High Living, Cold Temps

Well, here we are again at the end of the week. I've been saving up some tender anecdote morsels for all of you so I could drop them all on you at once. Also, before I start I'd like to mention that this is my 299th post here at Blogger. I don't have anything special planned for #300, but maybe something good will happen today.

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Fog Rolls In

It was midweek and I was drearily driving into work, running through the normal list of reasons why I might be able to play hooky. As usual, it really just came down to "I just don't want to go", which is not a valid reason.

Anyway, as I cruised down East St., surrounded by the dilapidated buildings, empty restaurants and railroad tracks something better caught my eye. I looked above the urban blight to the mountains. The sun had just begun to peek over the top of the mountains, and it looked as if someone was pouring fog down into the valley. The mountainscape was a mixture of grey, green, and the deep orange of early morning sunlight.

I find it interesting how seldom we look up above our day-to-day lives to see the greater picture. The mountains are frequently my refuge from real life, and that morning it felt like they were up there yelling "Hey Old Coot, come for a visit." I haven't found myself out there yet, but maybe after I finish writing.

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Busting Up and Busted Up

Yesterday morning HECOW and I took a ride up to J&BC's house to help JC split some firewood. Armed with our new work gloves from Walfart and a pair of coffees from Starbucks (yeah, we're both ghetto and high class in one stop) we headed up into them there hills. The wind was howling, and there were signs of snow; a perfect day to be outside handling downed trees.

The first two trees we were to split were on the far side of a muddy, muddy section of the yard. Within minutes I had found the muddiest part, sinking up past my ankle into the mire. We hauled the remains of those trees out to the driveway and I loaded the wheel barrow while HECOW ran the splitter.

As I picked up a couple of freshly split pieces, another piece ever-so-gingerly glanced off my thumb nail. It was cold out, so it hurt like a sumbitch, but over the course of the day it continued to throb. This morning I still can't work zippers and buttons, and just hitting the space bar is mildly unpleasant. But for some reason there's something manly about being out in the cold and mud, hauling logs, making firewood with a hydraulic splitter and coming home with a blackening thumb nail.

Just to make sure we felt plenty manly, BC (JC's wife) brought us out a thermos of hot cocoa and fed us roasted chicken with potato and asparagus salad for lunch.

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Burger (Spice)

Just to keep things out of order, I'm backing up to Thursday night, and the dinery where we ate after the Thursday Night Run - Burger (Spice). For the locals who know about Spice, this is their latest addition and it's fantastic. While it's slightly pricier than other burger joints, I can see myself frequenting their menu. While I forgot to order the eggplant fries, the chef slid one into my order of regular fries anyway. I highly recommend them, they're awesome!

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The Penguin Club

As usual, The Colonial scheduled me to volunteer for a show, didn't tell me directly, and I found out the day before. Oh yeah, and they scheduled me for shows two nights in a row. Then when I got there in my black and white volunteer getup, I wasn't even on the list. On the up side, Arlo Guthrie was performing and it was definitely worth seeing.

They had me acting as a greeter, which in my mind is a "Welcome to Walmart" position. I asked the head volunteer and he confirmed my fears. I was supposed to welcome every patron ("Welcome to The Colonial"), and help direct them to their seating area. Additional ushers would take over from there. Well, if you hate Walmart greeters (the position, not the people) as much as I do, you'll understand why I did not greet everyone. If they made eye contact, I'd welcome them and ask if they knew where they were headed, but that was it.

Once the show started and the stragglers had been seated, the volunteers were allowed to go sit in the audience. We aren't allowed to sit just anywhere, but the theater isn't so big that there are any bad seats. Because Arlo is a local favorite (he lives right here in the Berkshires), the show was sold out and we had to find seats in the gallery.

The first thing I noticed about the gallery, besides the fact that it's above the balcony, is that it's stadium seating. I was also quick to note that in many places the domed ceiling had a closer seat than I had, but I was there for free so who was I to complain. Plus, the acoustics are great and I could hear just fine.

If, like me, you've never listened to Arlo Guthrie, you'll find his folk music to be pretty much standard folk music. What made the show for me were the stories he told in between songs. They were hilarious and gave a better understanding of his song lyrics, which was good for a novice like me.

If, unlike me, you are familiar with Arlo, you'll understand what a treat it was to hear him perform Alice's Restaurant. I missed the first few minutes, but in a 25 minute song it's not a big deal. He had the audience roaring with his story. I won't even attempt to recreate it here or point you to the lyrics, because reading them doesn't do them justice (I just tried); you have to hear him perform the song to truly appreciate it.

Aside from the nosebleed seats, the sore thumb (and back) from splitting firewood and the big-haired lady in front of me, I'd say the show was fantastic. If you get the opportunity to hear him perform, I say take it. Especially if it's free.


Over and Out,
Old Coot