Picture Sunday

Hello, end of weekenders. It's already Sunday night, and Monday morning is looming over me like the harbinger of doom that it is. But forget all that for now - it's time for Picture Sunday!

It was Friday. It was B'burg. And it was a performance by those musical funsters, the Hackensaw Boys. Yep, time number 6.

It was a different experience, for several reasons. Can't say it was the best time I've ever seen them, or the most fun I've had seeing them. Not that they weren't great, don't get me wrong. And not that the night didn't have its high spots. Let's start at the beginning.

First of all, the venue was a small club, one I can remember going to in my youth some 20 years ago. New management, but it was a dump 20 years ago, and time hadn't improved it any. In fact, when Mr M and I entered the place and immediately saw Ferd (Ferd's everywhere, you know), we went over to talk and when I asked him exactly where it was they were playing, his response was, "Well, I think we're standing on the stage." A funny answer when you realize we were standing at one end of the room. By the men's room. No stage, no nothing, just a plan to gather at one end of the room and start playing.

The starting time was scheduled at 10:30, which was late anyway, and at about 10 I started inching my way towards that end of the room so I could have a good vantage point. Now, let us all remember something. My back is out. Has been since last week, and it's not getting any better. So I stood there, till 10:30, till 11, till 11:30, and watched some guys who were supposed to know something - anything - about sound equipment try and set up for the band. However, they apparently knew nothing about sound equipment, and the show didn't start till midnight. And even then, there were stops and starts while microphones dodged in and out and sparked and popped. And during all that time my back went from its normal pain to spasms that worked their way down my right thigh. Things weren't looking very good, I have to tell you.

But soon enough the show got underway, and it was Hackensaw magic time. The advantage of being in this dumpy club with no stage was that basically the only thing dividing me from the band was a shin-high speaker. And therefore my pictures for the night look something like this.



And this.



I could have probably made a few up their nostrils if I'd have wanted to use my zoom. Anyway, the top one's of the one and only Baby J singing a new song, on which he plays guitar, and below is Cousin Spits strumming along while Kooky-Eyed Fox plays fiddle. (I swear, all of those boys play the fiddle. It must be a prerequisite for being a Hackensaw Boy.)

Here's one of what's become my favorite live song, "Gospel Plow." Baby J on the accordion.



Now, here's the point in the story where we take a weird turn, and I did something Friday I've never done before. Left a Hackensaw Boys' concert, gave up my great spot and went outside for a while. This is simply because after about 80 minutes of dancing, sweating, and watching the people beside me transform from fun dancers into obnoxious drunks, I just couldn't take it anymore. Mr M was nice enough to get me some water, and we went outside for a while and got away from it all, and I could have actually stayed out there a little longer than I did, but two things happened. One, I heard the boys warming up to do "Ruby Pearl," which I couldn't stand to miss, and two, the loud obnoxious drunk who was pestering me inside came outside and started pestering people. And I actually would have missed "Ruby Pearl" had I thought that the door man, who Mr Drunk was starting an argument with, would have punched this guy square in the face. But it became apparent he was a door man and not a punching bouncer, and so I went back inside and hung with Mr M by the stairs, and you know, in that place giving up one's spot doesn't exactly mean one is "out of the loop." Cause here's the view after my spot was relinquished.



By the way, about drunken dancers. Remember a couple of weeks ago when I made mention of the thought of fainting in the audience, and how it would have been funny had it not been me, and someone yelling, "Hoer Down!" Well, one of the girls beside me did hit the floor, right there in front of the band, right over a shin-high speaker. It was alcohol-induced, and I forgot to yell, "Hoer Down!" and therefore it wasn't nearly as funny as it could have been.

Anyway, the boys were great, I was in pain, the show ended at 2am, and we all found out that the newest Hackensaw Boy, Cyrus Bullington Hackensaw, was born 9 days ago to mandolin player Mahlon. All in all, a good night.

Then, there was the meet and greet.

First of all, everybody say hello to Pokey Hackensaw. I met Pokey on Friday, actually for the purposes of having his picture made with Sherman (it is a requirement, you know), and found him to be one extremely sweet little fella. I can't believe he was old enough to even make the 21 and up age requirement for the bar, he has a great accent, and, well, how can you not like someone who sings to you? Yep, Pokey sang me a song.



After the picture, I asked him if anyone ever tells him he looks like Shane McGowan. He answered his own question mid-sentence by saying, "I don't even know who the hell that is oh he's the guy from the Pogues." The answer was no, more people tell him Bob Dylan, but after I assured him he had much nicer teeth than Shane he proceeded to tell me there's an old blues song he likes to sing, and he sang it to me. It was about a guy who had really nice teeth. No kidding. It also ended with the line, "The men don't like me cause I speak my mind/But the women call me Pokey cause I take my time." And that answered that question.

One last thing - Mr M and I had a nice conversation with Salvage Hackensaw on the way out, and I decided to tell him about Rocktoberfest and the Sauerkraut Band's desire to get together and play a song with the Boys. Salvage was very enthusiastic about this, and even said he loved the Sauerkraut Band. ("Play, sing, and drink. That's what it's all about!") So Ferd and Salvage have been warned, and who knows, it might happen, it might not. I'm still thinking not, but I'm a pessimist. Oh, and Salvage and Ferd both got a huge kick out of the fact that someone sold a used copy of their elusive first CD on Amazon Marketplace for $49.95. I think it made their day.

No, wait. One more last thing. Check this out.



Yes, those are the twinkling toes of Mr M, who actually danced Friday night. It was something of a Buck and Wing, if I'm not mistaken.

And now - depression sets in. Well, something sets in, for it's time for this week's recipe du jour. I wish I knew a good introduction to this one, but I'm just stumped. It's been a long day, folks. But it's here, and it's all for you. I hope you enjoy it. From the "Very lo-cal" section of recipeland, say hello to the Papier Mache Hot Dog.



Well, first of all - that card is missing a parenthesis! Well, I never. Bad photo editing. I said it was a long day. Anyway, for those who like hot dogs but may be vegetarians or watching their calories, here's a dog sure to please. The recipe is simple. Newspaper, water, glue, paint, and imagination. Best served with a papier mache beer. Also served, for this photo, on a paper plate. Get it? A paper plate! It's funnneeeeee!

Happy week.

Betland's Olympic Update:
* Remember the spotted horse with the weird mask I mentioned last week? I got his picture today, but it's not very good. Maybe another time.
* Why - oh, why? - do I spot-clean my kitchen with a cleanser containing bleach, and don't take off my good clothes. My new pink blouse is completely ruined. Damn me.