Well, as it has been a year or two since I scribed in "this year thayng", as they actually say in PA, I guess I should begin by saying that you can't go wrong entitling a blog with a word nobody in the world ever uses, except Catholics in a time of duress.
It's pronounced "BEE-Attitudes" and not "BEAT--TaTUdes", although I am pretty sure that last one would be a pretty good name for a band.
So I guess the first thing is to explain everything that happened since the last time I posted, but that would involve pigs flying and other things that are even more problematic, health and safety wise.
So here's the highlights of the last year. Played with Sav and Andy Reisser and their gang at a beer fest in Bloomsbrg in early May--that was a good idea! Then Sav, Andy and Johnny Skehan from RR Earth joined us for a train fest in East Burg, along with the son of a son of nephew I played with when I was about 180 pounds and still had black hairs, young lad named RJ Cramer, who will be heard from soon, I betcha. In between, I've had the luxury of getting actual music lessons from an actual professional, and I can safely say that the idea is not over-rated.
Hell, I can almost play in F now on the mando, so you know that' some pretty powerful mojo right there, buddy!
So this past weekend I went to Danny Steward's festival, and it is a winner---the man figured out a way to build a Shin-hopple style festival in two years, and that is a record, I am sure.
Place was packed, lots of great jams throughout the park, which is drop-dead gorgeous--lots of shade, trout stream running down the campgrounds, and all of it was run as tight as a tick...weather was gorgeous, the musicians sterling, and the comraderie perfecto. *
Hickory Project did a set that blasted the paint off of some chairs, none of which had human booties in them as everyone was dancing.
Danny's idea of having one stage for the blue-hairs and another for the "more exuberant" tikes was a hit--next year he informs me that since the second stage is located near some guy that sells slammer ham an cheeses on a pretzel, the state will be called the "Twisted" stage. Lots of really nice music on that stage, some swing, jam-bandy bluegrass and of course blistering instrumentals--cold as it was (and it was cold last night!) those boys and girls were ripping it up.
For the first time in about twenty years, I opted to crash last evening at only about 1, without having played a note all day. The night prior, Micah, Noah, Andy, Geoff, Heather and some whole buncha other great pickers went at it until I am pretty sure I saw a little sliver of sun coming up just before I went off to nod-land.
So last night I heard this really great jam going on just across the swale from where I was, and as it was frakin COLD! I just settled in and listened for a change.
It's a funny thing--when you do that, you hear stuff. Anyhow, Danny's got himself a hit on his hands with this festival, and my hats are off to him and his lovely family, which of course includes the virtuoso, Danny Jr., who now plays guitar, bass, banjo, outfield and does a pretty mean Macharana, by all accounts.
Well, that wasn't so bad. I'm sure I left stuff out, like the unfortunate visual images scribed on my brain-pan by Greg--thanks a heap, you kazoo-love-killer---but it sure was nice to be back in the festival mode.
I think the rest of America should try it! Think of how many carbon footprints we could clean up if the whole world weren't chasing their own tail.
Imagine!
*by 2023, Hispanics will be the largest minority in the US, beating out whites for the first time ever. So I'm gonna start sucking up now. Timing is everything, as they say! *S*
Happy festival season, each and every one!
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
bluegrass re-entry
Well, I've been meaning to get a post up here before now, but life happens, so I was a tad surprised to discover I've not posted for lo these many months.
Where to begin?
The winter was a long and cold one, and I got a beast of a new stove over Christmas while Alex and brother Pete were here, Pete with a Navy buddy who is also a mormon*--Lynn got to reading on that whole thing while we were en rotue to or from Annapolis, where lad Peter is currently, a plebe no more. The stove burnt up about 3 chords of wood, just from the holidays to now, but we were glad we had it; the man cave was actually too warm for habitation most of the winter hehe.
The last time I wrote on this blog I had just seen Pete after basic.
Tempus fuggedaboutit, I guess.
So the winter passed, and I had some chance to play and learn some tunes on the mando, more or less...finished my coursework for the doctorate...w00t! And am working on the dissertation, which I dropped off today.
that was like dropping off a load of wood. A big load!
I was up to WindGap a few weekends ago for their sleep-over shin-dig. Rich and I got there on Saturday, cause it was raining like a dog Friday. Weather was perfect and Rich had a really nice grille set-up that the perfessor from work set up. Grilled meat and drank carbonated non-citrus-flavored adult beverages and played a bit of music, but mostly just sat around camp and jawed, which was very cool, as I had not done that sort of thing much the last year or two, being busy with the schoolwork.
We racked out about one in the morning, heater working like a champ and hot and cold running water..sweet! Last thing I remember was Rich saying he had sausages, pork, venison and steak...potatoes and chips...and he was hungry for chicken, which I had forgotten!
the next morning damned if Rich doesn't wake up and say he hears 'coons, even though I was pretty sure I had secured the food, then a minute later he says:
Big chickens! And there they were, two roosters and a half dozen hens out in our camp, clucking and then eventually crowing their heads off at six freakin thirty
But it was cool. Broke camp and dropped the camper off at around 9, then home to work on my writing and some chicken wings hehe...
Mando is coming along, and I've played at cheap jobs; played at Borders last weekend for a book signing, where I met some very nice people--hiya Tom and Gail from Millville or Milton or wherever you were from in PA..
it was nice meeting you all.
This weekend is kinda goof-around time, maybe take a couple trees out and dice 'em up before the poison ivy gets too far along.
Weekend after I'll be up in Tunkhannock for Danny Steward's Festival, playing Sunday--a gospel set and another in the early afternoon. I was gonna head up on friday night right after school, but Mill Creek scratched so I am not playing there....
and I'll play Kettle Creek again for the 17th time, God be praised!!
As a mandolin player. nannner nanner! *L*
*they had an eye-talian angel in that book of mormon, name of maroni, that would be beaunie's brother of an angel, and eveybody knows they are eye-talian.
Where to begin?
The winter was a long and cold one, and I got a beast of a new stove over Christmas while Alex and brother Pete were here, Pete with a Navy buddy who is also a mormon*--Lynn got to reading on that whole thing while we were en rotue to or from Annapolis, where lad Peter is currently, a plebe no more. The stove burnt up about 3 chords of wood, just from the holidays to now, but we were glad we had it; the man cave was actually too warm for habitation most of the winter hehe.
The last time I wrote on this blog I had just seen Pete after basic.
Tempus fuggedaboutit, I guess.
So the winter passed, and I had some chance to play and learn some tunes on the mando, more or less...finished my coursework for the doctorate...w00t! And am working on the dissertation, which I dropped off today.
that was like dropping off a load of wood. A big load!
I was up to WindGap a few weekends ago for their sleep-over shin-dig. Rich and I got there on Saturday, cause it was raining like a dog Friday. Weather was perfect and Rich had a really nice grille set-up that the perfessor from work set up. Grilled meat and drank carbonated non-citrus-flavored adult beverages and played a bit of music, but mostly just sat around camp and jawed, which was very cool, as I had not done that sort of thing much the last year or two, being busy with the schoolwork.
We racked out about one in the morning, heater working like a champ and hot and cold running water..sweet! Last thing I remember was Rich saying he had sausages, pork, venison and steak...potatoes and chips...and he was hungry for chicken, which I had forgotten!
the next morning damned if Rich doesn't wake up and say he hears 'coons, even though I was pretty sure I had secured the food, then a minute later he says:
Big chickens! And there they were, two roosters and a half dozen hens out in our camp, clucking and then eventually crowing their heads off at six freakin thirty
But it was cool. Broke camp and dropped the camper off at around 9, then home to work on my writing and some chicken wings hehe...
Mando is coming along, and I've played at cheap jobs; played at Borders last weekend for a book signing, where I met some very nice people--hiya Tom and Gail from Millville or Milton or wherever you were from in PA..
it was nice meeting you all.
This weekend is kinda goof-around time, maybe take a couple trees out and dice 'em up before the poison ivy gets too far along.
Weekend after I'll be up in Tunkhannock for Danny Steward's Festival, playing Sunday--a gospel set and another in the early afternoon. I was gonna head up on friday night right after school, but Mill Creek scratched so I am not playing there....
and I'll play Kettle Creek again for the 17th time, God be praised!!
As a mandolin player. nannner nanner! *L*
*they had an eye-talian angel in that book of mormon, name of maroni, that would be beaunie's brother of an angel, and eveybody knows they are eye-talian.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Bluegrass Good-byes
Well, it could have been titled "Semi-annual Bluegrass", but that would only pertain to how often I post these days, not the frequency of bluegrass in my life, which promises to remain an almost daily obsession with me.
Fact is, along about May of this year I realized I had enjoyed about as much of The Lost Ramblers as I could stand, and quit the band I have moiled with lo these many many years to concentrate on enjoying myself and learning more mandolin, a goal I might have to re-examine, considering the shifting sands of bluegrass, another outstanding name for a band hehe.
The Shifting Sands of Grass.
what a nice ring that one has. You could dress up like an Arab and maybe get a camel, or smoke Camels---something like that.
Anyhow, I say that because it seems like everybody and his uncle and aunt are playing the durn things these days, so at HickoryFest this past weekend, you couldn't swing a cat without hitting a mandolin player, many of whom were way more better than me.
Sheesh. Anyhow, off to Wellsboro I went as a single unit, got the Palamino set up under a large tree for shade (very sweet!), running water and electric included in my little home away from home, outdoor shower, heater, refrigerator, pretty nice neighbors, great locale. I really enjoyed being back in population like it was in the old days when about twenty of us would commandeer a piece of Rudy Klein's Grove, hoist the Rebel flag (don't ask me---it wasn't my-un!), get an industrial sized tarp or tarps strung, and proceeded to pick until our fingernails fell out. phew!
Weather was ideal, although to be honest I did not pick as much as I might have---people were laying low during the heat of the day, and by the time the stage shows were done, so was I, so that left little hours here and there that people would sit down and pick---kinda nice because the cast of characters changed every hour, like a TV show or something, just with more beer.
And we played "Corn-hole", which many mistakenly might call "bean-bags", and found it to be highly addictive: under the lights, there was a game on almost 20 hours a day. I did get some nice jams in and finished the story-board for my dissertation, which was kinda strange. Storyboards are usually reserved for films and stuff like that, but outlines have never worked for me, so I did a storyboard for Bluegrass that really helped me keep all the action and characters straight and the stuff happening in a logical order.
Anyhow, no celestrial inspirations like Stony Deer, a tune I wrote there 2 years ago, although I did work up that tune I heard Dan Paisley singing to me this past WinterFest. The story on that was that I was joking with Dan very very late one night about a tune called "YOu can't talk to Jesus with whiskey on your breath", went to bed, slept too long, but woke up with this song jammed into my head, like I heard it in my head in my dreams, I guess you could say.
Really, I'm not going loopy on ya; not any moreso than usual. But I just wrote the dang thing down, chords and all....not a bad little tune, if I ever get to sit down and record the dad-durned thing, along with a "Bluegrass" novel on tape.
Man, I got a long list of to-dos!
Hmmmm. UYep. Anyhow, went to the Mennonite store and bought killer tomatoes, chicken salad, great bacon, and other little niceties, and spent 4 glorious days just having fun. The other ramblers showed up, John in his 27,000 dollar VW bus and Neil and John Ace, joined at the hip. I went for a ride with them to some supposed jam in Ansonia that turned out to be nothing except a local song-writer that is pretty good to listen to for about 10 minutes, then you gotta clear your auditory palate and burp or whistle or something hehe.
All in all it was a nice end to a delightful summer, as I have been simply camping and playing bluegrass without having to run all over creation playing every freakin' weekend. I sat in my camper Sunday morning at 10, drinking my coffee and relaxing while the boys ran around getting stuff together for their show, which sounded exactly like it did six months ago except Kendell is playing bass and not me. Listening to it made me realize that being a bassplayer for the Ramblers is not for the faint-of-heart, you might say.
Anyhow, Kendell did fine, even with the other clams that are still swimming in the rambler soup that made me laugh.
I mean, making the same mistake in the same place in the same song for 29 years? wow. You gotta admire that kind of consistency! *L*
Well, perhaps I will work backwards towards the first WInd-Gap. I mean, how cool is this music? Just like civil war battles, we have firsts and seconds; first Manassas, second Mannassas, first Windgap, Second Windgap....an embarrassment of riches!
Oh--no rattlers this year, although the campground owner said they went up into the woods and caught the one from last year that tried to get into the front gate without a wrist-band.
I swear, those rattlers have no scruples at all!*
*I almost wrote "snakes", but I want to be fair. Maybe mambas are better behaved. I don't know, never having seen one. Oh---and I almost forgot the signiture asterisk, which it seems to me Gary Bonds is gonna have to start paying me for the use of it, just my opinion.
Fact is, along about May of this year I realized I had enjoyed about as much of The Lost Ramblers as I could stand, and quit the band I have moiled with lo these many many years to concentrate on enjoying myself and learning more mandolin, a goal I might have to re-examine, considering the shifting sands of bluegrass, another outstanding name for a band hehe.
The Shifting Sands of Grass.
what a nice ring that one has. You could dress up like an Arab and maybe get a camel, or smoke Camels---something like that.
Anyhow, I say that because it seems like everybody and his uncle and aunt are playing the durn things these days, so at HickoryFest this past weekend, you couldn't swing a cat without hitting a mandolin player, many of whom were way more better than me.
Sheesh. Anyhow, off to Wellsboro I went as a single unit, got the Palamino set up under a large tree for shade (very sweet!), running water and electric included in my little home away from home, outdoor shower, heater, refrigerator, pretty nice neighbors, great locale. I really enjoyed being back in population like it was in the old days when about twenty of us would commandeer a piece of Rudy Klein's Grove, hoist the Rebel flag (don't ask me---it wasn't my-un!), get an industrial sized tarp or tarps strung, and proceeded to pick until our fingernails fell out. phew!
Weather was ideal, although to be honest I did not pick as much as I might have---people were laying low during the heat of the day, and by the time the stage shows were done, so was I, so that left little hours here and there that people would sit down and pick---kinda nice because the cast of characters changed every hour, like a TV show or something, just with more beer.
And we played "Corn-hole", which many mistakenly might call "bean-bags", and found it to be highly addictive: under the lights, there was a game on almost 20 hours a day. I did get some nice jams in and finished the story-board for my dissertation, which was kinda strange. Storyboards are usually reserved for films and stuff like that, but outlines have never worked for me, so I did a storyboard for Bluegrass that really helped me keep all the action and characters straight and the stuff happening in a logical order.
Anyhow, no celestrial inspirations like Stony Deer, a tune I wrote there 2 years ago, although I did work up that tune I heard Dan Paisley singing to me this past WinterFest. The story on that was that I was joking with Dan very very late one night about a tune called "YOu can't talk to Jesus with whiskey on your breath", went to bed, slept too long, but woke up with this song jammed into my head, like I heard it in my head in my dreams, I guess you could say.
Really, I'm not going loopy on ya; not any moreso than usual. But I just wrote the dang thing down, chords and all....not a bad little tune, if I ever get to sit down and record the dad-durned thing, along with a "Bluegrass" novel on tape.
Man, I got a long list of to-dos!
Hmmmm. UYep. Anyhow, went to the Mennonite store and bought killer tomatoes, chicken salad, great bacon, and other little niceties, and spent 4 glorious days just having fun. The other ramblers showed up, John in his 27,000 dollar VW bus and Neil and John Ace, joined at the hip. I went for a ride with them to some supposed jam in Ansonia that turned out to be nothing except a local song-writer that is pretty good to listen to for about 10 minutes, then you gotta clear your auditory palate and burp or whistle or something hehe.
All in all it was a nice end to a delightful summer, as I have been simply camping and playing bluegrass without having to run all over creation playing every freakin' weekend. I sat in my camper Sunday morning at 10, drinking my coffee and relaxing while the boys ran around getting stuff together for their show, which sounded exactly like it did six months ago except Kendell is playing bass and not me. Listening to it made me realize that being a bassplayer for the Ramblers is not for the faint-of-heart, you might say.
Anyhow, Kendell did fine, even with the other clams that are still swimming in the rambler soup that made me laugh.
I mean, making the same mistake in the same place in the same song for 29 years? wow. You gotta admire that kind of consistency! *L*
Well, perhaps I will work backwards towards the first WInd-Gap. I mean, how cool is this music? Just like civil war battles, we have firsts and seconds; first Manassas, second Mannassas, first Windgap, Second Windgap....an embarrassment of riches!
Oh--no rattlers this year, although the campground owner said they went up into the woods and caught the one from last year that tried to get into the front gate without a wrist-band.
I swear, those rattlers have no scruples at all!*
*I almost wrote "snakes", but I want to be fair. Maybe mambas are better behaved. I don't know, never having seen one. Oh---and I almost forgot the signiture asterisk, which it seems to me Gary Bonds is gonna have to start paying me for the use of it, just my opinion.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
WinterFest Bluegrass Blues
WEll, it's all over but the tall tales of things that did and didn't happen: about a hundred bluegrass musicians descended on the unsuspecting towns of Stroudsburg and Eastburg here in the foothills of the Poconos for the Pocono Bluegrass and Folk Society's 7th annual WinterFest, the work for which is done by about seven volunteers who actually work and several hundred attendees who stand about laughing, drinking and opining.*
Things got off to a dicey start because the brains behind our operation (part of which is me hehe) decided that it would be a good idea to practice using our outdoor sound system indoors---well, when you have 18 bands in 12 different venues, a herd of Elks, 10 bar owners, thirteen workshoppers, an exhorbitantly expensive caterer, the White Trash Racing Team on security and perimeter patrol, and hotel reservations to deal with, of course there's plenty of time to screw around with forty three cables, five amps a smokin, four bins a buzzing, THreeeeeeeeeeeeeee golden things**, two sound techs calling and a cartridge in a speaker tree.
Anyhow, it was okay, but a lot of work for a very little savings, IMHO, but that's only because I had to deal with it and the brains dint. So once we got all the wires running right and that whole deal taken care of, we could turn our attention to making seventeen shows in 57 hours, and that took some real trip-tick stuff on the Rambler's part---Mollies and then the Sarah Street Grill on Friday after being up till midnight on Thursday setting up the sound and writing checks while the other Ramblers dreamt of sugerplums (whatever the hell they are) or some other things, to the Elks on Saturday to deal with parking issues, kids workshop at the library, the needle-D*** from Rosens, smoking issues, stage management and fifty-fifty sales, mechandize, a screwy remote video feed for the downstairs, bank deposits, and of course the sound issue.
From there we went on to the Hamilton (6-8) thence to the Sherman theater where Scotty Eager and Davey Hampton and the Blue Roots boys joined the Ramblers for a realy nice show--that sound guy sure knew what that hell he was doing, and the concert was very well received by the hundred or so that came out for it. Next year we do better, I hope, based on word of mouth.
By Saturday night this reporter was pretty bleached out, and since cousin Chris had put my cooler in the Paisley's bus, of course I had to leave the excellent jam down in the Best Western Lounge to go and fetch it up in their room, which I did and promptly fell into yet another jam that was juuuuuuuuuuuust too cool, really saying something there since the downstairs one had Ed Lick and Andy from the Center of the State on twin banjos, Chris Marcera on dobro with his hottie girlfriend singing like a bird, all way cool stuff.
I would have crashed in the Rambler Room (kinda like a rumpus room with music and beer hehe) but the Smith Brothers had like seventeen young music lovers in there, all of the female persuasion, so that seemed like trouble. Off I wobbled to the 4th floor and was amazed at the room Frank Brown had hooked me up with---top floor, corner room. I tell ya, I felt like Donald Trump--I wanted to make some phone calls and fire some people hehe.
At any rate, my wake-up call came and went while I was sleeping the sleep of the just, and the lads couldn't find me--seems the front desk had lost me somehow, so I missed the Gospel show, much to my chagrin. I wouldn't have felt so bad if my own sainted wife had not been one of the acts preforming for the service, but the Ramblers (with the aid of Austin and Coleman Smith) did the job and the service went off without a hitch, a testiment to sound planning on my part (yeah take that Johnboy!).
It wasn't until I ran into Davey Hampton that I realized how non commpass mentus I had really been the night before. The next morning he said, "I have to compliment you, Pete. Last night you was having the most intelligent converstaion I ever heard somebody have with a coat-rack."
Now those who know Davey Hampton know that he is renounded for several things---incredible guitar-playing, general congeniality, tall-tale-telling and a tendency to revel a tad more than is usual, even for a musician, so I was ready to write that off as just a fabrication, but then his wife, who like mine is noted for her veracity, said, "Yep. You was talking in tongues." Anthman is starting rumors that I insulted somebody from North Carolina in some way, shape or form, which, if true, I certainly regret, as I have never met anyone from Carolina, my adopted home,I didn't like, but then, that is Anthony talking, and he and Davey are definately members of the same tribe hhe.
All I can think of is that somebody musta put one of them date-rape drugs in my Yeungling and then thought better of it, leaving me to float blissfully alone until the beautious rays of the next day.
At any rate, Sunday night when I was laying my weary head down to rest, I remembered that Dan Paisley, TJ Lundy and a couple of the other guys had been talking about good song titles, and I suggested "You can't talk to Jesus with Whiskey on your breath," and so laying there at midnight and reviewing the whole WinterFest experience, who do I hear singing a song in my head but Dan P his own self, right down to the title up above.
So that's for another post, but it's a lopey kind of Del feel to it, probably best out of the key of D, and has some pretty nice lines in it like "You cannot share that cross you bear, towards shame or victory." and "You can't get right with God above if you're afraid of death" and other smart things that make me know it didn't come from my brain pan.
What did Plato call inspiration? The divine spark.
Amen to that, my dead Greek friend!
So thanks for the song, Dann-o, and my fondest regards to Chris and Maureen, Christina, Sherrie, Gary, Loretta and Nancy, of course Debbie, Skip and Peg, Ken, the Smiths, and all the volunteers, musicians and listeners that made the event what most called "the best one ever," even if our numbers were down from last year.
Hell, maybe it was the people who didn't show up that made the event so nice heeHE!
* that has nothing to do with wood or woodies--it means shooting off running yer mouth, or as some might say, runnnin' yer yap. Spouting your pie-hole. Putting in your 2 cents. Yeah. LIke that.
**that should go in some hole or another but don't seem to fit)
Things got off to a dicey start because the brains behind our operation (part of which is me hehe) decided that it would be a good idea to practice using our outdoor sound system indoors---well, when you have 18 bands in 12 different venues, a herd of Elks, 10 bar owners, thirteen workshoppers, an exhorbitantly expensive caterer, the White Trash Racing Team on security and perimeter patrol, and hotel reservations to deal with, of course there's plenty of time to screw around with forty three cables, five amps a smokin, four bins a buzzing, THreeeeeeeeeeeeeee golden things**, two sound techs calling and a cartridge in a speaker tree.
Anyhow, it was okay, but a lot of work for a very little savings, IMHO, but that's only because I had to deal with it and the brains dint. So once we got all the wires running right and that whole deal taken care of, we could turn our attention to making seventeen shows in 57 hours, and that took some real trip-tick stuff on the Rambler's part---Mollies and then the Sarah Street Grill on Friday after being up till midnight on Thursday setting up the sound and writing checks while the other Ramblers dreamt of sugerplums (whatever the hell they are) or some other things, to the Elks on Saturday to deal with parking issues, kids workshop at the library, the needle-D*** from Rosens, smoking issues, stage management and fifty-fifty sales, mechandize, a screwy remote video feed for the downstairs, bank deposits, and of course the sound issue.
From there we went on to the Hamilton (6-8) thence to the Sherman theater where Scotty Eager and Davey Hampton and the Blue Roots boys joined the Ramblers for a realy nice show--that sound guy sure knew what that hell he was doing, and the concert was very well received by the hundred or so that came out for it. Next year we do better, I hope, based on word of mouth.
By Saturday night this reporter was pretty bleached out, and since cousin Chris had put my cooler in the Paisley's bus, of course I had to leave the excellent jam down in the Best Western Lounge to go and fetch it up in their room, which I did and promptly fell into yet another jam that was juuuuuuuuuuuust too cool, really saying something there since the downstairs one had Ed Lick and Andy from the Center of the State on twin banjos, Chris Marcera on dobro with his hottie girlfriend singing like a bird, all way cool stuff.
I would have crashed in the Rambler Room (kinda like a rumpus room with music and beer hehe) but the Smith Brothers had like seventeen young music lovers in there, all of the female persuasion, so that seemed like trouble. Off I wobbled to the 4th floor and was amazed at the room Frank Brown had hooked me up with---top floor, corner room. I tell ya, I felt like Donald Trump--I wanted to make some phone calls and fire some people hehe.
At any rate, my wake-up call came and went while I was sleeping the sleep of the just, and the lads couldn't find me--seems the front desk had lost me somehow, so I missed the Gospel show, much to my chagrin. I wouldn't have felt so bad if my own sainted wife had not been one of the acts preforming for the service, but the Ramblers (with the aid of Austin and Coleman Smith) did the job and the service went off without a hitch, a testiment to sound planning on my part (yeah take that Johnboy!).
It wasn't until I ran into Davey Hampton that I realized how non commpass mentus I had really been the night before. The next morning he said, "I have to compliment you, Pete. Last night you was having the most intelligent converstaion I ever heard somebody have with a coat-rack."
Now those who know Davey Hampton know that he is renounded for several things---incredible guitar-playing, general congeniality, tall-tale-telling and a tendency to revel a tad more than is usual, even for a musician, so I was ready to write that off as just a fabrication, but then his wife, who like mine is noted for her veracity, said, "Yep. You was talking in tongues." Anthman is starting rumors that I insulted somebody from North Carolina in some way, shape or form, which, if true, I certainly regret, as I have never met anyone from Carolina, my adopted home,I didn't like, but then, that is Anthony talking, and he and Davey are definately members of the same tribe hhe.
All I can think of is that somebody musta put one of them date-rape drugs in my Yeungling and then thought better of it, leaving me to float blissfully alone until the beautious rays of the next day.
At any rate, Sunday night when I was laying my weary head down to rest, I remembered that Dan Paisley, TJ Lundy and a couple of the other guys had been talking about good song titles, and I suggested "You can't talk to Jesus with Whiskey on your breath," and so laying there at midnight and reviewing the whole WinterFest experience, who do I hear singing a song in my head but Dan P his own self, right down to the title up above.
So that's for another post, but it's a lopey kind of Del feel to it, probably best out of the key of D, and has some pretty nice lines in it like "You cannot share that cross you bear, towards shame or victory." and "You can't get right with God above if you're afraid of death" and other smart things that make me know it didn't come from my brain pan.
What did Plato call inspiration? The divine spark.
Amen to that, my dead Greek friend!
So thanks for the song, Dann-o, and my fondest regards to Chris and Maureen, Christina, Sherrie, Gary, Loretta and Nancy, of course Debbie, Skip and Peg, Ken, the Smiths, and all the volunteers, musicians and listeners that made the event what most called "the best one ever," even if our numbers were down from last year.
Hell, maybe it was the people who didn't show up that made the event so nice heeHE!
* that has nothing to do with wood or woodies--it means shooting off running yer mouth, or as some might say, runnnin' yer yap. Spouting your pie-hole. Putting in your 2 cents. Yeah. LIke that.
**that should go in some hole or another but don't seem to fit)
Saturday, December 30, 2006
Bluegrass Christmas from the Man Cave
Christmas passed like three or four ships in the night, only after being delayed a day due to all those folks out in Denver hogging all the snow, of which we have had none.
Got a book on grammar for myself, from which I have read, and I am appalled. hehe. Anyhow, Son Alex was snow-bound in Colorado until the day after the "ordinary" Christmas, so we waited until his arrival and had Christmas and pizza, a very nice combination.
It was just like a real Christmas morning except that after all the gift-unwrapping and laughing and hollaring and all that, we had a lil nip and went to bed, which is all you're fit for after a real Christmas morning with kids anyhow, and so all was good.
It got better when Chris and Jen tooled up from Carolina. Lord God how I miss Carolina sometimes in the grey woods of early winter here in Pennsylvania. I know the ice-caps are melting and all, but this past early winter blossed into a real pleasure for me.
We got a nice cold spell there in early December just in time for the last half of hunting season, so I could leave the deer hang for a week or so and get ready for Christmas, and then it turned warm enough that I could finish all those little items I had neglected because of the curse that will only be named something that rhymes with "Doctoral Studies".
See there I put my period outside the quoted words, which looks and feels entirely right to me.
Or you could write, " See, there! I put my period outside the quoted words etc"
Or You could write "See, there I put my period outside the quoted words etc.."
hehe that's rich. My first lesson when we get back? Nah.
I do hope I haven't committed any fieaux Pauex(*) grammatic-clerically *speaking.
In the meantime, I am now sitting in the Man Cave, as Aaron and I have christened the erstwhile basement. He has decorated it in fieaueax cavepaintings that look pretty real to me, all except the stick-figures of men that have wavey lightening bolts coming out of their heads, kinda like that petrogliph dude with the flute that struck by lightening.
He needs work on his bison, though.
Anyhow, The woodstove is cooking, upon which simmers the last wing segments of the wings that will be fried tomorrow during the Eagles game at brother Frank's in Bedlam PA. the start of our annual Pappalardo Pajama Par-tay.**
That's a hoot, let me tell you. So to all my friends and readers, a very prosperous and wonderful New Year to you and to us all. We need it after what we've been through, doncha' think?
(*)See my "Deercamp:Part Daieueuaex" for an explanation of this outlandish Franch disability
*Yeah. So sometimes my son Chris is right. Sometimes I make up words. But they're good words. Like "acluistic". Means you have no clue. That's a good word, don't you think?
**imagine a room full of Pappalardos. wow. You gotta be strong to take that heehe.
Got a book on grammar for myself, from which I have read, and I am appalled. hehe. Anyhow, Son Alex was snow-bound in Colorado until the day after the "ordinary" Christmas, so we waited until his arrival and had Christmas and pizza, a very nice combination.
It was just like a real Christmas morning except that after all the gift-unwrapping and laughing and hollaring and all that, we had a lil nip and went to bed, which is all you're fit for after a real Christmas morning with kids anyhow, and so all was good.
It got better when Chris and Jen tooled up from Carolina. Lord God how I miss Carolina sometimes in the grey woods of early winter here in Pennsylvania. I know the ice-caps are melting and all, but this past early winter blossed into a real pleasure for me.
We got a nice cold spell there in early December just in time for the last half of hunting season, so I could leave the deer hang for a week or so and get ready for Christmas, and then it turned warm enough that I could finish all those little items I had neglected because of the curse that will only be named something that rhymes with "Doctoral Studies".
See there I put my period outside the quoted words, which looks and feels entirely right to me.
Or you could write, " See, there! I put my period outside the quoted words etc"
Or You could write "See, there I put my period outside the quoted words etc.."
hehe that's rich. My first lesson when we get back? Nah.
I do hope I haven't committed any fieaux Pauex(*) grammatic-clerically *speaking.
In the meantime, I am now sitting in the Man Cave, as Aaron and I have christened the erstwhile basement. He has decorated it in fieaueax cavepaintings that look pretty real to me, all except the stick-figures of men that have wavey lightening bolts coming out of their heads, kinda like that petrogliph dude with the flute that struck by lightening.
He needs work on his bison, though.
Anyhow, The woodstove is cooking, upon which simmers the last wing segments of the wings that will be fried tomorrow during the Eagles game at brother Frank's in Bedlam PA. the start of our annual Pappalardo Pajama Par-tay.**
That's a hoot, let me tell you. So to all my friends and readers, a very prosperous and wonderful New Year to you and to us all. We need it after what we've been through, doncha' think?
(*)See my "Deercamp:Part Daieueuaex" for an explanation of this outlandish Franch disability
*Yeah. So sometimes my son Chris is right. Sometimes I make up words. But they're good words. Like "acluistic". Means you have no clue. That's a good word, don't you think?
**imagine a room full of Pappalardos. wow. You gotta be strong to take that heehe.
Thursday, December 07, 2006
Bluegrass Deercamp (Part Daeioux)
One of the reasons that the poor Polish people have to spell their names with x's, y's and z's is on account of the French, who, as you can see from the title of this piece, use up vowels at a dizzying rate that would cost a a bazillion dollars on Wheel of Fortune, as evidenced by the title up there. I mean, an American cat says "meow", but a Franch one she says "Mieaux", a waste of two perfectly good vowels and one reason the Germans kicked their butts in WWII---by the time they got the orders out the war was over for them.
At any rate, I'm not here to dispense with history lessons, as German or germane as they may be. My intent is to bring all my readers* up to speed on the deer camp experience, which would make a pretty good movie, I think.
Opening morning was slow for me---three doe with a place to be and no time to get there was all I saw all day, makes for a long and pretty boring day. Anth man did no better, although his dad, the famous Jimmy Hansen, did nail a doe which he managed to skin out after dark without a flashlight.
And he didn't even lose any digits doing it. What a man.
Early the next day I was surrounded by does, watched them doing all the deery things they do, sniffing and stretching and pooping and eating, so that was pretty cool. I din't have a Tioga county doe tag, and truth be known, I had actually been hunting the whole time with last year's licenses because I forgot to change them out before I left home. Just as well I din't get something. My luck, we would've been stopped and I would lose my rifle, my car, and the lovely set of credenza covers I picked up in Wellsboro.
Seems the Pa. Game commission has powers even Jack Whatsis-face doesn't have in that TV program "24", and if they bust you, they take everything that touches the crime scene--houses, boats, children. I knew a guy that shot one squirrel too many and they confiscated everything that man owned including his iron lung, and by the time they had all the legalities straightened out, the poor fella was deader than a mackerel and harder than a carp.
I mean, granted, it was a large squirrel, but as Jimmy would say, "Lord GOd! Shit Fire!"
To which I say, "Amen!"
In the meantime, I was reminded of the futility of bringing my good friend Neil along as "camp cookie" seeing as how he eats only an apple and three pretzels a day. Fortunately the lovely and talented Sue Cunningham was up after a job they had and dropped off a delicious pot of chili after a chilly day out of doors, which really hit the spot, I must say.
Monday I went out after school, just as I have for twenty years, and I was not expecting anything much--I had seen two doe coming up the gasline on Saturday afternoon and thought perhaps that might be a good place, so off I bopped with my tree-stand on my back around about 3:45, thinking they wouldn't show until it was too dark to shoot, popped my head out of the woods--and saw a deer!
I mean, you coulda knocked me over with a feather, really. So I quick ducked back and dropped the tree stand (not quietly, I might add), but as there are houses everywhere and they couldn't scent me, they didn't spook. Turns out there were three of them, and three minutes after I began I had dropped one, a decent shot at about 125 yards, so that was cool--meat in the freezer and the best chili in the world for the next season.
Saturday I have a book signing at WaldenBooks from 1 till 3, so I'll have one more chance to fill my second doe tag or maybe get a buck, once more in the morning and another afternoon hour, and then my hunting is done for the season. I have to admit, standing long hours or climbing trees is getting a bit tiring, and the burning desire to hunt is dimmed a little bit, although I still get all jazzed up when there's a deer in my scope or a turkey coming in, so with one hanging I'm satisfied.
Not that I'd turn down a nice twelve pointer hah.
Snow is in the forcast, and I still have to button up a few little details at home, then I'll be praying for snow. The kids at school are restive and I am burnt out from my doctoral courses, mostly because of one professor I have with zero humor and a dictatorial streak a mile wide.
I hope I remember that in my own classroom, because her complusivity** really didn't do anything for me or anyone else in the class, although I have to admit that I have always had that subversive streak to me. I'm thinking that goes with the whole bluegrass ethos.***
So in a week or so, Christmas is right around the corner, the annual volleyball tournement at school will ensure that no meaningful education occurs here at school, and I can chill at home and keep the fire stoked down in the man cave, or the clubhouse, as my basement is now called. Hey, it might not have nice curtains or credenza covers, but it's got fire and axes, and a dartboard I might just have to put back up after all these years.****
yeah. So safe hunting to all my bluegrass buddies, and congratulations to Kim Gluckler and Earl Karlson on their upcoming marriage, which should be a hoot.
And a Mrry Chrtms and hppy nw yr to all!
*one of which is in ALgeria, fer cryin' out loud, and to whom I apologize for tha whole Franch thing up there.
**It is too a word, Pat. You knew what I meant. hehe.
***An appropriate time to plug my new novel, "The ComPleat Dartshooter" now availble from Authorhouse and a ripping good read, from early critics.(*)
****There's two wods I betcha you never saw together hehe.
(*) Next time----a review of a "real" review of Bluegrass which appeared in Bluegrass Unlimited in March of this year which wasn't all that bad!
At any rate, I'm not here to dispense with history lessons, as German or germane as they may be. My intent is to bring all my readers* up to speed on the deer camp experience, which would make a pretty good movie, I think.
Opening morning was slow for me---three doe with a place to be and no time to get there was all I saw all day, makes for a long and pretty boring day. Anth man did no better, although his dad, the famous Jimmy Hansen, did nail a doe which he managed to skin out after dark without a flashlight.
And he didn't even lose any digits doing it. What a man.
Early the next day I was surrounded by does, watched them doing all the deery things they do, sniffing and stretching and pooping and eating, so that was pretty cool. I din't have a Tioga county doe tag, and truth be known, I had actually been hunting the whole time with last year's licenses because I forgot to change them out before I left home. Just as well I din't get something. My luck, we would've been stopped and I would lose my rifle, my car, and the lovely set of credenza covers I picked up in Wellsboro.
Seems the Pa. Game commission has powers even Jack Whatsis-face doesn't have in that TV program "24", and if they bust you, they take everything that touches the crime scene--houses, boats, children. I knew a guy that shot one squirrel too many and they confiscated everything that man owned including his iron lung, and by the time they had all the legalities straightened out, the poor fella was deader than a mackerel and harder than a carp.
I mean, granted, it was a large squirrel, but as Jimmy would say, "Lord GOd! Shit Fire!"
To which I say, "Amen!"
In the meantime, I was reminded of the futility of bringing my good friend Neil along as "camp cookie" seeing as how he eats only an apple and three pretzels a day. Fortunately the lovely and talented Sue Cunningham was up after a job they had and dropped off a delicious pot of chili after a chilly day out of doors, which really hit the spot, I must say.
Monday I went out after school, just as I have for twenty years, and I was not expecting anything much--I had seen two doe coming up the gasline on Saturday afternoon and thought perhaps that might be a good place, so off I bopped with my tree-stand on my back around about 3:45, thinking they wouldn't show until it was too dark to shoot, popped my head out of the woods--and saw a deer!
I mean, you coulda knocked me over with a feather, really. So I quick ducked back and dropped the tree stand (not quietly, I might add), but as there are houses everywhere and they couldn't scent me, they didn't spook. Turns out there were three of them, and three minutes after I began I had dropped one, a decent shot at about 125 yards, so that was cool--meat in the freezer and the best chili in the world for the next season.
Saturday I have a book signing at WaldenBooks from 1 till 3, so I'll have one more chance to fill my second doe tag or maybe get a buck, once more in the morning and another afternoon hour, and then my hunting is done for the season. I have to admit, standing long hours or climbing trees is getting a bit tiring, and the burning desire to hunt is dimmed a little bit, although I still get all jazzed up when there's a deer in my scope or a turkey coming in, so with one hanging I'm satisfied.
Not that I'd turn down a nice twelve pointer hah.
Snow is in the forcast, and I still have to button up a few little details at home, then I'll be praying for snow. The kids at school are restive and I am burnt out from my doctoral courses, mostly because of one professor I have with zero humor and a dictatorial streak a mile wide.
I hope I remember that in my own classroom, because her complusivity** really didn't do anything for me or anyone else in the class, although I have to admit that I have always had that subversive streak to me. I'm thinking that goes with the whole bluegrass ethos.***
So in a week or so, Christmas is right around the corner, the annual volleyball tournement at school will ensure that no meaningful education occurs here at school, and I can chill at home and keep the fire stoked down in the man cave, or the clubhouse, as my basement is now called. Hey, it might not have nice curtains or credenza covers, but it's got fire and axes, and a dartboard I might just have to put back up after all these years.****
yeah. So safe hunting to all my bluegrass buddies, and congratulations to Kim Gluckler and Earl Karlson on their upcoming marriage, which should be a hoot.
And a Mrry Chrtms and hppy nw yr to all!
*one of which is in ALgeria, fer cryin' out loud, and to whom I apologize for tha whole Franch thing up there.
**It is too a word, Pat. You knew what I meant. hehe.
***An appropriate time to plug my new novel, "The ComPleat Dartshooter" now availble from Authorhouse and a ripping good read, from early critics.(*)
****There's two wods I betcha you never saw together hehe.
(*) Next time----a review of a "real" review of Bluegrass which appeared in Bluegrass Unlimited in March of this year which wasn't all that bad!
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Bluegrass Deer Camp
Well, the past few weeks have been a study in mania; seems Anthony has "Ramble On" mastered and we are just waiting on the artwork to be finished. Brandon Durand is working on that, and it should be a hoot. Brandon's been doing the artwork for WinterFest the past three years---he draws the best elks hehe. Anyhow, in the interim Anth took the Deer Head tapes and mastered them as well, and he and the lovely and talented Jillian Griggs slapped together graphics and all that and had a feakin' CD in three days which has got to be some kind of land speed record for a CD. Rich Levy's recording was spot on and the damn thing sounds pretty good. Not as smooth as "Ramble On," but definitely a good listen.
In the meantime, Anth has convinced me that it wold be a good idea to spend the opening day of deer season with him in his capacious digs in Wellsboro. Any other year I wouldn't even have considered it; I've been hunting the pines for over thirty years now, and I've taken dozens and dozens of deer from there.
But this past summer the gas company scaved out a fifty yard wide swath like a big field running right through the pines, and there are five new houses up on top of the hill. To top it off, soem wanker by the name of ******* bought up the last lot on the access road that I've been using to park, and even though it is a right-of-way, he's decided to be a butthead about it and blocked it off.
That's illegal and stupid, as I explained when I found his fat ass leaning on the hood of my van last year on the first Saturday and he told me he didn't want me hunting on land I have permission to hunt and on which I have walked lo these many years.
I was nice to him when I first saw him there, explained all about the right-of-way and how it didn't matter if I parked there near his house or on top of the hill, as I would still be hunting the same spot, safely away from his home. That, he said, was not the point, he was worried about the emotional damage deer hunters sould do to his delicate daughter. I told him that I certainly would be cicumspect when I drug my deer out, check to see that there were no little impressionalble darlings prancing about in the yard, but he didn't want to hear it.
"I didn't ask you to hunt here," he said. And I said, " I didn't ask a hundred thousand assholes from New Jersey and New York to move here, either, but I'm dealing with it."
Then he said " I'm from Blairstown." Like that was different, like that was some kind of exemption. Pah! Last I checked, Blairstown was still in Noo Joisey.
So I'll take anthony's invite, although I am concerned, because the Smith brothers are going to be there, and Neil is threatening to come along, so that means late night sessions. I blush to admit that I have combined bluegrass with fishing, drinking, writing, crafting, wood-working and chain-sawing, book-signing, pig-roasting and a myriad of other pursuits.
Never with hunting,though. ehhe Should be interesting, and there are some massive deer running around out there in the big woods.
Odd how the plot of Bluegrass has all turned out to be mostly true. Odd, and sad, too.
So I'll spend the first days out there in Wellsboro, playing music and trying to blast the bejesus outta some huge buck, and the opening Saturday I'll be home and set up exactly 151 yards away from that butt-head's house and let 'er rip.
Maybe I'll even shoot at a deer hehe.
********I had his name up there, and he deserved it, but now I'm thinking that there might be nice people in his family so I took it out. hehe.
In the meantime, Anth has convinced me that it wold be a good idea to spend the opening day of deer season with him in his capacious digs in Wellsboro. Any other year I wouldn't even have considered it; I've been hunting the pines for over thirty years now, and I've taken dozens and dozens of deer from there.
But this past summer the gas company scaved out a fifty yard wide swath like a big field running right through the pines, and there are five new houses up on top of the hill. To top it off, soem wanker by the name of ******* bought up the last lot on the access road that I've been using to park, and even though it is a right-of-way, he's decided to be a butthead about it and blocked it off.
That's illegal and stupid, as I explained when I found his fat ass leaning on the hood of my van last year on the first Saturday and he told me he didn't want me hunting on land I have permission to hunt and on which I have walked lo these many years.
I was nice to him when I first saw him there, explained all about the right-of-way and how it didn't matter if I parked there near his house or on top of the hill, as I would still be hunting the same spot, safely away from his home. That, he said, was not the point, he was worried about the emotional damage deer hunters sould do to his delicate daughter. I told him that I certainly would be cicumspect when I drug my deer out, check to see that there were no little impressionalble darlings prancing about in the yard, but he didn't want to hear it.
"I didn't ask you to hunt here," he said. And I said, " I didn't ask a hundred thousand assholes from New Jersey and New York to move here, either, but I'm dealing with it."
Then he said " I'm from Blairstown." Like that was different, like that was some kind of exemption. Pah! Last I checked, Blairstown was still in Noo Joisey.
So I'll take anthony's invite, although I am concerned, because the Smith brothers are going to be there, and Neil is threatening to come along, so that means late night sessions. I blush to admit that I have combined bluegrass with fishing, drinking, writing, crafting, wood-working and chain-sawing, book-signing, pig-roasting and a myriad of other pursuits.
Never with hunting,though. ehhe Should be interesting, and there are some massive deer running around out there in the big woods.
Odd how the plot of Bluegrass has all turned out to be mostly true. Odd, and sad, too.
So I'll spend the first days out there in Wellsboro, playing music and trying to blast the bejesus outta some huge buck, and the opening Saturday I'll be home and set up exactly 151 yards away from that butt-head's house and let 'er rip.
Maybe I'll even shoot at a deer hehe.
********I had his name up there, and he deserved it, but now I'm thinking that there might be nice people in his family so I took it out. hehe.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
