Songs for lovers of lost causes...

Song of the week... Those of you who know me, know probably all too well of my obsession with music and some of you who go all the way back to my band days will recall how I fixated on a particular song and have to take take it apart and study it from all angles. I especially love old Irish and Celtic tunes and have collected hundreds over the many years playing and listening in pubs from Boston to San Francisco. So I was actually surprised when the other night I heard one down at O'Shea's that I'm sure I must have heard a hundred times before but this time I listened to the words which are all about rebellion and lost causes which must appeal to my Irish/Norwegian blood. So naturally I've been listening to all different versions .. 27 to be exact, for the past week and have finally found the one I like. And I especially like the words.. Which now that I think of it might make a good short story. Like the one I did based on the mountain song, "Long Black Veil"...which by the way you can read in the anthology, Weirdly 3, if you have a mind to. Anyway the song is an old Irish ballad from the 18th Century called The Minstrel Boy and here are the words ... Makes you want to go out and fight for a lost cause. Which as Rhett Butler said to Scarlet, are "the only ones worth fighting for." THE MINSTREL BOY by Thomas Moore The Minstrel Boy to the war is gone In the ranks of death you will find him; His father's sword he hath girded on, And his wild harp slung behind him;" Land of Song!" said the warrior bard, "Tho' all the world betrays thee, One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard, One faithful harp shall praise thee!" The Minstrel fell! But the foeman's chain Could not bring that proud soul under; The harp he lov'd ne'er spoke again, For he tore its chords asunder; And said "No chains shall sully thee, Thou soul of love and brav'ry! Thy songs were made for the pure and free, They shall never sound in slavery!"

A "night at the opera" ... Not really, but better!

We decided on going to see a band last night that a lot of people had been describing as, "must see," on the Cape... And they were right! The group is called Sarah Swain & The Oh Boys and they play a hard driving mix of country, blues and rock-a-billy. We saw them at a packed house at Harvest Wine Bar and the energy couldn't have been higher. In fact after a few pints of some very nice Cape Cod Oatmeal Stout even your humble narrator got onto the dance floor (also very packed!) And at the break I spent some time with Sarah and found her to be not only very genuine but very sweet... An unusual combination for one who delivers hard pounding music in a gritty rock style. She told me that almost everything they do are her original compositions and though I was told that they do an occasional cover, I didn't notice any last night .. (Although that could have also had something to do with the Oatmeal Stout) So if you have a chance to see to see them I urge you to do so... Even at their standing room only venues ... It will be worth it!

PARIS TRIP BLOG Paris Day 1 … Nous partons (just barely!) et nous arrivons … Finally Arrived at the airport in plenty of time. Got through security with no problem. Flight on time and begins boarding, when... A bored French accent requests our presence at the Air France desk where they tell us. "Quelle domage madam et Monsieur, we have overbooked and so even though you bought your tickets back in freakin' October... We've gotta bump someone and since you have no air miles with us.. Guess what?... You're it!" And so... After much "discussion" we did make it on to the flight.. (And at an upgrade no less... Long story..) and 6 hours later we were in 'La Belle' France. And shortly there after we were wandering the cobblestone streets of the City of Lights. And I'm pleased to report that despite my long absence, les femes Parisian' are still tres chic and very, very thin. They are also pale and wear a perpetual expression of anger, depression and despair. However they do have a reason... But that's a story for ...Day 2 'Till then... Au revoir mes ami... Paris -Day 2… So just why are the French so thin, attractive and so unhappy about it? Well me and B didn't take long to discover the thin part... They friggin' walk about a hundred times more than us fat-ass Americans do! For instance, me and 'ma chere femme' thought we were doing good at home with our 2-3 miles a day. Ha! Since we've been in La Belle France we've been averaging 10 miles per day! And that's small freaking change to the French. They also ride bikes everywhere and move tres vite all the frickin' time. And that's why they are rail thin even though their diet and habits would kill one of us Americans inside of a month. I mean not only do they pig out on cheese, fabulous French bread, every kind of heart stopping organ meat you can imagine, and enough chain smoking ciggy's to croak a whole herd of elephants, they all seem to survive just fine. And since we've been immersing ourselves in the Gallic way we've found that one of the immediate benefits is that you can stop every 3-4 miles or so for bread, cheese, wine and beer and walk that sucker off toot freakin' suite! The other thing that we find tres interesant is that we hot blooded New Englanders are walking around in short sleeved shirts while the French are bundled up in leather coats, fur boots and the ever-present scarfs. And here's one that Barb noticed... The men are all dressed in high fashion and "wearing the colors the woman don't". Although from this old Troglodyte's perspective the woman still look good ... damn good! And then there are "clueless Gendarmes, surly shopkeepers, fantastic food, incredible wine, lines at the Louve", a war historian's dream at Les Invalides and finally ... who the freak could get lost on the way to the Eiffel Tower! Well we did! More to come as L'adventure continues... Paris... Day 3 .. In search of Napoleon, Quasimodo and a cheap beer. Found Notre Dame just fine... It's smack dab in the middle of the Seine River so pretty hard to miss. The flying buttresses and stained glass were tres magnifique but alas, no trace of Quasimodo the fabled bell ringing hunchback ... C'est la Vie On the other hand we did locate Napoleon which again wasn't hard since he's been dead for close to 200 years and ain't going anywhere since he's being held down by several tons of red granite... Which by the way is very impressive despite the fact that it looks a lot like a giant red Lego. It was actually one of my favorites as the whole place (Les Invalides) is chock full of weapons from all eras. Starting with the Greeks and Romans and right down to WWll . In fact I liked it about a hundred times more than the Louvre... Which I think in French means "la tres hot, overcrowded, less than fragrant place of long lines and longer waits.. " Here's a tip.. Order tickets through your hotel and you can avoid at least half of the wait. Here's another tip. Spring for the translated headphones (which alas we did not) and don't ever expect to learn anything from the hundreds of civil servants sitting around in every room presumably to answer questions. Problem is ... They don't! I tried all three languages in which I have a smattering. English, French and German. Nothing. The best I got was in response to, "where is the bathroom and the exit?" which elicited a Gallic grunt and a vague wave to somewhere possibly across the Seine or perhaps he was telling me to ask Quasimodo.. Which in retrospect couldn't have been any worse. Still we and several thousand other tourists did get to see the Mona Lisa. (I held my camera over my head and then watched it later) The opposite of the "Le Louvre Zoo" was a delightful wine and cheese tour that our son Chris had set up for us. We and another couple from Kentucky (Go Big Blue! ) we're taken down the back alleys and side streets of St. Germaine by a charming, perky young woman where we feasted on wine, cheese and chocolate. Now that was worth waiting for! Still to come... Versailles, Marie Antoinette's pink marble palace (the cost of which probably gave the beleaguered French peasants the notion that all royalty and aristocrats would benefit from a visit to Madam Guillotine) and of course Bistro crawling in Paris Paris... Day 5 ... Open air busses on a beautiful sunny Paris spring day but with no hat or sunscreen .. equals 'la visage rouge'. Or one beet red American tourist! Took one of the Hop-On, Hop-Off open air busses out to the Arc de Triomphe on the Champs Élysées and it was gorgeous but ... I stupidly forgot my hat and sunscreen so was nicely baked by the end of the day, which meant ... Naturalement ... Lots of nice cold beer. So we stopped at one sidewalk cafe.. And then another, and another and .... Well you get the picture. We slowly worked our way up the Seine through the Latin Quarter and back to St. Germaine and thoughts of a fashionably late French dinner. Thus it was in a pleasant haze that we decided to flip the Euro as it were and try a place I spotted on line. We had been batting about .500 on restaurants, which in baseball is good but in the gastro-experience means that you've eaten a lot of bad 'soup d'onion'...And we had. But this little gem of a bistro opposite the Luxembourg Garden was a true find. The quintessential white washed brick, open beams and vaulted ceiling, shelves of wine racks with vintages just begging to be tasted and the smell of garlic and fresh bread. And we did the whole route .. from the escargot soaked in garlic butter to an amazing rack of lamb followed by white chocolate and lime. And of course all washed down by a fantastic 2003 Bordeaux. And then... Et finis... Quelle Domage And as all things must... We must return to our hum drum lives and leave behind the Parisian world of cares, bistros and brasseries. Quaint side streets and beckoning back ally's. And then of course there is the one thing that we will not miss... And let me tell you folks I am most definitely not a PC person who wants to run everyone's life, but Pleeeeze!... What is with the French and the constant chain smoking? Like most of my fellow boomers I did two packs a day in my teens, but in the 40 years since I quite I guess I've become unaccustomed to smoky cafes, 'cause let me tell you, these cafes aren't just smoky... You might wanna consider bringing you own gas mask! Seriously! And just in case you were thinking of asking... No, there is no such thing as a 'non-smoking' section. And if you can't find your waiter to order another glass of Ferme Blanc, it's 'cause he's out back having a smoke! And then there's the metro trip to the airport, where once again Air France had no seat for us! And the flight home with several hundred kids from high school French clubs. But as the French say, that mon amie is a story for une autre jour... And all in all, it was a great trip. Lots of adventures, and isn't that really what its all about? And so as Europe fades into the background... Au revoir La Belle France... jusqu'à ce que nous nous revoyions

From 2/8/13 Update from 'Storm Central'... AKA, 'Coyote Junction'. Well closing in on 18" gang but did that keep yours truly, 'the Worlds Oldest Teenager', from x-country ... Nah. When it got to about 6", just before dark, I strapped on the long back-country Track skis and went out to my ravine trail for some dopey blizzard fun. The wind was really starting to howl but it wasn't bad underneath the trees and just about the time I was thinking, "hey... This is nothing to worry about... " Yup, you got it. I was coming down a narrow trail and tried a very unwise telemark turn and caught the right outside back edge, went off the trail, over a log and into a thicket.. Winding up with my right downhill ski uphill and tangled in briers. So what happened, you may well ask (and you do, don't you?) Well I'm supposed to be a writer. So if this was a suspense tale, I'd tell how... 'As darkness slowly gathered a deep gloom fell turning the white blowing snow into a dirty grey blanket of cold, twisted cotton rags. The steady swish of the wind brushing the tree tops broken only by soft, muffled plops as clumps of snow bent pine limbs and fell from overloaded branches. I tried to free my right foot from the binding but it was no use. I'd fallen at an oblique angle and couldn't reach the release catch, not even with my pole. Too late I remembered my wife asking me to bring my cell phone. Just another in the long list of good advice I didn't take. It was then I noticed the first pair of yellow-red eyes watching me from the other side of the thicket. A raccoon? Some wandering pooch looking for a warm fire and a bowl of Puppy Chow? Not bloody likely. And now the eyes at the edge of the thicket had been joined by a second pair and as I watched, a third. And then another. A pack. Coyotes. At least I had my emergency Deer Derringer. A single shot heavy but compact pistol used by hunters to give a wounded quarry the coup de grace. It could be loaded with either a single .45 caliber slug or a .410 shotgun shell. I favored the .410. It had a nice spread and would give the pack something to think about. I heard a low growl followed by a rustling in the bushes. I felt the comforting weight of the pistol next to my chest and turned my head to the left where I could see the eyes moving, edging closer, getting ready for a rush. Time to brush 'em back. I unzipped the inside pocket and wrapped my cold fingers around the butt. I sensed rather than saw one approaching me from behind. I leaned around, cocked the hammer and fired. Click. The hammer fell on an empty shell. With a sick feeling I remembered that the last time I'd put the gun away I'd left an empty shell in the chamber, for safety sake. Safety - right. The eyes in the darkness moved closer...