This year, we live blogged our Top Ten entries, or live-boarded them at least, thanks to Chris’s flip chart.  Add more and choose your favorites ….

A) You can ferment almost anything (Mike.  Noted most every year past, too.)

B) I think I just prevented cancer for the rest of my life. (Chris, after burying his head into Mike’s giant bag of greens)

C) Is this our pie? (Chris)

Whose f***ing pie do you think it is?  Do you think people just drive around Wisconsin dropping off pies? (Mike)

Yes. (Chris)

D) I should probably put the scissors down. (John)

E) Ohhh … Frank Lloyd Wright  (Ralph, as Tom’s anti-Mies t-shirt becomes the final clue to solve the porkpie hat, cape and walking stick costumery)

F) It’s not emasculatingly pink. (Bryan, referring to a rose wine)

G) It looks like this is the big sandbar on the map, which means we’re already about 40% done.  The trestle’s probably right around that bend. (John, off.  Way.  But the big sand bar at this point becomes a fully stocked one for the next overconfident hour.)

H) When I think of our flotilla, I think of ‘aerodynamic.’ (Beth)

I) No one’s looking. (Mike, while John finds his level in the river after several upstream carafe tips.  Blazizzle-filled-carafe tips, to be precise)

J) I am. (Anonymous nearby canoer.  See “I” above.)

K) I really enjoyed the canoe trip.  (Bryan, the last Weekender one would have expected to and the only one who did deploy this sentence.)

L) The Bataan Death Canoe.  (Chris)

M) Technically we did not capsize.  (Ed)

N) That was very good Blazizzle. (Beth.  See recipes blog)

O) He’s lying. (Beth, after Chris has gotten four and a half words into our tale of bumping into Bob Riverside at the convenience store)

P) Oh cabin, my cabin. (Mike.  Whitman’s first draft)

Q) You’ve never been in a cenote? (Chris, pulling out the marker for a cross-section and birds-eye rendering)

R) Good lord, man, give your physiology a little credit.  (John’s advice to an impatient Mike as our eyes adjusted to the night)

S) Great hike.  Just look out for the aggressive darting Wisconsin king cobras.  (Bryan)

T) I thought if I had the DTs, that’s what it would look like. (Beth referring to House on the Rock)

U) How could you run a golf course, and yet, fill up eight buildings with crap? (Chris referring to same)

V) It cooks with protons. (Mike on the odd lodge microwave)

W) Rice-a-phoney. (John)

X) Come again (Sign on the Don Q Inn door, which, after going through the creepy tunnel and hall of barber chairs, seemed less a friendly suggestion by the proprietors and more our own puzzled questioning.)

Y) You are too small for this interior space. (Bryan as FLLW, walking stick pointed at a befuddled Weekender Ike)