Journal, News, Guests by Jim Fitting
Election Day
Election day is done. Thanksgiving is just around the corner, yet I can't help dwelling on those election days past...
how or who knows the velocity of diminished expectations, the crestfallen speed of disappointment? And the glacial realization of one's place in the world. What's all this worth? I shoulda known yesterday but...
we were too busy, crammed into the Druid; passing the hat and selling Mrs' Murphy's chowder, but no CDs ('cuz we forgot 'em)...drivin' that white freightliner back to Dayton Ohio (in "nineteen hundred and three").
Then there was New York ( for the weekend). We walked into Banjo Jim's about 9 o'clock Friday night and there were these people from New Hampshire sitting at the table (the one with the one microphone). They looked familiar. They were called the Chip Smith Project, mumbling and singing beautiful, beautiful songs (even without Uncle Comfy). I think they mentioned leaving an uncle at a rest area on the way down, or something...
Later this guy Tom Leach came around and sang some country songs. After a couple when it started rollin' he said "it's going so good I think I'll yodel." So we had the western too. And who, perhaps having mixed feelings about having composed a song called "Booze" which Sean sings with uncommon gusto; was heard to say after Sean delivered a particularly spirited rendition that night, to no one in particular: " I'll never play that song again."
It must have been close to Halloween because there were a lot of costumes running up and down Avenue C Saturday night. I saw the Pharaoh and some inmates too, working the stripes the way they do. Ha. Every moment is a disappointment and a triumph too.
And you would think that an unopened bottle of Jameson's set on the aforementioned table would be a good thing, something the band aspired to. But that tain't neccessarily so...I musta almost busted a five hole reed trying to rock like Augie Myers when Dave C. sat in. And I swear Rose sounded best at the end of the night when we were too tired to get in the way. Even earlier when Jen Kimball sang, I just couldn't do those Fireflies justice so I lay in the weeds and watched 'em...by the end of the night we were arguing about Johnnie B. Good and "Art". Strange.
But it had been pretty much packed most of the night, so the velocity was there. Perhaps it was the speed with which it ended; or perhaps the waking up in the morning wondering what hit you, or what you missed. Don't get me wrong, it got real quiet and pretty by the end, like Kern River at night. But sometimes it takes a while for reality to sink in. Like waking up after the '06 election, kinda feeling good about things. But then a whole year later you realize those guys in Congress haven't done nothin'. And you wonder was all that worth it? Well, there's only eleven months until election day. Don't forget to vote.
how or who knows the velocity of diminished expectations, the crestfallen speed of disappointment? And the glacial realization of one's place in the world. What's all this worth? I shoulda known yesterday but...
we were too busy, crammed into the Druid; passing the hat and selling Mrs' Murphy's chowder, but no CDs ('cuz we forgot 'em)...drivin' that white freightliner back to Dayton Ohio (in "nineteen hundred and three").
Then there was New York ( for the weekend). We walked into Banjo Jim's about 9 o'clock Friday night and there were these people from New Hampshire sitting at the table (the one with the one microphone). They looked familiar. They were called the Chip Smith Project, mumbling and singing beautiful, beautiful songs (even without Uncle Comfy). I think they mentioned leaving an uncle at a rest area on the way down, or something...
Later this guy Tom Leach came around and sang some country songs. After a couple when it started rollin' he said "it's going so good I think I'll yodel." So we had the western too. And who, perhaps having mixed feelings about having composed a song called "Booze" which Sean sings with uncommon gusto; was heard to say after Sean delivered a particularly spirited rendition that night, to no one in particular: " I'll never play that song again."
It must have been close to Halloween because there were a lot of costumes running up and down Avenue C Saturday night. I saw the Pharaoh and some inmates too, working the stripes the way they do. Ha. Every moment is a disappointment and a triumph too.
And you would think that an unopened bottle of Jameson's set on the aforementioned table would be a good thing, something the band aspired to. But that tain't neccessarily so...I musta almost busted a five hole reed trying to rock like Augie Myers when Dave C. sat in. And I swear Rose sounded best at the end of the night when we were too tired to get in the way. Even earlier when Jen Kimball sang, I just couldn't do those Fireflies justice so I lay in the weeds and watched 'em...by the end of the night we were arguing about Johnnie B. Good and "Art". Strange.
But it had been pretty much packed most of the night, so the velocity was there. Perhaps it was the speed with which it ended; or perhaps the waking up in the morning wondering what hit you, or what you missed. Don't get me wrong, it got real quiet and pretty by the end, like Kern River at night. But sometimes it takes a while for reality to sink in. Like waking up after the '06 election, kinda feeling good about things. But then a whole year later you realize those guys in Congress haven't done nothin'. And you wonder was all that worth it? Well, there's only eleven months until election day. Don't forget to vote.
