Gah!

Preoccupied and way too busy ... those are my excuses for not updating yesterday.

I'm preoccupied with a column I'm writing about myspace.com, teens and the role parents should be playing. I was working on that column up until 5:00 last night. I've still got some work to do on it, but it's coming along.

Oh, of course, I'll provide a link when it's published. Speaking of links, go here to read about Margaret doing this: That's right, she's riding a two-wheeler. And boy howdy is she pleased with herself ... and so are we. Little nut.

Friday night saw us doing the typical McCracken front-yard hang until ... way past our bedtime. I think it was around 3:30 a.m., by the time we kicked the last drunkard out. It was a good time.

Special K and Markel brought over the best bratwursts and giant wieners that I've ever had. Big, juicy tubes of meat ... gah!

And because we're all completely juvenile, we spent far too many hours making lamely veiled double entendres about the fat (and phat) meat we were eating. Poor Tracee was suffering from "don't say" overload and we were all prone to dissolving into fits of laughter.

The reason for the soiree (like we need a reason ... Bill's invented the "because it's Friday" social hour just in case we can't come up with a real reason to gather, drink and goof) was to mourn immenent departure of our dear friend, Ty, whom I've written about before in my emotional and pseudo-poignant offering, "The day the donuts died." We've since decided that I should've titled it "Where's my diet Coke, bitch," but I was afraid that the subtlties of the nuanced Coke reference would give people the wrong impression.

Needless to say, it was a wonderful holiday weekend that generously allowed us an extra recouperation day before the work week starts.

Now, my sights are set on our show at the Larimer Lounge Saturday. Go Riveter!