Chowder

I'm still all bliss-y and float-y from Inferno last weekend.

Dang.

I'm putting together a cd of some music for Roadkill. I have no idea how his tastes run. It's pretty much all of the tracks that Shuffle played on my long drive home that grabbed me and wouldn't let go. Maybe it can serve as the soundtrack to the next SuperPigs party.

Quiet night last night. Today I spent some time splitting firewood, the first time this season. And good to be back at it. This afternoon, I met up with a cranky dutchman (as in, Pennsylvania Dutch) that I've been chatting with since forever on AOL. And woof! What a hot man! Definitely one of my better internet meet ups.

Tonight for dinner, I'm making my famous Indian Summer Fish Stew. (Not calling it "chowder," as last years furious debate over just what qualifies as chowder remains unresolved. Lots of email with some strong opinions expressed were received, but no too people, despite whatever qualifications (8th generation new-englander, culinary school, etc.) seemed to agree.)

Tonight, I'm heading down to Philadelphia for a night at the Bike Stop.

Had a nice revelation today. Sort of summing up my Inferno XXXIV experience: I am home there. Hard to explain. My first experience was akin to walking across a junior high school cafeteria, not seeing any of your friends, and wondering where you're going to sit. Second year was much better, as I had met several new people, but had the inkling that I had something to prove to folks. Skipped last year, and then there was this time. From the moment the run started, I felt myself to be entirely among friends. Nothing to worry about. Just sit back, relax, and let it roll over me. To be sure, this all has way more to doo with me than it does anybody else at Inferno. But it's a wonderful feeling, to know for certain that I have a place there.

Sweet.

Anyway, time to make chowder.

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