Went to the Alameda County Fair over the weekend. Mostly because it is only a couple miles away and feels like the local community thing to do.

I was only halfway in the mood for it though and teetered on the edge of falling into a funk. Fortunately attendance seems to still be down -- so no masses of humanity -- and it wasn't that hot so I never received the fatal push into an outright bad mood.

En Vogue was the concert. We never go for the concerts but usually will take a peak from the back row at whoever is performing when we're there. En Vogue (pronounced by me as "ahn voh-jhay" to only my own amusement) is the first complete "sell out" that we've experienced. So, in the end it was an opportunity to relive the '90s. I didn't experience them then and I didn't experience them now.

Tony Danza's (NOT, as I mistakenly said on Saturday, Ted Danson) song and dance show remains our personal pinnacle of Alameda County Fair entertainment.

One baby goat tried to eat my shorts. Another tried to eat my leg hair. One of these experiences was more painful than the other.

Deep fried Nutter Butters weren't anything special but did serve as confirmation of what I've learned camping when I use Nutter Butters instead of graham crackers for smores. Namely that warm Nutter Butters are good. Battering them is unnecessary.

Yesterday we did some spring cleaning. Because inside our apartment it is April. Place looks better but it wasn't a very deep scrub and I never did make it into the kitchen. We did go to Home Depot for a flood light, though, making it my second trip to Home Depot in a week and my second Home Depot trip in the last two years (had to buy a new knob for the bathroom for those who missed the exciteming Twitter-tale of me being trapped in my own bathroom).

Also. I saw Public Enemies last night. It was ok. Michael Mann should be forever constrained, however, to using ditigal cameras and filming night scenes. He has an eye for it (as seen in Collateral Damage, Miami Vice, and this) that is a thing of mastery. Unfortunately while I felt like there was an intention to impart some message of significance it eluded me and just came of as a slightly slow biopic.

Finally. Life ain't all that exciting right now so posts like this are what you get. I tried to become interesting by watching four straight stages (or parts thereof) of the Tour last week. It didn't take. I admire the athleticism of the sport but its spread out nature and technical strategy just don't make for very interesting TV. I know there's variety but all four stages I watched (including the uphill on Friday) were essentially the same in form and conclusion.

By the way, I've actually bored myself into a coma writing this. What's your excuse for still reading?

Oh, I forgot to mention in all the excitement of my last post.

I took one more tiny step towards being old this morning.

Getting out of the shower I fell. Fortunately I'm not yet so decrepit that I broke a hip but I did bang myself pretty good and seem to have tweaked my neck. My left forearm slammed down into the guiding railing for the shower door and did something interesting.

It didn't cut the skin, but did squish things up sufficiently that blood is essentially oozing out through the still otherwise intact skin (only about 3/4 inch long so we aren't talking significant blood loss_. Never had that happen before.

Anyway. First I get trapped in the bathroom by a malfunctioning doorknob (fortunately the screws were on the outside so Lani could remove the knob, new knob has the screws on the inside so when next the apartment attacks I'm screwed). Now that bathroom tries to kill me. It is sad to be so hated by the inanimate. Also, I now need to those high-friction pansy petal stickers for the bottom of the bathtub.

Does anybody else have what I call "Stretching Tourettes"?

When I stretch I find that it feels much better if I curse vulgarly while doing so, and involves little aforethought. It just comes out. So after watching a movie on the couch I might stand and stretch shouting out "fuck a duck with a cum swizzler" (often things don't make much sense).

If I stretch without it it just isn't as satisfying.

It also carries with it the joy of uttering a sentence that may never before have been uttered in human history (yes, that bit of Garden State was stolen from me).