weapons of massdistraction

This evening’s outing was a mixed bag. As we prepared to depart for The Owls’ show it wasn’t the darkening skies I was worried about. First I noticed a squad car…then a sheriff’s car, both parked in front of my house. Looking up the street I spotted a K-9 patrol sweeping the neighborhood. After we got in the car, and cautiously cruised up the block, we encountered two fully loaded SWAT team units. I risked rolling down my window to inquire what the problem was (like David Sedaris I feel guilty, especially when I’m not, which probably makes me look much much guiltier). But the only information I was given for my trouble was that it was safe to proceed. That was a headscratcher. Should I be concerned? Are there flying demon monkey boys on the loose? I just don’t know. So we moved on. Rush hour traffic was refreshingly light (yes, dear husband, it was a Monday…in accordance with your traffic flow theory…of heavier traffic occurring later in the week). We arrived on the scene early and scored a killer parking spot. After a fair bit of playground time I dragged the little man over to the lawn directly in front of the stage. While waiting we threw caution to the wind, and treated ourselves to free frozen strawberry fruit bars (and were given Target promo seat cushions, that were actually pretty comfy). Though comprising of fairly natural ingredients, the fruit bar gave the little man a sugar high that transformed him into a force to be reckoned with. Well, even more so than usual. I kept one eye on him and his hyper antics, while the other was engaged in some people-watching. It’s odd to spot local folks and recognize them:
a) solely from their blog;
b) from seeing them around town for the past 17 years, without ever saying hi; or
c) from one brief meeting, where I knew a bit more about them than the reverse.
Thankfully my friend Angie happened along, with her little sister, and neither was embarrassed to sit with us. Or if they were, they did a brilliant job covering it up. We stayed for the entire set, but it was more like ambient music…as we made attempts to both restrain the little man, and to visit with one another. For The Owls’ next show I suspect I’ll be flying solo.

Signs of an increasing addiction? How about waking up to discover the DSL is still only working intermittently…and wondering if I should bother staying awake.

The husband is renowned for his pancake making abilities. Actually, when I first became acquainted with him, it was his skill with breakfast foods and assorted baked goods that stood out. I am not so talented. While I make a select few savory items quite well, and the odd sweet one, pancakes have never been my specialty. As evidenced by this morning’s escapades. The husband prepares his pancake recipe from memory. I, on the other hand, scrounged through our cookbooks until I found the least complicated candidate. The classic pancake recipe from How it All Vegan. Maybe in other hands there would have been a better outcome. But in mine, well, my Dad always said I had Frankenstein hands. First off, I did not overstir the batter. I swear. But there is the flipping problem. When it comes time to turn the hotcakes over it’s like I’ve suddenly been stricken by palsy. The pancakes end up on top of one another, the sticky, uncooked batter bonding them all together. Or, worse yet, they are flipped right out of the pan and on to the floor. And this recipe took my by surprise…when the little suckers started swelling to the thickness of bricks. Thankfully the little man isn’t too picky, and the husband says little.

Pshaw to those naysayers who think St. Paul doesn’t have it going on. Last night I felt like I stumbled upon my city’s best kept secret (though I’m pretty sure it made the A List). It was the perfect evening for a pretty patio show, cool and breezy, beneath a nearly full moon (great for blurry band photos). And this particular patio was practically in my backyard. It took all of three minutes to get to the show. I arrived in time to catch the opening band, Mr. 1986, an instrumental space rock opera outfit from Nebraska. They were enjoyable enough but I found my mind wandering more than once, with no vocals to anchor me in the here and now (or the there and then). I looked around me, at the assembled hipsters, and started wondering just how the strategically scruffy look had become the new black. Afterwards I wandered around a bit, while waiting for my friend’s band to play, finally getting a good look at the amazing exhibit 9 Months in America, an Ethnocentric Tour by Wing Young Huie. But during their set I was forced to contemplate…the awkwardness of standing in close proximity to a person…who one has engaged in various sexual acts with (some time ago, mind you) without acknowledging one another in any way whatsoever. These things happen. Thankfully the music grabbed my attention 99% of the time. I considered going home after Signal’s set, but stuck around to see Askeleton…partially to see what all the fuss was about, but also with the hope that Minneapolitans Chuckumentary, Lorika and perhaps Spacewaitress would turn up. Alas, they must have had other plans. Probably on the other side of the river.

From a list I’m subscribed to:

In the New Republic, earlier this month, there was a tin-hat story claiming Pakistan intelligence officers said the US was pressuring Pakistan to produce a high-level Al Qaeda operative “on July 27, 28, or 29″ in order to distract from the Democratic National Convention.

Today, on CNN:

He was captured “a few days back”, but they wanted to make sure of his identity before announcing it.

Just in time for the DNC. Coincidence? Doubtful. And Daily Kos agrees, apparently. Some interesting comments over there.