Gawd, milk was a poor choice.  The sun destroyed Bobble Tiki today.

Ever since Bobble Tiki was a tiny tiki, his raging internal furnace has humbled him with the constant threat of inappropriate perspiration. In school, regardless of the season, Bobble Tiki would spring the halls after gym or recess with all the composure of a malaria victim. He'd sit at his desk red-faced and shiny, trying to "think cold" or "think dry." Then he'd give up and just sit there helplessly leaking, the back of his shirt becoming a Rorschach of humiliation. Bobble Tiki is sure he can blame at least some of his adult neurosis on the trauma of being born a piece of wood.

Bobble Tiki just lost four pounds typing that last paragraph.

Bobble Tiki jumped into the photographer pit to shoot Blondie's Bumbershoot performance on the Mainstage.  Yes, he was a chosen one. Only 12 photographers were allowed beneath Ms. Harry.  Mr. Bumbershoot Photographer Pit Control Guy had to pick 12 from 20 desperate snapper saps lined outside the gate.  It was so "Project Runway" whatever.  If it wasn't for Bobble Tiki screaming "Bobble Tiki's from Tacoma" he would have shot Blondie's set 50 feet from the stage with the photographers from Walla Walla and Kitsap County. 

Blondie was Bobble Tiki's highlight of the afternoon. Deborah Harry at 60-something still rocks. Dressed in bright-green top and pants, Harry opened with "Call Me," danced in her band's lengthy musical interludes, led a crowd sing-along to "The Tide is High," dedicated "Good Boys" to all the good boys, discussed fishing from Seattle's Edgewater hotel in year's past and worked the stage for the rap parts of "Rapture." â€" Bobble Tiki