afrojet

It’s been raining mightily this morning and yet the cats beg to go outside and play. I let them out and they run straight for the puddles and dance in the fresh muddy soil that I laid down last weekend in an attempt to revitalize the lawn situation. A half-hour later I get up to grab some more coffee and notice that the cats have been back through the house leaving criss-cross patterns of dirty tracks upon the floors and furniture. I am reminded of those Family Circus cartoons where Billy’s adventures are traced by thick black dashes.

Thankfully, my bachelor days have come to a close as the misses has returned from Minnesota. She came back with an extra suitcase bursting with impossibly small clothing. We fight the temptation to dress the cats in miniature buster browns and R2D2 onesies. It’s beginning to dawn on me that life is going to get awfully noisy in about twelve weeks. So I’ve taken to enjoying the vast quietude of these days and nights. Lot’s of reading, gentle jazz, tea and, most importantly, sitting very still and doing and thinking absolutely nothing. I suppose one could argue that I should be doing the exact opposite. I should be in training mode; set the iTunes up with some loud un-listenable free-jazz-noise-prog and multi-task till I collapse in a fevered pirouette. But I am sure no amount of ‘training’ can prepare one for this next turn of events and thus I am determined to bask in the simple silence of conjecture until the Deejay drops the needle and the party explodes with the heat of a hundred suns.

Things are getting large in the belly department. Baby Skelton has graduated from gentle tap dancing to full-on Beat Street inspired break-dancing. He really gets the party bumping just before the sleepytime hours. He seems really invested in the Project Runway finale. Two quick kicks means he likes the design and a random flailing of elbows and feet means it wasn’t the designers best work.

Yesterday the misses left for Minnesota to see family and partake in baby shower rituals with ‘the girls’. Not really knowing what to do with myself last night I opened a fresh bottle of Dewar’s whisky, broke out the guitar and wrote a blues song entitled, “My Baby Took My Baby Back to Minnesota”.

We start birthing class on the 24th and when the misses returns it’s time to start some serious work on nursery construction. She picked out this great fabric for the crib and I’m lobbying hard for this Angela Adams rug which I think would complement nicely.

Frustration. Too much to do and the blog withers on the vine as I attend to other matters. I need an Army of Me’s to get through my lists of to-do’s. Seems like a month has gone by since we got back from Vegas. Has it only been a week?

Vegas delivered in big ways again. Yet, it was a different experience then some of my previous adventures to Sin City. This time it was all about the people and less about the city. John and Allison’s wedding was a blast. John was looking handsome in his custom pinstripe suit from Nates Clothing. Allison was beautiful in red. Flamenco musicians provided a nice sonic backdrop to the ceremony which was held in the somewhat gothic ambiance of the wedding chapel at the Artisan hotel.

Before the ceremony, John and I went out to get haircuts and straight razor shaves from a celebrity barber located in the bowels of Harrah’s Casino. We decided to walk from the Artisan Hotel which is located a few blocks off the strip. Walking out of the Artisan we could see Harrah’s off in the distance and didn’t think it would be a problem finding a cut-through street to the strip. Of course, we were wrong about that. What should have been an easy 15 minute walk turned into an epic one hour journey through the dirty and dusty back streets of Vegas. With the temperature in the mid 90’s, and with the wedding looming only hours away, our walk took on this apocalyptic, ‘Paris, Texas’ kind of quest. The thing about Vegas is, it’s all about “the strip”. The strip is kept very clean and pumped full of fresh oxygen. If it were up to the hotels, I’m sure they’d rather you never strayed from Las Vegas Blvd. Once, you do stray however, it’s all garbage, power grids, and depression era housing for the millions of people who open doors, drive cabs, and clean ashtrays. Luckily, one good pull on the Wheel of Fortune progressive slots can erase your memory banks in a New York (hotel) minute.

The Artiian Hotel supplied a number of interesting guests that we met over the weekend. One morning, Kelly and I had were waiting out front of the hotel for a cab. This women in her early 40’s walked out of the hotel and after a brief conversation offered us a ride to the strip in her rented white PT Cruiser convertible. I wish I could have taken a picture of this lady cause she was “Miss Las Vegas 2007”. To say that she was ‘done up’ at 9:30 in the morning would be a huge understatement. She was tall and slim with gold and diamonds everywhere, leather pants, a lace shirt, big blond hair, and four inch heels. She talked fast about her love for Vegas and of the quarterly trips she makes from Hawaii every year. After dropping us off she zoomed away running over two large orange traffic cones. Kelly and I just looked at each other with speechless amazement.

We also met a lovely Dutch couple, Jacquelien & Pascal, who were staying at our hotel. They’ve been living in New York for the past three months and are on assignment from a dutch daily to write about the American Experience. What better place than Vegas, huh? I told them that if they want to see the true American Experience they’ll find it gorging itself on breakfast steaks at the Sunday morning buffet in Ballys Hotel. It was fun to hang out with them and see Vegas through the eyes of European travelers. Pascal summed up Vegas nicely when he said, “Vegas is a fake city, wrapped in a fake city”. Word.

Vegas photos.

We’re heading out to Sin City today for the much anticipated wedding of John and Allison. The misses is a bit handicapped for this adventure as she’s wisely sworn off the sauce while carrying our progeny. So now everything rests on my shoulders to represent Team Skelton in the Vegas trenches. Vegas has become in some bizarro-world reality a kind of third home for me in the last decade. A strange and terrible home for sure, but one that I keep coming back to on an almost yearly basis. Is this really my fifth trip to Vegas in just the last seven years? How is that possible? I suppose John (aka The Groom) is more or less responsible for those skewed numbers. His family has built their fortunes in that desert town and their hospitality has always been reason enough to return. I have no doubt the family is going to pull out all the stops for this party and I’m just excited to be part of the festivities.

Time permitting, there are a few places that I want to get to this time ’round. The Las Vegas Gun Store being at the top of the list. It’s one of the only places in the US that one can rent (and shoot), without permit or license, fully automatic machine guns. I got my heart set on firing the AK-47 Assault Rifle. I’ve also never been to the Vegas Neon Graveyard, a dusty lot that features all the old forgotten signage from casinos past. As always, the destination I look forward to returning to the most, The Peppermill Fireside Lounge, will be where you can find me between the hours of 3AM and 6AM.

2006 Twins Highlight Reel
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IVcju97G158]

We’re going to be playing baseball in October!! What an exceptional year for the Twins. It’s too bad I won’t be back in Minnesota to watch the games. Twins Baby Beanies for everyone.

P.S. I simply love watching Gardenhire loose his cool and go off on umpires. We should all be allowed to do that from time to time.

Rockabye Baby!
Baby Rock Records transforms timeless rock songs into beautiful instrumental lullabies, sending your little one to a slumberland of sweet dreams. Delicate instruments such as the glockenspiel, vibraphone, mellotron, harp and bells create a soothing atmosphere of sound. These charming recordings are sophisticated enough for everyone to enjoy, yet gentle enough for your little angel. This is cherub rock for a new generation.

I’m planning on ordering the Bjork & Metallica one for sure. Funny, The Cure lullaby record just sounds like a normal Cure record.

Medieval Grill Work
I have no special love for the dentist but I don’t have any aversion to the dentist either. It’s just that, well, i’ve had other things on my mind for a while. And by ‘a while’ I mean THE LAST FIVE YEARS!

For good or ill, I subscribe to the ‘If It Ain’t Broke Don’t Fix It’ philosophy of medical treatments. Prevention, is a word entirely foreign to me. I mean I brush, I floss, and I keep a steady supply of The Doctor’s BrushPicks near the computer for epic OCD inspired picking sessions. Is that not enough to win the battle against plaque and tarter?

Apparently not.

Yesterday, I finally got ’round to visiting the dentist. Hilarity ensued. First they gave me some forms to fill out.

Reason for visit: Dirty Teeth

Do you smoke: Yup

Coffee: That too

Alcohol: As much as I can get my hands on

Previous Dental History/Records: Sorry, they got lost in The Great Midwest fire of ’99

For some reason, I thought they would appreciate my brutal honesty when I handed in the forms. But after reviewing my answers the receptionist girl just gave me a look of horror and told me to find a seat while she located her camera to take my Polaroid.

Finally got led back into the chair with the Dental Hygienist lady. Eighteen uncomfortable x-rays later we started in on the cleaning process. At this point, I was almost sure she was going to take one look at my mouth, lurch back and whisper ‘sweet jesus’. So I was shocked when she kept saying things like: ‘things look good’, ‘little problem here, but nothing serious’, etc, etc. Then she started in on the cleaning and tarter removing with what sounded like a pencil-sized belt sander. It soon became apparent to her that some of this stuff had been on there awhile and wasn’t budging. She voiced her disappointment while looking a little puzzled and then redoubled her efforts. Slowly things began to loosen up. I guess a normal cleaning is supposed to take about an hour and as we approached that mark it was clear this was going to go to extra innings.

At around the one-hour mark, things took a turn for the worse and quickly degenerated into a Larry David type moment. She mentioned that what she was doing was usually very painful. I said I didn’t mind. It wasn’t a problem. Somehow she got the impression that I was actually enjoying this pain. Like, in a ‘you-sick-fuck’ kinda way. Then, she mentioned something about usually people need anesthesia for the kind of digging she was doing. Unfortunately, I didn’t really hear her say this, as I was preoccupied with feeling the back of my bottom teeth with my tongue and noticing the tactile difference. To this I exclaimed, “That’s Insane”. Which she then misunderstood as me saying that anybody who takes anesthesia for pain is crazy. Oh boy! That did it. Now I was an official pervert with an insatiable fetish for pain. Dental Hygenist pissed and uncomfortable. Me with a mouthful of tools making it very hard to clear my name. Fun-town. Then things really hit the fan. She, digging and scraping away says, “Um, do you smoke?”. To which I say, “Ah…Yes”.

Mistake. Game over. It was like I told her I eat babies for breakfast. Horror. Lecture. Contempt. Lecture. Anger. More Lecture. The next half-hour passed in a very uncomfortable angry silence. At the two-hour mark she threw up her hands in exhausted resignation and said I would have to schedule another appointment to finish the cleaning. She also made it very clear that she would not be the one performing that cleaning.

Then the doctor showed up to look over the x-rays. I was expecting the worst. I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. But, it turns out that my teeth are pretty healthy. I’ve got a couple minor spots that need filling but other than that no damage done. Yet I can’t get over the feeling that I traumatized the poor dental hygienist almost to the point of tears. My name is mud in that office for sure. Is there any hope that I might right my wrongs? Was she overreacting? Surely I’m not the first smoker to sit down in a dentist chair. It’s enough to make a man wait another five years before going back. Alas, I want to get this cleaning over with and whatever cavities I have filled up. After that, we’ll just have to see.

Swanky Sectional
Ginormous ‘run of the mill’ sectional available on Craigslist. You’d have to have some excess square footage in your family room to pull this one off. Even then, I’m not sure if you’d want to.

Dance of The Headless Bourgeoisie

Another successful one-day Cannonball Run journey to Seattle and back. This time to witness Nomeansno rock the El Corazone.

The band played with ferocious energy inspiring a packed house to leave everything on the dance floor. This was the first gig of their tour and luckily we’ll get to see ’em again in one of their final gigs in Portland.

The drive back was brutal. Left Seattle at 12:45AM and arrived back home at 3:30AM. There is a certain stretch of I-5, that starts around Longview and ends around Vancouver Washington, that’s a dark no man’s land of mystery and dangerous possibility.

It should be noted that we made this exact same Portland-to-Seattle journey to see Nomeansno way back in the summer of ’96 – ten years ago! I’m feeling good about that.

Homebrew For The Nearly Heartbroken
Just like the old kids song from my youth, the cat did actually come back. Not “the very next day” but she eventually found her way home. Gabby disappeared over a week ago Saturday night. A whole gut wrenching week went by before last Friday afternoon, when she came rambling back inside and let out a great cry to let me know she was back. Hazah! Of course there was much joy and rejoicing, as well as deep surprise for I was certain that she was a goner. I had visions of her being hauled off into the night by a feisty coyote with an appetite for furry pants. The disappearance was a total mystery and very uncharacteristic for Gabby as she likes to keep it close to home and sleeps soundly in our bed every night. The misses and I had flyered the neighborhood and taken all the steps we could think of to locate her. Nothing produced results. I’m still waiting for a full explanation from Gabby as to what she was doing during her holiday but she’s playing her cards pretty close to the chest and I don’t think she’ll me forthcoming with the details I require for resolution on this one.

Last night, ‘The Alfred Street Neighborhood Homebrewing Company’ gathered to complete the bottling phase of our latest Special Edition – Patty’s Chili Beer. Hot Damn. This one is an absolute winner. Brewed using only the finest Anaheim chilies, this dark beauty will be the perfect beverage for toasting the cool grip of Autumn. The beer must now do its magic in the bottles for about two weeks before it can be freed from its container. There was also talk of the next batch, which may turn out to be a pumpkin beer, delivered just in time for Tofurkey Day.

In other news…I’ve been catching up on my ‘baby’ reading materials. Interesting stuff. I’ve learned that I need to be reading out loud to the wife’s belly so the little Cramped Commander will begin to recognize the sound of my voice. Ah, but what to read? Beowulf? Pound? The Financial Times? These are heady questions where my decisions may have ramifications down the line that I’m not sure I’ll be able to defend. With that weight on my mind, I decided to start with the really heavy stuff – just go right for the jugular – and so I pulled out Jack Handy’s Deep Thoughts. I’d like to share one with you right now:

If you ever fall off the
Sears Tower, just go
real limp, because
maybe you’ll look like a
dummy and people will
try to catch you because,
hey, free dummy.