It's three feet high and rising...
That's what some were thinking about when we left the dojo in Brownfield at seven thirty Sunday morning. Hurricane Irene was going full blast (well more like a tropical storm), but still dumping enough water to make the residents of Dane Ave. think about a flood. We left a note and the keys and two sleeping. Who'd a thunk it, but one forgot the other tucked away on the top floor still asleep. There's not much coverage up in that town, so Kimon didn't get a text until just before the interstate, when he had to turn around and go all the way back to get Jefferson. Doh! Joe.
      Look out Cleveland, storm is coming through...
It's cozy down there in the basement of the barn at Stone Mountain Center for the Arts. There's all this vinyl and a big dinner for the band. So we were spinning the No Nukes album, Cheap Trick and Todd Rungren, Something/Anything. We even got debating what 'artists' we could agree we universally hated. Billy Joel came closest to a win, though Joan Baez scored pretty high, and the Thompson Twins, not so much. So we got a little heated playing pool when someone said someone was too fat to make the shot. Ha ha. Well I missed that one but I won the game eh? O.K. Who's your favorite shredder? With air guitar Jefferson expressed his appreciation of Yngwie Malmsteen. Did you say that right?
      Let it rain let it pour, blow the hinges off the door...
It wasn't so bad outside, but that's what Kris was singing at the SMAC. We were on stage all together. Waiting under the waves, raking through the ashes, and we closed with Goodnight Irene, what with the storm and all. To which Jefferson sang:
Last night I went out drinking, with Matt my soundman friend,
I peed out the second floor window, and climbed in bed with him.
Well he sang it in his head and then told us after and we laughed because it was true.
    Goodnight Irene Goodnight Irene I'll see you in my dreams...
We were in Ellsworth playing the Grand the night before. You always hurt the one you love and Doreen. Ry could'nt fit into one of the prop dresses backstage but we did have a mailbox and a divan on stage with us. Ah this ragged world we span. Kris sang Who's gonna drive you home and Dinty took it to heart just like we practiced it, which was a good thing when we hit the police checkpoint on Bar Harbor Road. Yeah, Dinty passed. We got to the motel before midnight and there was that tempting bowling alley a half mile away.
     Meanwhile far away in another part of town, Ruben Carter and a couple of friends are driving around...
Well it wasn't Hurricane's night, and our basements didn't flood neither. In fact our only regret was that we had played our last co-bill with Kris Delmhorst, and that we can't have lunch at Cleonice in Ellsworth more often. Thanks Kris. Thanks Matt. And thanks Jefferson too we'll see you in NYC I guess it survived the storm too.