d o double g and the 420

What you often end doing when you’re feeling a smidge off is put together a nice compilation of music. I’ve decided to dub it “my life around alt.country”. I was going to be “my life in…” but I’m not actually “in” the business. I’m not sure it’s a perfectly sound title since the term is probably too narrow for what I’m including: you get some Americana, a little country, some newgrass, a little cow punk, and some standard alt.country. It’s a humdinger…there’s some Tift Merritt blasting away in the “library”. You know you’ve got a thing going when you hear the Gourds blasing out Snoop Dogg’s Gin n’ Juice.

Out of the corner of my eye – or in front of my eyes and down the hill – I just caught sight of what appears to be a bunch of kids that can only be dubbed as square-headed cowboys named Otto (it’s a long story). Mr. Q., previously from across the hall, is one of the original Ottos. If you know Q. then you know what I’m talking about. I’ve taken the ‘Otto’ and transferred it to my own needs. I think X. had a herd that ran roughshod around with the boys in England. At some point, they all came running back to her in the park complaining about the fear of ‘other boys’ in the park. Between H., G., and the other three chump-a-lumps there was little worry of them and their weapons being overrun.

The Cubs start a four-game set in Milwaukee tonight – I’ve got some, only some, nerves.

L. made it to camp and home today. As expected, she feels a bit of freedom overcoming her now that she’s got wheels. Her only complaint is that it’s sort of uphill all the way back to the house. You can’t have it all.