Sebbylite

This past weekend I went to the Fremont Solstice Parade in Seattle, which for those of you who have never been or heard about, it is basically a big Hippy Fest. This Hippy Fest is complete with nekid bikers, body paint, costumes, bums with bubblemakers, the whole nine yards basically. If you still don’t know what exactly I’m talking about, you’ll see later when I post the pictures that I took.

Anyway, Hippy Fest happened about 15-20 blocks from where I live, and since there was no way in hell I was going to drive down there and try to find a parking spot, I rode my bike. I was down there for about 4-5 hours, most of the time watching the parade after locking my bike up to a fence post. On my way home, I got back on my bike and rode through the fair that was happening alongside the Hippy Fest. It was pretty busy (if you’ve ever been to Mardi Gras, it is comparable), and so I was only riding when the street opened up, or on the sidewalks behind the booths. Basically, I was trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, given that I was on my bike and there were quite a few people around, and I did a pretty damn good job of it too.

Near the end of the fair, as I was riding behind the booths on the sidewalk and there was no one within 15 feet of me, this guy stops me. I’ll call him Farmer Bob, and this is why: he probably weighed in at about 275 pounds but he was only 5’8″ or 5’9″ at the most. He had what used to be a white t-shirt on that had turned into a dingy brown, with some rainbow suspenders holding up a pair of pants that should have been retired when Reagan was president. In his right hand he held some sort of fried chicken or bundt cake type object, and in his left was a corn dog. Now he walked into the middle of the sidewalk and looked at me with a smile, and said: “Keys join your Mike with its fizzy.”

WTF?

So I stopped and asked him what he said, because he was looking at me all kindly like he may have needed directions or something, and he said: “Please shine your dyke when it’s dizzy.”

I tried one more time, and he finally managed to get out: “Please ride your bike when it’s busy” at which point I realized he was being a jackass, so I said that I would and rode on.

Now, of course, I’m pissed. I wasted such a great opportunity to just rip into Farmer Bob, and all I came up with was “Ok, I will.” So to try and rectify the situation (not that I have any hopes that Farmer Bob is computer literate, or any other literate, by any means, but I still want to vent), this is what I should have said:
1) Alright jackass, let’s try a certain thing called annunciation.
2) Since you brought up the subject of being in the way, could you move your fat ass out of mine, because your belly is blocking more of the sidewalk than I could ever hope to with my bike.
3) Being in public does not mean that you get to be a dipshit. Unfortunately, that is normal for you.

…and on and on. Now, I think that it would be best to have people write in with their best comments, and what they would have said in this situation. C’mon, don’t be shy…

What happens when you get a bunch of people from UW-Madison together with a bunch of people from Carleton College? Usually some sort of competition will emerge, shit will be talked, walks will be walked, someone will puke in their dress shoes, and the bride will get nailed with a kickball.

Or maybe that is just my impression of the wedding I went to the other weekend. Without naming names, I’ll try to relate the story as best as possible:
Thursday: drinking and parking lot four-square (including toilet-bowls, tea parties, around-the-world, and a bunch of other rules that were just plain made up), people who don’t drink a lot trying to match drinks with people who do, and ultimately one of the groomsmen vomiting on his own dress shoes (at least they were his own).
Friday: the groom-”I’m not drinking.” Everyone else-”Boo.” The groom-”Ok, but I’m only drinking Irish Car Bombs.” A certain individual to the bartender after putting $100 bill on the bar-”Car Bomb’s until that is done!” All I know from there was that there was a game of Ro-sham where the loser had his hand pee’d on. Nice.
Saturday: kickball, four-square (with the inclusion of Randy Johnson’s, Karch Kirai’s, one-legged hopping, and even more made up rules), the actual wedding (where the weather sucked until the bride walked down the aisle, and the sun came out to shine on her-pretty fricking cool), the reception, the dinner, the toasts, the dancing, the polka?!?, the after-party, and the closing of the bar.
Sunday: Perkin’s (best hungover food ever!), then the beach.

As far as I can tell, here is who won: Madison-dancing at the reception, not puking. Carleton-kickball, the bouquet, the garter, the toasts. Others may have different opinions, but they aren’t writing this, so too bad.

The pictures are here! I’ve put a few up on the Flickr account I set up, so take a look.

College Nationals was in Corvallis, OR the other weekend, and I went to watch. I took a bunch of pictures, some good and some bad. I will say that the best one happened at the house that we were staying at. During one of the after-play gatherings (and by gathering I mean that everyone and their favorite uncle gathered for a party), I took this picture. When I saw it, all I could think was that the baby in the painting was judging whoever sat in the chair. And found them undeserving.

Regardless, there were good times to be had. One being the overplaying of a certain video that seemed to grab everyone’s attention. Another being the University of Washington women’s team making it to the finals, even though this was the first National’s that they had even been too.

I promise I’ll update this post when I get the pictures online.

I have a weird dog. For everyone that knows him, they know that is an understatement, but it will have to do for now. Let’s just say that he has issues with, in no particular order: abandonement, strangers, mailboxes, sprinklers, eye contact, people in our house, people near our house, and various others.

On the other hand, he provides me with no end of entertainment, again in no particular order, by: playing golf, chasing frisbees, playing tetherball, chasing a wiffle bat, running in circles, having balance issues in cars, and being a cupholder. I will just say that he was so interested in watching a frisbee being thrown that he held that cup on his head for about 5 minutes without moving.

After my previous post, stating that nothing happens and I have no interesting stories to relate, blah blah blah, I’ve been swamped recently with things going on. Suffice to say that I have also failed miserably in relating those events to the faithful followers of the Party Season Blog. My bad.

I do promise that I will be updating this shortly, with stories, pictures, kickball, four-square, weddings, ultimate tournaments, and more. Please be patient (and gentle).