Advice Booth

I’m happy to report that yesterday’s whiskey cure seems to have been successful.  If it didn’t cure my cold, at least I enjoyed the experience.  (Word to the wise, if you get a whole bunch of conflicting cold remedy recipes, skip the hot water part and go for straight-up whiskey, heated, with a little lemon and honey.  Anything else is just playing around.  I tried it both ways in the name of science, and the hot water just confuses the issue.)

So, bringing us ever closer to the point of this post: Saturday is Cooke Street Carnival.  I love Cooke Street Carnival.  It’s an anything-can-happen kind of afternoon.  After I hit the low point of an already bumpy year earlier this week, the anything-can-happen might turn into me hiding under the couch of the Advice Booth, peeking out only to retrieve more cookies and beg passers-by to advise me on just about everything.

Oh! Advice Booth.  Should I back up?  Last year my friends and I ran an Advice Booth at the carnival, which has been billed in this year’s press as “the amazingly popular Advice Booth.”  We read that and Julia said, “That means they’re amazed that we were popular.” “As were WE,” I pointed out.  We set up a tent, cozy and comfortable but with kind of a flair, and we offered people advice and cookies.  It worked fabulously well.  We gave out lots of both, and we learned all kinds of things, and we made friends, and at the end of the day, we felt like we’d accomplished some Community, with a capital “C.”  It was worth the effort.

Oh, and we got to wear wigs.  The last time I was out in public in a ridiculous costume, I had an important epiphany:  in a costume, you’re likely to lose your dignity pretty quickly, but you’re actually not likely to miss it when it’s gone.  So that’s fine.

Last year I think we cleared enough income to cover our entry fee, and to have cheeseburgers afterwards, which was more than we expected.  This year, if we do even better, I am taking my cash and bolting directly to Cat’s Cradle to see Tift Merritt and Chatham County Line, fingers crossed that there is at least one lone ticket left by then.  Otherwise, I have blown my music budget this month on my outrageously expensive Springsteen ticket, and I will have to stay home and cry on my couch Saturday night in my blue wig, and nobody wants to be responsible for that scene. Please.  Come visit us.

I’ll be in blue, and I have plans for a Very Special Cookie for anyone who drops by and offers me advice.  There will be a team of us giving advice and cookies all afternoon on any subject under the sun, but I’m not too proud to take advice too.  Again, once your dignity is gone, you might find that things get to be a lot more fun. See you Saturday.

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