It goes with my black Schwinn...

Half the battle in finding the answers to your burning questions is in knowing what questions to ask in the first place. Time and time again, I hear the mistakenly formulated question, "Who really needs chaps?" This is not the question. The question should be, "Who doesn't need chaps?!" The answer: No one! That's right, everyone ought to have a pair.


Can't you just smell the leather?

Brought to you by the same woman who took me on a field trip to Camp Dellwood, my buddy and I drove down to Nashville on Tuesday in search of oddities and adventure. My buddy happens to be a biker girl, so she knows the leather shops down there pretty well. I wish I could say that I took some persuading in order to be convinced that we needed matching chaps, but who am I kidding? Leather chaps need no justification. The stupid things just feel cool, no matter how laughable they may look. Fortunately, the woman who outfitted me seemed to understand. As soon as I'd paid she asked encouragingly, "Aren't you going to wear them out of here?" And that's all it took to start me strutting around downtown Nashville with a quarter of a cow strapped to my legs. After a while, I didn't even mind that I was going to be leaving Nashville in a Jeep rather than on a Harley. Such is the power of the rebellious biker girl look. Try it today.

My Run-In with the Law

There is a saying at Wishard--you're never in more danger than when you're minding your own business. (Whenever someone came in to the ER who had been stabbed or shot, the obvious answer to the question of how it happened was inevitably, "I don't know. I was just there, minding my own business...") But it's true this time. There I was, just minding my own business when I had my run-in with the law this afternoon...

It all started with a quick dash into Kohl's. I needed my watch battery replaced, and ten short minutes after walking in I was out the door again and re-setting the hour on my timepiece. It also seemed like a good time to organize the dozens of credit card receipts in my cupholder...and I had some newspapers on the floor to clean up...and then the cord on my tape adapter for my iPod needed untangling. So many things to do when all of a sudden I hear a tap on my window. It was the police, and from the look on the officer's face I'd been busted for goodness knows what. I pondered langorously and confusedly about which was more appropriate--rolling down the window or opening the door altogether. My time-consuming internal struggle only seemed to make the officer more peeved. In a fit of panic I flung the door open.

"Hey buddy....[pause]...uhm, ma'am?"
"It's ma'am," I reassured him, though he seemed doubtful.
"Is this your truck?"
"Yes." Ack! My first lie! It immediately occured to me that if he asked to see the registration, he would find that it was still in Babushka's name. And then what?! He would call to ask Babushka if she knew where her truck was, and she would undoubtedly answer, "I don't know, some buddy took it."
"Well, I was just noticing how you were ducking around a lot under the dash. I figured you were trying to steal the radio out."
I immediately understood why I'd aroused his suspicions, among other things, but I panicked anyway. "No...it's not that...receipts...see!" I blurted out incoherently. "Look, I'm organized!"

He did not seem impressed, though after such a chaotic display of shopping receipts, he did seem finally convinced that I was female. Small victory. It was at that point that my nervousness transferred back to the officer, who went into a long apology for both accusing me of being a boy and a thief. He hoped I hadn't taken any of it wrongly. Ha! He must have thought I was likely to make a complaint regarding the host of degradations he'd piled upon me. Little did he know that I was de-sensitized years ago at the zoo, where I was mistaken daily for a Boy Scout. Ultimately I found my cool again. I gave an impromptu speech pontificating on the virtues of vigilance. We thanked each other kindly and headed off on our merry ways.

Now where the hell was he when my catalytic converter was stolen?

The heat, the stench...

I have a trip down memory lane for Cassandra. Does any of this look familiar?









That's right. It's Dellwood! That mystical land of misery! That vast wasteland that masquerades as a campground! Further proof that your annual Girl Scout cookie funds go to support a very special breed of terrorism. Any coincidence that the juvenile center is just up the street and Camp Dellwood has a cemetery on its grounds? I think not...

I voiced my human rights concerns on Tuesday, though my protests were brushed aside. "Scouting isn't for everyone." I should say not. No child should be subjected to such a place. As an adult, however, it made for a pretty decent afternoon.

In a break from my normal trap shooting, I went out to Dellwood for an after hours archery lesson. It was a good time. In a refreshing change from clay pigeons, the archery target didn't move, and it was about the size of a Smart car. And because I was one of the adults, I got to ride around on a golf cart like I was all superior or something. I have a picture of my red sneakered-foot below to prove it. Pretty impressive, huh?

Swingin' Saturday

Last night was roller derby night! As I know that mere words cannot describe such a spectacle, I will provide video as well. But first, what's a Saturday night without wandering around and bumping into a hot dog?


Not to be outdone, the dairy portion of the food pyramid also sent out a representative.


Walking inflatable food could not distract me though. It was on to derby! Roller derby involves a pack of skaters and two "jammers" who start out behind the pack. The object is for the jammers to break through the pack and pass members of the opposing team, which is how the team scores points. The video below is the very beginning of a jam. If you listen to the announcer, you'll hear (and see) when the jammer makes it through the pack to become the lead jammer.

As far as sporting events go, it's highly entertaining. The crowd is always interesting too.


When all is said and done, however, there is one enduring message that roller derby promotes. It's so catchy, they've made it into a high class bumper sticker.


That's entertainment.

Adventures

Lauren of Suburbia reporting from Southern Indiana!

First stop was the Monastery Immaculate Conception in Ferdinand, Indiana. (It's about 90 miles east of Evansville.) It's home to the Sisters of St. Benedict. Did you know Indiana was home to such an architectural beauty? It was a beauty on the inside as well, though I didn't feel like I could photograph it. Nuns were watching, you know.


Next stop was Corydon, Indiana's first state capitol. The capitol only lasted nine years before it moved to sunny Indianapolis. It's only 40 square feet, but it's still $2 to look the place over. At that rate, what do you think they charge for Biltmore?


And the last stop was Schimpff's Candy Store and Museum in Jeffersonville. This is the best kind of museum, as it not only featured the history of candy, but it sold modern examples of it as well.
If you're willing to put 320 miles on your car or truck, this trip can be yours. Highly recommended.

Spring Fever, which is preferable to Swine Flu

We're in bloom here at home, and I have the evidence to prove it.

We have our Crabby Tree, which doesn't look as impressive now that the white blooms have blown away--


We have our large Staple Trees to give us shade--



Wild Violence have popped up around the front of the house near the garage--


And the Hostages lining the driveway look quite pleased after having been buried under the snow throughout most of January--



When things start to look too cheery, our resident vulture comes around to darken up the day and eat whatever roadkill that hangs out by the side of the road.


And that's the glory of nature.

Where are your Easter eggs?

We wore our Sunday Best for you.