This is not the greatest song in the world No, this is just a tribute Couldn't remember the greatest song in the world, no, no This is a tribute, oh, to the greatest song in the world
The words aligning themselves in my mind last night to describe my evening were such wonderful words. Descriptive, colourful, insightful: they drew pictures of what I was seeing and hearing and even as they fell into line after line in my head, I knew they'd never see the white of my blog space.
I have a shit short-term memory.
To be fair and honest to myself - even if I had had the means to type those words last night they would have vaporised on the way out of my fingers as if trying to read in a dream I would have lost them.
The Dacios were completely at odds with the way they appeared. Their bass player looked like he'd told his mum he was going to the movies then snuck into the bar to play; the guitarist looked just like a lego man if a lego man was a real person. The petite singer looked well, petite, and showed no clue as to the power of the voice that exploded from that tiny frame - her presence was massive - she smashed every song! About the only person who looked like he ought to look was the drummer who had more hair than Animal. But by the gods they were tremendous - the bassist breaking a string and finishing the set with just the three, nothing was going to stop this band once they got rolling.
The Graveyard Train filed onto the stage with a brass section in tow for the launch of their third album The Drink, The Devil and the Dance. They mistook my "YAAAYYYY!!" for a "NOOOO" when they asked if we liked their new music - but suggested that was tough because they were gonna play it anyway. And their new tracks were great - hooked themselves into us straight away. A sprinkling of their older stuff just carried us all along through their short (70-90 minute?) set. Grims took the stage for a couple of songs - other friends and singers ebbed and flowed and every had a rockin' good time. They're a sensationally good band live, and I can't WAIT for Chopped in October.
My stream of comments about crowd behaviour, especially that of young women who think they can bloody continue screamed conversations like demented chickens through (and it does do _right through_) the music - and the way the little slappers think that because they're small and because they're girls it's okay to push their way between people using their bony elbows and there weaselly ways to get up to the tiny pockets of space between people up front makes me want to punch them in their respective throats to teach them a frickin' lesson in manners. And BTW, if you ever think that by getting all your Year 12 classmates to push me at the same time that I'm gonna move, you've got another thing coming - don't fuck with a Nana at a gig where she's found a great spot and you arrived late, bitches.
Helicopter view (as it crashes into the ground)
I want to talk about work; about home; about my kids; about uncertainty; about opportunities; about disappointment; about procrastination; about funny conversations; about things I'm afraid of; about things I'm excited about; about all sorts of every day things - it's a long rambling stream that I would pour into an email had I anyone to send that to anymore. Instead it's all just knots and tangles of words cycloning through my head whipping into a kernel of a headache.
I'm banking on the fact that my family don't read thejamjar. They know about it but it doesn't interest them, I don't think. So I'm going to let you know that while both of my boys blog, only one has his as a public blog. He's just started a new one at his own domain - so if you'd like to check it out you can find David blogging at Friskyfeet.net
My elder son, Simon, writes but not for public consumption - or at least not for me and mine. He has recently started seeing a girl who also blogs about baking. Simon introduced her to my blog and he said, after reading some of it she wondered why I didn't talk about my children on here.
It's a good question - and when thought about it I think it has roots in the dim dark past on the internets when vaguery and anonymousness was encouraged. Remember those days when "keeping yourself safe online" meant never telling anyone your real name, or where you lived, or anything that might make it easier for the crazies who frequented these internet by-ways could find you?
Maybe you're just too young to know that's how it was back in the day.
I first discovered the joys of the internet through a chat room - I made a lot of friends there - some who continue to be my friends today. So this was in 1996-97 and I chatted and had fun and laughed and spent a bazillion hours online but all the time not telling anyone anything of consequence. One day I got an email from a good chat-friend who was very worried cause someone was in the chat room pretending to know me, or to know me, and it was causing concern among my online community. Turns out it was my daughter who had decided to come online and into my chat room to have some of the same fun on the internet I'd told her about.
When she arrived in the chat room she said she was my daughter - of course no one knew much about me, let alone I had offspring - and when challenged by my friends who accused her of no actually knowing me at all, she raged and produced, as proof of her parentage, all my personal details because how would she know that kind of information if she wasn't who she said she was.
Fact after fact she sent to the chat room - my full name, my address, my birthday - everything I'd never shared with anyone online although I had shared a lot of online shenanigans with my kids so she was like "I know you guys!" having recognised their names in my tales.
It wasn't really a big deal at the time, and kinda funny in its own way - but I think I still don't post about my kids on here because of that habit from so many years ago. So soon - not today because I miss them too much today and I will get all drizzly if I try - I'll tell you something about my children so that you can find out that even my kids can grow into fully functioning adults despite their upbringing.
30DMC - A movie that you’ve seen countless times
Look - it's not much of a secret that I've watched Last of the Mohicans more than once. Some might say I've watched it more than afew times. Others might suggest I've watched it too_many_times. Whatever others might say - I say there are worse movies to watch repeatedly.
How many times can I embed the Mohicans trailer this month?