My Boat.

Courtesy of my mom, I'll be participating in the Wooden Boat Festival in August with my family and anyone who wants to come help (25th-28th, it's gonna be a crazy weekend with the LARP in there too).

At the end of it, I'll have a 12-foot Bevin's Skiff which can be converted to sail. It will be *mine*. My boat.

This is pretty amazing.

The only catch? Mom wants to name her the 'Chunky Dory'. Juggler laughed at that so hard.

My boat.

The fireworks were lovely, we went in the Zodiac and anchored.

You know, there's enough room in the skiff to sleep, if one wanted to?

So much for any update, I'm off in daydream-land. A boat! One that you could fit a bunch of people in, or two people and camping stuff, and just go... and I get to make it with my hands out of wood-- well, marine ply, but wood.

Wow.

Boat Names

I sort of want to name her the Volaya.

Sunrise.

And now, to bed with the sun rising outside my window after chatting with Eugene and playing with my lovely ratties.

August is definitely no-sleep month.

Tillie and Devon

I'll be home at 4-4:30. Show up anytime after that. See you then!

I Love This

It's much better in audio than read, to my mind. Creatively lj cut to show off good lines. Bolded for the best line in the poem.

http://s25.yousendit.com/d.aspx?id=1Y5MTPXCQU1C61RGAL2FFCRICA

America, by Ginsberg

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America when will you be angelic?
When will you take off your clothes?
When will you look at yourself through the grave?
When will you be worthy of your million Trotskyites?
America why are your libraries full of tears?
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When can I go into the supermarket and buy what I need with my good looks?
America after all it is you and I who are perfect not the next world.
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My national resources consist of two joints of marijuana millions of genitals
an unpublishable private literature that goes 1400 miles and hour and
twentyfivethousand mental institutions.
I say nothing about my prisons nor the millions of underpriviliged who live in
my flowerpots under the light of five hundred suns.
I have abolished the whorehouses of France, Tangiers is the next to go.
My ambition is to be President despite the fact that I'm a Catholic.

America how can I write a holy litany in your silly mood?
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It's true I don't want to join the Army or turn lathes in precision parts
factories, I'm nearsighted and psychopathic anyway.
America I'm putting my queer shoulder to the wheel.

Lack Of Sleep...

...is evidently good for me.

Tonight rocked. Tillie and Devon came over and we ate. If it hadn't been a doing-stuff-next-day evening, we would've hung around a lot longer, but luckily for me they had things to do and I should theoretically sleep.

First, though: how many times do I have to post that I'm happy before you line up the firing squads?

So anyhow, Devon, Tillie and I are heading to the vanpoly meet tomorrow evening. I get to dress up.

Saturday is Juggler day and then bio, where pretty girls and Juggler will hit me, and I will likely hit pretty girls.

Sunday is watching Angus get tattooed (weekend o'good pain?)

I have more to say, but I can't think of it, really. Stuff is good. I drank some Copper Moon Harvest White wine, which I love, and it's the first wine I bought for myself. I remember drinking some with Kynnin & co from ceramic mugs during Canada Day fireworks on the boat.

Oh! Fireworks! The best thing is sitting on a Zodiac and trying to decide whether to look at the reflections of the fireworks in the glass skyscrapers, the reflections of the fireworks on the water, or the fireworks themselves. Also, it's being at the head of a huge crowd of boats going into false creek, looking back, and seeing a galaxy of red and green lights indicating the following pack.