What Makes Me Laugh

Word to the Wise: Don’t drink rum, then champagne, and then beer unless you want to end up singing both the Doxology and every lyric of Jon Bon Jovi’s greatest hits in one night. Not that the singing wasn’t enjoyable, but the morning after hurt me bad. I think it was the champagne.

The day of my friend Kayb’s wedding could be summed up by Billy Crystal’s famous Fernando character (think  Spanish accent). “It is better to look good than to feel good.”

Whereas, my impromptu birthday bash in front of the Jon Bon Jovi cover band was all about feeling good. Too good.

But, back to looking good. I used to think that men had no idea the torture women put themselves through to look beautiful.

But then after the wedding, when we were complaining about how our feet hurt, a friend of a bridesmaid told us that he could see our pain and we did look a little like, “cripples with severe hemorrhoid problems” walking up the aisle.

I certainly felt crippled after a day in heels and a dress that seemed to dig into me in all the most uncomfortable places on my body.

The pain began with the curling, ratting, twisting, and pinning of the hair. Then there was the underwear – which included itchy cheap pantyhose since none of us got the memo to bring black instead of nude hose and thus Kayb’s brother-in-law had to save the day (bless the man, buying ten pairs of pantyhose at a Walgreen’s is not exactly on the list of things to do to boost your male ego. Hopefully the store clerk didn’t think he was a pantyhose-obsessed tranny).

There were also the boobs — which in strapless outfits can be painfully smushed in several different torturous ways. Two bridesmaids managed to breastfeed while wearing it so I guess strapless had some advantages. Between the squeezing of my rib cage and the screams coming from the balls of my feet I think I felt more pain getting ready for that wedding than I did while running a half marathon.

Fortunately, the pain was for a good cause. The bride and groom are genuinely besotted with each other, and perfect for each other in every semi-strange way. Kayb’s quite petite (5′3″?) and he’s not much bigger (in fact, she said he’s only one inch taller). They looked like little wedding cake toppers together.

The clincher for me was his allergies. Kayb has an allergy to gluten, and has had friends (including me) and others in her life with many food sensitivies. So, she took it completely in stride that Will is deathly allergic to all foods derived from a cow (dairy and beef) and committed herself to a near-vegan-wheat-free existence for their marriage. Think a lifetime supply of chicken stir fry. Now that is love!

The gorgeous rehearsal dinner

Ocia, Kayb’s sister, made a delectable-looking gluten-free, dairy-free cake for the two of them to eat at the reception. Will couldn’t eat his Star Wars-themed groom’s cake (which actually looked like it could have doubled as a  Lord of the Rings Mordor cake). I’m just hoping they survive their Italian honeymoon. So much butter and cheese to avoid!

Cassie, one of the bridesmaids who actually is a southern belle, saved the day in so many ways. She made the stressed bride laugh with a throaty rendition of “Delta Dawn” and when she found out it was my birthday she came up with a plan to celebrate. She asked her friend Jimmy to make a stop at the liquor store and buy some rum shooters for us before the reception. We tossed them back behind the Christmas tree and it eased all of the pain and stress of the day away instantly.

After “buffeting it” — as they say in the South, at the reception, Cassie and Jimmy took me out to see the best Jon Bon Jovi cover band in Chattanooga (well, maybe all of the U.S. – who knows – I’ve never seen another Jon Bon Jovi cover band). The lead singer had had reconstructive surgery to look just like Jon so it only took a few beers for me to get my clogs a dancing while still in my bridesmaid’s dress (I shed the high heels) — playing air guitar and singing “Living on a Prayer” at the top of my voice. All I can say is, those southerners sure know how to show a girl a good time on her birthday.

P.S. I didn’t take photos of the actual wedding, because I was in it, so y’all will have to wait for Kayb to return from the honeymoon for the wedding photos to appear.

I’m leaving for Tennessee tomorrow for what may be my final appearance ever as a bridesmaid or bridesmatron (I know, you’re drying your eyes right now, aren’t you?). I expect to experience both culture and culture shock in the South, and hope I don’t get lost (I’m getting a handy GPS unit for my car just in case).

Doug is not traveling with me this time, which makes me both sad and relieved for him that he won’t have to experience any of the new airline security measures (including a ban on bathrooms and anything in your lap). Hopefully I won’t have to experience them either since I’m only traveling domestic flights.

I’m planning to stay calm, cool, and collected while flying, even if I have to grab the stranger’s hand sitting next to me upon takeoff. Keeping the bride calm is also one of my duties (as noted in the final instructions sent by the bride last eve). I plan to keep on reminding her that fortunately I’m not helping her prep for a spinal tap or a terrorist attack. It’s only a wedding!

Meanwhile, I’m going to summon my inner Southern Belle and my inner Buddha (is it possible for both to reside in the same body?) and try to keep calm as I deliver a toast, wear a dress that is slightly too tight for breathing, and wear heels while nursing a knee injury from my Christmas ski (don’t ask, it’s too embarrassing to tell you that it happened right after I got off the lift – before any real skiing had even begun). Oh, and I’m taking notes, lots of notes. While keeping calm.

Happy New Year!

About 10 years ago I sent an e-mail to a group of friends from college asking them all for a list of the best books they had read that year. I did it to reconnect with friends who share a common interest (most of us were English Majors) and because I have trouble finding new authors and I figured they might have some great suggestions. For several weeks we swapped e-mails, sharing our favorites, and making must-read book lists for the coming year. Over time, it’s become a tradition, and after most of us joined Facebook, I created a group to make it even easier for participants to share. From my friends’ recommendations I’ve discovered some of my now-favorite authors: David Sedaris, Jeannette Walls, and Elizabeth Gilbert.

You can check out everyone’s picks for 2009 by clicking on this facebook link. I’d love to hear your suggestions – either on the facebook page or at this blog in the comments section.

My suggestions for this year included:

1. Memoir – “Eat, Pray, Love: One Woman’s Search for Everything Across Italy, India and Indonesia” by Elizabeth Gilbert. I like to include at least one book that someone recommended from last year’s list, so my thanks go to Liz Salan for recommending this great travelogue. After a nasty divorce, Elizabeth Gilbert embarks on a spiritual and physical discovery across continents that is funny and inspiring. She also wrote the article that was the basis for the movie Coyote Ugly (which I have yet to see, but is on my list this year).

2. Fiction – “People of the Book” by Geraldine Brooks: This book is both well-written and has a gripping plot,  a combo that is nearly impossible for me to find these days. I’m increasingly becoming impatient, skimming through books, but this tale of a rare Jewish book and the people who either make it or try to save it made me read every word. Geraldine Brooks won a Pulitzer for her book “March” in 2006.

3. Fiction – “One Shot” by Lee Child: Stuck in an airport over the holidays and out of reading material? Pick up a Lee Child book. His mystery/thriller books will keep you from going crazy while on standby. They are all told from the point-of-view of Jack Reacher, an ex-military man who has no home, but always ends up in a place or position to solve a crime (and then moves on). He’s smart and brutal, but I’m never disappointed in the ending, and I read every word.

4. Memoir – “Born Standing Up: A Comic’s Life” by Steve Martin: I really enjoyed this tale about Steve’s start in comedy at Disney, his spare family life, and why he ended his stand-up career. A lot of great stories about other famous comedians come up in the book. It’s not really a funny memoir, but very illuminating.

5. Fiction – “The Other Boleyn Girl” by Phillipa Gregory: I haven’t seen the movie, so I can’t compare it to that, but I can say that I normally don’t like historical fiction (or fiction that is based on someone else’s sense of history) but this book brought Henry VIII alive in a new way to me, and what it must have been like to vie for his attention. Plus, it was just a good old-fashioned romance.

Sleighbells Ring. Are you listening? In the Lane. Snow is glistening.

Personally, my favorite Christmas Carol is “All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth.” It just says so much about a child’s mental anguish, doesn’t it? No toys, just my teeth please. Plus, you get to sing with a lisp, and who doesn’t want to try that at least once in her lifetime?

It’s hard to write about Christmas without sounding like a cross between Dickens, a southern Baptist preacher and a hedonist on a binge. On the one hand, I’m supposed to write, “Eat, drink, be merry!” on the other I should write, “Eat, Drink, Go to Church, and give some money to the man holding the cardboard sign outside of Costco!”

I would give some money to the man holding the cardboard sign outside of Costco except for the fact that I saw that same man get out of a new Ford pickup truck at the local park. It makes one kind of cynical, especially since I know there are people who aren’t scamming others who need a break.

But anyway, back to the truffle recipe I’m planning to try and make tonight. At the Holden/Blaine household we have established a tradition of skiing on Christmas day, and eating like we’re planning to ski every day for the rest of our lives. We’re planning to watch Young Frankenstein, play some mean games of Scrabble, entertain Cocoa and Peaches, and possibly sing a few tunes together. We will not be exchanging presents, as every day together is a gift (that was a joke, all right?). Let me try that again. We will not exchange gifts because that’s part of our tradition. No gifts, just skiing, some rest and relaxation, a few good laughs, and as little traveling as possible. In sum, we sort of opt out of holiday-stress. If you sent me a card, thank you, I’ll be sending you a card sometime in the New Year (it’s a surprise). The closest I get to stressed this time of year is anticipating holiday parties. The introvert inside of me screams, “No more small talk!” And then when I get stressed, I just turn to chocolate.

Did I mention truffles?

My mother had three cures for all of my childhood illnesses. I either opened up for antibiotics, downed pepto bismol, or rubbed Vick’s vaporub (otherwise known as mentholatum ointment) on my chest if I was sick. If those didn’t work, the threat of washing massive amounts of dishes seemed to do the trick.

At the first sign of a sore throat, she’d make me gargle with salt water, then wrangle a wool sock around my neck, clasping it with a heavy safety pin, to keep the Vick’s from drying out. I can’t say that I was a devotee of these methods as a child, but it’s funny, I abide by them now, and they do seem to help.

Doug’s family’s version of the wool-sock-around-the-neck trick includes a cold wet sock underneath a larger wool sock, and no Vick’s VapoRub. I thought this was shocking until I read in my gym’s newsletter that naturopaths recommend you wear cold wet wool socks to bed if you have a sore throat. I mean, who comes up with these ideas? I can just hear some guy saying, “Yeah, I passed out drunk and my socks were all wet and I woke up and my sore throat was gone! It must have been the socks.”

When I came back from Vegas, I caught a bad cold, which quickly turned into a nagging, hacking cough. When I shared my frustration with eau de VapoRub on facebook, a few people wrote in about the magic of garlic (chop up raw garlic and take 3-5 times a day for 5 days), and ginger infusions. My cousin has often recommended a boiled lemon ginger reduction for colds. Then, there are other people who promise complete recovery with vitamins and herbs. Echinacea, goldenseal, D3, tinctures, elderberry, Vitamin C, Zinc, you name it, it’s a cure for someone.

I’ve come to believe that all of our cures have at least some element of the placebo effect. We need something, anything, even if it’s swallowing the most unbelievable gross tasting tincture, to believe that we’re receiving the medicine we need. But I could be wrong, so share your dead-fire-sure cure for the common cold in the comments section. Maybe I’ll try it next time.

As for my cold/cough? I ended up at the doctor’s office this week wondering why my cough wouldn’t disappear, and she sent me home with the real cure for my upper respiratory tract infection: antibiotics and codeine. My mom was right once again.

Day 3 of the Vegas Adventure

5:15 a.m.

I’m not an early morning runner. If I had my druthers, I’d run mid-morning every day. I’d get up about 8:30, run about 9:00, shower and be to work about 10:30. But this is not my life, so I usually run over my lunch break or after work, or on weekends.

So, believe me when I say that getting up after four hours of sleep to run a half marathon was painful. Laura and Terry knocked on our door about 5:40 a.m. and I wasn’t sure whether I’d find them in running clothes or not. The last thing that happened before bed was Terry left a big tip at the front of the hotel for the shuttle driver who was supposed to return the carry-on with all of the running clothes. They had also had a “situation” with the hotel with the room, so by the time that was all figured out it was well past midnight.

But there they were, dressed like runners, ready and energetic. They had gotten up at 4:00 to order room service and eat before the run (the thought of which makes me semi-nauseous).

5:45 a.m.

The Vegas Strip was closed to traffic by 4:30 a.m. and since we were over 2 miles from the start of the race, we took a cab the “back way” via the interstate, and when we finally entered the traffic jam over the overpass the cab driver told us this was it, it was the furthest he could take us. People were getting out of cars and running toward the start line so we joined the crowd of runners, and tried to warm up. It was 34 degrees and I was freezing. I knew that once I started running I’d get hot quickly and there was no place to drop clothes before the race started, so we all collectively shivered our way to the start of the race.

6:15 a.m.

The four of us split off to go to our respective “corrals” a term that I only associate with livestock, so I wish they wouldn’t have called them that, but I guess when you have 27,000 people in a race they start to seem like penned livestock. A 1,000 people were jam-packed into each corral, which would be released in waves across the start line, and we slid into position next  to a group of running Elvis’s in red and black on the left, and another group in white on the right. Behind us a woman with a white running outfit and a wedding veil stood next to her running bridesmaids and groom. They were going to go through the run-through wedding ceremony. We didn’t have room to stretch or warm up and we were too far away to hear Cher sing the national anthem, so we just huddled together and watched the fireworks overhead, moving forward inch by inch, waiting for our start time.

6:45 a.m.

Finally, our run started! We each were given a chip to put through our shoelaces so that they could electronically record our individual start and finish times when we crossed the rubber mats at the beginning and end. I was cold, so we ran slow at the beginning, trying to get warm, listening to the sounds of the rock bands that lined the street and the Elvis’s next to us who were running with a baby jogger filled with beer and a stereo system playing both Elvis tunes and the Beatles. They took turns running with the stroller.

There was a lot to look at as we ran. Between the Vegas casinos, the mountains in the distance, and the costumed runners, the race zipped by like an entertaining movie. The only annoying thing was that there were so many people to zig zag around that I actually added on several tenths of a mile to the race distance (13.1 miles). If you want to see a slide show and video of the race, check out this link to the Las Vegas Review-Journal’s slide show. Crystal and I split up around the three mile marker, and Laura and Terry were somewhere ahead of us so I ran most of it “alone” trying to stay between a 9 and 10 mile-per-minute pace. The longest training run I had completed (based on the plan) was 10 miles so after the 10th mile I was in new territory. The swelling in my feet started to catch up with me about mile twelve so I had to slow down toward the finish line, but I was really happy with my time: 2 hours 12 min and 37 seconds. I had wanted to finish in under 2 hours 15 minutes.

9:00 a.m.

Reunited, and it feels so cold

Terry and Laura

Me and Crystal

I was so hot at the end that I stupidly refused the free space blanket to wrap around my sweaty, rapidly cooling body. We reunited at the letter Q, told race stories, drank some water, took some photos, and then went to look for a cab back to the hotel. The Strip hadn’t opened back up to traffic, so we stood in an endless line at a casino for a taxi, and kept getting colder so we decided to hoof it to the next casino. The shade and wind combined to make me so chilled that I was feeling desperate for warmth. When we finally hailed a cab, it took 45 minutes to get back to the hotel, and it cost $21 (normally $7), but I didn’t care, I just wanted a warm car.

Afterwards

First, we checked in with the hubbys and our respective football teams (Steelers and Patriots) who were both losing, then we soaked at the spa and Crystal tried her first Eucalyptus steam room, and then we napped, and then we went for all-you-can-eat sushi, and I got to wear my little red dress at the roulette table, where I lost $40. All in all, it was a marathon of a day, and a marathon of a trip, and the best introduction to Vegas a woman could get. Thanks for hanging in there for the blow-by-blow!

6:20 a.m.

Worry Wart

Day two of the Vegas adventure started at 6:20 a.m. with a more-than-slightly hungover me waking to the alarm of a text message. You should just lay there, my body said. But my brain had different ideas, so I fumbled for the phone and opened it under the covers to read the message from my sister. She had just faxed her marathon confirmation to the hotel so that I could prove I wasn’t a malicious runner’s packet stealer to the Vegas race organizers.

With this news in hand, I tried to go back to sleep, but all I could think about was my plan for getting those packets.

“I have a situation,” I’d start, or “Have you ever been in a Canadian blizzard before?” or “I’ve already picked up my packet, but my sister is somewhere between here and Alberta and won’t be arriving until after you’ve gone home for the day. Why don’t you be a pal and wave the identification requirement?” In that last scenario, I kind of imagined myself as a Soprano, handing someone a bribe who was being “difficult.”

Getting jittery that the fax may not have arrived and my sister would be on her way to the airport soon I bagged the sleep and used the light from my cell phone to find my clothes (so I didn’t wake Crystal). Dressing took approximately 10 times as long as it should because I couldn’t find a pair of pants in the dark and after remembering Crystal finding glitter on the floor last night I began to get paranoid that someone wearing a sequined dress broke into our room and stole my jeans. When you’re hungover, this seems like a reasonable theory.

8:15 a.m.

Fax in one hand, a $3 bottle of water in the other, I start to walk back to the Runner’s Expo to save a $10 cab ride. Over the course of the two miles, I stopped four times to pee. A little worried about the race and getting dehydrated, I was drinking water like crazy, and paying for it. Not only that, but my toes had suddenly started to hit the front of my shoes. My feet had swollen. A lot. This does not make for a good half marathon.

9:00 a.m.

Lost In Translation

When I finally reached the front of the line for Corral #12 (runners had different waiting gates) I took a deep breath and said, “I have a situation.” And they had a solution. Yes, the actual place I was directed was called “Solutions” and they had already heard about the delays, and bada bing bada boom I had the race packets in hand. The only problem was that I couldn’t find my way outside to a cab. I’m serious. I have never been so lost inside before. I wandered around the convention center and casino for a good half hour before I found a door that offered a glimmer of hope. Crystal thinks they do this on purpose so that you’ll get so tired you’ll just sit down and gamble, and I think she’s right.

3:00 p.m.

In the middle of shopping for a new dress I called my sister to check on their travel, and she says, “Guess where we’re at?” Calgary. Turns out the delays have stacked up and they won’t be leaving now until 4:00, and were on standby from Salt Lake City to Vegas. And the big bummer is that they are going to miss out on “O” the Cirque de Soleil performance in water playing at our hotel that night. Crystal and I weren’t planning on going, but I had picked up the tickets for my sister, and now that they couldn’t make it … well, a circus performance couldn’t be missed, right?

7:00 p.m.

O

I don’t think I’ve ever seen more than five minutes of Cirque de Soleil, even on PBS, so this was a new experience. We had incredible seats and most of the time I had a series of questions running through my head while watching the acrobatics like, “Who are these people? Ex-Olympic-gymnasts? Even ex-Olympians have bad days, am I going to see someone die tonight?” Seriously. I felt afraid for the acrobats and actors for most of the show. The most incredible part was the set, which opened up to an Olympic diving pool for parts, shallow pool for others, and completely dried up at times.

9:15 p.m.

Immediately after the show I texted my sister and heard great news back. They had arrived on the second flight and were just picking up their luggage at the airport. Crystal and I went for a late night carb loading dinner at the Italian restaurant and waited for their arrival. When they finally showed up, I thought their bad luck had ended, but instead I found out that their carry-on (which included all of their running gear) was left on the shuttle from the airport.

To Be Continued ….

I’m a little road weary from the trip and sore from the run (I silently scream at the sight of stairs) but I couldn’t wait to share the Vegas blow-by-blow since it’s so good.

I’m doling out by day, so check back for the new installments. Sorry there’s no pic for the first day – I missed my photographer (Doug) on this trip.

Friday

1:00 p.m.

What happens in Vegas does not stay in Vegas. Montana is a really big state with a population the size of a Neanderthal cave. What I’m getting at is that we all know each other, or know someone who knows someone we know, and so there are no real secrets. Which is why I shouldn’t have been that surprised when I got on the plane and locked eyes with a familiar face. I know that person. What is his name?  Peter? Tom? God, I don’t remember. All I know is, he’s from my hometown 300 miles north of here (pop. 500 or so) and I’m sure he knows my parents, as does the woman sitting next to him, who recognizes me and shouts, “Hey, what are you doing here?”  I do know her (she went to high school with me). She and the rest of the plane are going to watch the National Finals Rodeo in Vegas, and everyone laughs when she jokes, “We’re going to be doing a marathon all right, but we ain’t gonna be running.”

1:30 p.m.

Montana rednecks love to show off their scars. I’m reading Vanity Fair when I hear the man sitting next to my friend Crystal start up a conversation with her. First he asks if she’ll keep his Bud Light while he goes to the bathroom (he later tells a woman he knows not to go in ’cause he peed all over the seat), then he grosses her out with the description of his various scars. Let’s see here, he squeezed a bottle so hard that he shattered the glass and severed the tendons in his fingers. He separated his shoulder and broke his pelvis in two from a motorcross accident. He fell on top of metal post trying to break a horse when he was 9, and had a rope burn on his arm so bad it left a permanent scar from trying to swing from a tree into the lake. And those were just the visible scars. Thank god he didn’t take off his shirt! I said, “So, do you think you’re lucky to be alive?” Nope. He sure didn’t. He just wished for better times, when underage drinking was winked at in Montana, when cops just asked you, “Do your parents know where you’re at?” instead of drawing their guns.  and when an old cowboy was ready to die he just stripped off his clothes in the winter and died of exposure. To top off the conversation he took a big old pinch of chew (or snoose as we call it here) and put it in his lip in front of us.

2:30 p.m.

Planes, trains, and automobiles — My dad called with some terrible news. A big storm had hit Calgary, Alberta and my sister’s flight to Vegas had been cancelled! She had been my original inspiration to sign up and train for this run (see my post, “Oh my god, you didn’t tell him!”), and this was a sister/girls trip. I caught up with her traveling in a blizzard to a hotel next to the airport so that they (she and her friend Terry) could get up early to stand in line for the first flight out on Saturday. It wasn’t looking good.

3:30 p.m.

Bellagio Hotel to Mandalay Bay for Runner’s Expo — What do runners and cowboys have in common? They both like to wear tight pants. Seriously. The city was full of cowboys and runners when we arrived. Lycra is more comfortable than jeans, as are running shoes to cowboy boots, especially when you have to walk two miles to get from your hotel to a runner’s expo. The best Vegas advice given to me was from Blake, who wrote, “I cannot overemphasize the importance of comfortable walking shoes.” It was a 2 mile walk to Mandalay Bay, which from the strip map that I had, looked like it might be two blocks. The city should have a disclaimer that “objects in your vision are not as close as they appear.” By the time we got there we were dehydrated and in need of some cytomax. If you go to Vegas, bring your own water bottles, as they charge I’m-lost-in-the-desert-and-will-pay-any-amount-of-money for water ($3-$5 a bottle).

5:30 p.m.

Cocktail Hour

The bad thing about running a race in Vegas on Sunday is that we arrived on a Friday, which meant I had to from drinking for two whole nights. It didn’t happen. First we had a Geisha cocktail at Yellowtail lounge in the Bellagio, and it was both the best cocktail I’ve ever had and the most expensive ($14). While we were there I got another text from my sister that their trip had been cancelled! Since I’m the world’s slowest texter I called to find out the details and it turned out the morning flight had been cancelled and they wouldn’t arrive until after 6. This was only a problem because they had yet to pick up their packets to run, and there were big signs posted everywhere that “No Packets will be Given to Friends or Family. No Exceptions!” You’d think we were trying to pull off an international incident, not a half marathon run given the security at that place. I promised my sister I’d get her and Terry’s packets tomorrow by hook or crook and they booked the 12:00 flight out of Calgary.

The Geisha numbed my blood and brain cells enough to pay another $14 for a roller coaster ride at New York New York (which is a different experience entirely in your 30’s then it is in your 20’s). I downed a hard cider at the Irish pub, and did a bad imitation of Riverdance on the pub floor. And finally, we sang our lungs out at the dueling piano bar, where a group of Canadians managed to buy the ultimate Canadian medley (the Canadian Hockey Song, Oh Canada, and Barenaked Ladies – If I had a Million Dollars). In a gin-induced moment, I put $20 down for Piano Man, and Crystal had to throw down another $20 to get them to play it instead of country.

So, to sum up, so far I’ve spent more than I normally budget for a week’s worth of groceries on booze, thrill rides, and bribes in 8 hours. Sounds like Vegas to me!

I’m leaving today for Las Vegas to run Sunday’s Rock ‘N Roll Half Marathon on the Vegas strip. Both Vegas and running a half will be a first, and I hope to survive both.

So far I’ve survived running in the rain, the wind, the snow, and the ice, so whatever lies ahead can’t be that bad. A big part of my life for the last six months has been getting myself in shape for this and following a gradual training plan, so I’ve put in some miles around our town (which provides me an opportunity to show off a few photos of Livingston). We have a nice park in town, with a short walking path along the Yellowstone River.

I’ve also perfected my “don’t mess with me” pedestrian face for running on the road. Even in small towns people can be oblivious or rude or both to runners and walkers, and I’ve developed a near phobia of cars. Doug and I’ll take walks in the evening, and if I even hear a car I jump. So, thankfully, the course in Vegas will be automotive-free. Looking forward to observing lots of funny stuff to post on the blog next week!

If you are baffled by the title of this post, then you have some learnin’ to do about sports in the frozen land of the north. It’s the 97th Superbowl of Canada this weekend (otherwise known as the Grey Cup), and the Saskatchewan Roughriders and Montreal Alouettes (I know, I know, only Canadian teams would have sports team  names this lame) are ready to rumble!

Doug and I saw the Roughriders play the Calgary Stampeders in Calgary a couple of years ago while visiting my sister and so thoroughly enjoyed our discovery of Roughrider fans (the Watermelon Heads) and the Canadian Football League (the CFL) that Doug had to snap these photos.

That’s right folks. In Saskatchewan, fans right now are digging out the fruit from their watermelons, cutting the rind to fit their heads, and then lining it with aluminum foil. In fact, I found this priceless description from a fan on what to do if you want to be a Melon Head:

“What I usually do is get a larger melon and cut the bottom quarter or so off (generally I take the part that isn’t as green and throw it away). With the large piece I hollow out the melon, usually I start with a big metal spoon, and then use a table spoon to scrape all the red out of the melon, if you have red in there still your melon will not dry very well, and will attract bugs.

Bugs? Yuck. Not so cool.

Once hollowed cut out the face hole and ear holes, and Voila you have a melon head, there is a picture of one of mine on the header of this page (fat guy in the ridgway jersey). If you are making these for kids one large melon should do, just cut it in half instead of three quarters and hollow and cut to fit. If you have a lucky melon that you want to save for another game, get a can of varathane spray and get about 20 coats all around the meon and it will last untill you get mad at a football game and smash your melon on your knee. Hopefully this will help you.”

It’s tempting to have something to smash on your knee if the game isn’t going well.

Why do they do this? It’s not because watermelons are the biggest cash crop of Saskatchewan. It’s because their team wears green helmets.

You’ve heard of Cheese Heads? They have nothing on the Watermelon Heads. In fact, female Roughrider fans frequently cut  the rinds to make watermelon bikinis, which we spotted at the game, but weren’t quick enough to snap a photo so that you’ll believe us (this is the elusive Saskatchewan watermelon bikini woman we’re talking about, like bigfoot).

The game will be played in Calgary at McMahon Stadium on Sunday, and Blue Rodeo will do the halftime show. Never heard of them? Well, you, my friend, are missing out on a classic Canadian band. The Canadian Tenors will be singing the National Anthem, “Oh, Canada.” Classy, eh? Not like our stars who turn the “Star Spangled Banner” into a pop song.

At McMahon Stadium

What, you might ask, is the difference between the CFL and the NFL? Well, the field is longer (110 yards and 65 yards wide), and they only play 3 downs, which makes for a lot more passing. They also have a way to score off of a missed field goal attempt or kickoff, called a rouge. It’s like a touchback or safety. If the Roughriders and the Alouettes end up in a tie, overtime will be settled with both teams getting a possession (unlike the NFL where they flip for it). It’s a very fun game to watch, especially if the Roughriders are in town, because the fans provide entertainment all of their own. Go Roughriders!