Long Weekend "Rap" Sheet

I'm not quite sure what we did over Labor Day weekend:

I do remember...
Making Casey watch an obscene amount of 30 Rock, one episode in particular driving me nuts because he had to ID a whole slew of rappers for me, and was slightly aghast I couldn't name a Woo Tang Clan song (is that even how you spell that? I'm going to get it later.)

Convincing Casey to build me a planter box, only to decide I didn't like said planter box and now I have 200 lbs. of soil with no planter box to put it in.

Returning to the 21st century: we signed up for cable (but not all the way, just the 12 basic channels.) But before that Casey spent the afternoon seeing if could cheat cable from an antenna. Turns out you can! But only if you want to watch one Spanish-language channel.

Surfing Craig's List for free rock.

Trying to figure out where to get straps of leather. (What? You figure that one out.)

Going to Home Depot every day.

Making Casey (do you notice a lot of sentences start this way? I love you, honey!) lug in a free trunk to find a home for it, then lugging it back out when I decided it needed to be restained.

By far my crowning achievement was the total and utter smackdown of the pink chair- my $15 Value Village find, which after some repadding, restapling, rejiggering is thankfully no longer pink.

Before:



After:

Return of the gnome

When I was growing up my parents indulged in a little game called “Pass the Poodle.” During a white elephant exchange my dad got stuck with perhaps the ugliest gift ever, an “art” piece (term used rather loosely here) of a macramé and macaroni- glued poodle on a piece of cardboard. My dad promptly left it in the giver’s bedroom (Scott Luell for you Eugenians). So began the great poodle war of the 1990s, 2000s, and probably, 2010s. Over the years, the poodle has gained a Mariners hat, been put on a roof, strung up a flag pole, and been given a Christmas light border as it has gotten punk’d back and forth between various Palmen and Luell members.

All this to say: I shouldn’t have underestimated him.

A couple of months ago, my dad left us a “present,” a very sad looking lawn gnome that he snuck into our front bushes- where it stayed for two days before he was found. Naturally when we went to Eugene last month, it only seemed fitting to leave the gnome where he truly belonged, back in my dad’s front bushes.

Alas, when Casey got to work on Monday morning, a giant box was on his desk. The return address read “Gnome Rescue,” and nestled inside was the above, our lovely gnome friend with a new t-shirt. The enclosed note reads:

Dada Casey,

I am so glad that you have found me! I fell asleep in the back of the Jeep and awoke to find myself in a thick patch of ivy. I quickly realized that I had been kidnapped by a not-so-merry band of hippies. I was taken to a commune and put on guard duty in an organic garden. Boy, poop “the organic in organic gardening” sure smells awful in 90-degree heat. I was forced to eat tofu! They rubbed me down with patchouli oil every night. They subjected me to second-hand smoke of the non-tobacco variety. They kept me up all night with ritual drumming. They tried to put my hair in dreadlocks but luckily, my porcelain was too thick. Of course, no one wears clothing in a commune so I had to steal this t-shirt from a puppy baby from Eugene. I hid in their All-Terrain Pram Stroller until they stopped at the Saturday Market. I then was able to make my way to the post office, find this box and make my way back to you, my precious gnome Daddy! My homey-gnomey! I am so glad that we are together again! Soon I will heal from my long hemp-infused nightmare. I promise I will remain vigilant at all times. Keep me safe

*Printed on 100% post-consumer recycled bath tissue.


Oh, it’s on now.