Say what?

So Ray and I are trying to teach ourselves some foreign language before we go on our honeymoon later this year, and that means CDs from the library. So far we listened to some on the way to Oly for the big banjo band playout at the First United Methodist Church (where we drew a record crowd for the Saturday afternoon "Potluck and a Program") from the Living Language series. They weren't that great. Maybe for review, since they're all in my iPod? So we moved on to the Instant Immersion series, which is an improvement.

Now, the Living Language series scores some points from me for its "cultural facts" portion. Because the cultural facts are so ridiculous it's hard to believe they aren't trying to get one over on us but then again, the French love Mickey Rourke and Jerry Lewis and only one of those cats has had a comeback. According to Living Language All-Audio French, the French are obsessed with graphology and if you apply for a job there they may send your handwriting off to a grafologiste who will divine your personality traits. When we heard that, Ray and I looked at each other and went, "Wha?" On the other hand, in Latin America they are really into astrology there, in a way people aren't up here.

Other news: Went to Longview, where Kris was assembling a mock 7th-street cake. She was going for a whole-building effect; I thought she would try to recreate the facade (un mot francais (perdonnez-moi, je escoute les CDs, non escrives pas). It was kind of a wash though as it looked funny, so she was on the verge of chucking it, but Ray and I took it home and had Mickey over to share the manifold delights of the 7th Street cake, which was from scratch yellow cake with an entire bottle of red food coloring in it and buttercream frosting tinted the fleshy tone of the theatre.

It looked like a fake-limb cake. Not sure which limb. It tasted good, though. Anyone ever read the Armistead Maupin books about San Francisco? Remember the guy who couldn't remember anything but hated roses? And it turned out he was part of a Catholic cult with the crazy ideas about transubstantiation? Well, this cake could stand in for that guy's cult — and much more deliciously and less repulsively.

The mountain biking was meh in Eufala Heights, which this weekend could be called "You Fail-a" heights. Trees were down, we got lost, my legs got all scratched to heck, Ray didn't feel he got a good enough workout (gee, we only pushed our bikes up a hill for a couple of miles). We had a forced march around Broadway hill and up 6th Street and then back down through the post office. Ray impugned the aerobic benefits of the Zumba, too, because I was dawdling and sweaty. Not everyone wants to pretend they're hauling it up Mt. Everest for 32.5 minutes (no warm-up, the extra 2.5 mins are the "cool down") on a treadmill set to "almost vertical" while watching Lil Kim and Derek the dancer jive to "Jailhouse Rock." Some of us like and need the sociality of Zumba.

OH! MAJOR NEWS! I BUSTED THE TULIP TERRORIST RED-HANDED!!!

Little boy was holding a tulip I'd had my eye on for a week in his hot little grimy hand while riding bike circles around me as I asked him, "Do I go into your yard and pick your tulips?" (shoulda used the word "flower," in retrospect). He was all cagey about where he got it — "I got it somewhere." But eventually he fessed up — "I got it there" (pointing to garden). Other tulips were missing. I was annoyed. I don't think TeeTee learned much, but one can hope.

TeeTee also played what appeared to be chicken with us when we were about to leave the driveway for the grocery store. With his bike. He came right at us on his bike, swerving almost at the last moment at our (stopped) car. What preschooler has thanatos? Does he feel some sort of existential angst — la nausee (is nausea masculin ou feminin? Je ne sais pas)? What is up with this kid?

I told Ray if we were to spawn our kid would probably get beat up by TeeTee while simultaneously worshipping him.

The temps this weekend was gloriouse. Notre premiere weekend de la ete. More, please!

We saw the Driftwood show, "Crimes of the Heart." Nice set! And it was really good. Debbie's daughter was in it and she was as precious as she could be, and so was Ray's distant cousin Julayne. Anyway, it was a really well-done show. Apparently, because I went in and sat down while Ray hit the bathroom, he couldn't find me and it took half of Livin' Harmony (the local barbershop quartet) to point me out to him. I was reading the program so I missed out.

This is such a small town. Sometimes it is hard for me to get over. Although there are a lot more social problems here than in Stars Hollow, there are a lot of similarities to that fictional community, too. Like when Hoquiam thought about banning chickens, pigeons, ducks and geese the other week. Small town governmental decision-making at its finest (it was voted down — let people have their poullets).