Pinstriped Pick a Nick

Bus Negotiating the Course

I’m back to the ruining your mornings with blog posts instead of yesterday’s early evening aberration. Yesterday was consumed with “work” for the annual company picnic which somehow I’ve been volunteered to put together for the last couple years (I’m still trying to figure that out). I was up at 5am to head into work which wasn’t a very magical experience since I’d been “forced” to consume mass quantities of the brewer’s art the night before during the sendoff dinner and subsequent frivolities.

Safety Manager and Ops Manager Assisting

I had to come in that early because I was also running the annual bus driver competition called a roadeo where drivers demonstrate their skills by negotiating a course I designed around the building involving everything from traffic cones to tennis balls. The winner gets bragging rights for the entire year as “best driver” in the company. We were blessed with a nearly perfect day and the roadeo went off without a hitch and actually finished on time (huge surprise).

Picnic Site

We flowed directly into picnic set up as the caterer and the various and sundry activities started showing up. I had another date with the dunk tank as the employees, for reasons that completely elude me, seem to take great pleasure in sending their boss (yours truly) to the bottom of the tank. I like to dress up in goofy attire for the event and the basement packing exercise I chronicled yesterday gave me a lot of fodder.

Attired for the Last Time in My Favorite Suit

My wife has tried for years to get rid of a pinstriped three piece suit I’ve had since my college days. It hasn’t fit for a couple decades as my 29 inch college waist expanded to accommodate the weighty responsibilities of adult life. I’ve always prevented my wife from disposing of it because it’s linked to so many great memories from my early days, be it sorority pledge dances, a Funk Nu dinner, or some of my more serious European endeavors. It was also the first suit I ever owned. Anyways, sentimentality aside, it was time for the last ride of the bell bottomed pinstriped suit and it performed admirably for most of my time on the dunk seat although it did start to fall apart near the end. So ends yet another vestige of my youth, at least it went down fighting on its own terms.

Wife and Excellent Boss' Wife at the Picnic

My wife arrived in tome to insure she got her throws in at the dunk tank and I noticed a special glee in her eye as her old nemesis met its fate. The rest of my crew did a great job making sure the plan came together, everything from a bounce house, craft table, sound system, popcorn and cotton candy machines as well as pony rides. The afternoon was a maelstrom of too much food and sun as I ran around making sure everything was happening. I was left with the definite impression that I’m getting too old to be this energetic.

Speaking of energetic the ABFA posted some photos on line showing her and the favorite son at some sort of road race where they ended up covered in paint. I’m not sure what they got themselves involved in but I’m certain it was a good cause if those two were involved. I’ll have to investigate.

Paint Spattered ABFA and Son Yesterday

After a very full day my wife and I returned home to prepare for the inevitability of Monday in all of its attendant horror. I was able to take in the season finale of Game of Thrones where Circei finally made her memorable walk and the body count soared, even for this show. The show has caught up and in a couple plot lines passed the final published books upon which it is based. The final scene has Jon Snow meeting the same fate as he did in the book with the same fortunate (hope springing here) proximity of the red priestess. Stannis paid for his ill turn at the last family barbecue as well as several other minor characters. This sets up an interesting conundrum because the next season will fully explore territory Martin has yet to reveal in his books. I can hold out vain hope this might motivate him enough to actually do some writing.

Reaped What was Sowed