It's that time of year again. Dreaded by townies and adored by tens of thousands of middle-aged women seeking yard art, it's the Ann Arbor Art Fair. Downtown streets are blocked off and lined with white tents as far as the eye can see. I think an accurate artistic summary would be: blech. I'm sure there are some lovely things for sale, some of which likely even qualifies as art. But it's the miles of crap on a stick -- which you may remember my whining about last year -- that really puts a damper on my spirits. Old candlesticks? Put 'em on a stick. Silver mint julep cups? A stick! Porcelain angels? Copper frogs? Ancient cutlery? Stick! Stick! Stick!
How did I manage to plan to be in Iowa last week and North Carolina week from next yet stay in town for the invasion, during which a trip to the local bean house for a nice skim latte means tussling with crowds of gawkers in unwise shorts?
Speaking of Iowa, I have returned and am in the process of getting my life back in order. It feels like I was gone for months and I think it'll be the full length of my stay away before I'm back up to speed with work, projects and coaxing the house back from its current disaster status.
Did I learn anything in Iowa this year? Sure. Is it worth imparting? I'm not certain yet, but maybe I'll get around to blogging about it sooner or later, although I've been bad in that vein lately. Who knows? If I survive Art Fair, anything's possible.