At the Denver Museum of Nature and Science today all I learned was how to hunt like a velociraptor.

Those kids sure tasted good.

Listening to "Getting By With It's" from the album Under the Tray... by Reggie & The Full Effect

On our walk tonight Sarah and I decided to stop by our friend Legs’ place to ask him if he’d like to join us. He was busy cooking a meal but invited us in to “visit”, as the old people say. He had just burned his hand in the oven, so we were commiserating with him about that, when all of a sudden he told Sarah he might be able to see comedian Brian Regan with us on Thursday. I thought he must be confused.

I had talked with Sarah a few weeks ago about the possibility of seeing Brian Regan but had concluded I’d probably be out of town recording. After finding out yesterday that I’d be in Denver for another week, Sarah covertly went ahead and got us some tickets as my birthday present (for my …ahem… golden birthday). Then she left Legs a message asking if he’d like to go as well, making sure to mention that it was a surprise for me. Well that apparently did not register in that brain of his.

So back in the apartment… Legs tells us he might be able to go with us on Thursday. Sarah, in consternation, asserts that he must be confused, that she did not call him.

Legs, wide-eyed: “What?! You called me today and asked if I wanted to go with you to see Brian Regan.”

Sarah, staring hard: “No I didn’t.”

Legs, vacant look: “Yes, you did.”

Sarah, angry eyes: “Dude, I did not call you.”

Legs, raised eyebrow: “I’m pretty sure it was you.”

Sarah, arms flailing: “LEGS! I said it was a surprise!”

Legs, sheepish: “Uh…..”

Silence.

Laughter.

My wife is amazing.

Listening to "Hunted by a Freak" from the album Happy Songs for Happy People by Mogwai

On Sunday Sarah and I went to the People’s Fair in downtown Denver along with some friends. Normally at an outing like this Sarah and I justify the ticket price with people watching, i.e. every outlandish person we see is worth some monetary value that goes against what we paid to get in. Example: “Ooh, look at that guy wearing Zubaz and a see-through mesh belly shirt! That guy’s worth at least $1.25.” Well the People’s Fair was free, which threw out the need for this justification, but even so our people watching was a bit disappointing. The only person I thought worth any amount was a guy with a t-shirt that read “ANGER” in huge letters across the chest. Baffling.

The booths and the peddled wares therein, however, proved much more promising. There was, of course, the terrible airbrush t-shirts booth, the wind chimes booth, the men’s-tie-made-into-a-manpurse booth, and the homemade jams booth. But my favorite was the one selling hats for dogs. It was called “K-9 Kovers” or something like that. In this booth were four or five dogs in varying degrees of repose, each with his own K-9 Kover and embarrassed smile. The hats’ best marketing point (in my estimation): “Your dog can even swim with his hat on!” I thought of alerting the Humane Society.

Listening to "No Matter What" from the album No Dice by Badfinger

Last sunday Sarah and I joined a bunch of friends at James A. Bible park to shoot off rockets. You see our friends Brad and Mijon are moving away, and before that happened Brad wanted to make sure to set off his model rocket in the city in which it was made. Admirable. I had never launched rockets before, so the whole experience made me feel like I was 12 years old (afterwards we went to Sonic for some cool treats because I behaved well). Our friend Keith even brought along a boom box so we could listen to the mix cd he made entirely of songs about rockets. A recipe for awesomeness.

Although it was a hoot and a holler, my poor rocket did not fare so well. I was so excited because I had bought one that had a camera in the nose. The idea was that once the nose popped off and the parachute came out, the camera would release an exposure button, taking a picture of (hopefully) us on the ground below. However something went wrong with the wadding I had placed between the engine and parachute, so when the parachute released it separated from the rest of the rocket, failing to perform its job, and scattering the pieces to the four winds.

Another miscalculation owing to my inexperience was the trajectory angle of my rocket (as indicated in the picture on the left). You see the day had been relatively free of wind up until just before we shot off our rockets. Common sense would dictate that you should either wait till the wind dies down or abandon the launch till the next day. But we were not commonly sensical. We had to launch those rockets, and we had to launch them now! I angled my rocket to go into the wind, hoping that in so doing it would come back to me on the way down and I would catch it and have a little rocket dance. I forgot my sextant, though, and therefore miscalculated the proper angle.

My rocket fired at the first try. I was glad and relieved because I did not want to let my audience down. Towards its summit the rocket’s trajection looked strangely horizontal. This worried me because it looked to be headed for a group of families watching a game of lacrosse. Watching the parachute refusing its intended purpose worried me increasingly. As the headless, parachuteless rocket touched down in the distance I felt a little relief as no one seemed to be hurt. Sarah hired some kids that had been watching our rocketeering to find the rocket and its mangled parts for a quarter each. They only came back with the rocket body (which came down like a brick) and the parachute (which, thank the heavens above, landed quite gently). The nose and, more importantly, the picture contained within were nowhere to be found, and you know I wasn’t about to go over there and face those people.

Still it was a great time, and I have to congratulate the other rocketeers for their more successful attempts. Hopefully next time I’ll have learned a lesson or two.

Listening to "Come on! Feel the Illinoise! -Part I: The World's Columbian Exposition -Part II: Carl Sandburg Visits Me in a Dream" from the album Illinoise by Sufjan Stevens

It’s true, you are. Look what I just found in my MySpace Friend Requests:

Carman, my friends, has sought me out and found me. With all his hits from such epic albums as Carman’s Yo! Kidz: The Hitz and R.I.O.T. (Righteous Invasion of Truth), what choice did I have but to befriend him?

It’s okay to be jealous.

Listening to "Don't Believe in Me" from the album The Bridge by Letter Kills