Equal Parts

This past weekend was one of spectating. I like spectating. I thoroughly enjoy watching sports. I love to cheer, to groan, to tailgate and get invested in the drama for a little bit. Anyone who has had to suffer through me watching a Redskins game knows this. I get really invested when it comes to my ‘Skins.

Friday afternoon I met up with Margarita, the Polis, Cara’s Dad and Nathan at the Tourists’ baseball game. I didn’t get there until the 7^th inning; just in time to walk in for free, catch up on the happenings, drink a pint and then leave without the normal boredom that comes with watching baseball. It was a gorgeous spring evening, the kind where the outcome of the game/match doesn’t matter as much as the enjoyment of the experience. After the game the group split, with most everyone going to Wedge Brewery for a pint and Nathan and I going to pick up his dog, drop him and the truck at Nathan’s house then walk to Jack of the Wood for the Habibigy show. Laura and Drew met up with us there and, as expected, it was a great night. The music was lively and unexpected, the conversation was meandering and the company was top-notch. It was another night in this town where I have to pinch myself that I live here, that this is my life. I get to be with my sort of people.

Sunday afternoon M-rita and I met up at memorial stadium to watch Doug, Dan, Clay, Aaron, Dave, etc play their guts out in search of glory and victory for Jack of the Wood’s soccer team. By halftime it was raining feverishly and Margarita and I took shelter in beach chairs under the bleachers. We stayed mostly dry and the boys won.

After the match the whole lot headed around the block to Dirty Jacks, the top-secret speakeasy brewpub for JotW for a Tres de Mayo potluck (or “Cinco de Tres” according to Clay). We played horseshoes, laughed, got herded inside by the grumbles of thunder and then trapped by the violent storms that followed. When I finally left, downtown was empty and without power—no cars, no streetlights, no stoplights—and the drive home was spooky, as if I was the only one left. It took me four tries to get back to my house; every street had a tree down or power trucks blocking the way.

There is no neat conclusion to this summary, only that this weekend I felt like I was equal parts observing life and living it.

Do You Hear What I Hear

If you do hear what I hear, it is incessant ringing and it isn't fun, is it?

Wednesday morning I woke up to a horrible ear ache. I haven't had an ear infection since I was probably 10 or 11 but I remember the pain well. I hate going to doctors and avoid them if all possible but as the day progressed the pain got worse. The pain got distractingly, excruciatingly worse. I gave up, called my doctor friend and had him look at it. "You have an ear infection," he said and gave me a prescription for antibiotics. At this point I could hardly see straight from pain (good time to be driving around town) but I made it home fine. I took my antibiotic and lay down with a warm rice pack on my ear (it really does help, or is comforting enough to make me believe it helps) when the pain started to abate. Hallelujah. Then stuff starting flowing out of my ear.

Ewww.

The next morning I knew my ear drum had ruptured. The pain had eased drastically but the stuff kept coming out and the ringing had started. I couldn't hear anything out of my right ear except that damn ringing. I went to work. I couldn't keep my head up very long, the vertigo was too severe. I walked around with my head cocked to the side, like I was quizzing everyone and everything. I went home early. I slept for almost four hours.
Today I went to work. And today I still can't hear anything and the sloshing in my head has worsened, I feel like I may pass out or vomit at any time. Woohoo!

Here's to you, Tympanic membrane! Thank you for the worse pain I've experienced in recent memory! And your timing has been impeccable, because you know I have absolutely nothing happening this weekend...oh wait.

Grrr.

Rabbit Trail

Another "weekend" and another adventure with Jonathan. This is becoming a habit. We had great plans to drive to Rockbridge to hear my dear friend Hatcher speak but the drive was just too long and Jonathan didn't finish up work until much later so the VA adventure had to be scrapped for something local. It was for the best; that would have been a bit of a stretch.
We headed to Max Patch, a 4600' bald peak about an hour northwest of Asheville that has what many consider to be the best views in an area full of breathtaking views. We had the place to ourselves (lucky us! Pays to have Tuesday be my Saturday!) and the short trip to the top afforded us plenty of time to settle into the quiet beauty and watch the sunset. Lovely as always. I haven't enjoyed a sunset like that in much too long.

Wednesday we took our time getting going and finally headed out on gravel roads barely wide enough for two cars (luckily we didn't even see another car the whole time) that took us down into Tennessee. I don't tire of seeing miles and miles of young forest.
After a greasy lunch and more exploring we stopped at Big Creek in the Great Smokey National Park for a chance to have a cold mountain stream all to ourselves. After a quick dip we reclined on boulders in the creek, soaking up the sunlight and smelling clean the way one does after experiencing water like that. We watched goldfinches make their way to the water to take their own baths, their yellow feathers splashing and fluffing.

On the hike out we were sort of making our own way back to the camper and I got worried we were on a rabbit trail. Is that what ya'll call them, rabbit trails? Those paths in the woods that look promising, look like they lead somewhere, and then dead end at nothing in particular? I've been thinking about rabbit trails since then and in ways that have nothing to do with hiking. Surprise, I found a metaphor.
Really I've been thinking about hope but since I haven't fully formulated my thoughts on the matter I just leave you knowing that's what I'm thinking about. Not that I really expect you to care, but FYI.

I Hope They Have Beer in Heaven

For 4 years, the last weekend in June meant one thing, that thing that would cause friends to travel great distances and promote the usage of vacation days, a holiday unlike any other:

The Old Dominion Beer Festival.

You may laugh, but this truly was a very, very special weekend event. It would start on Friday around 5pm and ended Sunday at 7pm and those three days were chockablock full of music, food, cigars, an inevitable sunburn, probably a rain shower or two and, of course, lots and lots of beer to sample...fifty breweries in fact. It was summer. After the festival we'd go inside the brewery to fill our growlers and get dinner (as Brandt is doing after the 2006 festival. That's five growlers he is holding; I have four myself).

That all changed in March, 2007 when Old Dominion Brewery was bought out, with Coastal City Brewing Company getting a 51% share and good old Anheuser-Busch getting 49%.
Last May I got online, looking up the musical acts for the 11th annual ODB fest only to find it wasn't happening...they blamed construction. They said, "Don't worry! We'll be back and bigger than ever next year!"

Today is supposed to be the big day of ODB fest.
I should be sitting at a picnic table, stuffing my face with a funnelcake and downing my 12th sample of Some Kind of Awesome Beer with all my friends, but no.
There is no joy in Mudville, ODB Fest is no more more.
I hate you, Anheuser-Busch. Hate you.

(Romano and Seany in happier times, standing with glorious kegs of ODB goodness)

Note: Asheville has the Brewgrass Festival in September, celebrating all things bluegrass and beer-ish, but Brandt (guy with the growlers) is a slimy bastard and is getting married in Virginia the same day as Brewgrass. Bah.

CRUSTY CRAB!

I wrote a post about my weekend, (which was original and amazing), but written down it was just sort of boring so I tossed it. I'm feeling repetitive and unoriginal. It's like when your father tells you the same story for the 4^th time; looses its freshness. I went out with friends! Martinis! Adventure! Redskins! Woohoo! That was it. Sometimes brevity peaks out and gives the world a raspberry before it goes back into the chest where verbosity normally keeps it locked up. See? Back to too many words.

So I realized my digital camera was also in my car when it was broken into, so if you thought I didn't post enough photos before...well, now I got nuthin'. Maybe I'll start depicting everything with little dot drawings like they have in the NYT. Or draw events like they do with courtroom painters. Maybe I'll do fingerpainting, Mfers. Oh well, camera was a graduation gift from my father—I needed a new camera, but it had great sentimental value to me. Of course I'm a packrat, everything has sentimental value in my sick sick mind.

Quizzo on Monday: Amazing. Possibly the best team ever. First off I won a shout out question (correct answer: “CRUSTY CRAB!”) so I got a Jack of the Wood t-shirt. THEN by the end of the second round we were in the top 3 teams. After the speed round (we kicked ASS on that one) we were one point from first place. Final round we tied for third—just two points from the winner. For this I blame the following: Kenny Lofton, Ethopia, Friday, Blake Edwards, Road to Rio, James Earl Carter, and all the other answers we got wrong. But that is the highest we've ever finished; go us. Thanks to all who made appearances. Remember: everyone is invited to Quizzo...unless you dated one of us. I've got standards.

I finally finished Mrs. Dalloway. Only took me a good six months to get around to finishing a book that is less than 200 pages, but now I feel like I need to go back and read it quickly; to make it all make sense. That was a dense read. Recommended if one has the time to give attention to every word or phrase as if it stood alone. And really, people were surprised that Virginia Woolf committed suicide? Really? Did they bother to read it? It's like people being shocked that Sylvia Plath killed herself—did ya read The Bell Jar? That's a new list right there: Obnoxiously Obvious Holy Shits. Holy shit George Michael is GAY? Clark Kent is Superman!? Bruce Willis is dead in “The Sixth Sense”!? RuPaul is a MAN!?

Wild Weekend

Sorry haven't posted in a while. Here's a quick breakdown of the weekend that was:

Friday: Downtown after Five, free concert by Yo' Momma's Big Fat Booty Band and subsequent dancing-->quick bite at Bier Garden-->Salsa dancing at Mela's with Nate, John and Jane (don't be impressed, I didn't dance) --> booty dancing at Temptations til past 1. Note: I was in a tanktop, brown carrharts and old dirty rainbow flipflops. Total dancing outfit.

Saturday: Slept in--> “community festival” with Jane and Nant for hotdogs and people watching-->read, fretted, read, fretted-->downtown to meet up with Jess and her posse of drunk friends after their day at Brewgrass. I'd say 75% of downtown was Brewgrass patrons--> Dinner at Mamacita's-->decide to nix cabin camping plans with Jess and the crew. Too tired to deal with the really drunk-->On way back to car, meet up with Nate, Katherine and Andy-->French martini bar and best dessert EVER--> booty dancing at Temptations til past 1. These two occurrences I blame directly on Nate. He's so bootylicious he just has to dance.

Sunday-->Slept in-->met up with Jess and gang at Laughing Seed to say goodbye-->Get to see old high school friend Emily for the first time in, oh, 6 years or so-->wander downtown to peruse the shops--> Go home, change clothes, head to Nate's-->walk to Bier Garden to watch Redskins game with Nate, Anthony and Kara-->'Skins lose. I hate everyone-->all take cab to Ian and Tammy's for homemade piea night with whole gang-->Ride back to Nate's in the back of Katherine and Andy's station wagon-->watch episode of “Blackadder” with Nate-->booty dancing at Temptations til past 1 (no wait, that part I made up. I went home around 12:30 though.)

Beer Tours

What a great weekend! Wow! My friends Jess and Helen drove down from VA to visit. I know them from AL and was literally giddy with excitement to have them in the Ashevegas. Chuck and Kelley, two other ALers, live in Brevard so the five of us had a weekend in the big city. Friday night we went out to Mayfel's for some down home dinner, then over to Jack of the Wood for pints and Sons of Ralph (with Ralph!) before slogging back to my house for some much needed sleep. Saturday morning I made bagels while they went out to the farmers market and we had a substantial (and carb heavy) breakfast. We had talks of climbing and hiking but our friend Tim was meeting us so we decided to stay in town til he came around. First stop: right down the road at French Broad Brewing Company for a tasting and a growler fill of the Wee Heavy-er. Then downtown to show off more of this great city. It was a PERFECT day weather-wise to be walking around—cloudless, mid-70s, breezy—idyllic really, and we walked everywhere, including stopping to get Chuck a cigar. Took a rest at Laughing Seed for a late lunch, where Tim met up with us (and Jane stopped by with Nant). Our full stomachs drove down to Dirty Jacks for a pitcher of their cask porter outside in the sunshine. At this point we thought we might as well visit as many breweries in town as possible, so we walked around the block to Asheville Brewing for pitchers of the Scottish Ale (a personal favorite) and some serious games of Cornhole. The sun was setting, so back to my house to pack a bag and caravan to Brevard. We made a big dinner of veggies, rice and peanut sauce, all got in our mummy bags and watched “Bourne Supremacy” (Jason Bourne is my future husband and I wanted to show him off) before crashing mightily onto our respective thermarests. And then came the giggles. Out of control. Everyone. I was choking from laughing. This morning my stomach muscles hurt. Love it.
Kind of goes along with the previous post—being with your people can make all the difference. Outdoor educators are a motley bunch but they get each other, and it is a mighty feeling, being understood.