Muppets Remix

These videos made my day when Jamal first linked to them. The effect doesn't wear off.

Muppets remix

thingamajawn

Root Down

Speculation on the etymology of gurn:

1) a derivative of 'grimace'



2) stemming from the fugly-looking Gurnard fish







3) My great great great great great grandfather Bernard Gurn, who as a young boy, made the life-altering mistake of slapping his back while making a silly face.

A Gurn A Day

When I was a kid, my dad told me about one of the wonderful traditions associated with our family name. The history of the surname likely has nothing to do with it, but the myth fit nicely with my sensibilities. In fact long before I learned about the art of Gurning, I had discovered the pleasure in doing it--making twisted grimaces. Later, a brief training stint under Gurn-Lin masters opened my eyes to the deeper power of making grotesque faces. While my abilities never fully flourished, a recent MacBook purchased has renewed my interest in the field. Photobooth, an application used with the ISight camera, is good for hours of fun and the gurning possibilities are vast.


Got a Gurn? Email it.

I'll slap it up on the web and we can all point and laugh,
you crazy circus freak you.

Chillin' in North Bumblefcuk

After avoiding exploding Fung Wah buses on the ride home from NYC, Melissa and I made our way out to Northboro, where the Esber-Richardson's have settled for now We're trying to convince them to move to Roslindale (which everyone should look into as far as I'm concerned). If only it were more attractive for Christine to commute to Marlboro on a moped.
Aimee, Little Kev, and Wee-Little Riley drove out from Cambridge too, so Kev could teach Dillon and Aiden how to pimp their toy cars. Riley's there wondering what their parents teach them if not these finer things in life.
Josh eventually willed himself to stop smiling long enough to light the bbq, then learned how much tastier it is to shuck the corn after grilling it. After lunch, we all ran around in the woods behind their house and played in the poison ivy.

The Beacon isn't back. It's just roving. And rubbing Calamine.

New York State of Mind

I've been slow to post in the last few weeks. Life seems to keep getting in the way of rambling our the blog. But I thought I'd toss up some shots from a recent trip to New York City right before school started for me. Our close friend, Gabe, was visiting his grandmother in Brooklyn. Since he lives out in Sacramento, we don't connect up nearly enough. On Friday night, Melissa and I found a French bistro in the West Village, Les Deux Gamins. The rain was dumping so we ducked into this place and were greeted with a "Bon soir." I threw back some french, thinking she was a poser and immediately realized, mais non, elle est francaise. So not only did I sip on Chimay (although they did not use the correct glass, which should be chalice-shaped), I also polished up on my frog talk. The food was rich and the bill was reasonable. I recommend the joint. Gabe met us au cafe, in addition to Jonah who left Boston a year ago.


As you see, I couldn't get Jonah to sit still for a picture. I guess that's what living in the big city does to you.






The rain finally cleared on Sunday for us to walk about and dry out...






and bringing the artists out









Damn, even the pope's dope in NYC.

Vegas Vacation

Since wrapping up my two-year stint working at the Department of Education, I’ve been busy enjoying the summer outside of Boston. The day after I jumped ship—about the same time the reality of my decision to leave a job with an all access pass to the government cheese, tater tots, and sloppy joes you fondly remember from grade school was sinking in—I jumped jet to Vegas. Spending 5 days with my family was the bomb, but the time passed by too quickly.


On Friday, my dad and I got up at dawn’s crack, drove an hour NW of Vegas to the Spring Mountains. It was an eleven hour hike to the summit of Charleston Peak and back with stunning desert and then alpine views.





At around 7,000 feet of elevation, the bag of chips in my bag burst open from the pressure. Over 10,000 feet, a seam that started at the top of my forehead and ran down below my eye socket began to split open. But the headache was no match for the beauty at the top.




At the summit, just under 12,000 feet, we stayed long enough to rest our limbs for the haul down the mountain, munch on some jerky, and appreciate the scale of our ascent.




Two days later and still enjoying the ache in my legs, we walked into Slot Canyon near Lake Mead, a much less ambitious hike with equally stunning scenery.














Meanwhile, back at the ranch we entertained ourselves with stimulating conversation, impromtu dance performances by Miss Sofia, Vegas variety shows, a few trips to get gelato, and not a penny gambled. Sounds strange to go to Vegas and not drop money in the slots or at the Blackjack table, but then I never claimed I wasn't strange.