Like a mountain

I survived the Kickapoo (albeit without Grizzly Bear). It was cold.. wet… but a good “learning experience.” The last night it stormed like a drunk monkey, and I had the side of the tent exposed to all the rain and wind, so I slept in a soaking wet sleeping bag with no pants (they were all wet! from the river, not pee. heh.) and a fleece. The canoe shack-hut-shelter was open for wet kids to sleep in, but I took the manly road (irrational) and woke up every fifteen minutes instead.

Almost right after getting back we went to Six Flags because a company rented it out (meaning there are like more than half the people there) and our friends bought tickets, so it’d be crazy not to go. A ton of actors in demonic clown suits were walking around the park with knives and stuff for their Halloween “Frightfest” thing. I also bought a churro. And it tasted like corporate bullhonkey.

Grandpa, Sam & I with Farm Aid bandanas. l’dor v’dor!

Finally… this weekend we went to St. Louis to see Farm Aid and my relatives, and my dad throw out a first pitch at a Cardinals game. It was so weird coming home from Wisconsin hearing last-minute, “hey how was your trip we have a 2 o’clock flight tomorrow m’kay?” but it was so fun. I hadn’t seen my grandpa in years (literally), or a Cardinals game. Or Farm Aid.

He threw a strike. Who said musicians can’t be good at sports? (answer: every gym teacher ever.)

Title: We passed an American Apparel today with, as usual, a 20ft half-pornographic cutout of a woman on the storefront. Sammy said “her butt is like a mountain!” For it’s full glory (or not) view here.