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Language Log

Saturday, Apr. 23, 2011 - 12:14 p.m.

My vision of Q and I going to the farmers' market and her grooving to the banjo and fiddle players that busk there is so far unrealized, partly because by the time we get out the door and buy a few local farm products, she's ready for a nap. So I set her down in front of the friendly musicians, ready for her to do her cute dancing baby routine, and instead she whimpers piteously and tries to crawl up me. If she lets me put her down at all. Today I said to the concerned-looking ukulele/harmonica player, "she loves this kind of music, but not live, I guess", and he said, "She didn't realize it came from a couple of hairy men."

Heh.

Long night last night with thunder, lightning, power outages, tornado sirens, cold basements. She's napping now; I suppose I should follow suit while I can.

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