Scott is every inch a guys-guy. A metrosexual he is not. He's also one of the lucky few who never had to wear braces, had acne or bad eyesight. Just a healthy, handsome, rough & tumble kind of fellow.

Until recently, when he started to notice that one eye was bothering him-- things seemed a little fuzzy. Convinced he was going blind, he went to my eye doctor and ordered a first pair of glasses-- for reading. I asked him what sort of frames he ordered? "Unbreakable ones!" Hm.

I came home from work and there he was, doing dishes in his new, sort of bifocal, wire frames. He seemed a little sheepish about it all, and explained they may "take some getting used to." I watched him bend way over the sink and look closely at things. Blinking, he turned and looked directly at me. I noticed that the weak eye lens magnified his eye quite noticeably, whereas the other was probably just plastic. All lobsided. "Do they really look ok?"

It killllllllllls me. Those glasses are way cuter than any new sweater I've ever bought him.

Ryan just mentioned things are surreal lately. Yes. Recently work feels like I've stepped inside a syrupy, illogical dream that's moving at a frenetic pace. Its been a circus.

Added to the mix are these crazy balls that have somehow collected on our office floors. An enormous dodgeball, furry colored ones with sound effects when they make contact (a super loud, cartoony BOI-OING!), spongy ones, squishy ones. Instead of fostering creativity (as I have to think is their purpose) they're instead being hurled directly at each other & office furniture with hilarious, and loud, results. Pranks are through the roof. I'm flying to Vegas. Social boundaries have completely dissolved.

I took a planned day off yesterday. Whit & I met to drive to this flea market out in the country--we'd both been told it was "the" place to get beautiful antiques for cheap by both of our mothers. It only happens on Wednesdays. I was ready for a non-circus day.

In the rain, we sped through progressively smaller and remote towns, took a hardly-known route and arrived. A large (muddy) field and a huge barn-looking structure that was packed with people. Excitedly, we entered.

All the antiques were piled high in the middle of the large space. People swarmed around them, bulky men were carrying out heavy tables, bookcases, ornate headboards at a rapid pace. The stuff was awesome.

It was confusing. We stood, awed, getting jostled & elbowed-- always in the wrong place. A loud auctioneer was sitting high up in a cart of some sort, spouting off undecipherable fragments to a silent, concentrated crowd -- within seconds each item was sold and hurried out. He'd scoot the cart along the outside of the heap to the next batch and would start auctioning. The crowd silently nodded or raised a finger to bid. These folks were pros. This was serious business. The two of us stuck out-- not in a small way.

It was the alter-universe Sotheby's. Not moms in lipstick or snooty collectors here. These professional bidders were mostly males in hunting gear. White, porcine good old boys in camo. A few boozy-looking women, in their denim and smokey faces. A large set of gypsies-- weathered, shaggy men with dark eyes, women with long grey hair in dated clothes. Whit kept getting eyed up by a round, dusty guy who had a huge band-aid over his nose. Everyone was strictly business. Don't know why most of them had just come from shooting animals and then bidding on settees. Confusing.

Once we got the hang of not standing directly in front of the moving guys, or right in front of the mobile-auctioneer, Whit bid on a beautiful peice, and got it. Forty bones!

We moved along to a second auction, going on at the other end of the building. This auction was for the more decorative stuff, pictures, lamps etc. This system worked a little differently. The auctioneer was again in his mobile cart but he had two wing-men down on the "floor" who would hold up the objects from the table and announce what they were. Loud. BOOKENDS! and the bidding would begin. LAMP! and so on. There was a lot of yelling going on. But the audience, of course, dead silent and dead serious. We did our best to wiggle in so we could see. It wasnt easy.

One floor-man in particular was just incredible. He wore a mesh redskins jersey and had hair parted down the middle. He was all business, things moved fast, but he made a point to market the goods with his added special flair. He'd get a little more descriptive. No emotion, though, a loud shout: BLACK MARBLE TABLE TOP! BLACK MARBLE! It was white stone. STERLING SERVING TRAY! Whit and I were tranfixed. He'd kind of make it up as he went along. FIREPLACE BROOM, um, SOLID BRASS HANDLE! He'd hold it up, matter-of-factly.

One table in particular was filled with a lot of small tschotskis. Some of them rather hard to identify. Still moving at the speed of light, he didnt miss a beat. He went to the table and came up with a handful of ratty doll parts. You could see his gears turning as he yelled gruffly: DOLL BABY! Uh, LITTLE DOLL BABY! WITH, um, DOILY! DOILY DOLL BABY! Its leg stuck out the wrong way through his grasp. The bidding began. It was phenomenal. That guy was fantastic.

At this point, after all the elbowing, we were punchy. We wanted to start yelling back, just as loud and fast, which would have been totally taboo in the auction setting. He held up a quilt: BABY QUILT! ANTIQUE BABY QUILT! We wanted to yell back HOW BIG IS IT? or just totally inappropriately PUT THE BLANKET ON YOUR HEAD! Better, BUT THE BLANKET ON LIKE A DIAPER! LIKE A DIAPER!

We knew it was time to go. We may have ended up getting shot, which would have nicely concluded my circus-themed week.