The Truth Is Out There

I'm baaa-aaack!  Just like Poltergeist.  Only with more legs.  And airplane ears.  Anyway, I don't expect anyone to still be out there, but I'm here anyway.  What the hay.  The muse went on an extended vacation and just got back.  Don't ask ...

So, I'm gonna' jump right back in here just like I never left.  'Cuz really I didn't.  It's just that you weren't privy to my thoughts ... or my Peanuts.  I'm just sayin' ...

Okay, so you know how there is this urban legend out there that says that goats eat anything?  We all know that isn't true, right?  Well, all I can say is that we've had to change our thinking a bit on this one.  And it didn't even involve the Internet.  Who knew? 

You see, it's like this.  We live with an Alpine.  That really ought to be explanation enough, but in case you don't have a clue just exactly what this means, here it is in a nutshell.  Alpines are trouble.  T-R-O-U-B-L-E.

Now then, the Goatmother (remember her?) was out raking our lot in preparation for the laying down of wood shavings to combat the mud which always seems to arrive at the same time as the rain. (Why is that?  Oh, yes.  Overweight Nubian.  Did I really just say that?)  Anyway, the Goatmother was laboriously raking away as we enjoyed a meager snack of luscious hay on the other side of the pen.  Well, really it was more akin to bribery than a luscious snack since it's the only way she can convince *some* of us to leave the sanctity of the barn.  But back to the story ... the Goatmother was raking and stopped to pick up some of the refuse and cart it away.  (Manual labor is highly over-rated.  This is why I don't do it.  Ever. ) 

Paying no attention (as the Goatmother is want to do), she leaned her rake up against the fence and leaned over.  She straightened back up just in time to see Ella reach over the fence and rip off a twelve inch piece of the rubber cushion  (for your non-callous-making raking pleasure) surrounding the handle of the rake.  The Goatmother dropped everything, ran through the gate and went rushing up to Ella yelling, "No!!!!  You STUPID goat!!!!", at the top of her lungs.  Suffice it to say that even though the neighbors don't live all that close, THEY now know how stupid Ella is.  WE already knew that.

Anyway, we all looked up in alarm.  I can tell you, here and now,  that Ella knew right away what she had done was NOT the thing to do.  She took one look at the advancing onslaught of Goatmotherdom and promptly dashed the other way, all the while gobbling down the pilfered piece of pliability just as fast as possible.  The Goatmother had thought to catch the end and pull it back out.  No such luck.  Not even close.  The speed of light has nothing on a determined Alpine in pursuit of gustatorial satisfaction.

"Oyyyyyyyy!!!!!!!!!", and "Arrrrgghhhhh!", cried the Goatmother. (And a few other terms which shall, heretofore, go unmentioned.)  So the Goatmother ran as fast as those pudgy little legs could carry her, straight to the Internet and contacted a couple of her goat raising friends.  Had they ever had experience with a goat eating something thought to be inedible?  Could said inedible delicacy actually be broken down in at least ONE of the stomachs?  Would Ella be vomiting or exuding green goat berries????  Not one of the Goatmother's capable goat-rearing friends had EVER had a goat eat something they shouldn't.  I feel it is important to interject a note of reason here in pointing out the fact that, indeed, none of these people actually owned an Alpine.    Had they ever had the pleasure, information might have been more forthcoming  As it was, the Goatmother was left to stew ... and watch.

Well, that was a couple of days ago.  Ella is still alive.  Doesn't surprise me, since it is the innocent and the good that die young.  Alpines are safe, if you ask me.  Let it be known, though, that not all urban legends are myths.  Sometimes there just could be a grain (or a Peanut) of truth there.  You just never really know ...

"The truth is out there.  Trust no one." - The X-Files
 (Especially if they happen to be Alpine.)

Playing

You may recall that last year, before she was so rudely interrupted, the Goatmother had gotten a new camera.  Of course, things being as they were, playing with the new camera got put on a shelf.  Well, guess what?  She's finally blown the dust off !

"Excuse me.  In-com-ing!"
"Say what?!"

"I said, 'Clear a path!  I'm comin' in!"
"Pull up!  Pull up!  You're gonna' land right on me!  I'm very delicate, you know."

"Ahhhhh.  That's more like it.  Free and clear."

Okay, not perfect.  And she certainly has a loooong way to go to catch up with the SnowCatcher.   Or Teresa over at Eden Hills...
BUT ... the journey of 1,000 miles begins with but a single step.  Right?. 

Bailey

This is our friend, Bailey.  Bailey is a Standard Poodle that lives down below us in 'the holler'.  As dogs go, she is awesome.  When the Mighty Quinn was a puppy, as pictured above, the Goatmother often wondered if he would live through his first year without her killing him first.  He is an awesome dog (as dogs go), now, in part thanks to Bailey.  Bailey became 'mother' and patiently attended to the overly boisterous pup.  She tolerated his behavior even to the point that one time the Mighty Quinn, in play, bit her tongue and made it bleed.  Yet she never so much as growled at him.  She was patient.  Much more so than the Goatmother who sported little nip bruises all up and down the backs of her calves from the Mighty Quinn trying to herd her.  That never went over very well, I can tell you.  And then there was the time Bailey and the young Mighty Quinn deigned to herd all us goats into the corner of our lot and keep us there.  Now that was humiliating.  Despite that little episode, and despite the fact that Bailey was, well, a dog, we still pretty much liked her.  I guess as much as any goat likes any stinky old dog.

We are sad to say that Bailey has left us.  She was really old in dog years, and her owners did a fabulous job of helping her to reach well beyond the age most large dogs reach.  That is a testament to how much they loved her.  We will miss her a lot, especially the Mighty Quinn.  She has been a part of our lives as long as we have lived here.

Run with the angels, Bailey, unencumbered by the constraints of time!  You will be greatly missed and forever loved.

Ode To The Sun

If I had wanted to be born in England, I would have.  But no, someone has decided that Washington is England with misty soggy moors, and without the nice heather.  Instead we have Scotch Broom.  Close enough. 

Sun, where are you?

You are shiny and bright.
You make the barn light. (so I can see what I'm eating)
You brighten my mood.
Rain is just rude. (and drippy)
Coming back would be fine.
Outdoors I would dine.
Not inside with Alpine.

Please???  Pretty please with a Peanut on top?  (Which ought to be an indication of just how much I MISS you.) 
Okay. 
Several Peanuts then. 
Oy.

A Re-PORT-torial

The scheduled de-port-ation went off without a hitch.  The Goatmother bounced out to the goat barn before I even had my eyes open, which was very nons-port-ing of her, if you ask me.  But I suppose it was im-port-ant that she show up on time.  I mean as op-port-tunistic as some doctors are, they might just go ahead without her.  That would certainly never do.

So no lifting or such like for at least five days.  This has meant that we goats have had to endure the port-entous attentions of the Goatfather since it is a well-known fact that taking care of goats is in no way even remotely related to any activity that could possibly port-ray the lure of a computer.  No.  I'm afraid goat-keeping is very low-tech.

At any rate, we are surviving even though port-ions have been rather slack in the Goatmother's absence.  But that's okay.  I'm sure she'll make up for it once we re-port our evident lack to her.

Now, then.  I'm sure you are all wondering about the appearance of any new Super Powers.  I can honestly say that none have been pur-port-ed to have appeared.  As yet.  I say 'as yet' because I am quite certain something s-port-ive will soon present itself.  Perhaps it will be something exciting like tele-port-ation or maybe something in the trans-port-ation line.  Although I have to admit I'm not too keen on the later as that might mean more trips to the vet somewhere along the way.

Anyway, in the meantime, we will do our very best to sup-port the Goatmother in any way possible.  We are nothing if not accommodating around here.  Goats are SUCH good s-ports.  Or hadn't you noticed?

WWND?

What would Nietzsche do?  I know.  You are once again wondering what the hay this philosophizing goat is talking about.  But I can assure, philosophizing is just what I am doing.  Aren't I supposed to be?  Well, here's the thing.  Friederich Nietszche was a German philosopher who lived from 1844 to 1900.  Well, never mind that his philosophy might have been the product of a diseased mind, he still had some rather profound things to say.

So what exactly does this have to do with a goat?  Nothing.  Really.  Absolutely nothing.  What it does have to do with, however, is the Goatmother.  So here is the deal, but before I tell you this, you need to realize that all things contain both good and bad.  Just look at Peanut. (the goat and not the nut, since the nut is obviously an exception to this rule).  Perfect example.  Anyway, back to the Goatmother.  On May 1st, the Goatmother's port is coming out.  At least it is scheduled to.  The Goatfather says that this is so if anything goes wrong, they can yell 'May Day! May Day!!!!', but then we might find it prudent to consider the source in this case.

Ordinarily this event would be viewed with a great deal of joy, and indeed it is.  After all, if the doctors feel the port can come out, it implies they feel confident they aren't going to need it again any time soon.  That is a real morale booster for sure.  However, there is a down side.  Remember?  I told you.  Both good and bad.  So what could possibly be bad?  Well, do you remember back when the Goatmother first got the port?  In case you have forgotten what resulted from that event, you can refresh your memory here.  Yes, the gaining of Super Powers and the birth of an alter ego.  Butter Bean, the 4th Power Puff Girl. 

So, here's the further thing.  If the Goatmother loses the port, does it follow that she loses her Super Powers?  Does Butter Bean cease to exist?  And this is where Friederich Nietzsche comes in.  So let's examine a few of the things Mr. N had to say.  First of all, he said, "  All things are subject to interpretation.  Whichever interpretation prevails at a given time is a function of power and not truth."  Hokay.  There's that *power* word.  So if the Goatmother has the power in the first place, then the truth is she can keep it, right?  Hmmm ...

What about this:  "All credibility, all good conscience, all evidence of the truth come only from the senses."  There's that truth word again.  And since we know that power is the winner here, since he said that already, and we know the Goatmother doesn't have any sense, looks like she gets to keep the power again.  Hey, I'm beginning to like this.

Okay, now, Nietzsche also said, " The irrationality of a thing is no argument against its existence, rather a condition of it."  Since it is entirely irrational that the Goatmother should have possessed Super Powers in the first place, that should serve to prove she was actually supposed to have them.  And why would someone lose something they were actually meant to have?  Were destined to have?  That wouldn't make any sense, would it?  Of course we have already established that the Goatmother has no sense, but still ... 

Oh, well, what do you think?  Does  the Goatmother lose her Super Powers or not?  One of her friends told her, "No.  They are yours to keep in perpetuity."  Who knows?  What exactly would Nietzsche do?  Probably go sit on his stump and think about it a lot.  And be grumpy.

At any rate, there is no question that the whole thing has been good in many ways.  The Goatmother is the better person for it all - with or without Super Powers.  How do I know?  Because Nietzsche also said this:  "That which does not kill us makes us stronger."  Got that right.  Word, Fred.

Irrefutable Proof

Hey, ho.  I know.  I'm behind again.  I don't think it is going to get better anytime soon, though, so we'll just have to deal.  It is the Goatmother's fault.  She got so far behind and it rubbed off on everybody else.  Oy.

Anyway, I am writing this post as irrefutable proof.   Of what, you ask?  Well, let's begin at the beginning, shall we?  Those of you who are football fans may remember the ultimate in Super Bowl commercials that was shown this year - the Dorito-loving goat.  Now if you don't remember because you have slept since then, or if you never saw it in the first place, you can do so HERE.

So, this begs the question...  Well, actually two questions.  First, what the hay is so darned special about some cheddar-cheese laden bit of triangular corn?  And second, just what kind of goat would actually go so head-over-hooves for them?  Inquiring minds certainly wanted to know around here, so we decided to conduct an experiment.  I, for one, could not fathom that such a *treat* could actually be that good, and I knew, without a doubt, that no self-respecting, Peanut-loving mini-Nubian would ever be enticed to the dark side.

Proof is in the pudding as they say, or in this case, the munchy morsel.  Not only that, but a picture is worth a thousand words.  Can't go wrong then.  Here's how it went:

The variable, said cheesy chip, is purchased.

Myself, being the most intelligent and discerning subject, is offered the first taste.

Obviously my keen palate serves me well and the offering is rightly refused. Certainly it is to be eyed with great suspicion.

Next, the morsel is offered to Ella.  Now here is a real test since Ella has no palate and will eat virtually anything.  She eyes it innocently.

Whoa!  Proof positive that even the gourmand, as opposed to the true gourmet, can't stomach these things. 

 

Next, the item in question is offered to the fainting goat.  Luckily he does not faint, but you may observe that even he is not inclined to eat it.  I might add, here, that Boo was not offered the tidbit.  This was decided before the experiment began since her Nubianess would prevent her from remembering what exactly she was trying to accomplish.  Or even that she might have tried to put something in her mouth in the first place, or that it was not, in actuality, something like, say, a hat.  It would simply be a moot point.

At this point, the crispy critter is offered to Peanut.  Oy.  As you can see, he actually takes it, for goats' sake!

Not only does he take that one, but he takes another, and another and yet ANOTHER!  Oh, the shame.

At length, he is seen standing at the gate literally begging for more.  Can you see the orange tongue and the tell-tale remnant hanging out the side of his mouth?  This is embarrassing.  After all, he is my nephew.  Can you see the look of dismay on my face?  Begging is so beneath a goat's dignity.

At any rate, ir-re-fut-a-ble proof!  These things are NOT all they are cracked up to be.  What were those commercial people thinking?  I can only say it is a product of the almighty buck (that would be the dollar kind and not the goat kind, thank you very much.  Although, come to think of it ...  Nope.  Not goin' there.)   And, it also answers the second question.  What kind of goat was that in the commercial?  What kind of goat could go so hog ... I mean, goat-wild over such an inferior comestible?  Obviously a Nigerian.

Which leaves us with a question even Watson is left considering.  Just what IS the fascination?

Happy Easter!

Hey! It's me!  Do I look like I'm happy about this?  I ask you ... where is the dignity?  I feel like I'm in a Cadbury commercial.    Anybody got a chocolate egg?  Oy.

HAPPY EASTER!

Do You Want This?

I don't usually get up on my Soap Stump, but this time I think I just have to say something.  A petition has been filed with the FDA and is currently under consideration that would allow artificial sweeteners to be placed in milk and other dairy products "without special labeling to 'promote healthy eating' and boost kid appeal."    Healthy eating???????????  If you are curious (and you should be), click here.

I don't know about you, but I sure don't want them putting anything in my milk I didn't put there myself.  Good grief!  They already put in more than enough added ingredients, particularly if it is a low- or no-fat product.  As a goat I feel I ought to be a spokesperson for milk.  The cows sure aren't going to do it.

At any rate, The White House maintains a "We the People" page where anyone can submit a petition on a matter of concern. According to their rules, a new petition is hidden (the one on this subject can be found here) until it accumulates 150 signatures, indicating that the petitioner has significant general support. The petition then becomes visible on the Open Petitions page.  If a petition gains 100,000 signatures by the end of the month, the White House is obliged to respond to it.  The first link is the only way to get to this petition, presently, to sign it until it has procured the required 150 initial signatures.  The Goatfather started it.  Please, if you don't care about the state of your food supply and health, think of your children and the millions who could be affected if such a thing were to be allowed.  Please  sign.  This is NOT one of those email petitions that pass around and around the Internet and do nothing.  This is a legitimate site and offers us a chance to have our voice heard.


Thank you.  Getting down off Soap Stump now.  Sign!

What Do You Do ...?

... when you don't have anything to say?  What?!  Marigold with nothing to say?  That isn't possible, is it?  Well, I suppose it is.  On occasion.  I've been really busy.  Eating.  And searching for Peanuts.  Well, maybe waiting for Peanuts is a more apt description.  And pondering.  I've been pondering a lot.  Mostly about what to say.

Anyway, the Goatmother and Goatfather recently went out for Chinese food and did not invite me.  However, it got me to thinking about Fortune Cookies.  I'm not sure why.  Perhaps because I'm bored, but anyway, that is what I was thinking about.  And then I began to think wouldn't it be wonderful if you got fortunes in Peanuts?  I mean just think of it.  Crack open that shell and there it is!  A recipe for life.  Or not.  Might depend on whether you eat the Peanut shell and all, but I'm just pointing out that the possibility is there.

'So what kind of fortunes would be good?', I thought to myself.  And myself answered, 'Well things that are relevant to goats, of course, you ninny.'  (Myself tends to get out of line sometimes and I am forced to butt it back into shape.)  So anyway,  first I thought it would be a really good idea to put in a few fortunes that Alpines might find relevant.  These, naturally, would be put into the smallest Peanuts.  This isn't because I'm stingy.  Really.  It is just that Alpines tend to subscribe to the Wal-Mart Principle - quantity instead of quality, and gain by volume.  So here are a few I thought might be good:

1)  Something you lost will soon turn up.  Or not, since if you lost it, I will have found it by now.
2)  Be mischievous and you will not be lonesome.  Instead you will be left completely alone.
3)  Don't ask, don't say.  Everything lies in silence.  So be quiet.
4)  Fame, riches and romance are yours for the asking.  But not Peanuts.  They are for the rest of us.
5)  A friend is a present you give yourself.  So give yourself to yourself and leave the rest of us alone for a change.

And then I thought it might be nice to include a few fortunes the Nubians could benefit from:

1)  You will soon remember who you are and what you were doing.  Maybe.
2)  It takes more than good memory to have good memories.  Either way you are in trouble.
3)  Intelligence is the door to freedom and alert attention is the mother of intelligence.  I am so sorry for your loss.
4)  You will not be alarmed by hats.
5)  When you look down, all you see is dirt, so keep looking up.  But not too far up or you will fall down.

Then there should be at least a few fortunes included for the rest of us.  Things like:

1)  You will have unexpected great good luck.  All the Peanuts will come to you.
2)  There is a true and sincere friendship between you and your friends.  One which causes them to want to give all their Peanuts to you.
3)  Your everlasting patience will be rewarded sooner or later.  You bet your sweet bippy it will.
4)  Something you lost will soon turn up.  Probably that Peanut that fell as a result of the Alpine Picky Snit that has somehow managed to remain spit free and clean.
5)  As the Peanut Jar is emptied, the heart is filled.  And so is the stomach.

Oy So, Grasshopper.

A Hairy Update 2

The Goatmother went to a hairdresser.  Actually, she went to a brand new hairdresser because while she was away her old hairdresser retired.  The nerve of some people.  Anyway, the Goatmother doesn't look like Letterman any more.  Her mood has improved greatly, for which I am exceedingly grateful, and  she actually went out of the house yesterday without a head covering for the very first time in 8 months.  February 7th is an auspicious day, I say.  Her hair is still short, mind you, and her head still gets cold, but, hey, the possibility is there.  And real.  And she doesn't look like Letterman.  Now she looks a little more like Ann Hathaway.  Life is good.

" And forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet and the winds long to play with your hair ." - Khalil Gibran

Okay, well, the wind may have to wait just a bit longer.

A Hairy Update

When the Goatmother first lost her hair, she didn't go completely bald.  Everything fell out except a few strands of gray and she looked like the Crypt Keeper.  Then later, when it finally started to grow back, she looked like Frank Sinatra as an old man.  Well, since we published the New Year's Resolution picture, it has grown.  Some.  And it has become unruly.  Just like us goats.  Un-Rul-EE.  (I am not sure why she says this at all.  I would say it is more like joie de vivre.) 

Anyway, it curls.  It is not a nice curl.  It is Un-Rul-EE.  And it doesn't curl everywhere.  Take for instance the back of her head.  It is flat.  No curl.  Just flat.  So today, the Goatmother decided she might actually try to blow dry her hair using a small rounded brush in an attempt to tame the Un-Rul-EE-ness of her tresses.  Or at least what passes as tresses these days.  And guess what?  She doesn't look like Frank Sinatra as an old man anymore.  Nope.  Now she looks exactly like Letterman.  And no.  She says she is most assuredly NOT posting a picture.  Oy.

“If what you've done is stupid, but it works..then it really isn't all that stupid.” - David Letterman

Or is it???

Demands

Demands are sometimes worth their while.  We are watching the SuperBowl.  THIS barn is now demanding Doritos.  No one can say there isn't power in advertising.  I'm just sayin' ...

Woefully Behind And A Really BIG Mistake.

Well, goat grief.  Here I am.  Finally.  Oy is me.  I am so far behind I don't know whether I have found a new Peanut or forgotten to eat an old one.  No matter.  Still tastes just as good either way.  Well,  unless you count those that have Alpine spit.  Anyway, I have no excuse.  It is, in fact, all the Goatmother's fault.  She's been gone so much I haven't been able to get into the house and no one has bothered to give me a key.  And, of COURSE, no one will give me my own computer in the barn.  Come to think of it, Ella would probably eat it anyway, so maybe it's a good thing.  Who can tell? 

Nonetheless, I am behind.  That is not, by the way, to be taken as a commentary on my looks.  Can I help it if my metabolism is a bit on the slow side?  Though I suppose I could go to Weight Watchers with the Goatmother.  I mean she's managed to lose five more pounds.  Woo and Hoo.  They probably wouldn't consider letting a goat in anyway.

Now then.  Since I obviously have access to the computer, I shall regale you with a tale of woe.  Although, from my perspective I don't really see it as all that woesome since one of my least favorite Alpines (did I say that?) got into trouble over it.  To be sure it certainly wasn't something I'd ever consider doing though.

So here's what happened.  The Goatmother came out to the barn.  She cleaned up the boys' side and gave them some Peanuts before letting us out because, let's face it, that's practically the only way either of them is going to even get near a Peanut.  Watson, the brown-noser, went about his usual 'follow-the-Goatmother-around-look-cute-and-stick-your-nose-in-her-pocket routine, and Peanut stood on the trimming stand stealthily awaiting the off chance that Watson would walk by so he could butt him.

The Goatmother finished up with the boys and then opened the gate to our side.  Being the most attentive and on the ball of the group, I was first to dash out.  Besides there are two gates and I'm the only one of the girls short enough to fit under the top.  So when the Goatmother walked in, Ella was standing on the wooden spool.  Now Ella isn't normally standing on the wooden spool in the morning, but this particular morning I think her nose may have been more out of joint than usual, which wouldnt' have had anything to do with me.  At least if it did, I'm not admitting it. 

So the Goatmother went about her business of tidying up the premises, making sure the mineral feeder had minerals in it, getting new water, and generally just performing all the morning maid duties.  No chocolate on the pillows though, but I digress.  The last thing on the list is to hand out Peanuts to us.  The girls.  The most deserving.  Well, at least some of us are deserving.  And the line up goes like this.  Ella marches in and butts Peanut off the stand so she can take it over, thus placing herself higher than anyone else and more likely (she thinks) to get the most Peanuts.  Boo stands to the outside lifting her head in anticipation.  She only lifts her head because everything else on Boo is pretty much stationary.  And me, I say 'the hay' with all that pussyfooting around and jostling for position, and go straight for the middle with my feet on the gate that goes into the holiest of holies, the inner sanctum of the barn, from whence the Goatmother will administer the goods.  My mama didn't raise no fool.

Anyway, this morning went much like every morning.  The Goatmother offered Ella a Peanut and Ella, because her nose was already out of joint from 'whatever', got an attack of the Picky Snits and spit it out on the floor.  She gave one to me, and I can tell you, I took it.  Remember that thing about my mama?  I'm just sayin'...  Then she offered one to Boo who took it after clamping on with only her lips because if you are Nubian you have to determine, first, that anything entering your mouth is, in fact, not a fly or something equally objectionable even though it smells like a Peanut.  One never knows.  Flies can be tricksy. 

When it was all said and done, Ella was told 'you have one more chance', which she, unwisely did not take, and literally spit on that chance.  Boo had decided tricksy flies were at work and refused to take anymore.  I got ALL the rest of the Peanuts.  Perseverance and unscrupulousness wins out over picayunishness and feeble-mindedness every time. 

Of course no one with any sense will pick up a Peanut that has spit on it.  Not even Watson.  So the Goatmother opened the gate, stepped in, and bent down to pick up the remnants of the wasteful Picky Snit.  That's when it happened.  'What happened?', you ask.  Geeze. Did you get so caught up in the inner workings of the barn you forgot?  Remember the really BIG mistake?  Yeah.  That.  The Goatmother bent down and Ella, still on the stand, bent down and went head to head with the Goatmother.  Wham.  You could have heard a pin drop.  The Goatmother raised her head, shook it, and that's when the yelling and finger shaking began.  Trust me, the rest of us left.  Chuckling under our breath, mind you, but we left.  I would not want to have been on the receiving end of that lecture.  But I have to admit, it couldn't have happened to a more deserving goat.    I suppose perhaps there is some justice in life after all.

So there you have it.  I know you were all probably thinking something had happened to the Goatmother since I hadn't been on here in so long.  Not to worry.   She's one tough broad.  Especially her head.

Seven Swans A Swimming

Okay.  Maybe there's more than seven.   And maybe they aren't swimming.  But they are swans.  Tundra Swans, to be exact.

Not swimming, but perhaps dancing ...

Conga line, anyone???

Where?  Where's the Conga line?  Which way to the Conga line???