Alexey Titarenko

Alexey Titarenko is a Russian photographer who takes some pretty fantastic pictures.

This is taken from Black & White Magic of St. Petersburg, the city he was born in.
I couldn't decide which of these two from his Time Standing Still set I liked more. Here are both.
I really like this close up blur effect he does. City of Shadows is a great title for the set, and I guess that's why he's the famous artist.
Don't know what he's doing to the sun here, but I like it. His Venice Series was apparently taken between 2001 and 2008 but everything feels nostalgic. Maybe it's because we might lose Venice in a few years?


See ya later Slippers

I'm going to miss this guy.

We had drinks in his honour at the Press Club.

There were pears in the trees above us, consumed before they were even picked. Insects win again!
Daydream wanted to look like some sort of beer-shouldered-behemoth, so I obliged.
The Pope was there, chatting business (no doubt) with Toon.
I was talking with Messy (I'm working on this nickname, but for the time being look at that facial shag) about improv stylings. I did not trust his words.
Then Toon put on her sexy face.
And these last two shots...they're what I like to call art.
Goodbye Slippers. You will be missed. Thanks for the CD, the good times and a great summer.

It's great when you make a new friend, it's shitty when they move to the west coast, but then it's good once more because you remember you'll see them again and when you do the good times will recommence. Friends are great like that.

See you soon!



Slippers and TOMson are both pretty much vacated from their park pad and yesterday Daydream was finally kicking things into gear, so I went over to help him move. It was brief, as I had to scamper off to improv, but it got me thinking (surprise!).

Moving. It might be the thing that makes me crack. Makes me grow up.

The idea of going through my things, having to decide what to keep and what to toss, then sweatily stuffing it all in a vehicle lacks a certain appeal.

Don't get me wrong. Moves can be okay; I enjoy some sorting, tetrissing a vehicle to its absolute limits brings a smile, and there's always pleasure in finishing a task. I even have fond memories of moving myself and my sister after my first year at grad school. In that instance my life had been all brain and my body, feeling ignored, was happy to sweat it out.


there's so much to loathe as well.

Finding a new place can be a pain, and until you know where you're going there's a fog of uncertainty perturbing life.

Then, when time syncs wonkily and you need to be out of your old the same day you're into your new, stress levels balloon.

Recruiting friends, securing vehicles then getting it all done. Limited muscle and space means choices must be made, and who likes to make those?

And this is all in terms of the relatively light life I currently lead. Half my stuff sits in my mum's basement but I still dread the thought of packing what's on hand. I'll eventually want to live in my own place (rented or owned) and that means more stuff even.

I like to imagine myself living lightly, but the reality of my room reveals my true nature. I've come into more than a few maps since arriving in Toronto, there are pieces of a child's bed and a three-legged chair across the room, and look at what I happily took off Slippers' hands in the last few days.

(If anyone wants to play board games...talk to me quick because I am turning some of these things into things. And by second things, I mean stuff for a wall [art?]. Bocce will remain bocce however - call me if you want to play. Anytime. I'm think a winter tourney...)

So... Moving and growing up.

I'm lost.

The premise of this post, now that it's written, seems to be growing up means getting lazy and rich - being able to collect stuff, wanting a place to keep the stuff and being able to arrange said stuff in a particular fashion.

I don't think I know what growing up means.

Let's try this.

Someday I want to live somewhere I know will be my home (base) for an extended period of years. And if I have to focus, find a career and make some money to do it, so be it.

Someday. If I have to.


the results of a rainy afternoon

I would like everyone to note:

-the handle
-the stitching, done inside out and reversed
-the cow
-the fowl

Oh, and by the way, that's my cell phone in there. Not scratched.


4 things about painting parking lots

It's raining outside. I'm bored and uninspired. Here is an entry that I started writing a while ago. Maybe if I do this job again I'll have more to add, but in the meantime...

Here are, in no particular order, 4 things I know (to varying levels of certainty) about painting parking lots.

1 - There can be a surprisingly large amount of filth on a lot and you can still paint successfully, so long as it's little filth. Rocks and liquid and sludge are all bad, but a thin layer of dust is nothing. It gets blasted away when the painting trolley starts blowing paint onto the ground. And if any dust is left, the paint particles eat them.

2 - Fancy touches are not helpful. Putting curves on the ends of double lines every few spaces not only cuts down on the overall number of stalls in a lot, but takes a hell of a lot longer to paint. It looks like a penis fer crying out loud!

3 - You lose track of the day when painting an underground garage. There's no sun. There's no wind. The day passes not in terms of time but in stalls marked out in blue chalk, lines painted and numbers stencilled on columns.

4 - A building with a small footprint means more underground levels and that means way more walking. Stairs or car ramps if we're moving the machine about. Grunt.


but does it float

This site it generally pretty great, but the set Form is all we have to help us cope with fundamentally chaotic facts and assaults is particularly striking.


a chair

I found it walking home. I think it is nice. I will dismantle it, sand it, then use the pieces for non-chair-related enterprises.

I don't have much to say tonight and Annie was pretty chuffed she cleaned her and D-Hammer's room, hence the photo shoot.

What a clean floor!


The one where I say 'cock' in the correct context

I woke up at 4 this morning but I feel really good about it. My lights were out by 11, so I'd already slept decently, and I really needed to pee. As a general rule sacrificing sleep to not rupture internally is okay. It might have been nice to doze off more quickly after awakening, but the 2 hours I lay awake were excellent. They featured a comic book,

peanut butter on a rice cake,

Note: a rice cake was unavailable at the time of the photo shoot

a glass of milk,

and relaxed amusement with my current lot in life.

Then, as a bonus, when I slept again I had a dream featuring Toon and a shower.

Sexy time?

All the time.

Today at work was more of yesterday. Lots of wandering and learning about the buildings. I got to see the inside of the mill finally and it is freaking amazing. They don't have a mill interpreter right now due to cutbacks - the miller is currently the doctor and the cabinet maker once in a while - so the giant cogs and gears are motionless. But when they put that big ol' wheel back to spinning I'll never leave!

Gonna grind my grain so good.

I also met some new animals. We have some new Light Bramah fowl. That's one to the right. Imagine him, but even more handsome, strutting slowly across the barnyard with his feathered feet rustling on each stomp. That's what our cock looked like, and there were also some really pretty hens.

For him.

Not me.

I also met Jake and Ross, a Percheron and Clydesdale respectively (horses for the uninitiated), some Toulouse geese (I wish there had been only one) and their Embden cousins. Yesterday it was Hereford cattle and Leicester sheep along with some fancy-pants pigs whose breed I didn't catch.

We're all about the rare and heritage breeds at BCPV.

We're also all about dog powered butter churns. Or at least the example we have attached to one of the village homes. A quick interweb search tells me such things were not wholly uncommon, but unlike most of the pictures I'm finding ours looks more like a giant enclosed hamster wheel. The dog runs inside and his or her power is transferred to the butter barrel by way of a belt.

In the olden times even the butter was better.


It's my first day

Yawn. Stretch it out. Deep breath.

Oh who am I kidding? Nothing terribly vicious today. A bit boring, but that's what first days are for; paperwork and long explanations read from sheets.

This first day started well, out the door before 830, then became sad when the Ossington bus went past. I was nervy about the 7 minute wait for the next one and just missed a train at the station, but I hopped straight onto the 35 at Jane Station and the driver turned out to be a madman. In the end I had a leisurely 15 minutes to stroll a 5 minute distance.


Formalities were dull but mercifully short, and the rest of the day was touring, talking and asking questions. I would have enjoyed it more but the weather went weirdly humid (shorts tomorrow) and my knee has decided to play silly monkey. I just need to remember to walk carefully for a few days and I should be back to normal. Or at least to the point where I can forget it was sore then injure it even more severely next time!

We were told they received 170 applications for this job, and there were only 7 new people hired (plus 1 who had worked there a few years ago). Numbers like that make me feel good, and judging by the talent around the table I'm in a pretty top notch group. I think 4 of us had master's degrees of some type, 2 were just out of teacher's college and everyone had some form of current or past museum interpretation or education experience, some of it really impressive. Yikes. Good thing I had an awesome interview.

A few of them knew each other from already running in Toronto museum circles. The practice seems to be get a number of part time jobs at different sites and earn a living that way. I don't think the museum and culture game here is a closed circuit, but I am very happy to have my foot in the door.


Departure (home) 8:27
Arrival (Ossington and Dundas) 17:14 (delicious heritage cherry tomatoes in the farmers' market distracted my homeward momentum)


I get on the Jane bus at the station or at the opposite far end. Either way I get a seat fairly quickly. Also, the morning journey had lots of empty stops, so we flew north.

We met an old Scottish fellow named Gordon. He told us about how things were when everything was wind, water, solar or gravity powered then demonstrated toys to prove his point. Well met!

I slept really well, as in I fell asleep quickly and awoke at the needed time. My neck was really sweaty (been happening a lot) and I was lying across my mattress with my feet on the floor, but I can accept that.


Slippers' goodbye

I don't have much to say here. Really this post is an excuse to use some of Toon's pictures to liven up my blog.

The tall, bearded man in this photo is going away soon, so he had a party for him. It was nice of him to invite other people to his shindig. There was much musicianship and good times.

I'm only posting a few of Toon's pictures from the evening. If you want to see the rest, go to her place.

I chose to post this one to thank Toon for letting me use these. I didn't ask, but I'm sure it will be okay.

I took this picture.

This one too!

I used my powers of height to achieve this angle. If it was a yoga move it would be called Downward Babe. Note to readers: this is an optical illusion. Cheese and Toon are not the same height.

This last photo I feel is nice. I can't remember what we were going for but I like it. Because I'm so tired I look gruff. People will see this and think,

Not a fellow to be trifled with!

They will think that in very large, loud words because they are intimidated and know I am not one to take guff lightly.

Don't GUFF him, they will whisper. He won't abide it.

Aside from this sexy chest rub, the other highlight of the evening was a chat with a beautiful lady from Montreal. She is starting an MFA at York in dance. Hopefully she will not be busy soon and we can hang out.



While I'm puttering around, struggling to find suitable, clever, original and meaningful nicknames for all the people in my life I forgot that the same might come back my way.

According to Toon my new nickname is Poppy. I like it. I don't know what it has to do with me but I'll be sure to ask.

Also, I've started listing some blogs I read to the right. Look at those.


Explicit Fantastic - 80's Glam Porno Slam


I thought I was going to see Sweatshop Hop, maybe dance my face off a little bit, then head home. It turns out they were only one of the acts for the evening, and the dancing was restricted to a thin aisle between the stage and the front row of seats at the Metro Theatre.

That Metro Theatre? Yes. The one on Bloor with all the lovely ladies on its posters. Lovely ladies not wearing any clothes.

Instead of straight up dancing the show was various bands and MCs - Kids on TV, Henri Faberge and the Adorables, Sweatshop Hop - doing their thing on the stage while porn played on the big screen behind them. It is a porn theatre, so what do you want?

Henri Faberge and the Adorables had some great 1920s films playing for their set, and porn from this era can best be described as frantic.

Filmed with the same technology as other movies of the time, the jumps and starts, slightly faster than life pictures contribute to the film's feel as much as the actual content (the medium is the message I guess). The effect has always struck me as particularly suited to the early silent comedies, think Chaplin, but it really adds something brilliant to people stripping one another down and *ahem* doing what one does once naked.

It's no surprise that new technologies are turned towards titillation early on, but I wonder if anyone has done a study focusing on how quickly this happens? Was Edison doing more than tinker in his work shop? Are there are a bunch of old timey radio sex noises stashed away in an attic somewhere? At least I now know that nuns and a bit o' the whip were early pornographic themes. Anyone who says the internet is ruining society needs to know we've been ruined but functioning for a long time already.

Kids on TV had much more stylistic and post produced stuff playing during their set. The images tiled on the screen, different effect filters used, altered contrast and lighting, etc. It was great that the bands' respective personalities were reflected so clearly through their choices in porn.

Pornography is the new hat.

Arriving before 10 for a cheaper $10 cover (yeesh) for a poorly attended and slightly confusing event might sound like a disappointing night all around, and while I could have come up with different things to do with my time and money I'm still glad I went.

For starters I got to dress up in my 80's glam outfit, which apparently means my brightest short and shirt combo. More than that though I now know what the inside of the Metro looks like. The above link tells me it was a late arriving art deco theatre, finished in 1938, and it really is a beautiful space. Soaring ceilings, varied crystal chandeliers strangely arranged in two clumps of three on either side of the auditorium, and row upon row of plush red chairs. The chairs were very comfy and had all sorts of spring and recline to them. When considering what normally shows in this place, I'm not sure if that's such a good thing at other times. The place smelled of incense, apparently to cover up the 'bleachy' smell the early arrivals noted, and I have subsequently found out it was probably better that I didn't closely inspect my chair before sitting.


Last night was also great because it was the first time I've seen sex toys in vending machines. Something else to check off the life list.

Finally, maybe I've been watching too much Mad Men lately and therefore contemplating the dawn of the counter culture that emerged through the beatniks et al during the 50s and 60s, but there was something pleasantly 40-50 years ago about a group of musicians and creative types renting out a porn theatre as a performance space to put on a show, subvert social norms, have a few drinks and a good time.

And if there's a beautiful girl playing keys on stage while shaking her nipple tassles the best she can, all the better.


brain election

I think my brain tries to predict the future.

I went to bed early last night, needing to be up for the St. Paul by-election. I took a while to doze off (surprise!), but when I did it was time for my brain to play Predict Tomorrow's Events, a fantastic game with millions in prizes.

My brain does this a lot. Often when I have to be up early, rather than wait for the alarm, I will wake up repeatedly from 4 or so on. The only reason I know what my brain is playing is because all this waking and sleeping lets me remember what I was dreaming.

Here is a run down of what my brain thought would happen today.

-I would be working a poll set-up in an old church
-I would spend most of my time in one of the pews looking through my backpack for distractions
-someone would be training us in the intricacies of electioneering (no one would listen to the drone)
-I would never see any actual voters
-eventually the wedding that was also booked for the church today (obviously) would start
-I would need to move myself to the back of the church so as not to be in the way (by-elections aren't that important)
-when the minister asks if anyone had anything to say one of the bridal party would speak. She thought the groom was a bit emotionally mean sometimes
-the bride wouldn't react in any way
-the groom would make a comical shrug and gesture with his arms, saying Me? I'm the best!

Good try brain, I said, but it's 6:37 and I'm getting up. No prizes today, but as thanks for playing please accept breakfast.

In reality, I biked up to Bathurst and St.Clair, getting nice and sweaty, then sat in a really warm room (the one I had training in before) for about an hour listening to a lady drone about what the DRO and the IA and the RO and the PC would be doing. There were a lot of us there and most of the people had apparently worked an election or two before.

I made a decision (I'm getting better at that, maybe I'll write a post about it!) to leave. If I stayed it would be at least until 1230 and if I was actually sent to a poll I'd be working until
9 PM.

I have a job starting next week and they seemed to have enough people to fill any voids, so I claimed sickness and left.

I do have a sore throat and a runny nose, so it wasn't even a lie. Also, I did something to me knee last night and if there's one thing that can ruin an election it's a gammy knee (see: 1842 election in Canada West between Francis and Jenkins) so my departure was for the best.

And now I get to have coffee with Toon!




Black Creek Pioneer Village.

Exciting details (no doubt) to follow.

I'm also working tomorrow for the by-election in St. Paul's. As much as I enjoy money if they ask for volunteers to be sent home early I'll be at the top of the list. We need to be there for 730, and if we are needed at a poll we'll be working until 9pm.

And if money isn't a crushing priority...easy choice.

This never gets old

Put it on HQ if you have the bandwidth, crank the audio (sound quality is not the best), sit back, relax and enjoy.


battle at bellwoods

Reading on a blanket in the park.

It seems calm. Relaxed. No malice. Malevolence? No.

But then, out of nowhere a bug hits my book and starts to wriggle and buzz around my blanket. Not one bug. Two!

There is an orangey-yellow fellow, like a small dragon fly - about as long as a nickel is wide and with long legs, each one almost a body's length. And there is a black fly, shorter and thicker with a green stare.

At first I think the dark one is under attack.

I am wrong.

As I watch the battle, orange-bug writhes. His limbs akimbo, they flail about as he tries to detach and escape the black death hug.

The buzzing and twitching go on.

I watch, hunching over the scene.

A silence falls. It is false.

Orange slams himself about, one last time. Desperation in everything. His strength fades. His movements scream live!

He fails.

The black fly doesn't celebrate. He stays locked. Patience guarantees death.


To misjudge and lose all would be catastrophe.

I wait.

At home my camera is on a shelf.

The black one moves. Moves and plunges. Stabbing his proboscis in again and again. Stabbing and slurping and moving over the body, slowly drawing out all the gooey goodness. He grows perceptibly fatter.

I watch the tableau then move too close. Or is he sated? He goes either way. Leaving the corpse.

I pick it up but before it reaches my pocket the leg falls off, that's the part I am holding. The body is immediately buried, lost in the grass.

I return my library books.


Do I look tired yet?

and then he rested

Sore throat. No fun.

The plan therefore is to bed early and with the magic of sleep remedy all my ills.

I'm not sure exactly when this whole mess began, but I think it was when I started working a few weeks back. Remember those three days? Since then it has been a non-stop, never quite catching up with myself adventure. I regret nothing!

But depleting sleep reserves is a dangerous business. Especially in the land of germs that is Toronto what with all its various handles and doorknobs. I've been riding the TTC a bit recently as well, and I'm not surprised that I started feeling a tingle shortly after that.

So the plan: gargle with salt water, create and consume a fruit smoothie (the kind you read about in the bible), then shower (not connected to throat but a nice experience nonetheless) and then sleep.

Oh boy, I'm tingling like a pirate just thinking about it.

Last night was the multi-party hosted by the ever charming triumvirate of Slippers, TOMson and Mysterio (let's see if this nickname sticks), and I had a grand time. I spent a lot of the celebration on the roof, observing comings and goings, meditating on the skyline and pondering the urban life I am creating for myself. Silence and isolation in a mass of humanity remains a novel experience.

As planned, on the stroke of one we spilled into the park, and despite numerous cruisers doing the verb the noun suggests (ie cruising past) the police knew a good natured gathering when they saw one and there was nary a problem.

My only regret from such nights is the tiredness they beget. I'm not a big drinker these days, but having a few and staying up late has inevitable results in the morning and for some reason sleeping in isn't one of them. Being tired is.

Regardless of exhaustion I went to my first level 200 improv class today and had a grand old time. The new crew seems great and I can't wait to see my progress this time around considering all the good things that the 100 level did for me.

Hurray hurray for the life I lead. This week I have a TIFF screening to attend (The Informant!) and a by-election to be trained for and then work. And hopefully - fingers crossed, knock on wood, burn incense and sacrifice a newt - I'll be receiving a call from the good folks at Black Creek to boot.



The day that was

Last night I meant to be in bed on time. Honest I did. But an inadvertent adventure in the park later - featuring amongst other things; a Sinatra singalong, can-can dancing, and lady-tossing - I was getting to bed late.

Sleep or no I was on the TTC once again, heading north to Black Creek Pioneer Village for my interview. I say again because Brendan and I went up there Thursday on a research trip. I should really write a whole entry on that but I won't. Instead I'll say, very cool, and mention I was particularly impressed by the print shop, weaving looms and old time bakery (scones and cookies, yum yum), and a bit sad that the mill was closed for the day.

The interview was for an education assistant position and went exceedingly well. It lasted almost an hour, mostly because we were having a wonderful chat about this and that by the end of things. You know an interview is going well when one of the interviewers mentions his past life as an underwater archaeologist and you're able to talk about working with one of the more famous Canadians involved in that field.

John Oleson, still doing it right.

But that's beside the point.

I answered the questions well. Talked about how I would discipline the wee ones should the need arise, said my friends would describe me as 'communicative' (as in talkative but I also listen, heh), 'entertaining', and 'reliable', and basically was awesome and enthusiastic.

Right guys? Ol' entertaining, reliable James!

We even chatted a bit about where I saw myself headed. I mentioned I was considering a museum master's program and they suggested maybe taking some courses with the OMA (Ontario Museum Association). I'm going to assume they don't throw that suggestion at everyone.

If I had to pick a weak point for the interview it was when they asked me about my knowledge of 19th century Ontario history. I mentioned the 1837 rebellions, then mumbled on about nothing else for a few minutes before finally stopping myself.

So that was nice.

Of course I was a bit dressed up for the affair (shirt tucked in and all) so I decided to go for a brief strut once downtown. Always a satisfying experience.

I saw The Golden Girl on her way home from work, received compliments, ordered a Gandhi Cuisine butter chicken, came home, stripped to my underwear, watched the documentary Wordplay and stuffed my face.


(I met that Oleson fellow once, but he's pretty cool. Aside from archaeology he's also a SCUBA diver, boater and does aerobatic flying on the side...that's right kids, he's a BARNSTORMER!)


fitful nights

What a thoroughly unrestful night of sleep. Didn't descend for the longest time, then it was the 20 minutes of shut eye dance where I kept waking unnecessarily every few minutes.

The last 2 hours of spastic sleep were dream infested.

I was on the coast of France for the day, visiting from elsewhere.
I lost my bike in the surf as the tide rolled in (or was it stolen?).
Why the hell would I park my bike on the tide line?
I remember being very worried about my lock rusting.

Oh yes! The pope was in town for a visit. He paraded into a stadium that materialized on the beach, driving right past me. When he reached the far end he had his head chopped off with a toy light sabre. It was some sort of hilarious ruse and most of the stadium seemed in on it, shouting something in unison after the event. Even those that didn't shout seemed to take the incident quite well, going from awe that they were in the pope's presence to acceptance that the funny little man in white was a puppet with a head flying over the pope- mobile.

The more I think on this the more I remember. I saw a video of the exact incident moments before it occurred. People's movements were choreographed and they joined the procession as the pope passed, making sure the stadium was balanced for a big North-Koreanesque huzzah for our little trick! after the decapitation.

But then the show was over, the stadium it took place in disappeared, my bike was still missing, and the last train home long gone. Stuck for the night, I chatted - in French! - with a local at a restaurant. Before long he had invited me to a flat, I assumed his, where I watched TV while he brushed his teeth and left.

Turns out he was tricking me into staying at a home which belonged to another. I found this out when he called drunkenly from a party. I didn't answer a phone, just saw him calling from the party. Like in a movie.

I got out of the place before anyone showed up. My English language movie on the TV, whatever it was, had run its course anyway.

And then as I strolled back for one last look in the waves for my bike, I bumped into some Queen's engineers in school sweaters who were in the town on exchange. I think I was about to ask for a floor to sleep on when the wakeful me decided a few more useless chunks of sleep just wasn't going to cut it.

So just before sleep I awoke to get on with my day.

Here goes.


follow your heart

Let's not focus on this book's provenance. Just its message.

First day after Labour Day is more of the same for me, but for those starting or restarting or still breathing, good luck today!



A close approximation of urban-youth-life during the early years of the 21st century

There really isn't much to say. Don't get me wrong. I've been doing lots. Tonnes if you will.

There has been a great deal of high speed running. Flat out, legs churning, arms thumping single minded pursuit of speed, and a frisbee. We have been playing a lot of frisbee. There has been some bocce. Went to the airshow. Had the air show come to me.

The list could go on. But it won't. Look at some of these things!

Did you know Toon likes to tell tales?

And her audience LOOOOOVES to listen. I don't remember what she was gumming about but everyone sure looks impressed.

This is a tower I can see from the park. I think it is top notch architectural genius.

Do you disagree? If you do I am going to put you squarely in the lame column. Unless your arguments are persuasive enough to convince me otherwise. Doubtful.

The CN Tower is brilliant fun for all sorts of aesthetic reasons. Personal taste things that are nigh on impossible to change through argument, so I guess you shouldn't bother trying to convince me of anything. I have just decided I am going to start writing periodic commentary on Toronto architecture. Maybe even have The Golden Girl in for some guest words. She's an architect after all.

Woah! And there she is on a bike. Her and LAWYER (I'm working on his nickname, but for the time being I want you to read that in a deep and loud voice) were practicing track stands. It's where you stay in one spot for extended periods of time without touching your feet to the ground. Useful for red lights and stabilizing your core!


Wednesday holidays

Summer's end is fast approaching and one mustn't waste any of it. I don't know what you would do, but if you're me you make an exciting journey eastwards with your friends!

All the way to Oshawa and it's pleasant beach and shoreline park environs. Oshawa? you say, The place of cars that once were but are no more?. And I say Yep, that's the one. It's on the lake so it has a beach.

And boats! Or at least one boat.

I always take pictures of boats when I'm travelling and it isn't like this one is any less cool just because it's tooting its way into Oshawa harbour, so here it is.

It's important to stay covered up when in the sun, apparently. I find this strategy also helps with my allure. You know the ol' keep 'em guessing gambit.

Because later, when you start doing handstands, or ninja kicks, or performing The Lake Dance, you want to make sure you have maintained your dignity.

The ninja kick and parts of The Lake Dance are very similar, but I assure you distinct.

As you might have guessed I thought the water was pretty swell. Cheese found it a bit too cold (note cringe in hips) and Ash and Slippers never even tried the darned stuff out.

But everyone agreed bocce was top notch.

And hanging out around the table time was also a popular activity. What's a one day vacation without some of that sweetness?

After all that we even went bowling. No pictures of that glorious occasion, but I assure you I was by far the worst. I did improve each game and think I broke 75 by the end.