If you drive down Humboldt Boulevard on a Friday or Saturday from April to October, you'll see a half-dozen or more signs announcing a yard sale somewhere in the neighborhood. There are so many that those of us who drive down this street regularly don't even process the signs by mid-May, unless, of course, we're in the mood to peruse tables of used treasures (or piles of junk, depending on the sale).

I admit that I am more likely to notice -- and go to -- a rummage sale that's advertised with a nice sign. Subconsciously I believe that the fancier the sign, the cooler the crap. Of course I've gotten burned by this, finding myself at plenty of "art-students-moving-back-home" sales which try to pass off sub par items like a papasan frame (because the cats peed on the cushion) and that hideous black halogen floor lamp (you know, the one with the dimmer switch that most students and first apartment people seem to have.)

But, I digress. My point is that in order to compete with the bombardment of rummage sale signs, people have gotten desperate and creative. Hence, in the last few weeks I have seen some peculiar, provocative signs.

One of my recent faves was a sign reading "Rummage Sale ... FREE PEZ." I actually had no intention of going to a sale and was on the way to the park with my kids, but as a Generation X Pez enthusiast, I had to check it out. And glory be to the sugar-buzz gods, it was true. The sale hostess had dozens of unopened Pez dispensers and was handing them out to anyone who shopped.

The best rummage sale sign, however, was taped to the streetlight on the corner of Locust and Humboldt a couple of weeks ago that simply read "NAKED RUMMAGE SALE" with an arrow pointing west. Unfortunately, I was on my way to a meeting, so I didn't have time to check out if this was pure gimmick or indeed a clothing-optional junk bazaar (hey, it's Riverwest, so you never know).

Since I didn't get to investigate, I can only imagine the possibility of a River…

It was a Rhett Miller love-in at Summerfest tonight, with the Old 97's taking the stage just minutes after 8 p.m. for a totally immersed crowd.

For the first few songs I wasn't sure I would actually be able to see much of Miller and the rest of the band from where I was standing -- I basically had a view of sweaty backs and shaved necks -- but it was still a rush to hear the opening tune "Won't be home tonight" which triggered a non-stop dance explosion.

Before long, I found my way closer to the stage and, eventually, could see the alt-country band from Dallas in full swing. Unfortunately, I didn't see the infamous Miller "kick" or his "windmill" guitar strumming that a friend told me are signature stage movements for him. (However, Miller promised to return to Milwaukee next year, so perhaps I'll still get my chance.)

All the same, Miller looked fresh faced and boyish -- tonight he wore a green bandana as a headband and a black-and-white striped shirt -- but he sounded more mature than he appeared. The Old 97's are sometimes lumped with alt country bands like the Jayhawks because both bands emerged in the genre around the same time, but their driving songs and intense energy were more reminiscent of a Replacements' show. Even Miller's voice sounded like The Replacements' frontman Paul Westerberg at times.

The band ripped through a myriad of fan faves, including "West Texas Teardrops," "Jagged,"  "Barrier Reef," "Murder or a Heart Attack" and "Time Bomb." Although the sound was inconsistent for the first few songs, it improved early in the set.

The Old 97's formed in 1993 and took their name from a Johnny Cash song, "Wreck of the Old 97." The band has eight records and one greatest hits compilation, and Miller -- who also has solo CDs -- mentioned during the concert that the band is releasing another CD next year.

Despite predictions of commercial success from the press, the band was dropped from Elektra after the merger of Time Warner and Amer…

When a friend told me that Matisyahu, a Jewish reggae rapper who kicks it Old-Testament style, was performing at The Pabst Theater, I knew I had to check it out.

It's not that Matisyahu is the first to break the Jewish-rap barrier; the Beastie Boys did that two decades ago. But Matisyahu is quite possibly the first to combine dancehall reggae -- a la Eek-A-Mouse or Yellowman  -- with human beatbox, rap and Hebrew prayer.

It would be easy to dismiss Matisyahu as shtick, especially considering the 27-year-old Hasidic Jew from Brooklyn wears a long beard and brimmed hat on stage. Plus, some purist reggae fans are unenthused about a privileged white kid from New York drawing larger crowds than his Jamaican counterparts.

But Matisyahu, love him or hate him, is not gimmick; he's the real deal.

Although he doesn't break new ground musically, Matisyahu has a beautiful voice and a completely unique presence that combines confidence, friendliness and signature stage movement that is both groovy and slightly stiff. Everything about him is incongruent, but it works, and while other show biz Jews like Rob Tannenbaum and Sarah Silverman make a conscious effort to redefine Jews as cool, Matisyahu just is.

During Tuesday night's nearly sold-out performance at The Pabst, fans reached for him -- mostly women -- attracted to his style. (On a side note, I learned at Matisyahu's merchandise table that women's T-shirts were not available due to the same spiritual rules of his religion that prevent him from performing on Friday nights.)

The Pabst crowd was a fascinating mix of average music fans, bearded men with their wives and slews of yarmulke-wearing young boys, a half dozen of whom Matisyahu pulled on stage at the height of the show for a pogo-stick version of "Ring Around the Rosie" and the chance to sing a long while pounding their fists towards the ceiling. It was undoubtedly the most skin-tingling moment of Jewish pride I have ever witnessed.

Along with…

Today is my family's "Guateversary." It's a made-up holiday commemorating the day we brought our son Kai, now 4, home from Guatemala. He was 9 months old at the time.

In the adoption world, it is common for the family to celebrate their adoption day. Other families we know call it "Gotcha Day" or celebrate it like their kid's second birthday. Being a word person, I had fun making up the word "Guateversary," a morphing of the word "Guatemala" with "anniversary."

We try not to focus solely on the adoption aspect, rather say the occasion is a celebration of the day the entire family came home from Guatemala.

Over the years, we have celebrated our Guateversary in a variety of ways. The first year, we went with family and friends to Conejito's (we really wish there was a Guatemalan restaurant in Milwaukee). Another year we had a bowling party at Koz's Mini Bowl, and this year, we are having family over for home-cooked Guatemalan and Nicaraguan food.

This is the first year Kai understands, somewhat, about his adoption and the fact he is Guatemalan. Earlier this year, we showed him the video footage we shot during our two visits to Guatemala, but Kai was only semi-interested. There simply weren't enough construction vehicles or "T Rexes" for him to get all revved up.

Most of the time, holidays for the adoptive family are bittersweet because they are a reminder of what was lost as well as what is gained. I know from adoptive families with older children that there will, most likely, come a time when Kai struggles with his adoption, and that he may not want to celebrate the Guateversary. I try to prepare for this.

This year, however, he'll be whacking the frijoles out of a piñata, spraying his brother with Silly String and gorging himself on gallo pinto -- all in the spirit of family.