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Last weekend

Went white-waterin' on Saturday in Nantahala with friends and, although I regretably did not purchase a photograph that would have been even better than the previous, we had a great time. Our guide, Dee Dee (who was baffled when I asked her about her mad scientist brother), was a young turk who caught endless grief from the more seasoned guides. At one point, another female guide jumped onto our raft and wrestled with Dee Dee, trying to knock her in the water. I know. It was hot.

Battling the rapids, I was the first to fall in, with Dan a close second--we were at the front of the raft. He did much better because he got caught in a whirlpool at the base of some rapids and couldn't swim out. Eventually, a raft filled with elderly ladies wearing those t-shirts that made them look like they were wearing bikinis came to his rescue. After they pulled him out of the water, another raft of their friends commented "oh, they'll do anything to get a man." I hope I'll be white water rafting when I'm 60.

The falls at the end of the trip was where we really shined (and where the abandoned photograph would have shown us as the Kings of the River that we were). We came in sideways to the right of the falls and could not paddle fast enough to miss the huge rock that made the falls, well, fall. Our raft was suspended on the rock, with a five foot drop to our left and the falls (that is: the correct route down) behind us. This was exactly how Dan and I took a dive earlier--Dee Dee took us too close to rocks. Anyway, she pulled some sort of river magic out of her ass and got us to paddle off the rock, down the falls, and into an amazed audience.

We gave the Rocky cheer with our paddles, but alas we were jackasses once we hit the shore and completely forgot to tip Dee Dee.

Sunday was all about recoverin'. After some major house-cleaning, I hit the piano and Lisa went to see Sith with Shelby & Robert. She got back late and we went to Vinocity on a whim to hang out at the bar. Several friends had had truly awful experiences there recently, yet I could not forget the great dinner we had the first time we were there. And getting wine at a wine bar seemed safe. I was rewarded for my loyalty with 1/2 price bottles on Sunday. Yay!

We spoke at length with a professional photographer (Michael?) at the bar who lives in LA and was in town for the weekend to photograph some actors' headshots. He hops between LA, Atlanta, and NYC taking photographs and (apparently) going to wine bars. We bonded on our mutual art upbringing and the will to "do what you love" (favorite saying of my painting teacher). Hopefully, his card is floating around Lisa's car somewhere. Not in my wallet. Not in her purse. And my desk is clean so I know it's not there.