Journal, News, Guests by Jim Fitting
Kawliga
With all this talk of the super-duper uber-pooper scooper still pending stimulus/spending bill worth how many billion, trillion, quadrillion; we have the hope-he-fails dopes, or the hope that he is playing rope-a-dope while Congress flails, often looking like he is taking it on the chin and not gonna win. Selling cigars like a wooden Indian. A wooden Indian? well that's how I feel about now..
Nevertheless that is a lot of cash, just ask Bernie who made off with several billion more...or listen to Ida Cox singing a little wisdom from the 30's "If you lose your money please don't lose your mind."
And still one wonders where did it all go?
Meanwhile we are holed up in a basement on Mass. Ave. Tuesday nights trying to stay sane with a hundred or so of our closest friend (some of whom we haven't met yet)...
You may find one of us in a heated argument over whether Cuervo Gold is actually tequila or something less (Don't start me talking, to quote Sonny Boy). On the other hand there are those that show up every week and buoy the room through the dint of their efforts and energetic support; yes, I'm talking about you pleasure society over there on the left side. Hey, Dinty and I have to switch chairs during Beertown so he can keep up with the action. Then there is the weekly request for "Night Moves" (which ain't gonna happen unless Tim Gearan makes another miraculous appearance), cue the Stevie Nicks/Don Henley bass line... or not.
But that brings us to the new guy, who is long gone. I mean to say he is no longer the new guy but the Bunny: emperor of the bass chair; the grabber on the bottom, keeping time with the minder of the beats over on the suitcase side.
And there are those we call our 'guests', pals who show up and kick our collective assets. Joe, Chris and the Mr. Ohu, Lyle on guitar while Sarah Borges gives us a belt or two about a woman in Jackson, Cahalen who we never met before singing Lay a Pallet on the Floor, and maybe even a Rose or two. But a wooden Indian?
Well we've been lucky.
Kawliga wishes he was still an old pine tree...
Nevertheless that is a lot of cash, just ask Bernie who made off with several billion more...or listen to Ida Cox singing a little wisdom from the 30's "If you lose your money please don't lose your mind."
And still one wonders where did it all go?
Meanwhile we are holed up in a basement on Mass. Ave. Tuesday nights trying to stay sane with a hundred or so of our closest friend (some of whom we haven't met yet)...
You may find one of us in a heated argument over whether Cuervo Gold is actually tequila or something less (Don't start me talking, to quote Sonny Boy). On the other hand there are those that show up every week and buoy the room through the dint of their efforts and energetic support; yes, I'm talking about you pleasure society over there on the left side. Hey, Dinty and I have to switch chairs during Beertown so he can keep up with the action. Then there is the weekly request for "Night Moves" (which ain't gonna happen unless Tim Gearan makes another miraculous appearance), cue the Stevie Nicks/Don Henley bass line... or not.
But that brings us to the new guy, who is long gone. I mean to say he is no longer the new guy but the Bunny: emperor of the bass chair; the grabber on the bottom, keeping time with the minder of the beats over on the suitcase side.
And there are those we call our 'guests', pals who show up and kick our collective assets. Joe, Chris and the Mr. Ohu, Lyle on guitar while Sarah Borges gives us a belt or two about a woman in Jackson, Cahalen who we never met before singing Lay a Pallet on the Floor, and maybe even a Rose or two. But a wooden Indian?
Well we've been lucky.
Kawliga wishes he was still an old pine tree...
