
Monday, September 22, 2008
During my nine-year career in television news, I had many more days of sans-cable than with.
When I was a little girl I was actually "grounded" from television for years (there are whole series that appeared in late 80s and early 90s that I never had the pleasure of enjoying) because my grades weren't good enough.
These days, my social and civic calendar is far too busy to stick with a religious schedule of television viewing, so I am at the mercy of the occasional free night and the programming schedule of the Big Four networks.
But even though my Boob Tube habits are sporadic, I've still managed to develop a short list of favorites for autumn.
8 pm Dancing with the Stars (ABC) - I love Bruno's flamboyance, I love the glitzy costumes, the rockin' bods and I love the story lines. I hate Samantha Harris' vapid commentary.
9:30 pm Samantha Who? (ABC) - What can I say ~ it's a show about a single girl made for single girls. I also enjoy Christina Applegate's character - she grapples with good and bad just about as much as I do.
10 pm Boston Legal (ABC) - I'm not really married to this show, but I've had a thing for James Spader ever since he was the preppy asshole in Pretty in Pink, and I once saw William Shattner at the Lexington Joseph Beth bookstore (he was wearing the tightest khaki pants and was hanging around a college girl), so I guess I'm somewhat partial.
I don't really find anything enticing for this daypart. I might give The Mentalist (9 p.m., CBS) a try, but I don't really know if I'll stick with it. Sometimes I catch Law and Order SVU (10 p.m. NBC) but it's not something that warrants clearing my calendar.
8 p.m. Pushing Daisies (ABC) - I get a kick out of this quirky, surreal spin on life and death. I also really enjoy Kristen Chenoweth's over-the-top voice and personality in this show. PD got put on the back burner during the writers strike, and I am really glad to see this creative attempt make a return to the small screen.
10 p.m. Dirty Sexy Money (ABC) - Unabashed sex, slime, secrets and scandal. This show sheds a light on a Big Apple family dynasty, riddled with celebrity, money, fashion and intrigue. Also affected by last year's writers strike, I hope this one doesn't quickly fizzle.
8 p.m. Ugly Betty (ABC) - I love love love this show. Betty has a mouth full of metal and wears the most godawful getups, but her heart of gold shines through in every episode. Everything seems to go wrong for Betty every single time, and yet somehow she manages to find the blessings and silver linings in her (sometimes not so) simple life.
9 p.m. The Office (NBC) - My boyfriends are back and you're gonna get in trouble. I can't wait to see Dwight and Andy back in action in Scranton. Will Jim propose to Pam? What's up with that new HR woman who arrived on the scene in last season's finale? Is Toby really gone for good? And Michael. Michael, Michael, Michael. Oh, how I cannot wait for The Office to be back open for business.
10 p.m. ER (NBC) - I haven't watched ER in years - I think I stopped after Dr. Green died of a brain tumor in Hawaii. This season is the series' last, so I just might check it out to see how it all ends (and hey, a girl can pray for a cameo by Dr. Doug Ross, right?)
I almost never watch television on Friday nights ~ I enjoy my friends and my cocktails far too frequently. Still, every once in while, a girl needs to stay in and skip out on her social life. When I decide to hole up and hang out on the couch on Friday nights, I check out Wife Swap (8 p.m. ABC) and Supernanny (9 p.m. ABC) and thank the good Lord above that I don't have kids or a freak of a husband. 20/20 (10 p.m. ABC) is the main event - I like John Stossel's shtick.
I can't remember the last time I was home on a Saturday night, but looking at the schedule, I'd have to say I'd turn on Dateline NBC (8 p.m. NBC), 48 Hours Mystery (10 p.m. CBS) or Law & Order SVU (10 p.m. NBC) ~ only if I were battling the plague and if Downtown Cincinnati ran out of alcohol.
The most trying night of the schedule. My friends and blog fans know that traveling and good food are the two great passions of my life. My friends and blog fans also know I am a sensitive sap of a girl, and that's why I'm torn between Extreme Makeover: Home Edition (8 p.m. ABC) and Amazing Race (8 p.m. CBS). It is a sure bet, I end up crying while watching EM:HE, but I also really enjoy the vicarious adventure offered up on AR. We'll see which program wins out this autumn.
9 p.m. ushers in the most anticipated hour of television in my little household. Desperate Housewives (ABC) is Must See T.V. It's Appointment Television. It's Call Me And Expect To Get The Voice Mail Television. This season has warped five years into the future from where it left off in the spring - and I can't wait to see what it will dish out to Bree, Lynette, Gaby, Susan and Edie.
At 10 p.m., I usually keep the tv turned on to Brothers and Sisters (ABC) because I don't feel like looking for the remote or getting up to change the channel. It's not nearly as good as DH, but it's still pretty damn good.
What shows are you looking forward to this fall?
Saturday, September 20, 2008
It certainly wasn't the most Dickensian nickname we could have come up with, but my dad and I thought it was perfect for a mean, witchy girl who tortured me during my grade school years.
This little girl had an extremely round posterior back in the day when practically every little girl (including KtG) was stick thin and without an ounce of curves. We were 7 or 8 or 9 and running wild on playgrounds and in soccer cleats. Nobody wore a bra yet because we didn't have anything to contain and we were more concerned with charm necklaces and Barbies than social or athletic competition.
But for some reason - this little girl had it out for me.
Bubblebutt and I had first established opposing sides when we shared a mutual friend, Margaret. This little girl and I both contended over who was Margaret's bestest friend - and after many, many summer afternoons of playing with Margaret (and knowing our mothers had become good friends in Junior League) I was certain that I was the rightful owner of the coveted title.
My nemesis thought she laid claim to the best friendship. She was mean, bossy and downright rude to me. To make matters worse, she had a dimwitted dick of a father who rubbed my dad the wrong way on the soccer sidelines. Dad and I ended up sharing a mutual disdain for Bubblebutt and Bubblebutt's Dad. They became a joke we delighted in discussing from time to time over roast beef and mashed potatoes at dinner time.
This feud went on and on for many years, even after Margaret moved to Tennessee at the end of second grade.
Flash forward 23 years to last night. There I was - dressed to the nines (or at least I thought so) in a black, strapless dress and a beautiful hunter green-animal print wrap. I was attending Zoofari - the Cincinnati Zoo's annual gala fundraiser with some wonderful friends including Bluegrass Brit, Mr. G and Zooey.
The city's richest people and most famous celebrities (including the most gorgeous and stunningly eloquent Dhani Jones) turned out for this glamorous occasion - complete with open bars stocked with fabulous cocktails and table after table of decadent food prepared by Cincinnati's top chefs. I was tickled at the chance to get gussied up and rub elbows with the best of 'em.
So there I was, walking through the crowd with my date for the evening, when I crossed paths with her.
She looked exactly the same. Short in stature and round in the ass, platinum white hair (though on this occasion it wasn't pulled up into a tight ponytail on the top of her round head) and piercing blue eyes.
Our eyes met for half a second and then we both went on in opposite directions, and in that moment, I wondered whether she recognized me.
Did she know I once was the insecure, little girl who had a face full of metal and a constellation of freckles? Did she know I had survived and grown confident despite all the adversity she dished my way in the cafeteria over PB and J and chocolate milk?
Did she know I didn't care about her big sorry ass or her opinion of me?
I just cared enough to smile and move on.
Friday, September 19, 2008
The longing to talk about Maeve is still on the tip of my tongue, and yet I am relegated to talk about the past and never the future.
We dream about what might be in the Heavens above - whether Maeve is now a big girl, or still a tiny baby trooping around the skies with her Reed and Barton silver cup. We'll only know the truth once we make it there ourselves.
I am still hurting.
I am reminded by songs and pretty clouds and pictures and crying babies.
Maeve's face is starting to look a bit blurry in my memory - I instantly remember her cherubic smile and chubby tummy, but I have a hard time remembering on my own how all her features went together. It comes back to my synapses instantly when I look at one of the many pictures I have in my office or at home.
Even as an aunt, I sometimes struggle with the most wicked depression - the kind that I sometimes think would be helped by a visit to a doctor and a little pill - but I don't want the emotion to go away. I still want to feel the raw heartache left behind by that precious, little girl.
I am far more reclusive.
I've built a comfortable, little circle of friends with whom I feel comfortable enough to let myself go and be happy or complacent or wistful.
Otherwise, I don't step out the circle much.
Otherwise, I don't call too many other people.
Depression can be rough, and it's hard to play Let's Pretend and make-believe and all the other junk that goes with keeping up appearances.
Some friends think I should be "all better" by now and are slow to offer a shoulder to cry on. Unfortunately the loss of a child doesn't heal as quickly as a skinned knee.
Other friends have been great ~ they've called me and checked up on me and invited me out for breakfast or walks or other outings. My true friends have firmly encouraged me to stop living like a hermit - insisting I need to step outside and see the sunshine and smell the breeze and appreciate that I am still alive.
And I agree.
It's just real damn hard sometimes.
It's a real thing celebrated by salty dogs on seas far and wide.
Yes, it's a silly day and yes it borders on absurd - but I think it's great.
Considering the dire straits of our financial markets and the upheaval of the presidential election TLAPD is just the levity we need, me hearties!
Avast, ye bilge rats and beauties! Hold close to the barnacles and hunker down - we're in for a wild ride. Just know, there's a frosty mug of grog waitin' for ye at the end of this jolly day.
Eel Skin Kate
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
I must admit this at the outset - I live closer to Downtown Cincinnati than I do Kenwood. I lean towards independent restaurants of all kinds and cannot find a word strong enough to express my sheer detest/disdain/hate/loathe for chain establishments.
I support a brand of culture that is found in theatres and museums - not malls and movie theaters.My political inclinations are left of center and I can't stand SUVs.
Perhaps that information gives you a better reason of why I hate suburbia, but let me explain a little further, if you'll indulge me.
I had the pleasure of spending some time out of the 275 belt while coping with Greater Cincinnati's massive power outage. At the start, 1.25 million people were in the dark. Monday morning, 600,000 people were living without electricity, and tonight I think the number has dropped to a "measly" 200,000. I found comfort at my parents' home about 15 miles away from downtown - thick in the middle of strip malls and big box stores and overly manicured lawns.
I was grateful for the welcome reception - my mom put me up in a bedroom that looked like a shrine to my childhood, my dad and I shared popsicles. Mom fixed dynamite meals and I tried to return the favor by helping Dad rake leaves. The unexpected "vacation" was kind of like a trip down memory lane - complete with an afternoon snack and homemade mashed potatoes for dinner (my favorite).
As much as I enjoyed spending time with my parents in familiar surroundings, I longed for a community with sidewalks that led to one-of stores and watering holes. I was desperate for intersections that offered more neighborhood corner meeting spots and less Spaghetti Junction.
I have since returned to my quasi-urban stomping grounds and am thankful I live in a community with a neighborhood bar, local ice cream shop and several other dining establishments a stone's throw from my front porch.
*** *** *** *** ***
As quickly as I returned to urbanity, I was yanked back to Strip Mall City.Last night's dinner plans took me to the Kenwood area - half-price sushi at Embers. I'd heard before that Embers is the meet-and-greet kind of place for the 30+ crowd (though my assessment is the crowd is more like 37+) and was excited to mange on Spider Rolls, Rainbow Rolls and the like.
I noticed the valet as soon as I pulled in the parking lot.
How absurd, a business with less than 50 parking spots offering valet, but then I remembered I was dining near Indian Hill and Montgomery and considered the clientele.
Fast forward to the exit (Julie - you can do a review of Embers if you'd like - you might be more forgiving).
I guess I should have given the "old folks" credit, because I heard someone puking in the bathroom after we settled up the tab.My friends and I walked out and I was immediately appalled - the valets had run out of parking spots - so there were people parking in the aisles, parked in the ATM drive-thru spot. Cars were blocked in - and most of the haphazardly parked cars were running.
I am so glad my car was parked in a nearby spot by m-e.
Wouldn't you be pissed if you went in to a restaurant for a bite to eat and came out an hour later - only to find your vehicle running in a non-parking spot?
Wouldn't you be pissed if you found your car's gas tank was a quarter tank lighter?
Clearly, someone is not thinking about best practices at the Embers valet stand.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
That's what happens when you're forced to stay at your Mom and Dad's for an unknown period of time.
For those of you who live outside Cincinnati - I should tell you the Tri-State is experiencing a significant blackout. The remnants of Hurricane Ike breezed through the Cincinnati area Sunday afternoon while the Bengals were having their asses handed to them by the Tennessee Titans. I happened to go to the game and was amazed Carson Palmer even tried throwing the ball.
But I digress.
The significant wind storm brought down power lines, and now nearly 600,000 utility customers are without electricity, including Yours Truly.
The strange thing is, Mom and Dad have power - even though some of their neighbors don't.
I drove up to the 'Burbs Monday morning after discovering my work was closed because of the power outage - today is Tuesday and I called in to the company voice mail: still no power - standby for updates.
It's funny - I'm sleeping under my childhood comforter and am being entertained by my folks. Mom cooked a great dinner last night - I'd like to return the favor tonight (and order a pizza).
They're saying this power outage could last a week.
And here's the kicker - parts of town (including our neighborhood) have been asked to ration water because of a water shortage.
Mom and I have decided we're showering today - no matter what.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
I wasn't that concerned (the scene was an art gallery full of bloggers - a bunch of people who use their computers to share experiences, beliefs and treasured snippets of information), I am just horribly modest.
So how does a girl keep them out of the bathroom when she has to take care of business?
Let's take a closer look, shall we?
Stilettos make the perfect door wedge when you're in a jam.
The bathroom floor was uber clean so I felt alright going without a shoe for a minute or two.
If only I could have used my shoe wedge on the gentleman who, at the end of the night, began immediately spouting his political beliefs.
I bolted ~ literally BOLTED ~ when he started off the bat insulting the young people rallying around Obama. I had never abruptly walked away from someone like that, save for members of my immediate family.
Looking back on it, I should have probably handled it differently, but I was so put off by this gentleman's full-blown attack at the start of our conversation. They say politics, sex and religion should never be brought up at the dinner table, and I guess when you're at a cocktail party with strangers, the rules are the same.
Dude - you're entitled to your beliefs. But so is everyone else - and you never know who you're talking to, so perhaps you should tread lightly before you drop your opinions.
Otherwise - the blogger meetup was fantastic!
5chw4r7z and Don't Call Me Mrs. put on a lovely spread at AVS Art Gallery on 4th Street. It's a cool space with lots of colorful modern art. 5chw4r7z arranged for a brief theatrical excerpt of the play Reefer Madness at Know Theatre of Cincinnati, an array of wine and a keg of Stella, and DCMM made a couple delicious, fresh salsas.
The venue was perfect for our meet-and-greet.
I got to catch up with many of my lovely Cincinnati Losers, including wine me, dine me (in cincinnati), Shannan B. aka Mommy Bits, LM Deaton and last (but not least) Wine Girl.
I was so thrilled to meet in the flesh the lady behind What I Wore Today. This chick is amazing - Kasmira's wardrobe is enough to make any girl drool, she takes her own photos (thanks to a tripod and remote!) and is an ex-marine! I teased her and said she could probably kick my ass ~ she politely demurred no, but I think she was just being modest.
I also really enjoyed talking with Sean at BuyCincy, Brian Griffin from Cincinnati Blog and Girard and his lovely wife.
Tuesday, September 09, 2008
I've got to kick this insomnia bit.
Lately, I've been hopping online to entertain myself while I struggle with sleeplessness, purusing around my favorite "corners" of the blogosphere.
This go around I've been checking out Julie and Polly and Drinking Liberally and a bunch of other blogs that everyone else is reading, and now I'm starving.
Lots of folks are buzzing about the venue that's expected to take up the space vacated by Oakley's Chili Company. Apparently Fatburger has a grand plan to bring their big, beefy burgers to the neighborhood (I've seen all the renovations and confirm it sure looks like the kind of place featured on the website - click here to read about the GM the job opening ), and now my 5:30-in-the-morning stomach is dying for a big 1/3 pound burger with bacon, cheese and all the trimmings.
Oooh. Cheesefries. Oooh. Hand scooped shakes.
Sounds similar to Steak n' Shake (which I must confess has inspired Yours Truly to make a late-night drive thru run or two), but I really don't know much about the reputation of their burgers.
This might call for a taste test.
Not really good for a gal trying to cut her calorie intake, but hey, that's what water's for.
Sunday, September 07, 2008
Mother Nature has dished out a savory string of days - heaping helpings of sunshine and mild temperatures.
The tastiest part, though, has been the offerings I've enjoyed from Findlay Market. Cincinnati's farmer's market is a convergence of people and and wares in the city's most depressed neighborhood. First time visitors might be put off by the number of boarded up buildings they spy while walking towards the market - there's no two ways about it, Over-the-Rhine has seen better days.
The community was once a bustling bastion of Germanic tradition, featuring more than 50 breweries, churches and thousands of residents. The neighborhood was a glimmering testament to Italianate architecture, with rowhouse after rowhouse decorated in its own distinct molding and floor length windows.
The community went through a transition in the early 1900s, with many of those German families moving to more suburban outposts. Many of the buildings became vacant and fell into disrepair, and Over-the-Rhine became a haven for drug crime.
Every person and every place has a past, doesn't it?
These days, the neighborhood is experiencing a renewed gentrification, this time revived by Young Professionals, artists and empty nesters desiring a more urban lifestyle. Findlay Market is one of the thriving centers of OtR. Any given Saturday, you'll find a melange of people examining the produce and meat cases and wildflower arrangements. I like to go to watch the people and scout out the best deals on locally grown vegetables. I wasn't alone in my voyeurism yesterday. VH1 had a crew shooting some stand-ups for its Top 20 Video Countdown.
For the past three weekends, I have bought at least two zucchini (@ $1) and an eggplant (@ $1) from the same two ladies from Brown County. The zucchini are about as big as bananas and the eggplant the most beautiful color of deep, regal purple. You just can't beat the prices at Findlay Market. The strawberries were $1.50 a pound. Grapes $1.50 a pound. Tomatoes - all different kinds of ruby red and glistening orange. Heirlooms, cherry, Roma, hothouse. So many varieties to inspect and compare. Yesterday I picked up a box of Romas for a buck.
I also picked up Streetvibes paper at WestEnder's endorsement, and agree that it's a good read.
I know that summer is winding down, and soon I'll be noshing on produce grown half a world a way. But for now, I can enjoy the fruits and the labor of local people.
1 large zucchini, cubed
1 large tomato, diced
1 clove of garlic, diced
1/4 pound pasta - either linguine, spaghetti or angel hair
15 leaves fresh basil
2 T shredded mozzarella
1 T extra virgin olive oil
Salt and pepper to taste
Bring pot of water to a boil, then place pasta in water.
In a saute pan, drizzle olive oil and bring to medium heat.
Saute cubed zucchini and diced garlic in pan until zucchini is tender.
Drain pasta when ready and then pour in saute pan.
Drizzle a bit of olive oil on pasta, and include diced tomatoes and hand-shredded basil leaves. Sprinkle cracked black pepper and sea salt to taste.
Stir a couple times to blend ingredients and then remove from heat.
Serve topped with shredded mozzarella.
Friday, September 05, 2008
Thursday, September 04, 2008
Whether you are enjoying roast beef and Yorkshire Pudding in Nana's kitchen, or Panko-crusted scallops at the best restaurant in town, you will always find salt right beside pepper.
On white tablecloths, picnic tables and Formica counter tops, those white, crystallized grains will always be complimented by their black, zesty counterpart.
As surly and unforgiving as she can be, even Salt has a match.
The fact that salt and pepper have each other reminds me that surely I can find a match of my own in the sea of humanity. As painful as the heartache of solitude may be from time to time, I know this rough patch (One year? Three years? 15 years?) is just a means to an end.
Though their union is about as old as the sands of time, Salt and Pepper aren't the only examples of steadfast commitment.
Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward
Tom Hanks and Rita Wilson
Arnold Schwarzenegger and Maria Schriver
Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall
Bob and Elizabeth Dole
Sting and Trudy
There are lots of people out there who somehow manage to find someone who compliments their personal mission. Al and Tipper Gore share a love of family and the Volunteer State. Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie love improving humanity around the globe and picking up souvenirs kids along the way.
And yet for all the successful matches out there, I'm reminded there are lots of people who don't find the perfect fit for their heart. Like a bunch of square pegs trying to fit in round holes, they're left without an embrace that feels like home.
Billy Bob Thornton
Okay, so some of those folks are freaks and likely dealing with a few missing marbles, but every single soul on that list has failed to find the the hand they'll hold for eternity. For this sorry lot, relationships have come and gone, making for empty sides of the bed and sans +1.
Do I add my name to the list?
For me, loneliness is a sea I try to keep at bay.
I build up walls and busy-ness and perfectly practiced smiles to try and hide the hurt.
But inside, my heart beats every beat alone. The echos of an empty room ring deep within my ears. The arms have forgotten what an embrace feels like. The tears well up in my eyes until I cannot hold back any longer, the wet reminder of pain streaming down my cheeks.
And then I taste the salt.
And I try to cling to the belief that even she has a better half.
Tuesday, September 02, 2008
That's the only thing I could surmise as I tootled down the interstate, watching a man furiously wave his arms in the car beside me. At first I thought it was a gesture of flattery, but then a quizzical expression spread across my face and I began wondering why he was flailing about so erratically.
Another gentleman was flashing his lights on and off behind me and also crazily gyrating with his hands and such. I decided that it wasn't my flowing, flaxen locks that prompted his emotion, and began wondering whether he was waving in angst and disappointment (I was simultaneously chatting on the phone and shifting gears, and the multi-tasking had hindered my ability to speed).
I began thinking perhaps something was up.
I got off the phone and turned down the radio and tried to determine the cause of all the chaos from my friends on the road.
I didn't hear anything.
I didn't see anything.
I didn't feel anything.
Regardless, I decided to drive a bit more slowly and cautiously, making my way safely to the office.
I got out of the car and circled to the other side and saw a completely deflated tire. It turns out I had driven on my rim the whole way from Oakley to the downtown area. Bummer.
My question is this: is it a bum tire, or did some crazed Louisville fan decide to deflate it after seeing my UK car flag, which proudly waved all holiday weekend long after Sunday's routing in Papa John's Stadium?
Sucks to be a Cardinal, doesn't it?