Sunday, June 19, 2005
weekend update
The Wife and I have just tucked The Boy in bed after making the obligatory calls to The Fathers.
It's Father's Day.
Quite strangely still, at least to me: I am one. Who'da thunk it?
Friday afternoon The Nurse (a.k.a. The Boy's Virtual Aunt) took him away to spend the weekend with her family. This is great for The Boy, as she has three boys of her own very near the same age of The Boy. Her kids love him. They play with him, they yell and scream and jump and climb all over him. They fight over who gets to do things with him. The entertain and amuse him. It's as beautiful as it is perfect. It fills a large gap in the life of The Boy by providing about the only thing we cannot provide on our own: opportunities for The Boy to interact with his peers without disabilities.
Who did you learn more from about the world and how it works when you were a kid? Really now, be honest. Your parents? Your teachers? Or your peers and friends?
Try as hard as I may I can never truly understand what is and/or what is not cool to a four year old.
The Wiggles? With begrudging acceptance, okay. They cover "Tie Me Kangaroo Down Sport", so they can't be all bad.
That damned purple bastard? No fucking way.
While The Boy partied and played with his peers, The Wife and I had a rare opportunity to do the same.
We travelled southwards on the Modern American Mississippi to the fair burg of New Braunfels to visit the historic village turned tourist attraction that lies within its borders: Gruene.
(New Braunfels? Where is old Braunfels? Is this it?)
"Why," my dear reader you may be asking yourself right now, "would you do such a thing?"
Welle'me tell ya.
The Old 97's played a two night stand at Gruene Hall recording a live album.
"A live album?" you ask.
Yes a live album. I loved hearing a song introduced with a slightly misquoted Cheap Trick reference: "This next song is the first song off our new album."
When it comes out I urge you to buy it and listen for the guy in the audience yelling "PLAY FREEBIRD!" in between every song. That person is me.
Or rather, that person would have been me, if The Wife and my best judgement had not intervened prior to the start of the shows. Okay, it was mostly The Wife, because my best judgement does not have a reputation of being all that good, particularly after I've sucked down a few cold ones.
I still think it is a damn funny idea. Maybe next time I go see a band who is recording a live album. . .
The Wife loves the Old 97's. After the past two nights, so do I.
While she would not actually leave me for Rhett Miller she would at least consider it if given the opportunity. Can you blame her? He is so fucking hot. Hell, I'd consider leaving her for Rhett Miller if given the opportunity. He's just so fucking hot it transcends gender.
Seriously.
So for Friday and Saturday night we took in the sights, the sounds, the smells of The Old 97's. From the front row, or damn near it.
They rocked the house with their high energy Buckaroos meets The Beatles surf/cow punk alt country rock and roll occasionally seasoned with a dash or two of Brian Wilson or a Sergio Leone movie soundtrack.
For the life of me I can not tell you, my dear reader, what was hotter: the Band, the Women (The Beautiful Wife included), or the Texas Summer Night in a sold-out and un-airconditioned dance hall.
It was great to see four guys who obviously were having the time of their lives just get up there and play.
No keyboards, no drum machines, no sequencers or samples. No elaborate stage show. No costumes. No pyrotechnics. No sucka MC's. No dissin' DJ's. No scantily clad women bumping and grinding (at least not on the stage). None of the pretense and bullshit that seems to accompany a lot of what passes for music today.
Just four guys playing beautifully crafted songs. Just four guys that still look surprised when a grateful and appreciative crowd sings along with every one.
It was freakin' awesome! If you don't believe me, here's a second opinion.
All for now. More info on the weekend's events will most likely follow soon, unless something else I find more interesting comes along. . .
|
It's Father's Day.
Quite strangely still, at least to me: I am one. Who'da thunk it?
Friday afternoon The Nurse (a.k.a. The Boy's Virtual Aunt) took him away to spend the weekend with her family. This is great for The Boy, as she has three boys of her own very near the same age of The Boy. Her kids love him. They play with him, they yell and scream and jump and climb all over him. They fight over who gets to do things with him. The entertain and amuse him. It's as beautiful as it is perfect. It fills a large gap in the life of The Boy by providing about the only thing we cannot provide on our own: opportunities for The Boy to interact with his peers without disabilities.
Who did you learn more from about the world and how it works when you were a kid? Really now, be honest. Your parents? Your teachers? Or your peers and friends?
Try as hard as I may I can never truly understand what is and/or what is not cool to a four year old.
The Wiggles? With begrudging acceptance, okay. They cover "Tie Me Kangaroo Down Sport", so they can't be all bad.
That damned purple bastard? No fucking way.
While The Boy partied and played with his peers, The Wife and I had a rare opportunity to do the same.
We travelled southwards on the Modern American Mississippi to the fair burg of New Braunfels to visit the historic village turned tourist attraction that lies within its borders: Gruene.
(New Braunfels? Where is old Braunfels? Is this it?)
"Why," my dear reader you may be asking yourself right now, "would you do such a thing?"
Welle'me tell ya.
The Old 97's played a two night stand at Gruene Hall recording a live album.
"A live album?" you ask.
Yes a live album. I loved hearing a song introduced with a slightly misquoted Cheap Trick reference: "This next song is the first song off our new album."
When it comes out I urge you to buy it and listen for the guy in the audience yelling "PLAY FREEBIRD!" in between every song. That person is me.
Or rather, that person would have been me, if The Wife and my best judgement had not intervened prior to the start of the shows. Okay, it was mostly The Wife, because my best judgement does not have a reputation of being all that good, particularly after I've sucked down a few cold ones.
I still think it is a damn funny idea. Maybe next time I go see a band who is recording a live album. . .
The Wife loves the Old 97's. After the past two nights, so do I.
While she would not actually leave me for Rhett Miller she would at least consider it if given the opportunity. Can you blame her? He is so fucking hot. Hell, I'd consider leaving her for Rhett Miller if given the opportunity. He's just so fucking hot it transcends gender.
Seriously.
So for Friday and Saturday night we took in the sights, the sounds, the smells of The Old 97's. From the front row, or damn near it.
They rocked the house with their high energy Buckaroos meets The Beatles surf/cow punk alt country rock and roll occasionally seasoned with a dash or two of Brian Wilson or a Sergio Leone movie soundtrack.
For the life of me I can not tell you, my dear reader, what was hotter: the Band, the Women (The Beautiful Wife included), or the Texas Summer Night in a sold-out and un-airconditioned dance hall.
It was great to see four guys who obviously were having the time of their lives just get up there and play.
No keyboards, no drum machines, no sequencers or samples. No elaborate stage show. No costumes. No pyrotechnics. No sucka MC's. No dissin' DJ's. No scantily clad women bumping and grinding (at least not on the stage). None of the pretense and bullshit that seems to accompany a lot of what passes for music today.
Just four guys playing beautifully crafted songs. Just four guys that still look surprised when a grateful and appreciative crowd sings along with every one.
It was freakin' awesome! If you don't believe me, here's a second opinion.
All for now. More info on the weekend's events will most likely follow soon, unless something else I find more interesting comes along. . .
|
Comments:
Post a Comment
