Posting is going to be sporadic at best here for the next week or so. Another project is demanding my attention. But I hope to be back soon with the same low-quality nonsense you’ve come to expect.
Meantime, here’s a photo I snapped a few days ago. I was stopped at a light and just happened to have my camera:
It’s funny how you don’t see those kinds of stickers on BMWs or Lexuses.
Snow does a great job messing things up, but it sure is wonderful while it’s falling.
As you may have noticed, Springfield got its first appreciable snowfall of the season. And because 6-year-olds are internally hardwired that way, we just had to go outside to play.
The Girl had fun jumping, digging, throwing and angel-making. I, like other bloggers, had my own idea of fun in the snow.
Miles would have been 9 years old today.
Thanks, Mom and Dad, for the donation to Friend-in-Deed in his memory. He brightened my world for 8.5 years, and now he can help brighten someone else’s just a little bit.
Whoever said that youth is wasted on the young never met my son.
That boy loves him some leaves. Jumping in them, rolling in them, kicking them… whatever.
By the time we came back inside, he had leaves down his shirt, in his socks and in his drawers. After I got him cleaned up, there were enough leaves on the bathroom floor to start another jumping pile.
More than 36 hours after the show, my ears are still ringing and my throat still hurts. Those are signs of a kick-ass rock-and-roll show. (UPDATE 1:55 p.m. 10-20-07: The show is now up at Internet Archive. Tip of the Ween hat to Eric.)
We knew we were in for good times when, upon arriving at the venue there was a parking space open across the street from the door:
I believe our gracious driver called that Rockstar Parking. Because there was some time to kill before they opened the doors to the club, we all took advantage of the tanning salon next door. We entered roughly the color of the Canopy sign and emerged at a hue akin to the Classic sign.
Once inside, it was time to hit the bar, which was conveniently located just inside the doors. U-Huff and I got each got a pint of Dead Guy and walked into the auditorium:
This was my first time at the Canopy, and I came away impressed. Its former life was a movie theater, but the only seats that remained were in the back, balcony-style. There was a bar on each side of the auditorium, which was nice because we were in for a lot of standing around, waiting for the band to come on. It was akin to a rain delay during a baseball game; nothing to do but shoot the shit and drink beer.
Every so often, a small group in the crowd would try to start an exhortation but would give up after about 30 seconds when no one else would join in. The more we waited, the more fevered the anticipation: People were cheering the roadies who came out to tune the guitars. Our party entertained ourselves with beer and by messing around with our cameras and cell phones.
Finally, after what I’d guess was about 90 minutes (actually I have no idea how long it was) the boys took the stage, to the enraptured delight of those assembled:
Once the show started, I was too consumed with rocking out to take many more pictures, most of which were of the band onstage bathed in various colors of light. I did, however, get a couple shots of one particularly exuberant pair, which comprised the lead singer of Pantera and who I thought was his girlfriend:
But as we were laughing about it the next day, U-Huff insisted that they were two dudes. And upon inspecting further photographic evidence, it turns out that the person with Johnny Pantera indeed is a long-haired dude with wispy yet hirsute arms.
The show itself was, of course, great, it being Ween and everything. In between songs, I’d remarked to U-Huff that I’d always thought that people who brought a pen and paper to a show to take down the setlist were big nerds. Yet here I was, click-clacking the setlist into my iPhone, which is like 10 times more nerdy than doing it analog. So for all you Ween nerds out there, here ya go:
The main set concluded with “Finger,” and at this point I really had to take a leak. So I let the other audience members do the encore exhortations and hot-footed it to the bathroom, where for once the ladies could come and go (if you will) as they pleased and the dudes had to stand in line. I had to go so badly that when it was my turn, three guys started and finished at the urinal next to me before I was done. Some people talk about intense exercise giving them a rush of endorphins; for me it’s draining a dangerously full bladder.
The encore started as I was heading back toward our place on the floor:
The LP version of “Poopship” runs about 2 minutes; Wednesday’s version was extremely loud and extremely slow, running about 10 minutes. The last few minutes consisted of Dean (the guitar player) and Dave (the bass player) torturing their instruments and amps to wring every bit of noise out of them.
It’s a good thing we were able to park so close, because by the time the show let out, it was pouring rain. On the way out of town, I managed to snag a picture of the best street sign ever.
That’s the future Mrs. C and me, in love before we actually knew.
I actually have nothing interesting to report from our trip to the fair other than it was hot.
Seriously, Sunday was like the hottest day of the year, and most of our energy was spent trying not to die from the heat.
We went back Monday so the kids could ride rides. And because they’re young and therefore stupid, they don’t know to be totally petrified of heights and so beseeched me to ride the Sky Ride with them. “Be strong,” I told myself, “and don’t transfer your anxieties to your kids.”
Luckily, I spotted an old friend on the ground that helped calm me down:
Beer: The cause of and solution to all of life’s problems.
~|~|~|~|~
Illinois State Fair 8.12.07 [Flickr]
So we were walking around whatever they call the area with the fair rides the other night when the Tet Offensive a fireworks display broke out all of a sudden.
After determining we weren’t in mortal danger after all, we stopped to watch:
There’s still more picture editing to do, but I hope to get a full state fair report up soon.
I had the distinct privilege Saturday night to witness the public-performance premiere of Springfield’s first and foremost (and likely only) Billy Joel cover band.
Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce Silly Joel:
“Pressure”
On vocals is Captain Jack…
On the cello is Downeaster Alexa, and tickling the ivories is Virginia…
And last but most definitely not least is Mr. Cacciatore on the drums…
It was my distinct pleasure, as adjunct member The Stranger, to read an excerpt of a Chuck Klosterman piece about one William Joel as Silly Joel played the intro to my namesake song.
Residents of Springfield, consider yourselves warned: Silly Joel is poised to rock this world. Go be their friend and they may show mercy.
Here’s one more song to whet your appetite:
“Piano Man”
I’m torn between “Bad Decision” and “Privilege Lost.”
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