Too Much Fun Again, Again

"Like a girl too pretty or a car too fast, I ain't never had too much fun."

Found myself downing ibuprofen caplets with great intensity of purpose last Friday afternoon, recovering from dancing my back into spasm at the M.I.A. concert the Wednesday before. M.I.A. rocked the crowd of twenty-something women wearing short shorts and fishnet stockings, rocked them silly with crazy good beats, crazy good. The acoustics at the Concourse at the San Francisco Design Center are crap however, so the bass response was pretty messed up. Would be cool to see her at Burning Man, or maybe The Greek.

The Jerry Garcia Band with Melvin Seales on organ Friday night at the Great American Music Hall thumped the spasm right out of my back, but I pulled a hamstring dancing like a hyperactive superball. Hippies kept strolling through my dancespace, so much so that at one point I had the distinct feeling of playing hippy Frogger. My dear friend Anjeni joined our happy-go-lucky party that night, which excited us both to no end. The first show she saw after moving to California from Vermont in 1989 was a Jerry show. She went with me, and it was our first show together, such that last Friday night, a good 18 years later, we felt like we had arrived home after epic travels. When the wife & I arrived Anjeni ran right up and jumped into my arms. I must have carried her for the better part of a minute, just to show how happy we were to be blessed with this magic music, and to perch with Cheshire smiles at the top of our dancing evening, dressed so fun, eyes lit up like stars over the Sierras. We danced wild. We danced free, like tomorrow & yesterday forgot about us. The sweat poured off of me and the whoops & hollers proved uncontainable. Such a fun night, hell of, hamstring healing.

Took the family to ride the steam trains in Sacramento Saturday, very nice, along the river. The kids loved it, especially in concert with the over-priced antique candy store. Cross that one off the list.

Sunday loved the bicycles, loved them to revolution. Rode from Newark to Sky Londa & back, right across the Dumbarton Bridge, through Stanford, and up, up, up to the spine of the Santa Cruz Mountains. Siobahn & Ruxana joined me, and I daresay that they had heck of fun. Lunch at Alice's Restaraunt, racing butterflies up Old La Honda Road, Rodin's Gates of Hell sculpture, peeing at the Stanford Art Museum, zimming down Highway 84 at a white-knuckled deathclip, all added up to a stellar ride. That kind of ride shows what killer bikes and feeling radiantly great are all about.

Dad gave us a new fancy charcoal grill, so I tested it out yesterday with some lamb chops, lamb steaks, and lamb ribs, mmmmmmmm, lamb.

That concludes my documentation of what them jealous spoil-sports keep calling too much fun.