Santa Face

It's droll, pointless reading for the most part. I'm talking about some hapless fek's account of his holiday preperations and the goings-on that surround it. Most everybody shares in the experience in some form or another to some extent anyway so why waste important minutes of your life reading about somebody else?
And really it's only comforting if you can relate to it. Some anecdote about the conversations you overhear in line at the post office. A minor squabble with a significant other about their choice of Christmas cards. Or if the cards will even reach their destination in the five mail days left or what message does it send about the sender for waiting so long.
Or how many trips back to the big box store to once again exchange outdoor lights after climbing on the roof and connecting all 8 strands before checking them on the ground only to find out one and a half strands actually work. Or how easy it is to walk into a bookstore with a long list only to walk out with purchases for yourself.
Or how time and money run out and you haven't found time to get that thoroughly thoughtful and close to perfect gift for your brother and how quickly it turns into a Lowe's gift card because you're at least certain there is a Lowe's in Boston.
I still love Christmas though.
Merry Christmas!

Hunky-Dory II (in case there is another)

If you look up the definition of hunky-dory, that is, if you ever find you need to, it says,
"fine, all right, satisfactory."
So if you're kind of a low-key person that description might indicate a strain of giddyness or something more akin to maybe a wow.
The night before Thanksgiving last at the Eastern Avenue Hall, I had what I thought was a hunky-dory night behind the kit (drummer speak for, well, drums). And if history serves me, and it doesn't always, I'd be willing to bet at least the bass player, Mitchell Wood, and maybe even Jacques, the guitar player/singer with a hat, were feeling the same.
As a potentially muscular, rhythmic nucleus who've played together on and off for over 20 years, hunky-dory we should be at the very least. Then you throw Dennie and Pete in the mix that night and you get what ever the word is that is a step or two above hunky-dory. Let's chew on that for a moment shall we?
More importantly I want to thank everybody who came out and stayed at least till I started playing bass. Seriously, it was a very genuine and appreciative crowd. I know it takes dynamite sometimes to get my wife and I out of the house for something more closely related to drudgery than anything special.
I think special is like, maybe, two notches above hunky-dory actually. And yes, Honey, I'm cleaning my office as I write this.

First Cold

I don't want to come off all pessimistic but, we have about 4 more months of this. So we better somehow learn to make the most of it. Isn't it reassuring that I'm here to, not only describe the obvious, but to help guide us, the peoples, through these dank, dark months to come with witty banter, crazy made-up stories, divorced mother of 5 boys style cussing and sometimes stark photo-realism. Stay tuned for more uplifting-ness.

Tenderness

I've probably logged in about 45 years of "bud time" with thizguy. On the one hand it's monumental. On the other hand, it's just a long dang time. I've climbed great trees that aren't this old.
I don't often over-think this, this kind of unnatural...thing until a picture like this comes along. And only then do I start to toss around how we have managed to stay afloat where other, more Olympic style attempts have not. If I dumb it down, I'd guess proximity, forgiveness and Stephen Stills have all played some role in this.

I'm not going to scratch out a long list of things we've done for each other over the years because that's too labor intensive. And friends should not be about labor intensive-ness. It is important however to expose some things from time to time like when he nonchalantly said yes when I needed a place to stash my collection of Playboy, Penthouse and Oui magazines from the 80s when I married for the second time. Or when we were in high school, he offered his parents home as a safe house when some of us where on the lamb from the police for streaking down Main Street. Or this tender moment when we were setting up at a bar and Jack had a power source question or some shit and he asked me for the name of the manager and I gave him the first name that cropped up and he called out, "Pete, Pete," to nobody as the rest of us sat back, doubled up in pain from laughing so hard. Cheers, old timer.

This picture is taken at Tapper's Cabin probably around '74 or '75.
Sent to me from Anne Vanderlawn Williams via Mark Vanderlawn.

Nehmen Sie Das Van

Rendezvoused with Greg, Mitch and Jack at the lake last Saturday. Stowed the guitars and a few amps and finally us into the van and headed south toward the Indiana border.
Sir Gerg and I sat side by side in back knockin' knee caps while semi-sandwiched between the gear.

Early afternoon and it was sweaty hot with the only air conditioning (er breeze) coming from the open driver and passenger side windows which did the trick actually until Jack lit that turd of a cigar.

It's been about 15 years or so that this particular configuration assembled together in one vehicle. And while maybe just a touch awkward for me at first only because the options for conversation were so numerous that it was difficult to know where to start. So I did what anyone might do and started leafing through the New York Times.

We unloaded and carried everything up a short flight of stairs to the side of the stage, giddy to lookout among the crowd, while another band was wrapping up their set.
Standing to the side we ogled and attempted to size up the folks to try an determine if our brand of guitar shtick would make a dent.
You can look all you want but you never really get a good impression until you get out there and rock 'em for all it's worth.

We did this two weeks ago to a very receptive crowd which was cool but the stage mix was, well, not so great. We feared if it sounded like this on stage what does sound like out front. But you don't know if you're not carrying a trusting soul to man the board during your set so you just forge ahead and hope for the best. This gig was the opposite. Kind of a luke warm reception with a few random, sweaty dancers doing their best to kick their shorts up in the heat while the sound on stage was mucho gusto! Adapt and Conquer I always sometimes say.

Sweaty, hot mid-afternoons on stage take their toll so we didn't waste much time packing up and listening to a few from the evening's headliner, ? And The Mysterians minus the ?.
We jumped in the van and prepared to do what any four guys with 2 and 1/2 hours to ride would do, settle in, crank open the windows and listen to the Lions kick some Patriot butt.


Photo: clydekeller.com

The First Annual Newaygo Kayak, Sub And Snorkel Fest

Brad, Vicky, Jim, Melissa, Le Nadeaus, Brother Bill, Mark, Kathe, Marj, Cindy, Terry, Vonnie, Kevvy, Ann and Janna. And those are just the names of the people I could see. This may not be wise, I know, cause sure-as-shootin' I'll forget but hopefully not alienate somebody. but it's important for me to try and thank everybody who were kind enough to make the effort to come out last night with the sketchy weather and all. This was a fun platform to jump off of...if yer a gittin' my vague, biz-speak.
I just hope at the very least, the beer was decent.

Wayne Cochran and Elvis

WOOT (?)

Last Saturday, what? What's that? Right, well over a week ago on a Saturday's eve, a stupendous evening was had by I think a few at the I.O.O.M. or is it F.O.O.M. where Tim Bengsston filled the guitar boots, Mitch and Jack did other things. And I did what I could to stay dry so as not to offend. Special thanks go to, Dan, his wife, Jan&Jim, Brad&Vicki, Warren and that Thompson lady, Jim&Melinda, Jorje, Kevin, Ann, Bobby Z, Kurt, Faith, Kristi, Holly, Mike&Kyle, Danni, Terry, Margie, the Dunn posse and I apologize profusely if I've omitted anyone oh, and the bartenders and wait staff. Great job. We dig your place.

Beer Poster, Bieres De La Fauvette by Leonetto Cappiello