Picture Sunday

Welcome to Fall. I got home today about 5pm, and the way the afternoon light was coming in the picture window of the Poderosa was completely different. It was an Autumn light; everything even felt different.

You know, sometimes we do really foolish things in our lives. And we know they're foolish while we're doing them. And sometimes, as foolish as they are, we have no regret of them. That would describe my New Year's Eve party hijinks.

Then again, sometimes, as foolish as they are, we regret them like hell later on. That would describe Oktoberfest last night.

I'm not going into the details, but suffice to say that I made some poor "recreational" choices, for which I am still paying.

Other than that, though, things went very well. It was great to have the old gang get together for our annual six-week wrecking ball through the resort that is Mountain Lake. The only musical hitch was like something out of a Lucy rerun - somehow our books in the clarinet section got reversed, and when it came time to play The Clarinet Polka, none of us was reading from the right part. I was sitting there on first part, wondering why in the hell the music looked nothing like it was supposed to, and since my mind was in a purple haze from my "recreational" choices, instead of trying the play the music, I just stood there like an idiot wondering what was wrong. It took me about halfway through the first strain to realize I had the wrong part, then when I did, I was so rattled, any attempt to sight read it correctly was long gone. It wasn't pretty, but thank God it was late into the night and a lot of the crowd had already gone home.

The new outfit seemed to go over pretty well, I think. It's goodbye red jumper, hello plum. With peasant blouse and apron. I haven't taken a plunge into the world of dirndls yet, but I was keen to try something different.

Anyway, I have really boring pictures today, I'll warn you of that, but believe me, the recipe du jour will more than make up for it.

The first picture was taken yesterday as Mr M and I were venturing out to get some materials for a little project I'm going to be working on this week. We drove by Lane Stadium as the Hokies were playing. I love the look of the stands when they're full, it's usually a sea of maroon and orange in the bright sun. The problem is, we couldn't really get close enough for a good picture. This'll have to do.




Boy, that was worse than I thought it was. Anyway, later in the day we were, of course, at another venerable structure in the area, the barn at Mountain Lake. This is where Oktoberfest is held. That hallowed hall:




But now, the piece de resistance. Sure, last night I was around potato pancakes and boar stew. I was around smoked salmon and stuffed pork. I was around every kind of wurst imaginable. But none of it would, could - or should - compare with...Sardine Egg Canapes!




I mean, where does one start? Is it with the runny egg yolks? Is it with the sliced pimientos, laid upon the sardines in a manner that suggests some sort of fish-spider horror movie monster? Is it the totally unidentifiable crap in the middle of the plate (which to me looks like beef jerky on toast points)?

You show me the person who eats one of these and I'll show you someone doing one of the dances from that Pepto-Bismol commercial. (And I'll guess it'll either be the "upset stomach" or the "diarrhea" dance.)

Oh, by the way, the middle of the plate is alternating slices of cheese, pumpernickel bread, and salami. So, of course, everyone can have a tiny salami sandwich instead of eating the egg shit.

Betland's Olympic Update:
* I mean, really. I really can't believe those Sardine-Egg Canapes.