Today, instead of cleaning my house in preparation for weekend guests from Seattle and the Best Oscar Party not hosted by Vanity Fair or the Kodak Theatre, I am scanning in pictures from college. After handling these old photos for about an hour, I realized that my hands smell kind of sweet, and floral. And then it hit me: Elizabeth Arden's Sunflowers perfume.
Photos can remind you of your past; smells can really take you there.
I wonder if my diary from jr. high still smells like Love's Baby Soft?
Showing posts with label memories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label memories. Show all posts
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Saturday, November 24, 2007
time-suckage
This weekend has been Project Weekend in the McLean House. I'm thrilled to be getting so much done and I hope to have all kinds of completed projects to report on once Monday arrives.
One of the things I'm doing today is going through all these boxes of crap I've saved for years and years, including notebooks from college. Mostly, they're just class notes and can all be recycled and (finally) sent to notebook heaven. But sometimes I'll find notes to myself. Little scraps of journal entries I'd jot down in the middle of calculus or Russian history. Gems like this, for example:
"The RA Who Went Apeshit,"
By Dinah Larson
She's pissed, and she has the master keys.
As it turns out, "The RA Who Went Apeshit" is a touching tale about a young woman pushed too far by residents hell-bent on waking her up with loud, drunken parties at 2 a.m. on a Tuesday, or making her miss important collegiate opportunities because of, and I think I'm reading my notes correctly, "time-suckage." The plot goes on from there--there's a break-in at the dining hall that results in our heroine and a local rabble-rouser sharing a bowl of cereal, evidently? Clearly, the project lost steam early on.
As much as I'm throwing away and recycling this fine day, I am really glad I saved some of this stuff. Is all I'm saying.
One of the things I'm doing today is going through all these boxes of crap I've saved for years and years, including notebooks from college. Mostly, they're just class notes and can all be recycled and (finally) sent to notebook heaven. But sometimes I'll find notes to myself. Little scraps of journal entries I'd jot down in the middle of calculus or Russian history. Gems like this, for example:
"The RA Who Went Apeshit,"
By Dinah Larson
She's pissed, and she has the master keys.
As it turns out, "The RA Who Went Apeshit" is a touching tale about a young woman pushed too far by residents hell-bent on waking her up with loud, drunken parties at 2 a.m. on a Tuesday, or making her miss important collegiate opportunities because of, and I think I'm reading my notes correctly, "time-suckage." The plot goes on from there--there's a break-in at the dining hall that results in our heroine and a local rabble-rouser sharing a bowl of cereal, evidently? Clearly, the project lost steam early on.
As much as I'm throwing away and recycling this fine day, I am really glad I saved some of this stuff. Is all I'm saying.
Thursday, June 29, 2006
music, friendship, individuality, and love
It was a scene I would never be a part of, and it was a beautiful thing.
I grew up, the youngest of four, in a small city called Evansville, which is located on the Ohio River in southern Indiana. Although home to the University of Evansville, I wouldn't call it a college town. I lived there until I was 14, so to me it was always just the town where I grew up, where I was a kid. A place where I could ride my bike to the park and, if I was feeling ambitious, walk to the mall, and my parents didn't have to worry about me. It was a place where I lived in a castle and went to a red brick school and cheered for the Bulldogs and played the violin and grew at least one inch every year. And, in the 80's, it was a place where something really cool was happening, although I was not old enough to appropriate it or understand it.
I remember bits and flashes. I remember going to an outdoor summer festival downtown and dancing my little butt off on the hot black pavement while my older sisters' favorite local band sang, "I just want to be happyyyyyyyyyyy! I just want to have a little fun!" I was maybe 8, but that was a sentiment I could get down with.
I remember my sister Amy taking me to see A Christmas Carol at the Alhambra Theater, and thinking, "They're using an electric guitar as the chimes of the clock? They're playing all the parts and they put this whole show on themselves? These are my people!" (Or, you know, they would have been if I were older and cooler.)
My favorite memory was my sisters' joint birthday party at the castle. It was an Alice in Wonderland-themed tea party for punk rockers. They drew up flyer invitations for the party, copied them on white paper, and let me color them in with my crayons. Most important, they let me attend.
The invitation said "formal-wear optional" and so I put on my favorite dress. Matti dressed up like Alice with blue dress and headband. Guests showed up in ripped jeans, tuxedo jackets and mohawks. They were all really nice to me, and I felt proud to be somehow adjacent to something I knew was very special to my sisters.
As the 80's drew to a close and I struggled through junior high and my sisters entered their post-college early twenties, the scene changed. My brother Marty was naturally welcomed into the evolving family. It didn't matter that his asthetic and musical sensibilities were more metal than punk. He was in a band, he went to Bosse and, most important, he was a Larson.
I wonder sometimes if I would have spent my high school years in this unique scene, had I stayed in Evansville. I feel certain that I would have also been "grandfathered" in by nature of my family ties. (It sounds like admission into some kind of exclusive punk rock fraternity, but it's also true.) The friendships I made in my one semester at Bosse did eventually become sort of the "next generation." It seems likely I could have easily been a part of it.
But I moved to Colorado, and some of my old childhood friends took over my place. Even if I had stayed, though, I feel certain it wouldn't have been the same.
The fact is, me trying to describe this unique time in Evansville's local music history is limited only to my perspective as a child. I can convey the essence, but not the reality.
The reality, in fact was this:
Isn't that beautiful? That's my sister Matti--her bleached denim jacket all covered with paint and patches and pins--and her friend David in our family's dining room, preparing to go out. In my mind, they're on their way to the Ross to see Stop the Car.
This weekend, some of the old crew is having their 2nd annual reunion in Evansville. Matti is going. I love the idea that maybe, just maybe, when she's at the barbecue with her old friends and her family, her daughter Lucy will be able to pick up on that same essence that slipped through my fingers when I was a child. It was about music, friendship, individuality, and love. It was, and remains, a beautiful thing.
I grew up, the youngest of four, in a small city called Evansville, which is located on the Ohio River in southern Indiana. Although home to the University of Evansville, I wouldn't call it a college town. I lived there until I was 14, so to me it was always just the town where I grew up, where I was a kid. A place where I could ride my bike to the park and, if I was feeling ambitious, walk to the mall, and my parents didn't have to worry about me. It was a place where I lived in a castle and went to a red brick school and cheered for the Bulldogs and played the violin and grew at least one inch every year. And, in the 80's, it was a place where something really cool was happening, although I was not old enough to appropriate it or understand it.
I remember bits and flashes. I remember going to an outdoor summer festival downtown and dancing my little butt off on the hot black pavement while my older sisters' favorite local band sang, "I just want to be happyyyyyyyyyyy! I just want to have a little fun!" I was maybe 8, but that was a sentiment I could get down with.
I remember my sister Amy taking me to see A Christmas Carol at the Alhambra Theater, and thinking, "They're using an electric guitar as the chimes of the clock? They're playing all the parts and they put this whole show on themselves? These are my people!" (Or, you know, they would have been if I were older and cooler.)
My favorite memory was my sisters' joint birthday party at the castle. It was an Alice in Wonderland-themed tea party for punk rockers. They drew up flyer invitations for the party, copied them on white paper, and let me color them in with my crayons. Most important, they let me attend.
The invitation said "formal-wear optional" and so I put on my favorite dress. Matti dressed up like Alice with blue dress and headband. Guests showed up in ripped jeans, tuxedo jackets and mohawks. They were all really nice to me, and I felt proud to be somehow adjacent to something I knew was very special to my sisters.
As the 80's drew to a close and I struggled through junior high and my sisters entered their post-college early twenties, the scene changed. My brother Marty was naturally welcomed into the evolving family. It didn't matter that his asthetic and musical sensibilities were more metal than punk. He was in a band, he went to Bosse and, most important, he was a Larson.
I wonder sometimes if I would have spent my high school years in this unique scene, had I stayed in Evansville. I feel certain that I would have also been "grandfathered" in by nature of my family ties. (It sounds like admission into some kind of exclusive punk rock fraternity, but it's also true.) The friendships I made in my one semester at Bosse did eventually become sort of the "next generation." It seems likely I could have easily been a part of it.
But I moved to Colorado, and some of my old childhood friends took over my place. Even if I had stayed, though, I feel certain it wouldn't have been the same.
The fact is, me trying to describe this unique time in Evansville's local music history is limited only to my perspective as a child. I can convey the essence, but not the reality.
The reality, in fact was this:
Isn't that beautiful? That's my sister Matti--her bleached denim jacket all covered with paint and patches and pins--and her friend David in our family's dining room, preparing to go out. In my mind, they're on their way to the Ross to see Stop the Car.
This weekend, some of the old crew is having their 2nd annual reunion in Evansville. Matti is going. I love the idea that maybe, just maybe, when she's at the barbecue with her old friends and her family, her daughter Lucy will be able to pick up on that same essence that slipped through my fingers when I was a child. It was about music, friendship, individuality, and love. It was, and remains, a beautiful thing.
Friday, May 26, 2006
No freaking way
There are some days when I think I'm way too easy to find online and should work harder to protect my anonymity.
Then there are days when one of my oldest friends from childhood in Evansville finds my blog and leaves me a comment. Even though I totally insulted his mom's driving and spelled his name wrong.
For the record, it's spelled Jayson. Consider this a retraction and also a Yay!
In other news, y'all seriously. For real. No joke. Like totally. I have been working so freaking hard the last few weeks. It's ridonkulous. I mean when am I supposed to take care of the important things, like my blog?
Then there are days when one of my oldest friends from childhood in Evansville finds my blog and leaves me a comment. Even though I totally insulted his mom's driving and spelled his name wrong.
For the record, it's spelled Jayson. Consider this a retraction and also a Yay!
In other news, y'all seriously. For real. No joke. Like totally. I have been working so freaking hard the last few weeks. It's ridonkulous. I mean when am I supposed to take care of the important things, like my blog?
Saturday, April 08, 2006
Stevens Point
I met someone recently who told me she was from Stevens Point, Wisconsin and unwittingly unlocked a floodgate on my childhood memories.
As a young violinist, I used to go to Stevens Point in the summer with my mom for Suzuki Camp. We'd stay in a dorm room at the university and eat in the dining hall and go to violin lessons and practice pretty much all day and all night long.
I feel like I can remember every detail of those trips: how hard I practiced, and how desperately I wanted the approval of my teachers and to be a Violin Superstar. The time we road-tripped with my friend Jason and his mom and she was driving all crazy and tailgating and scaring my mom to death. The friends I made from Wisconsin and Georgia and Tennessee and all over, and the letters we'd exchange after camp was over. The random talent show night where some guys did a skit to either "Mr. Roboto" or "She Blinded Me With Science" and it was, like, so cool. The dance we had one year at the end of the week, and dancing crazy to "Pour Some Sugar on Me" and wistfully watching the older, 13 and 14-year-old kids slow-dancing to "Never Tear You Apart" (a song my friend Carrie-from-Atlanta and I agreed was, without question, the Best Song Ever).
I remember the recital in Quant Gym (is that the name? it seems like it is) where all the most advanced kids got to play solos and the rest of us felt cool just to be good enough to play in the Fiocco Allegro finale. The year Dr. Suzuki himself came and played and was so small and fragile-looking and funny and my mom bought me a sweatshirt with a quote of his on it that said, "When love is deep, much can be accomplished."
The first string cheese I ever had was in Stevens Point. I also got this t-shirt from my violin teacher that said, "Point Beer. It's not just for breakfast anymore." I thought it was hilarious. At, you know, age 10.
Throughout it all, I remember the time with my mom.
My mom used to always take me to this amazing doll shop in Stevens Point and get me a birthday present: at least one book of fancy paper dolls and a really nice doll. I got two Madame Alexanders and a Sasha doll over the years, and probably still have my Vivien Leigh paperdolls somewhere (I knew the costumes from all of her movies before ever seeing one of them). I loved the dolls because they were so, so beautiful, and I loved my mom for gifting me with such a special treat.
The last year I went I was actually too old for dolls, but we went and got one anyway. My new best friends (I always made friends immediately at violin camp and was quite the little ring leader) gave me such a hard time for having it, but I loved that thing defiantly. It was a big cuddly baby doll with a pink gingham dress and matching bonnet, with patent leather mary-janes and black hair and blue eyes and I named her Diana. She's still at my parents' house somewhere.
As a young violinist, I used to go to Stevens Point in the summer with my mom for Suzuki Camp. We'd stay in a dorm room at the university and eat in the dining hall and go to violin lessons and practice pretty much all day and all night long.
I feel like I can remember every detail of those trips: how hard I practiced, and how desperately I wanted the approval of my teachers and to be a Violin Superstar. The time we road-tripped with my friend Jason and his mom and she was driving all crazy and tailgating and scaring my mom to death. The friends I made from Wisconsin and Georgia and Tennessee and all over, and the letters we'd exchange after camp was over. The random talent show night where some guys did a skit to either "Mr. Roboto" or "She Blinded Me With Science" and it was, like, so cool. The dance we had one year at the end of the week, and dancing crazy to "Pour Some Sugar on Me" and wistfully watching the older, 13 and 14-year-old kids slow-dancing to "Never Tear You Apart" (a song my friend Carrie-from-Atlanta and I agreed was, without question, the Best Song Ever).
I remember the recital in Quant Gym (is that the name? it seems like it is) where all the most advanced kids got to play solos and the rest of us felt cool just to be good enough to play in the Fiocco Allegro finale. The year Dr. Suzuki himself came and played and was so small and fragile-looking and funny and my mom bought me a sweatshirt with a quote of his on it that said, "When love is deep, much can be accomplished."
The first string cheese I ever had was in Stevens Point. I also got this t-shirt from my violin teacher that said, "Point Beer. It's not just for breakfast anymore." I thought it was hilarious. At, you know, age 10.
Throughout it all, I remember the time with my mom.
My mom used to always take me to this amazing doll shop in Stevens Point and get me a birthday present: at least one book of fancy paper dolls and a really nice doll. I got two Madame Alexanders and a Sasha doll over the years, and probably still have my Vivien Leigh paperdolls somewhere (I knew the costumes from all of her movies before ever seeing one of them). I loved the dolls because they were so, so beautiful, and I loved my mom for gifting me with such a special treat.
The last year I went I was actually too old for dolls, but we went and got one anyway. My new best friends (I always made friends immediately at violin camp and was quite the little ring leader) gave me such a hard time for having it, but I loved that thing defiantly. It was a big cuddly baby doll with a pink gingham dress and matching bonnet, with patent leather mary-janes and black hair and blue eyes and I named her Diana. She's still at my parents' house somewhere.
Thursday, December 01, 2005
Mix of the Month: November
The November mix is different from all the others I've done, and you're not going to see the tracks listed here. But let me tell you why.
We finally finished our house, and by "finished," I mean that we got it to a point where we still have projects to do, but it is not only livable, it's beautiful. The big things are done. It's a lovely, happy, welcoming sanctuary. So far, the only picture available online is on mAc's blog, but there are more to come.
What does this have to do with the Mix of the Month? Well, to celebrate the completion of all of our hard work, we threw a party. I made a playlist on the iBook for this party, quickly dragging in every party-appropriate song we had in the library, importing a few party songs we didn't have. After dragging them all in, de-duping a couple repeats and hitting shuffle, my 2005 Party Mix was complete.
It contains 179 songs, or over 11 hours of music. I am SO not typing that up for y'all, no matter how much you beg.
It's not like I didn't have specific criteria for selecting songs--I did. I picked out dance songs, happy songs, groovy background songs, funny conversation-starting songs, and current singles spanning multiple genres, thus giving guests with a wide variety of tastes something to enjoy.
The funny thing is, I've been listening to this mix since I made it (to and from work all week and I still haven't gotten through all the songs), and I like every song. On the one hand, of COURSE I like every song. On the other, there are 179, and they are all over the map.
It's moments like this when I realize how lucky I am to have had such a musical upbringing. For those of you who don't know me well, I played the violin for roughly 20 years, starting out as a Suzuki student in Evansville, IN. I got pretty good, actually. Good enough to kick out a couple Mozart violin concertos, learn Vivaldi's Four Seasons (both violin parts) and lead the second violin section of Denver's Young Artists Orchestra the year we tackled my all-time favorite orchestral work, Berlioz's Symphonie Fantastique.
Why on earth did I stop? Well, here's the thing about the violin: it's really, really hard. You have to play every day just to maintain your level of performance, and you have to practice several hours a day to really make that instrument sing. I never had the patience for it. Seriously, I'm lucky that I had any talent at all, because 9 times out of 10, I did all my practicing the day of my weekly lesson or orchestra rehearsal.
So, at a certain point, I stopped getting better. I actually remember what I was working on when that light bulb went on: Concerto No.1 In G Minor For Violin And Orchestra, Op.26, Max Bruch. Oh, man. Do yourselves a favor and go get a recording of this concerto (there's a lovely recording with Perlman performing this, and Mendelssohn's violin concerto in E minor, on Amazon, although on this piece I kind of actually prefer Joshua Bell's slightly edgier approach). It's so sensational, I can't even deal. The first movement alone makes my toes curl.
But I couldn't play it. Try as I might, I could not make this concerto work on my violin. And I really tried with this one. I loved the music so much, I was desperate to make it sound beautiful. This piece was my passion, not to mention my comfort on rough days in college. I'd have to be kicked out of the practice room in my dorm after quiet hours on some days, because I'd just devote so much time just trying to get it right. I'd stretch my fingers on the octave chords, do the runs over and over... At the end of all my hard work, I basically go to the point where I could make the first few bars of the intro kick ass, but the rest just sounded... not bad? But not good enough.
That's when I realized it was probably a good idea to think of other areas to where I could redirect my passion for music. I was never going to be good enough to master my favorite concerto, much less have the patience I'd need to master everything else I'd have to learn in order to play professionally. Not to mention, there were all kinds of things I didn't want to have to play, and when you're in an orchestra you kind of don't get a choice. They don't care if you find Mahler overbearing and boring if that's what's on the program.
Today, I find that it makes me sad to think of the concerto I never mastered, and my beloved instrument collecting dust in the closet. It's not out of the question that I'll bust it out again someday, especially now that we have a house and I don't have to worry about my squawks being heard through thin apartment walls. (I'd love to play my violin in a band, as long as I'm being honest.) That said, I am far more happy than sad to have had those 20 years playing the violin. Are you kidding me? What an amazing gift! Not only did I enjoy experiences and met amazing people I never would have otherwise, but it gave me an appreciation for ALL music. So much so that it remains a huge part of my life.
So much so that I make a party mix of some of my favorite songs, and it's over 11 hours long.
One last note (ha ha! I kill me). I recently discovered that my old violin teacher, the one who graduated me from Twinkle to Tsaichovsky, has a little web site. There's not much too it, but look at what I found on her quotes page:
THAT IS WHY I TEACH MUSIC
"NOT because I expect you to major in music.
NOT because I expect you to play or sing all your life.
NOT so you can relax or have fun
BUT - so you will be human
so you will recognize beauty
so you will be closer to an Infinite beyond this world
so you will have something to cling to
so you will have more love, more compassion,
more gentleness, more good ... in short,
more life.
Of what value will it be to make a prosperous living
unless you know how to live?"
Author Unknown
We finally finished our house, and by "finished," I mean that we got it to a point where we still have projects to do, but it is not only livable, it's beautiful. The big things are done. It's a lovely, happy, welcoming sanctuary. So far, the only picture available online is on mAc's blog, but there are more to come.
What does this have to do with the Mix of the Month? Well, to celebrate the completion of all of our hard work, we threw a party. I made a playlist on the iBook for this party, quickly dragging in every party-appropriate song we had in the library, importing a few party songs we didn't have. After dragging them all in, de-duping a couple repeats and hitting shuffle, my 2005 Party Mix was complete.
It contains 179 songs, or over 11 hours of music. I am SO not typing that up for y'all, no matter how much you beg.
It's not like I didn't have specific criteria for selecting songs--I did. I picked out dance songs, happy songs, groovy background songs, funny conversation-starting songs, and current singles spanning multiple genres, thus giving guests with a wide variety of tastes something to enjoy.
The funny thing is, I've been listening to this mix since I made it (to and from work all week and I still haven't gotten through all the songs), and I like every song. On the one hand, of COURSE I like every song. On the other, there are 179, and they are all over the map.
It's moments like this when I realize how lucky I am to have had such a musical upbringing. For those of you who don't know me well, I played the violin for roughly 20 years, starting out as a Suzuki student in Evansville, IN. I got pretty good, actually. Good enough to kick out a couple Mozart violin concertos, learn Vivaldi's Four Seasons (both violin parts) and lead the second violin section of Denver's Young Artists Orchestra the year we tackled my all-time favorite orchestral work, Berlioz's Symphonie Fantastique.
Why on earth did I stop? Well, here's the thing about the violin: it's really, really hard. You have to play every day just to maintain your level of performance, and you have to practice several hours a day to really make that instrument sing. I never had the patience for it. Seriously, I'm lucky that I had any talent at all, because 9 times out of 10, I did all my practicing the day of my weekly lesson or orchestra rehearsal.
So, at a certain point, I stopped getting better. I actually remember what I was working on when that light bulb went on: Concerto No.1 In G Minor For Violin And Orchestra, Op.26, Max Bruch. Oh, man. Do yourselves a favor and go get a recording of this concerto (there's a lovely recording with Perlman performing this, and Mendelssohn's violin concerto in E minor, on Amazon, although on this piece I kind of actually prefer Joshua Bell's slightly edgier approach). It's so sensational, I can't even deal. The first movement alone makes my toes curl.
But I couldn't play it. Try as I might, I could not make this concerto work on my violin. And I really tried with this one. I loved the music so much, I was desperate to make it sound beautiful. This piece was my passion, not to mention my comfort on rough days in college. I'd have to be kicked out of the practice room in my dorm after quiet hours on some days, because I'd just devote so much time just trying to get it right. I'd stretch my fingers on the octave chords, do the runs over and over... At the end of all my hard work, I basically go to the point where I could make the first few bars of the intro kick ass, but the rest just sounded... not bad? But not good enough.
That's when I realized it was probably a good idea to think of other areas to where I could redirect my passion for music. I was never going to be good enough to master my favorite concerto, much less have the patience I'd need to master everything else I'd have to learn in order to play professionally. Not to mention, there were all kinds of things I didn't want to have to play, and when you're in an orchestra you kind of don't get a choice. They don't care if you find Mahler overbearing and boring if that's what's on the program.
Today, I find that it makes me sad to think of the concerto I never mastered, and my beloved instrument collecting dust in the closet. It's not out of the question that I'll bust it out again someday, especially now that we have a house and I don't have to worry about my squawks being heard through thin apartment walls. (I'd love to play my violin in a band, as long as I'm being honest.) That said, I am far more happy than sad to have had those 20 years playing the violin. Are you kidding me? What an amazing gift! Not only did I enjoy experiences and met amazing people I never would have otherwise, but it gave me an appreciation for ALL music. So much so that it remains a huge part of my life.
So much so that I make a party mix of some of my favorite songs, and it's over 11 hours long.
One last note (ha ha! I kill me). I recently discovered that my old violin teacher, the one who graduated me from Twinkle to Tsaichovsky, has a little web site. There's not much too it, but look at what I found on her quotes page:
THAT IS WHY I TEACH MUSIC
"NOT because I expect you to major in music.
NOT because I expect you to play or sing all your life.
NOT so you can relax or have fun
BUT - so you will be human
so you will recognize beauty
so you will be closer to an Infinite beyond this world
so you will have something to cling to
so you will have more love, more compassion,
more gentleness, more good ... in short,
more life.
Of what value will it be to make a prosperous living
unless you know how to live?"
Author Unknown
Thursday, March 17, 2005
March 17, 1997
Aka "The Funnest St. Patrick's Day Ever."
When I was a senior in college, I worked at a brewpub called The Smiling Moose. In addition to our goofy name, we were known for brewing a delicious variety of beers, an amazing chicken focaccia sandwich, and the world's most addictive shoestring french fries.
We were also known for the parties we'd throw on Halloween and St. Patrick's Day.
I only worked there for a year, so I only got to do St. Pat's once, but I knew that the bar & restaurant went all out, and so did the staff. Bartenders and wait staff were incentivized with contests for Best St. Patty's Spirit, most green jello shots sold, etc. (They should have had one for "highest percentage of tips/cash retained after getting drunk on shots in the kitchen while still waiting tables.")
I was determined to win those contests. As it was I came in 2nd on green jello shots and 1st for "Best Spirit," which I accomplished by wearing bright green shorts (the fact that they were practically hot pants probably didn't hurt) with a green vest over a white shirt, all forms of green/St. Pat's jewelry, at least one "Kiss Me I'm Irish" button, and a briliantly decorated green hat, complete with two long green braids poking out either side. (Come to think of it, there may have been a Best Hat contest, which I may have also won.) On top of all this, I drank all night while I was working (a thing you can only really pull off at age 21), made friends with everyone in my section and, despite having only 5 tables in my section, walked out with some seriously fierce tips. I also managed to get in 99% of photos taken that night, and if the Moose hadn't closed down and boarded itself up a couple years ago, you could have gone to Greeley, CO and seen them.
I think in the end my prizes totalled about $20 in gift certificates for The Smiling Moose, which I promptly spent on, you guessed it, beer, chicken focaccia sandwiches, and heaping piles of shoestring french fries.
Happy Saint Patrick's Day, everyone!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)