No news yet as to the condition of grampaw. No power and no phones across half the southern US means no news. We're hopeful, though, because the eye of Dennis wound up making landfall about 50 miles east of grampy, so he got the wind on the west side of the eye, which is slower. I'll let you know when I know more.
Meanwhile life, such as it is, goes on.
Wednesday was the FSM big fund-raising gala. Thankfully the idiot board member who claims to have organized the whole event did very little organization, or it would have been a flop. As it was we had a really low turnout, but the silent auction did quite well. Some of the best-sellers were the (don't laugh, now) handpainted birdhouses I donated. They were really cute, and went for $20-35 each, and brought in a total of $165. Not bad for a $40 investment and a few hours of time. They were so popular that several people who wanted to buy one and got out-bid have commissioned more from me, so I know what I'll be doing this weekend.
Last night was hilarious. The rowing club I've hooked up with for the summer christened a boat. Now, I've been to a couple boat christenings before. They've always consisted of a bunch of hungry/stanky/sweaty rowers who just want to go eat being forced to stand around the boathouse while the club president and/or head coach makes a little speech in honor of the rich alumna who is standing nearby in a pastel pant suit and trying to remain upright in her matching pastel sling-back heels on the loose pebble floor. Then the president/coach pours a bottle of champaigne over the bow of the boat where the aforementioned rich alumna's name is now emblazoned in cheap decals and all the rowers say "great - where are the burgers?"
But not this time. This time there were no rich alumni being honored because the boat was not donated by rich alumni. It was purchased through the blood, sweat, tears, and bake sales of the club, so the club got to name it whatever they damn well pleased. What did they name it? Dominick. I asked who dominick was. Dominick is the name of the bar where the club gathers for a piss-up every thursday after practice. Yes, you heard that right: they named the boat after the BAR! Genius. Furthermore, they didn't just pour champaigne over the boat down at the boathouse. Oh no, my friends. We loaded that fat bastard (it's a men's heavyweight 8) on the trailer (after we rowed it backwards in the water to undo the old name since it was purchased second-hand) and drove it downtown to the bar, where we unloaded it, set it in slings right across the street, and dumped lots and lots of champaigne over it. We then reloaded it and promptly got drunck. At Dominick's, of course. The propietor of Dominick's was thrilled. He bought us a round of drinks. (We bring him lots of business.)
1 comment:
Congrats on the new boat. New boats are important. Agecroft men are blaming the fact that they all went out in the first round at Henley to crews they'd creamed before on the fact that the girls had been bought a new boat (the first ever new boat for girls in Agecroft history) that year and they hadn't. They got three new boats when the boathouse opened. So, getting creamed had nothing to do with concentrating on power rather than technique, coxing from the three seat and sticking rigidly to a race plan although it was all going tits up then?
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