Ow. And P.U.
I walked to the L5P Halloween Parade this evening. That's right: walked.
I figured parking would be such a nightmare, I wouldn't get any closer than Cabbagetown -- a ten-minute walk from home -- so what's the point? My mistake was confusing the L5P Halloween Parade with the Inman Park Festival, when parking is indeed a bitch.
As it turned out, there was plenty of parking even as far as Dad's Garage and beyond. Frak.
Oh well. Lots of pictures of the parade. Talked with Chris Blair for a few seconds when the Dad's crew came by with Lucky's T-bird. His baby girl is a year old already. Chris's, not Lucky's. (ew) Where does the time go?
Grabbed a slice from Savage, which was selling them at three bucks a pop right outside their door. And walked back home. Stopped at Dad's and chatted with Holly, who won herself a 1977 Firebird in a cross-country scavenger hunt that ended in Texarkana. It's sweet. The car, not the place.
Turns out the other day was Lucky's 40th birthday (holy crap!); and Sean Daniels is in town to help celebrate (like the help is needed). Both are playing TheatreSports tonight. Right now, actually.
But no way in hell was I gonna get back over there for the shenanigans. I walked really far today. And back. My legs hurt like hell. And my pits stink. The only reason I'm still awake is to watch the baseball game and go through the pictures. I've done the latter, and the former was pretty much over in the third inning when the BoSox put up ten runs on the Indians' two best pitchers.
And now that the Fizzgig has passed out on the couch, I can take away her new The Ball and crash for the night.
I figured parking would be such a nightmare, I wouldn't get any closer than Cabbagetown -- a ten-minute walk from home -- so what's the point? My mistake was confusing the L5P Halloween Parade with the Inman Park Festival, when parking is indeed a bitch.
As it turned out, there was plenty of parking even as far as Dad's Garage and beyond. Frak.
Oh well. Lots of pictures of the parade. Talked with Chris Blair for a few seconds when the Dad's crew came by with Lucky's T-bird. His baby girl is a year old already. Chris's, not Lucky's. (ew) Where does the time go?
Grabbed a slice from Savage, which was selling them at three bucks a pop right outside their door. And walked back home. Stopped at Dad's and chatted with Holly, who won herself a 1977 Firebird in a cross-country scavenger hunt that ended in Texarkana. It's sweet. The car, not the place.
Turns out the other day was Lucky's 40th birthday (holy crap!); and Sean Daniels is in town to help celebrate (like the help is needed). Both are playing TheatreSports tonight. Right now, actually.
But no way in hell was I gonna get back over there for the shenanigans. I walked really far today. And back. My legs hurt like hell. And my pits stink. The only reason I'm still awake is to watch the baseball game and go through the pictures. I've done the latter, and the former was pretty much over in the third inning when the BoSox put up ten runs on the Indians' two best pitchers.
And now that the Fizzgig has passed out on the couch, I can take away her new The Ball and crash for the night.