I Love Fall!

Every time I go out and do something amazing in Nature, I wonder, "Why don't I do this more often?" What's the point, I ask, in living in this most amazing place if I don't get out there more?
This is actually me, biking away from my friend, who took the picture. See? I think it is heaven.






This is my friend Dean who, I've decided, is definitely one of the top 5 nicest people in the world. He is SO nice. He took me and Jane mountain biking today. At place pretty close to where I live that I have only been to 2 or 3 times in 10 years. Sad. And pathetic!









Here Dean and I discuss something Really Important. I think I was telling him about some personals I read on Salon. com. They were funny. I might have mentioned the one where a guy was looking for either a woman, or a couple (two women). Cuz you know how lesbians are dying to find a straight guy to have sex with.






I like red trees in fall. Beautiful.












I hope you all had weekends as beautiful and edifying as mine. Now it's back to work. But only for another week and then there's another weekend. How lucky is that?

Some Levity in These Hard Times

Through a new bloggy friend, I found the most genius invention ever: The Sarah Palin Baby Name Generator.
You absolutely must do this.
My name is Geese Whalebone, son is Duct Idaho, and MB is Rifle Panzer, which is my favorite. I think I'm going to call him that. All the time.
Gus is Rust Mustang. This is the hardest I've laughed since Palin was nominated. Maybe there is hope for laughter in our future.
Another reason for hope: A Call to Arms by Anne Lamott. Man is she amazing. I'd be a Christian if I could be like her. But it's not possible. I'm not that funny nor that full of forgiveness. I'm too cynical, and I can't give up wine (not that Christian's have to give up wine, but she's an ex-addict, so my guess is she doesn't drink...)

David Foster Wallace

I know there are many people blogging about David Foster Wallace and that it will happen for a long time. Here is an excellent remembrance from NPR.
I wasn't the hugest fan of his fiction, though I liked much of it. But I love his non-fiction, especially "A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again."
Here's a link to one of his stories from The New Yorker. And a link to his essay on Roger Federer from the New York Times.
But my overwhelming response, besides sadness for another human being and writer, is a question.
Is it possible to be a successful writer, a wildly productive one, and still be a happy, normal (not just seemingly normal) person?
Unfortunately, the longer I live the more the answer seems to be no. And not just no, but NO!

My Son: The Pugilist

He looks like a boxer.
These are his scars.
He bled like a champ and took his stitches like a hero.
He has lived through the purple arcs beneath the eyes and the doctor's manipulation of his membranes.
He will look back on these stitches fondly, as the first of many situations which showed him who he is,
and who he will be.

Milestones in Son's Life: ER visit #1

Yup, it's true. Son finally got to go to the ER for those stitches he always wanted!!
This weekend, Son was invited to go biking with a friend near his house. MB dropped him off, then ran some errands...then came home. Shortly after that, we received a phone call from his friend's parents. He had hit some rocks and flipped over his handlebars. MB rushed off to pick him up.
When he got out of the car, my heart nearly stopped. He was covered (covered!!) in blood. We stripped his clothes off and got him into the tub.
Turns out he had only one (one!) cut, on the bridge of his nose. In this cut was a dark spot that we thought could either be a rock...or a hole. After getting him out of the tub and into his pajamas, MB decided he should take Son to the clinic near our house. They were going to put stitches in, but then the Dr. called the Children's Hospital and they decided they wanted to see him. So they came home and got me and we all went to the Children's Hospital. They couldn't tell if his nose was broken or not, so they just put in stitches and sent us home. He has to got back to the ENT (ear, nose, throat) this week. If his nose is broken, they'll reset it. Also they will take the stitches out.
I did get some photos. The weirdest thing is that he looks so unlike himself right now. He is developing some bruises on his forehead and some dark circles beneath his eyes.
His stitches look pretty gnarly. And he has a good story to tell. And we all know how important that is.

David Byrne!!

If you don't already know it...David Byrne will be playing in Park City on October 11. Apparently, David Byrne wants my email address so he can send me a free music download. Is that okay with me? Yes, yes and yes.
Not many people know it, but David Byrne played a role in the courtship of Dr. Write and Middlebrow. It went something like this, after a poetry reading, at a bar (Archer's, if you must know).
DW: I went running today.
MB: Oh?
DW: Yeah. I like to listen to the Talking Heads when I run.
MB: Really?
DW: Yeah. Not many people still listen to the Talking Heads, but I think they are one of the greatest bands. Ever.
MB: David Byrne is a god.
(They look lovingly into each other's eyes. Their fate sealed.)
Also, in this same conversation, I believe we talked about Molly Peacock (me, proclaiming my admiration for her sonnet "How to Fake an Orgasm") and maybe a few other poets. It was shortly after this conversation that I invited MB over for Thai food, on which he burnt the roof of his mouth. And then began our long (one month) dating-period, during which we did not even kiss. I'm not joking. You can ask Middlebrow, or our friend Gary, about it. They know.
So Middlebrow and I will be enjoying the David Byrne concert. I hope you will too. Drinks in Park City anyone?

You had me at "drunk"

For next month's book club, we are reading Raymond Chandler's The Long Goodbye. It didn't take me very long to become enthralled with the novel. (For the record, the word "drunk" is the 12th word in the book.)
A few lines in it reads, "You could tell by his eyes that he was plastered to the hairline."
Oh Chandler. I have missed ye.