Three Dog Night

It was unusually cold in State College yesterday. Barely 20, and winds gusting to 35 miles per hour. Flying to Detroit, I think it was even colder. There was an icy draft in the plane, as if the windows were open. But it wasn't until I got to the gate for my connection to St. Louis that it became an official three dog night. 

Waiting for boarding with other impatient, frequent flyer upgraded to first class business travelers, I engaged in casual conversation with the person pictured on the left below (Paul Kinery) when all of a sudden, Jimmy Greenspoon (on right) flooped in front us with a big, grinning "Ha!" Looking around, I recognized Michael Allsup, Paul Buitz and Danny Hutton. Where was Cory Wells? But more importantly, where is Shambala? Or what is Shambala?Why would anyone want to be on the road to Shambala? Jimmy gladly told me. 

Then Paul asked Jimmy, "Where is your roller bag?" 

And Jimmy looked down, then twirled and said, "It was right here with me." 

"Where were you before here?" 

"Over there," pointing to a spot just 20 feet away by the moving walkway. No bag there either.

"You'd lose your pants if they weren't buckled," Paul flatly proclaimed.

"The club," said Paul, and Jimmy marched toward the NWA World Club, 11 gates down. Half way there, suddenly Jimmy turned around and ambled back to us and smiled.

"Did you give up on your bag?" I asked.

"It's right here," he said with a chuckle while lifting his bulging, blue down coat to expose a small, laptop bag-sized roller bag hanging on a shoulder strap. "I guess I don't know my own strength. I didn't feel it there at all."

Three Dog Night will be playing at a show near you soon. Their performances are more powerful than ever before.

Winter's End

Punxsutawney has Phil and Bill Murray, and even a Groundhog Club, but if you really want to know when winter is over, you should keep your eyes on our friends Frosty and Frostina. Yesterday, Mr. Bojangles and I witnessed the real end of winter. This was no little feat. The event was akin to seeing the Great Pumpkin, Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny all in the same year. After standing proudly there at the fork in our driveway all winter in all kinds of nasty weather, Frosty turned to his life partner and sang in his very Lowell George voice, "Frostina, my sweet Frostina, what are you up to now?" And Frostina crooned, "All of the good, good times are bad, if we forget that was the best winter we ever had." And much to our dismay, Frosty and Frostina sublimated instantaneously right before our very eyes. One second they were solid, pristine, icy snow white, and the next second they were wispy vapor, swirling off in the sky toward the magnetic north pole like a sparkling clean Aurora Borealis. Adieu, tata and good-bye Frosty and Frostina. Be cool.

25 on 25

We celebrated our 25th wedding anniversary by attending the 25th International Blues Challenge (IBC), hosted by The Blues Foundation on Beale Street in Memphis. More than 100 bands and 60 duo/solos, representing blues associations in 36 states and nine countries competed in this world's largest gathering of blues bands. Semi-finals were held in 16 different venues on Beale Street. The 10 band finalists and six duo/solos played in the historic Orpheum Theatre on Saturday for the championship. We saw 22 bands, two solo performances and seven duo acts, and about a bazillion songs. We listened our ears off and boogied our troubles away.

The King of rock and roll serenaded Pat.

We spent 10 hours watching bands in the Rum Boogie Cafe on Friday.

Of course, we put some south in our mouth. We ate pulled pork, BBQ ribs, catfish, gumbo, red beans and rice, and never saw fresh fruit or vegetables.

Beale Street on Saturday afternoon. A few hours later, it is packed with tens of thousands of bluesy folks.

Every time we go to Memphis we ride a trolley car on the river loop. It's only a buck. This is a must.

We shared a table for a couple hours with this duo. Their act is called Chicago Blues Revue. Actually, they live and perform in Warsaw, Poland. The oldest of the two is only 20 years old, and they were fabulous. It was a lot of fun to see Memphis and the IBC through their eyes. If you ever get to Warsaw, catch their act!

Beale Street on Saturday night after the IBC finals.

For our foodie daughter in a land far away: yes, we did have one fancy dinner. I enjoyed sweet potato encrusted catfish, macaroni and cheese, and collard greens.

Pat had a chef's special vegetarian plate. We had no idea what half of that stuff was.

Finals at the Orpheum Theatre

A couple thousand people jammed the Orpheum Theatre to hear the ten band finalists perform.

There was quite a line to get in, but if you can get a kick out of watching people, the IBC will deliver you patience.

The first place band at the 25th anniversary International Blues Challenge was J.P. Soars and the Red Hots. They won cash, professional promotions, feartured performances at 15 of the most prestigious blues festivals in the United States, and much more. J.P. Soars also won the award for the best guitar player. He won a custom Gibson guitar and an awesome amplifier.

And guess who we shared a cab to the airport with? You got it. That's J.P. Soars with the brown cap and thumb up. On his right is Chris Peet the drummer. On Pat's left is Gary Rimmington, bass guitarist. After struggling for 20 years to be famous musicians, J.P., Gary and Chris were literally at a loss for words about how their lives were about to change. J.P., thanks for the signed CD, and the goat story was a hoot. We look forward to seeing you at another festival soon.

Semis at the Rum Boogie Cafe

We ordered lunch at the Rum Boogie Cafe, listened to seven bands, ordered dinner, and listened to six more bands. The day was young when we walked in, and history when we walked out.  If a picture says a thousand words, here's a tome.

Slab o Mammoth

While canoeing near Koyukuk, Alaska, last summer, I discover a partially thawed wooly mammoth, so I pulled out my trusty hatchet and chopped off all the ribs that I could carry. There ain't nuttin finer than a good slab of hickory smoked wooly mammoth, seasoned just right with my secret dry rub. I look so durn cheerful, cuz that is the last of it. Twas smoked and et tonight, with a side of Pat's red cabbage, apples and onions widow maker dish.

Hartsburg

Today, we hiked on the Katy Trail, accessing it from the Hartsburg trailhead. Hartsburg is known for its Pumpkin Festival, which draws 30,000 pumpkin pickers every fall. Local lore includes numerous sightings of the Great Pumpkin. If Linus only knew. Hartsburg is a town of 108, located in the Mo Valley flood plain. The town was severely damaged during the great flood of '93, but fought back, and as the sign below shows, offers many modern amenities, including silverware.

A lady with a wild pink sweater came out of this church as we were walking by.

Like all good towns, Hartsburg has a red caboose. 

This is the Globe Hotel, which is now a bed and breakfast.

This is the trailhead. A yippy little Beagle tried to start a fight with Rose. When Rose summoned support from Bojangles, the Beagle disappeared and then reappeared with another Beagle. Sides now even, the dogs amused themselves with a bark-off.

The trail heading north.

Roser needed a lift for part of the trail -- it's hard to keep up with Bo.

Rose catching a rest break while Bo gets petted.

There are steep hills and cliffs along one side of the trail.
Heading back to the Pathfinder -- Bo is reading for another 3 miles.