Go You Chicken Fat, Go!

So are you wondering, Lone Reader, how was Sharon Jones? FABULOUS! it wasn’t as good as the First Ave show I saw last year, but it was pretty dang good. I was part of the group that decided the State Fair security was a little too tight and rushed the stage. Wait, that sounds more thoughtful than it was…I got carried along by the group I was dancing with and ended up right against the stage. I loves me some Sharon Jones. And the Dap-Kings were smooth and cool and suited up like always. Super awesome, man, 4ril.

My friend left yesterday at noon. It was a really great visit. The Summit Brewing tour was very interesting – crowded for a Thursday afternoon! (Free beer and they will come…) I find that most beer tastes kind of, well, beer-y. So much for my sophisticated palate.

My wusband has informed me, with oh-so-clever-slyness that he is now aware of this blog. My mind is racing…did I say anything bad? I don’t think so. Other than pay your damn child support on time. Sigh. And now my ex-in-laws (does that make them outlaws?) are coming to town in two weeks. Buckle up, Lone Reader, it’s going to be a bumpy ride.

Since my posts have been rather, well, pedestrian lately, I offer you the following TRUE STORY from my grand adventure so long ago in East Africa:

So, to get from Nairobi, Kenya to Arusha, Tanzania took a few means of transport. One thing we had to do was walk across the border to get checked in. We ended up getting what was called a share-ride taxi to take us as far as it could toward the border. In Nairobi, what this entailed was getting our backpacks and standing outside by a taxi stand. There were about 5 mid-80s K-car kind of rides sitting around. They were waiting for enough passengers to make it worth their while. After about an hour, more people showed up and a guy said, “You two! C’mon.” We dutifully lined up next to his beater of a car. Tanya called window. Little did we know, we would not only not be by the window, but we would be sharing the ride with 4 other passengers. And two vats ominously labeled “chicken fat”. Tanya and I sat on strangers’ laps, holding heavy, greasy tubs while we slowly made our way out of Kenya. The taxi driver had one cassette – Ace of Base. He played it over and over. To this day, when I hear “All that she wants is another bay-beh…” I can smell chicken fat.