Nothing gets a party started quite like the smell of seared flesh, so it was a given that I'd fall prey to the mass hypnosis that was BBQ on the River over the weekend. First item on the agenda Friday night was a stop at Jeremy's office where he and wife Sue Ellen had arranged a little pre-pork action. The conference room table was chock full of all manner of sushi and various and sundry other delectible appetizers. Brad and I sampled the food, and Sue Ellen proceeded to mix it up by serving up some pomegranate cosmopolitans. Then it was on to tent city en masse.

The throng of people was incredible, and everybody who's anybody was sidled up somewhere near a smoky pit. While the Cruisers played on, we managed to make our way through the crowd after about an hour to the beer jail. The beer jail was double fenced and dark which kicked up the creepy factor quite a bit. The only light was that of the beer trailers, and I kept thinking that (all things considered) it would be quite easy for anyone to pick up my purse and take off with my identity but more importantly with my camera. After about an hour the cosmos kicked in full-force, and I decided that it would be best for all involved if I made my way out of the jail and headed home.


The next day I suffered a mild case of the cocktail flu but pressed on to kick it up with some karaoke at the Talibarn. Jeremy and Sue Ellen grilled up some tasty dogs and brats and even pulled out some brand new karaoke CDs to add to their already sizeable collection. While Brad and Estrelia got friendly, the rest of us sang every single song ever recorded during the 1970s...my favorite decade for music. We had to pack it in a little early but not before Brad sang for his supper.


Namaste