Skipping past Writober and Nanoblomo . . ? Shit, I dunno. I'm as bored as you are.
Weekends
Friday, September 01, 2006
Belize? You’re Shitting Me.
I’m not a big fan of posting stories from my childhood, but I was reminded recently of this one time I tried to outsmart my mom when she was putting me to bed. I’d gotten in the habit of chewing gum before bed, and she’d always make me spit it out, telling me I’d choke. Well, this one time, when she came into my room, I took the gum out of my mouth . . . and put it in my bedshirt. She kissed me good night and left. And I promptly fell asleep. You know the rest.
In other news, it’s mini-Meetup time here in Atlanta, where we’re visiting Michelle’s sister. On the way up, we stopped and had lunch with Mark and his awesome and tall wife in Macon. And tomorrow, if the “fates” allow, we’re meeting CW and his wife for dinner. Hilarity will ensue. Likely before we show up.
This post was brought to you by Woodchuck Granny Smith Apple Cider.
Roadtripping • Weekends • (2) Comments closed • Permalink
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Wild!
Aaaaaaaaand we’re BACK from our wild adventure at Wild Adventures. Actually, we’ve been back since Saturday afternoon. And it wasn’t all that wild. For instance, the days we were there, the park was open for 23 hours (combined). I think we spent a grand total of nine hours there. Did we get our money’s worth? Mia looks happy in the pictures we took, so I’ll go with a qualified “yes.”
There was a lot of half-joking about Wild Adventures being a “redneck Disney” before leaving for Valdosta, and I was somewhat afraid that it was gonna be a fixed-base version of the Fair. Luckily, it was more grand (and clean!) than the Fair. But without the kiddie-stimulation-overload of Disney. Which I think was good for Mia’s first “real” amusement park experience. And Michelle and I had some adult-ride time (separately), and you’d be hard pressed to find un-pussified rides like The Hangman at Disney. (Definitely one of the better coasters I’ve ridden. The old-school wooden Cheetah left me feeling more beaten up than the Red Sox in a five-game series with the Yankees. Won’t say it wasn’t thrilling, though. Just painful.)
Mia only cried one ride to an early conclusion . . . ironically a motion simulator that featured Spongebob Squarepants. She did whine about getting off another ride, but I think that was because it was beneath her. Yeah, no more riding alone in a giant bee or frog and going in circles. Her favorite ride: the motherfucking tilt-a-whirl. Jesus. On Day Two, she and I rode it while Michelle went to ride the Swamp Thing (weak!), and Mia went into hysterics when I had to pull her off because, unlike the day before, there was actually a line to get on the ride.* And when Michelle took her BACK to ride it (while I was riding the Swamp Thing), someone actually threw up on it before they could get on and it had to be shut down for “cleaning” (i.e., the hose).
Mia rode three of the nine coasters at the park, which brings me to an important issue. While there’s the selling point that Wild Adventure does, in fact, HAVE nine rollercoasters, it’s close to physically impossible for anyone to ride all of them in a single visit. Why? Because the smallest is for kids around 3 feet tall, and The Hangman has a minimum height limit of 52”. I’m guessing there aren’t a lot of “kids” who’d confidently stride off the biggest, scariest coaster in the park and then say they wanna wind down on the Fiesta Whatever-the-Fuck.
Still, I give this park a strong thumb sideways. While not being magical or transcendent, it had all the requisite charm. The sometimes sullen ride operators. The surprisingly edible food (even though we were, charmingly, gouged for it). And the really nice clown (Mia’s “fairy” friend), who went a little out of her way to make sure Mia had a nice birthday.
There's more to drink (click for it) »
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Monday, August 21, 2006
A Plague on BOTH of the Other People in My House
If you’ve run into Michelle on Vox, she’s doing better. The special “neck gimp shit” that’s been beating her down is letting up . . . we think. Turns out that there’s an outbreak of that in Tallahassee right now. We found out because Mia had a rash over the weekend that the Internets revealed to be Fifth Disease (confirmed by the doctor this morning). The virus for that quite likely caused Michelle’s “neck gimp shit,” too. And it’s funny, because once you’re showing symptoms, you’re past the contagious phase. It incubates for weeks. This is adding a new and fun variable in our upcoming trips to Wild Adventures (for Mia’s birthday) and Atlanta, as we have no idea whether I’ll (also) succumb to this Plague.
So, y’know, understandably, this wasn’t the most eventful weekend on record. What, you need proof?
- Friday night, I left Michelle at home “to rot” (her words) while I went on my planned poker outing.* There were around a dozen people, so there were initially two tables. I started a little slow, but once I got into the rhythm of the game and figured out the style of the guys I didn’t know, I got more comfortable. Even bluffed a couple times. For a little bit, I was the “chip leader” at our table . . . and then things went predictably downhill. What sucked was, after several rounds of raising the blinds, NO-ONE was getting eliminated. I think I was the fourth person knocked out . . . which allowed those moving on to congregate at one table. Finishing in the bottom third of THAT group wasn’t very encouraging.
- Saturday, we left Michelle to rest while making the hastily arranged run to Woodville to see my dad and his wife, and Mia’s step-cousin. Actually, I had once again forgotten my dad’s wife’s birthday and had to swing by Target on the way down to pick up a gift, along with the frozen chicken nuggets she’d asked me to bring down.
- We learned that, despite limited exposure to puzzles, Mia’s quite skilled at them. As long as, y’know, they have about 24 pieces.
- I made some corn muffins. Our mixer only has one beater that stays in place, so I’m guessing we’ll be getting a new mixer.
- ***CAITLIN, STOP READING; DEADWOOD SPOILERS TO FOLLOW*** So, how about the flopping-tittied Avenging Motherfucking Angel with a derringer? I love how the coddling shadow of Trixie reverted back to her former angry determination. During her willful and topless walk to Hearst’s hotel room, my heart was leaping for some cold, hard killin’. . . even though I know that Hearst didn’t die in Deadwood (in “real” life). But, hey, made-up Mr. Ellsworth did!
There's more to drink (click for it) »
Thursday, August 03, 2006
‘Tis the Season
It’s birthday time, apparently, at Mia’s preschool. In the past week, we’ve gotten two invitations to birthday parties for classmates. The first one is this Saturday, and it’s for That Mean Boy Who Pushes Mia Down a Lot.
As Michelle and I have a history of attending social functions that we don’t want to be at, thrown by people we don’t really like, Mia seems to have inherited our Socially Curious Misanthrope gene. Observe:
Me: “Do you like TMBWPMDaL?”
Mia shakes her head.
Me: “But you want to go to his birthday party?”
Mia nods.
I guess to protect her as we protected ourselves in similar situations, we should send Mia to the party with a fifth of vodka. Or some Monte Alban.
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
The Longest Day
My Saturdays have a fairly familiar pattern. That’s the day I usually spend taking my mom out for groceries, which doubles as mom’s time with Mia. Sometimes, there are other activities mixed in as well. This past Saturday was overflowing, and I had the whole day planned as an orchestrated pilgrimage around the Greater Tallahassee MSA.
You see, Michelle was out of town with the Girls, so it was me and Mia all day. Besides the grocery-shopping with mom, there was a play date planned with her step-cousin in Woodville and a cookout that evening at Mr. Glory Hole’s. Plus, I was gonna swing by the office to do a couple things.
I’m actually amazed that the whole day went “as planned.” I’d asked in advance to borrow Michelle’s shitty-ass Digital Elph to document the Day in the Life I had laid out. So click on our lovely daughter to begin the Flickr tour.
I didn’t include many of the pictures from the Glory Hole cookout because, well, they weren’t that interesting. Y’know, not as interesting as a blurry shot of my wife text-calling me a “whore.”
And I chose not to do a Stats for this weekend, but I can summarize by saying that I drank WAY too much (not even a full cow-sized steak and an Anna Nicole Smith-sized breast of chicken was gonna soak THAT shit up). And I may have needed to lie down on the floor for, I dunno, 45 minutes or so to keep it real. I seriously haven’t had a drink since. Actually, I think I’m still hungover.
Or, more likely, I deserve the “Sign of the ‘P’.”
Drinking • Weekends • (1) Comments closed • Permalink
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
Wherein I’m a Fuckin’ Heel. And Anglophiles Everywhere Weep Wee Tears. Again.
So I guess England won’t be beating Portugal for a trip to the semifinals, eh? One nation is transformed into an appropriately sorrow’d collective of Wayne-Rooney-stomping-Portuguese-nuts-replay-watchers, while the other catapults to the top of the heap of Soccer Nations I Love to Hate . . . seriously, right ahead of Spain and Mexico. God bless you, Christian Ronaldo, you fuckin’ choad!
The other news from this weekend was my sister-in-law (in-law) giving birth. Being the one person who’d expressed a disinterest in actually being present to watch, I volunteered to keep Mia and her cousin while everyone went to witness the Miracle of Childbirth. The event started to unfold Monday, and I stayed with the girls. Until I had band practice. Which I did not cancel as we had to prepare for our show (which is tonight). And, as it turned out, the band practice magically coincided with the exact climax and finale of the birth. So Michelle had to sit in for me. Yeah, I suck.
In other news, I’ve had water in my left ear for about five days. And it’s, seriously, starting to drive me right motherfucking crazy.
Sports • Weekends • (3) Comments closed • Permalink
Thursday, June 29, 2006
From Birthdays to Bombers
Today was the first day this week I’ve spent my lunch break in front of the computer; I’m actually lamenting that fact. And due to a combination of really advanced planning and my obsessive need to know RIGHT NOW, I spent my lunch hour (or so) doing a cost-comparison of ways to celebrate Mia’s birthday. Specifically, ways to celebrate that involve a theme park and/or a water park. Maybe even a birthday “party” tacked on at the end. It’ll be a long weekend, to say the least. But, hey, you only turn four once, right? (Okay, maybe not if you’re CW . . . always striving for adolescence.)
I’ve been spending more time around my coworkers than I’d ideally like, and it’s really a shame I can’t write about them more. Because my office is quite the collection of interesting characters. Like our business/bookingkeeping/office manager/whatever-the-fuck who was a cheerleader at this high school; there is, likely quite literally, no subject that is sacred to her.
In the world beyond the walls of my office, we’re gearing up to celebrate our independence from a nation that, quite frankly, is probably glad to be rid of us. I’m actually gonna kick off the weekend by watching our former rulers whoop some Portuguese ass at the World Cup (or, else, I’ll be out five bucks).
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Soccer-Sleeping
I had the opportunity to watch a lot of soccer over the weekend. Some U.S. mens “friendlies” and an MLS match. And, more than once, I think I fell asleep watching. I know, True American response. Still, it’s hard to admit. I want to be the ardant soccer supporter, but there I was, in my father-in-law’s recliner, totally “one-eyeing” it . . . and then NO-eyeing it. Michelle’s voice cut through the darkness, “Honey, you are totally sleeping.”
“No, I’m . . . I wasn’t. I was just resting my eyes.” *
Only a minute later did I realize that the score was different than I remembered. And if I could “rest my eyes” during all the hoopla the commentators make when someone scores a goal in soccer, I MUST have been asleep.
* My grandfather’s favorite cover for cat-napping.
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Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Crossroads
When it comes to summarizing an entertaining and/or eventful night, one should probably sit down to blog that shit when one’s still drunk. That’s why this blog is so boring. Even to me. I’m never capturing the moment. Unless I’m in the moment. Which I almost never am.
So, Michelle was gone for most of the weekend. And it really is purely coincidental that I spent a lot of the weekend making discoveries and assessments about my life. You were warned:
- In the realm of sports-bar trivia, I know an average amount about the career of Oliver Stone. But I might have something of an edge in music trivia, demonstrated the following night when I missed the entire first round of a game, swept into the lead while the competition (literally) sat out, and then held on for victory despite the final-round country-music question.
- Red Bull works. I’d never had one, but faced with four beers on top of a no-carb dinner, and another whistle stop remaining on my Saturday Night Tour of Liver Damage, I decided to give it a whirl. I’m sure it doesn’t hold a candle to the meth-jolt that is Chaser, but it did the job.
- I’ve been in talks about possibly playing some adult-recreation soccer later this year. Not sure how I’d work that in with my current band schedule (and Michelle’s), but we’ll see.
- I’m getting fairly obsessive about my untapped reservoir of poetic talent (a shallow reservoir, but a reservoir nonetheless). I’m almost to the point where I’m thinking of scheduling daily writing time. Maybe I need to bust out the exercises again. Because scribbling down three lines of obscurity after arriving home drunk at 1 a.m. isn’t filling my notebook with the Good Stuff.
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Tuesday, May 16, 2006
The Beach Would’ve Owned “Something About Mary”
Y’know how, hypothetically, all your friends are hot for Cameron Diaz and want to have dirty sex with Cameron Diaz, but when you look at Cameron Diaz, all you see is her little-boy ass and her face-like-Ms.-Pacman? Well, the beach is my Cameron Diaz. And vice versa.
Seriously, I don’t like the sun or heat, I don’t like having to spend 15 minutes lathering up with SPF 45, I don’t like salt water, and I don’t like . . . beach culture. That said, if I were open to enjoying the beach, this past weekend would’ve been the ideal time. A full moon, unseasonably cool and windy afternoons, surprise fireworks courtesy of a wedding in a nearby hotel, good food. Of course, not everything can be so rosy, which is why God invented bulleted lists. And the beach. Observe:
- On our way down to
Cameron Diazthe beach, we started seeing signs and billboards about a PGA Tour event happening at the resort in which we were staying. Luckily, it was on the golf course furthest away from our building. - So this was a work retreat/function. We’d brought Michelle’s in-laws with us because they love the beach. The first night, we were hanging out and playing Scrabble. After I kicked the holy crap out of my mother-in-law while my father-in-law was reaching out and touching some woman he’d gone to high school with 40 years earlier, there was a knock on the door. I opened it to find two of my coworkers, one of whom thought she was supposed to be in our room. She kept saying she needed a drink and asked me for some ice. I took her cup in and filled it with ice. While I was verifying that she was indeed mistaken about her room (which was actually six floors above ours), she started mixing herself a rum in coke right there on our doorstep. (I immediately thought of Estella.)
- In between tours of (Mia) duty on the beach, there was some outlet-shopping. Apparently, in Destin, outlet-shopping is only a win-win situation if you have vagina. Every store, Michelle’s, all, “Wow, cool, Vans for $10 a pair on clearance.” Oh, there were clearance Vans for men, too . . . really ugly ones. In mutant sizes. This pattern was evident in every store. Women get “Buy 1 Get 1 for Half Price!” and men get “Sandals on Sale for $60.”
Michelle has some pictures at her Flickr page of the weekend’s festivities. Reportedly, next year, we’ll be bringing other people with us. I’ll do my best to keep my job for another year.
Roadtripping • Weekends • (3) Comments closed • Permalink
Monday, May 08, 2006
Still Coming Down
So, after the Meetup last weekend, there was nowhere to go but down. No matter how much money I won at poker, how many times I beat the computer (Advanced setting) at Scrabble, or how many Australian-Outback snuff films I watched, this weekend was fated to be a letdown. But, in summary, I nearly doubled my money (coughcoughtendollars) playing poker, used my laptop for its current sole purpose (playing Scrabble), and watched Wolf Creek with some friends.
But things are starting to look up, methinks. This coming weekend, we’re off to the beach* for my office’s annual retreat.
. . .
Actually, that’s about it.
Okay, kidding. At lunch today, I went home to watch the end Big Love, which I DVR’d last night. There was a little time between the end of the previews for next week and the end of the recorded time, so I fast-forwarded until I struck gold. That’s right, a teaser for the new season of Deadwood, which starts next month. Seriously, my heart skipped a beat.
In other this-is-bound-to-get-me-excommunicated-from-the-Internets news, I went there.
Oh, AND also on the “creative writing” front, I submitted my first list to McSweeney’s a few weeks ago and recently received the inevitable rejection. So here’s the list:
Reasons My Friends and Coworkers Have Given for Not Coming to See My Band Play
I fell asleep.
I had to work late.
I had to get up early.
I’ll be out of town. I mean I WAS out of town.
I drank too much. And then fell asleep.
You’re depressing. Sorry.
We had a show someplace else that night. Your wife said we were pretty tight, too.
You’re in a band?
We went to another show. Hope you didn’t put us on the guest list.
I don’t really like your band.
---------------
* I hate the beach.
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
The Meetup. The Bi-Mon-Sci-Fi-Con. The Embiggening. The Dorkfest. Oh My God, I Hate You!
No matter how we refer to this past weekend, all of those present will remember it for the rest of their blogging lives. Or at least until the next time. If they can remember it at all. (In-laws who may be reading should probably skip to the very end where there’s a link to several pictures of your beautiful daughters.)
Several bloggers are big on the cameras and picture-taking, so there is no shortage of photographic documentation of the event. Hell, I even got in on the action with the wife’s Digital Elph. Here are some things I took pictures of:
- There’s an obligatory photograph from the drive up. This particular shot is of Michelle . . . driving. I’d gotten the camera out as we were passing through Sasser, Georgia, in the hope of seeing a second sign to photograph . . . other than the first sign, which had prompted me to get out the camera. I also took a photograph of myself, which, not-so-coincidentally, is not linked here nor on my Flickr site.
- A group shot of bloggers milling about outside the Three Dollar Café. Julia was demonstrating her favorite booze-diving preparation. Ah, Chaser. Estella is playing with hers, I think. Maybe giving it a shake. Or perhaps it’s empty and she’s trying to find another. Which she will surely need. At 3 a.m. When she is still awake. And drinking.
- After the restaurant on Friday, we drove back to CW’s for some after-dinner cocktails. Which, for some people, lasted until a couple hours before breakfast. I snapped this picture as the Party Van was pulling up the driveway. Ah, Styro. Is that the Cocaine Werewolf face she’s making?
- On the evening of the Main Event, Julia staged an experiment using Mentos and Diet Coke. In the cul-de-sac.
Yeah, that’s about it for the pictures I did take. How about the pictures I didn’t take:
- I thought I’d taken some pictures at our Three Dollar Café dinner. Where we were seated on the outside patio at separate pairs of tables. I certainly didn’t take a picture of the wet celery that Styro threw at me. Nor did I shoot a picture of Mark throwing a hunk of bread back (and hitting someplace between Styro and Patricia).
- After dinner, at CW’s, we gathered in the basement to view the Amazing Race clip that, reportedly, is the reason that “any of us are friends.” The oft-watched clip was the genesis for Styro’s “Ohmygod . . . I HATE you” t-shirts. That I have in two colors. But did not photograph.
- There was a moment that I walked out onto the porch and into a discussion about Cleveland Steamers and Chilidogs and Hot Carls and Rusty Trombones. Even mentioning the Dirty Sanchez and Angry Dragon couldn’t take things to the next level. Still there were some nice bewildered looks that could have been photographed.
- Also on the porch, later, in perhaps the only semi-serious moment of the weekend, I sat in on a discussion of race relations with Mark and Styro. I think I tried contribute but I was stammering. Probably from the seriousness.
- The most anticipated (and, thus, underwhelming) event of the Meetup was Asshole / President. We spent an inordinate amount of time arguing about and changing the rules. There was a moment when Styro and I were going back and forth. She stared me down and said, “I will punch you in the fucking face.” I wish I had a picture of the look on her face when she said that.
- Moments later, she was doing the “You’ll never see these again” quote from some movie and she pulled up her shirt and flashed the table. I think Estella got the brunt of it.
- Downstairs, we discovered Michelle and K singing “I Want it That Way.” And then Styro and Estella took on some anal-themed classics like “Mickey” (“You take me by the heart when you fuck me in the ass”) and “Jack and Diane” (“Oh yeah, life goes on, long after the thrill of the chilidog is gone”).
- Michelle spent a great deal of time playing Guitar Hero on the Playstation. Despite being (or, perhaps, because) able to play guitar, I sucked at this game very much. But Michelle was loving it. So much so that I almost had to drag her out of the house.
It was a very, very fun time. Many of the things I didn’t photograph, someone else did. There are tons of them here.
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Friday, April 28, 2006
It Begins
We made it to Atlanta. I’d been convinced that something was going to come up, that Mia was going to get sick or something, and we wouldn’t be able to come. But we’re here.
We haven’t actually MET any of the other bloggers yet, but we’ve been texting one another like crazy. Probably a bit of foreshadowing that all the girls in the Party Van convened at a bar in the Hartsfield-Jackson Airport. As I type, it’s almost 5:30 and we’ve heard reports that they only JUST got the van, so they’ll have an interesting slog through the Friday-night traffic as they inch their way to CW’s house in the northern outer ‘burbs.
Fortune has been smiling on us, though, because as we were coming into the area, we caught up with an ambulance with its sirens blaring. And followed it for about 25 miles into downtown Atlanta. As Michelle said, “We’re making the most of an unfortunate situation. Turning tragedy into something positive.”
Confession time:
-- In honor of my metrosexual attire for the evening, I need to spend the appropriate amount of time on the hair. Because I just got it cut a couple days ago, and I’m not sure how it’s gonna work out.
-- I have a new laptop. I bought it with my bonus check. Before you gasp, it’s an almost-entry-level model that I got a very substantial instant rebate* on. But now I’ll be able to live-blog the Meetup . . . if CW replaced his router.
-- My fly is open.
* When we got our Dell desktop a couple years ago, we had a $100 mail-in rebate that got fucked up somehow and I vowed to never rely on that kind of rebate as a “savings.” I think “instant” has a nicer ring anyway, don’t you?
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Tuesday, April 25, 2006
Coming To
I’d be exaggerating if I said that it’s taken me this long to sober up from Saturday night. But it did take me a large portion of all day Sunday. I don’t think I had that much to drink. I mean, Christ, I posted about the night before going to bed and there are hardly any glaring typos/misspellings.* But that might say more about the simplicity and ease-of-use of the blogging nest that Patricia has built for me than my perceived alcohol tolerance.
I’m not sure, but this might be my last real post before leaving for Atlanta Friday morning. I’d love to promise that I’ll post every day, multiple times per day, but you and I know that’s not gonna happen. Sometime, I’ll experiment with trying to post once per day, but that would require me to remember more of the funny stuff that I see and hear . . . and/or post about the people I work with. Which, considering my supervisor is probably reading this, would require me to post only the uplifting aspects of my job. So, I won’t really be posting about work. Which is sad, because I work with some interesting characters.
*sigh*
* Some things I left out of my summary**: Prof. Tom was going beer-for-beer with Mr. Glory Hole, and he was the designated driver for the pair of them. And as crazily out-of-it Mr. GH seemed that night, Michelle reports that he was at work very early the next morning (a Sunday).
** “Knockers?” Seriously? And writing about peeing? I must be really adept at using the computer under the influence. Because I was. I’m not sure I can “bring it” like that in Atlanta, either, Styro.
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Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Memoirs of an Easter
Thanks to the Stealth Holiday (turns out the ol’ preschool was having its version of a Teachers Planning Day), we had a three-day weekend (Mia and I). As I predicted, Friday was very much like a normal Saturday, but with a Pan-Asian ending. See, first there’d been talk about going out for sushi at a Chinese restaurant, but someone was reportedly being an asshole, so the wife suggested we blow that off. Plan B continued the Pan-Asian theme, as we got multi-ethnic cuisine from a Thai / Vietnamese / Chinese / Japanese restaurant near Michelle’s parents’ house (where we were house/cat-sitting); Michelle got sushi and I got curry (with sushi . . . although the sushi was a comparatively bad sideshow). To expand further on the Pan-Asian theme, we watched Memoirs of a Geisha (Japanese subject matter, Chinese cast, filmed by Americans . . . probably in California). All that adds up to a resounding “Eh” (except for the curry, which was awesome).
Oh, also on Friday night, there was a bit about Mia giving herself a black eye.
Saturday turned out to be a lot like Friday, as Michelle had to work some overtime. So, I took Mia to see Ice Age 2 and then for a walk/duck-feeding around Lake Ella. And then it was Ms. Jazz Hands’ birthday dinner at Food Glorious Food. (Home of the $9 kids pasta! I’ll go on record and say that I verily enjoyed my risotto-stuffed raviolis and scallops. And was full afterward. I know . . . shocker!) After dinner, it was over to Casa de ADD (and Jazz Hands) for UFC action. Three ciders and lots of criticism of the deficiencies of the apparent 10/9 scoring system, and it was off to bed (after a drive across town, of course).
The Holiday-Wherein-We-Celebrate-Fluffy-Bunnies-Who-Leave-Us-Eggs-and-Candy-Rather-Than-Our-Lord-and-Savior-Jesus-Christ-Ascending-to-Heaven was given the appropriate amount of respect . . . in the form of hiding plastic eggs and having Mia and her cousin hunt for them. And then painting more eggs. I found the eggs featuring anarchy symbols, Mr. Hanky, and the Flying Spaghetti Monster to be particularly inspirational.
Gulp, gulp. And photos are fucking up the look of my page, so click somewhere above to view the Flickr-ized (and brief) summation of our Easter.