Escape Is Never The Safest Path

The day began simply enough. I had plucked myself out of bed at the rather late hour of 8:30 feeling ripe enough to encounter the day with camp having been cancelled due to a rain that never quite poured nor cleared up (to this point). I had begun to prepare a semblance of some breakfast. Pretty ho-hum stuff, or so I thought. I then began to hear the most ominous noise building up behind me and getting louder. I kind of froze for a beat and then put my head on a swivel to try and figure out what the heck was going on.

It turns out I had subconsciously turned on my iPod and the song that was set to play was Pink Floyd's "One of These Days." Anyone who knows the track would agree that the song is nothing to mess around with and not exactly a "good morning" staple in the soundtrack that is life. That unyielding bass had me spooked and there was a good ten seconds (which felt like an eternity) where I was preparing for my imminent and untimely demise. Don't listen to the whole thing if you don't want, but 30s to the 1 minute mark pretty much sums up what I went through.

The sheriff's program that has been going on at the camp is called, G.R.E.A.T. It's essentially anti-gang education. Yesterday, they were handing our bracelets; I took one. I assure you, this comes up again later.

Last night, I "supervised" the Cedar Beach safe summer program. Which basically means I told eight kids to move away from the area with their cigarettes and did actually help break up a mosh pit (a first...pretty cool). I'm grateful, don't get me wrong, but I've never done less for an actual paycheck. There is some lifting/cleaning involved in cleaning up, but let's be honest, it's nothing. I was a little embarrassed to be just standing there. Fortunately, I knew a couple of people and Christine happened to be shooting a few pics with her camera that's not a Sanyo for anyone wondering, (I know, you would think she would have something a little more top of the line, but not everyone can handle a Sanyo right away.) so the time didn't pass too slowly.

The groups there were pretty solid and the kids seemed to have fun. It definitely brought me back to when I used to go to the program (performed once). Good times. I think the best times I had there were, obviously, seeing my friends play, and playing myself, but more specifically the time I saw Sterling playing two saxes at once (One because it was weird to see Sterling at the teen program, and two because he was playing two saxes at once.), the time Wong was taping S.O.H. and a rather large woman stepped right in front of his sight-line what seemed to be on purpose. I don't think we said a word about it until much later, but the slow turn of his face to mine and the look that was on it is something I won't forget for a long, long time. Thirdly, getting nearly ambushed by a guy who was really pleased with my Deftones performance. Obviously not a band you hear out very often, much less acoustically. You can tell it really made his night, which is what any performance is all about. That and the hard drugs, of course.

Anyway, one of the groups that played was selling some merchandise. And this girl who was about 16 comes up to me and asks if I want to buy a bracelet. I tell her no thanks, I already have one. I point to my camp bracelet. She says, "but these are awesome." I say, "Yeah, but mine is great." I then point to my bracelet and show her where it says G.R.E.A.T. (I told you it'd be back.) I then laugh pretty hard for a couple seconds and thank her for setting me up so well for that one. She didn't smile. I think I either offended her, or weirded her out, or a bit of both. One of the other kids saw the exchange and offered a handshake of congratulations.

Now, as you would expect with teens, there was a bunch of flirting going on. Certainly nothing wrong with that. As a matter of fact, Lord help you if you're not doing that in some capacity, but I was struck (no pun intended), by how much "fake violence" was going on. There was so much I-really-like-you-so-I'm-going-to-push-you-and-pretend-to-start-a-fight-to-break-the-tension going on. It was really, like, bizarre enough to the point that I would take the time to mention it. Now, I've never been into the fake violence thing to begin with. I can think of 3 or 4 girls where I did the whole "pretend we're not friends but we really are" thing, but I've never started pushing or punching them softly in the arm. I think it's weird, man. And genuinely, of those 4 girls, I've only had romantic feelings for one of them, and that was a long time ago. It was never my idea of courtship. I do remember one time pretending to get really upset with Dana Moss and having Liz Shenn think I was being serious. A moment later I was called into the nurse to see if I was alright. The aftermath, as brief as it was, was pretty memorable on that occasion.

I do still do the "I hate you" thing with my friend, Amber, so, I mean, I'm not saying that behavior like that is stupid, or juvenile (like Amber), or anything. I guess I was just surprised by how physical (in a negative sense) the high-school dating world has gotten. The most desirable girl probably left that beach with bruises.

Although, I'm pretty sure there's one place in Pennsylvania where the males still club the chicks on the head carry them back to their huts and claim them as their bride. (That one was for you, Mr. B.) inthreedays.

I may not be into fake violence, but I am notoriously guilty of pushing people in the arm if they say something I find really funny. I think most everyone I know is either used to it, or intentionally very serious with me. We all have our quirks.


Song of the Day: Rosemary-The Grateful Dead
Jazz Song of the Day: Steps-Cecil Taylor

Tell Her to Make Me A Cambric Shirt... Give a Poet a Cookie.

Then she'll be a true love of mine.

A quick narrative before the main purpose of this brief post.

"Bad boys, bad boys, whatchu gonna do?"

The sheriffs have arrived at Avalon Pines, complete with their gang prevention materials, oppressively yellow uniforms, and a surplus of testosterone. (Seriously, they knock the kids around and would likely not sleep at night should they lost a round of capture the flag.) The sheriffs mean well, and they're certainly nice enough people, but it's so interesting how some of them come off as complete tools. Most notably a particular sheriff who sings the praises of gang and drug free lives while packing a lip and spitting in front of the children. I'm don't mean to bomb on cops. Again, most of them seem really happy to be involved with the kids and whatnot, I'm just kind of saying that a uniform shouldn't automatically make you a role model. I'm curious how kids view that situation, if they pick up on things like that and in what way.

The Army was nice enough to fly in a helicopter to land on our field. The kids always seem to enjoy it, especially the younger ones. It's a real shame that some of the older kids appear to be jaded to something like that because they've "seen it so many years in a row." If I ever feel disinterested and annoyed by the army coming to share information on helicopters with me in the middle of their schedule for free, you have my permission to humble me in whatever way you see fit. Kids these days... a double edged sword if ever the metaphor existed.

A counselor and I had a little chat about Furthur and Dark Star Orchestra, and my inability to track down a yellow baha today. One of the cooler camp exchanges I've had in a while.

As if aerospace exploration weren't enough, a "reptile guy" also came in with a bunch of far out animals to share with the kids including some serious bugs, turtles, a giant lizard whose exact species escapes me, and a giant 10 foot snake that I took the liberty of naming Denny. The guy was a lot of fun, and one of the things he did throughout his show was make the kids repeat the words he was saying, like, to teach them. Words like ubiquitous, exoskeleton etc. Now anyone who knows me is aware that if there's one thing I dig, it's repeating cool words simply because they're super fun to say. Here was a man who shared my passion. I had a great time with it to say the least.

With that said, the highlight of the presentation and arguably my summer thus far (actively competing with the image of Sean Taylor on a rocking horse) was this guy removing an alligator from his car and as soon as the gator faces the kids it begins to urinate. This guy physically placed his hand over the running bladder, which is something akin to taking a bullet for a stranger and spun on his heels quicker than Dorothy in Oz. The reaction of the kids caught in the "splash zone" was nothing short of priceless and the fact that the show ever recovered is a testament to both the presenter and us as counselors. Suffice to say, we ran through our fair share of purell. (Plug it, give me 20 bucks.)

Speaking of shells, it's time for the interactive segment of the blog. A good friend of mine has been invited to be in the wedding party of a wedding. The crew is unifying their funds to purchase a gift that for the strict reason that I'm not exactly sure who reads this blog specifically, I won't disclose here. The gift, while a beautiful gesture, is kind of superfluous and expensive, and likely won't be used more than once by the happy couple, kind of like a DVD of Spiderman 3... once is enough.

This brings me to a thought that has been tickling my fancy for a couple of days. At the risk of screwing myself out of future wedding invitations and any chance normalcy in the gift department of my own nuptials, should I ever tie the knot.

What are some equally weird and awkward gifts that still qualify as gifts but are not necessarily wanted in the traditional bridal registry. I was thinking of things like a mailbox, his and hers bowling shoes, a crate of the bride's favorite condiment, i.e. mustard, a gift certificate to a bridal boutique now that the big day is over, a free 60 day trial of match.com, 2 day passes to Sesame Place, and the recent relevelation of Spiderman 3 on DVD (blueray if I really like them). I could honestly list my random gift musings all day, but I'd love to hear yours along the same vein. Remember, I'll likely remember these when your big day rolls along.

Leave me some comments, I look forward to reading them.

Advice of the Day: Pilfer a listen of Bill Evans' new exploration "Van's Joint." Strength in the Sax, for real.

Song of the Day: This Beautiful Life-The Dear Hunter
Jazz Song of the Day: Dark Prince-Trio of Doom (I doubt he reads this, but considerable thanks to Tyler Gentlecore for putting Tony Williams on my mind of late.)

Playing Time Against My Troubles

I may or may not be melting as I type this. Even nestled in the cozy catacombs of my unlit basement (coincidentally listening to the Miles track that provides the namesake of this blog) the sun's relentless rays appear to be on the hunt. While being as cool as Miles Davis is indeed impossible, I was hoping he could at least drop me down a few degrees. It doesn't appear to be working.

I digress.

This, if I recall, is the first, and likely last, truly anticipated blog post as it will center around the Stockhausen family gathering and the great honor and pleasure to be a part of last weekend. Unfortunately, I entered the scene just as Sean Taylor was leaving to handle some business. I know that there have been a few time in this thing where I go a little hard on Sean because simply sometimes it just can't be helped. However, in all seriousness, I can think of no man I know who works harder at what he loves to do and does a better job with it. I can't respect Sean Taylor enough and I'm proud to consider him a dear friend.

For the second time in about three posts, "enough with the sentimental stuff."

I entered the place and the jam session was already in full swing. I can think of few better ways to enter a space than to be immediately wrapped in the embrace of casual live music. It brings about the desire for reflection in me, a feeling I always embrace.

I didn't need much provocation to join the festivities and I laid down a few spontaneous verses and some vocals etc. Ben and Mr. Taylor were really welcoming to my vibe and we created some tunes that people really seemed to enjoy. Ben and I really seemed to be in the pocket that night. A kind of musical niche, if you well. It's something I'm starting to develop with Jay as we play about once a week, but I haven't had it consistently since I used to play with the Beard. It's overwhelmingly pleasant to be able to read another musicians mind and respond to their stimulus. It was a great session and something that was definitely present in the room that night.

I love Mr. Taylor's demeanor in jam sessions. The man has a wealth of talent and knowledge that I always seem to learn from. He's really very open as a musician, yet he's very quick the facilitate the action by saying to someone "keep it up" or "wait" or "cut it out." He's passionate and all, but I think that can be said about all of us. What's cool is that the man has ears all over the room and is confident enough to try and bring the sound in his head to life. It's always a different kind of session when he's involved. I mean that in a very positive sense. He tends to bring out the best in people.

Following the session I was a little embarrassed because I sweating pretty profusely following not very much actual physical activity. With that said, I do tend to stay in a perpetual state of motion when performing. A state of motion I found defined me amongst Deanna's more distant relatives. A couple of times I was told that they were asking Deanna about the guy who did {Inset your own spontaneous hip and hand gyration here} and whether or not he was coming that night. I was quite flattered and suddenly very aware of just how mobile the human body could be.

This brings me to my next point of discussion: The Stockhausen family.

The Stockhausen's have always been incredibly warm people towards me and this past weekend only further highlighted their welcoming nature. After the session, the family decided to play some thumper (I wish this game came up at half of my family gatherings) a game which I hadn't played since a Vermont trip a couple of years back. You know it's going to be an occasion to remember when grandma joins in on the fun. It was just a great time. To see a family laughing and enjoying one another so much was great and I knew I was witnessing something very special.

Though I will say that if I shared the "whip-a-doodle" with any of my relatives, I don't doubt that I would be barred from any future family occasions until such time as I could be proven sane.

After the game died down, they all stayed up for at least another hour and shared stories from their younger days about some wild times and whatnot that I won't repeat here, but the openness in the family unbelievable and enviable. I had a wonderful time. This family dynamic was one of a kind and I can't thank them enough for making me feel like one of their own.

Shared at the Beanberry this past week again. The intimacy of the place continues to blow my mind. I was little concerned about sharing this week, given that my most recent piece is about my relationship to basketball. I mean no disrespect, but the crowd didn't exactly strike as a crew invested in the present and past of the NBA. It was of real comfort to see some friendly faces in the audience. I'm really appreciative to those people for attending. You know who you are, and it meant quite a bit to me. Thank you. Hopefully we'll be buffin' it up on the beach in short order.

Again the crowd was really receptive and it was great hear such great talent gathered in one place. Not to call him out, but it was the first time I'd seen Ryan Smith perform and I enjoyed it quite a bit. I look forward to spending more time in that space.

I will say this, only I could perform a piece and leave with two guys' numbers. Kind of a shake your head moment, to say the least.

Camp goes well. I feel like I have about three stories a day, but when it comes to blogging, I have to kind of trim the fat. A couple of things.

1. As a result of my Monopoly prowess, (I actually lost the game, but they don't seem to care/notice) a few kids have started calling me "The Constable." I'm thrilled with the moniker. "Poli" has treated me well, but it may be time for a change. I remember wanting to be called "Young Jeezy" for a day in Rhapsody just to see if we could get through it with a straight face. Also, I've always secretly dreamed of being called Sir Topham Hatt by my peers, but that's another blog post entirely.

2. I want to preface this by saying I certainly mean no disrespect, I just can't lie. I find it hilarious when little kids around here assume that two black kids that hang out together are siblings. To hear such blunt honesty from kids on both ends of the question is absurdly humorous to me. It says a lot about our neck of the woods. Again, not the most P.C. thing I've ever said, but I swear to witness it is to believe it.

Stay cool, dear readers.

Advice of the Day: When seeking employment, sometimes working hard is not enough. You've got to learn to be a respectful pain in the ass, too.

Song of the Day: 1921- The Who

Jazz Song of the Day: I Guess I'll Hang My Tears Out To Dry- Keith Jarrett Trio

Lots of People Talking, Few of Them Know

A quick little story for you:

Working at the same camp for as many years as I have, you grow attached to certain kids and their families and get to know them pretty well. With that said, there is one such kid at my camp whom I've considered one of my favorites. (I know you're not supposed to admit you have them.) Back when he was six I used to call him a "little wrecking ball" he's just always kind of been a rough and tumble kid who kind of did whatever he wanted in a still somehow really endearing way. Now he's ten and not much has changed. As tough as he may act, he's still such a mama's boy who gets really excited to see her and hug her before she leaves. I hate to say it, but the whole thing is just plain cute.

Anyway, my point is, I like just about every kid at that camp, but if there's one kid whose family I wouldn't mind hanging around with after work it's this kid. I know he feels the same way because he often begs me to come to Subway with he and his mother after camp. This kid and I were tight...Subway together tight... in the world of friendship, nothing ranks higher. Nothing could tear this friendship apart, or so I thought.

Lo and behold, today my main man pulls up to camp in a shiny, white, sparkling, bright, shimmering, fresh, gleaming, twinkling (did I mention it was clean and new) LeBron James Miami Heat jersey.

Immediately, I felt the cold steel of the blade thrust into my back. "Oh, Nick," I said, shaking my head in shame, "you're killing me, bud." Nick approached, unfazed and smiling, wanting to have a catch as if nothing was amiss. I did some more dramatics of lamentation and really got him laughing. After I collected myself, I set aside my plotting regarding how to spill paint on the jersey and still make it look like an accident to ask him what exactly he saw in the man to be wearing his name so proudly.

His response, and I quote, "I don't watch basketball, I've just heard of him." Only then did I realize the power of a TV special and Sprite. I hung my head for a beat and told him I was a Mavs fan. He said, "No, I don't like the Mavs." As he did this he moved his hands defiantly like an umpire saying "safe." At that point I was confused as to how someone who didn't watch basketball could be so adamantly against the Mavs. I could only assume that he'd accidentally seen sportscenter's countdown of the "Shawn Bradley's Not Top Ten" and let that sway his decision. Let's be honest, there could be a lot more than 10.

Well, not one to let a self-proclaimed patriarch ruin a friendship, I decided to let bygones be bygones and be the bigger man, and we both carried on our day as usual, with tag, uno, and baseball all being important aspects of our addendum. As fun as this was, I couldn't help but feel like something was missing. As if I had something else to say, but couldn't quite phrase it properly.

Then, a counselor informs me that Nick is not feeling well. My heart goes out to the young fella and I ask him what ails him. He says it's his stomach and I call his mom just to cover my bases. She comes down and he's feeling a bit better after hydrating and relaxing in the shade. When she gets down to the park I ask him how he's feeling and he says he's alright. I said "Do you want to leave now or can you make it a half our or so when camp ends. He says he'd rather leave. After wishing him well and a speedy recovery, I say, "You know, Nick, I'm beginning to see why you picked that jersey. LeBron James never wants to play towards the end either." I then proceeded to laugh for a good 60 seconds.

Now we're even. Hopefully my bud is feeling better on Monday.

Advice of the Day: When trying to explain why not shouting is important to a five-year-old, do not quote Shakespeare's Richard II. You will undoubtedly have to rephrase.

Song of the Day: Motion Picture Soundtrack- Radiohead

Jazz Song of the Day: Just So Only More So- John McLaughlin

Hunger For The Dreams I'll Never See

The hands of fate appear to be drawing me to a place that has always been nearby, but never really on my list of frequented places until this summer. I first went to the Beanberry Caffe on assignment for the Patch to see their comedy night. The event was a solid one, not much to say about it, but it really was pretty enjoyable. Come to think of it, the only thing worth mentioning was this mother whom I'd been shooting the breeze with waiting for the show to start said I'd be perfect for her daughter. I just kind of nodded and said thanks, I really had little intention of following that up. However, what little impetus I had to follow up quickly vanished when her next sentence was something to the tune of "if you break her heart my husband will get someone to break your legs." Ah, the innocence of a budding romance. I, again, kind of nodded and said thanks. Another woman, noticing my shirt with her name, said I knew nothing about Janis Joplin. We exchanged thoughts on her music and some very basic trivia about her life and apparently I passed the test. She then said I was cute and went to rub my face. The interview ended immediately.

Anyway, the atmosphere is awesome there. For lack of a better term, there's a really chill and intimate vibe. They offer a variety of food and assorted drinks including tea, wine, and beer. As if that weren't enough, they have a scrabble board too. It would seem I've found a home away from home.

This past Tuesday, they had an open mic there. Usually, my spot for musical open mics is pretty exclusively the Velvet Lounge unless I'm going to see a specific friend someplace else. A friend, Eliot Greene, mentioned that the Beanberry was pretty open to poetry reading as well. That was a refreshing proposition because I'm not a fan when poetry is kind of the elephant in the room when surrounded by great tunes. It's a little unnerving in my opinion. Anyway, I went to take in the scene and really had no intention of performing, but the talent there was really impressive, and I've already spoken with much aplomb about the setting, so I went for it and read one piece of mine I brought just in case and inspired by Eliot, laid out some improv verses that people really seemed to enjoy. I was thrilled with the warming reaction and reception and definitely plan on attending pretty often. Not since York have I felt so at ease to share some of my work and experiment with my lexicon in public. The Beanberry is providing an outlet that I find myself really hungering for at this point in my life. I can't say enough about the quality of the place and people.

I had accidentally showed up to the session an hour too early and witnessed three high school aged kids nose deep in their gameboys and having in depth conversations about the quality and apparent strategy of various pokemon games and levels. I'm not even trying to hate on it. It was really enriching to hear people be so passionate about something that I didn't understand/didn't care about too much. I kind of realized how I must sound when the NBA comes up in conversation in certain company.

A few days ago I went to Cedar Beach to shoot some hoops as I do every now and then. I summer camp pulled up and they watched my play for a while. Then, I imagine they thought they were whispering, but I could hear them plain as day as they spoke about how I was really good and whatnot... what they said is kind of irrelevant, but the idea is pretty important. I then heard them debate amongst themselves as to whether they should ask "the stranger" to play. Many kids said no for that very reason, others seemed really eager to play with me. I watched them put it to a vote and was quite proud of the demonstration of democracy. I imagine it was decided I shouldn't play because I never heard anything more about joining their ranks. It's so interesting to see kids in their interactions with each other.

Speaking of kids, the summer camp I work at has started up again. It's good to be back and brush up on my "lava monster" and jump rope, both of which had gotten quite rusty over the past 10 months. I feel like rather than tell you all about my camp days and likely bore you, I'll simply share one or two highlights of each day.

7/11

1. Girl feeling tired intentionally closes her eyes while walking and proceeds to ram herself into a wooden fence, cutting her chin open. Confusion still lingers about what she expected would happen.

2. 10 year-old boy takes great pride in "Wolverine" impression. Actual impression tends resemble more of an effeminate catwoman, complete with hissing sound which may or may not be voluntary. A big part of me wants to tell him to knock it off, but a bigger part of me doesn't want to endeavor to explain to him why he should knock it off. I leave it alone after becoming open to the idea that maybe my ninja turtle impressions as a youngster weren't as spot on as I hoped they were. Ignorance is bliss, witnessing ignorance can be even more rewarding.

The Kraus family had a gathering to celebrate Emily's graduation from UD. These gatherings are always a good time. Part of what makes these days so special are the volleyball games that take place. Two quick stories along those lines before I let you go.

1. Mild-mannered Ben Kraus took his game to another level and was all over the court. Good to see his mean streak on full display as he took on all comers unbiasedly laying down the law to each one. As the other team innocently tossed the ball over to our side for us to serve, Ben spiked the ball emphatically out of reflex, leaving stunned spectators and players on both sides in his wake. Also, his brother called him "Daddy Long Legs." I really got a kick out of this very appropriate nickname.

2. As was bound to happen, the volleyball was hit into Emily's pool. Rather than wait for the ball to float to the side where it could be picked up, Emily's uncle went to lean in and grab the ball. Everyone knew this was a bad idea, but we looked on in silence anyway. His risk proved costly as he fell in the pool, soaking his phone. I'd be lying if I said I didn't crack a smile, but it was more of a shame than humorous. What was funny was Emily's uncle's friend coming to his aid was a lawn lamp to get the ball with and/or for him to grab on to. Now to be fair, I cannot with 100 percent certainty say that the object was a lamp and even if it was a lamp (which I do think it was) it was definitely not plugged in. But even with that said, there's something hilarious about about grabbing something strictly electrical to fetch something out of a pool. That laughter was not as easy to disguise. Grebe and I were on similar pages in that regard and shared a hearty laugh and fake noises of electrocution for the rest of the night.

Song of the Day: Roll Right- Rage Against the Machine

Jazz Song of the Day: Lost- Wayne Shorter

Stars, Stripes, and Sean Taylor Forever

The month of July has brought about some new and exciting experiences coupled with the reprise of annual outings that have become a sign of the season and, in many ways, staples in my life.

There is no more proper, and indeed enjoyable, way to celebrate a nation's independence than to spend the day at Sean Taylor's Fourth of July gathering in the Hamptons. In addition to paying homage to the stars and stripes, family and friends also celebrated the graduation of Sean Taylor's sister, Erin. My deepest congratulations to her and the family on what was a fine way to end an era of Sean Taylor Hamptons celebrations.

Enough of the heartfelt moment. The day itself was beautiful gathering of friends highlighted by my own intestinal fortitude as I ate many a sausage, a stirring rendition of "Mustang Sally" from the mom-magnet himself, John Johnson, a nearly as poignant arrangement of "Summer In The City" by Jay and Bob (not silent, in case you were wondering), and other less-than-noteworthy but nonetheless enjoyable moments. Jay and I are strongly considering a career change in which we help run parties via DJing, emceeing, and whatnot. Definitely not a bad idea. I think if we bring Matty Matura in on the business this could very quickly turn from semi-joke to very viable option.

Due to the harsh sun, I was forced to adorn a very special straw hat that I can only describe as "fun in the sun meets the bright lights of vaudeville." What started out as a fashion statement of necessity soon became an expression of self as the sun went down and the hat stayed on. While I hear straw sun hats are very passe in Milan, the South of France, and whatever other fashion capital you undoubtedly know more about than me, apparently I pulled off the look well, and received praise for the look throughout the night and even the next morning (proving that alcohol was at least not the primary reason for such rave reviews). Even as I initially nestled in for the night in an uncomfortable chair with my head atop a mound of hamburger buns, subconsciously (very subconsciously) the hat stayed on. I find that so much of great fashion is simply instinct that some are blessed with *cough* and others are not.

Speaking of heroic headware, one little kid at the party had a balloon hat that he proceeded to make larger and larger throughout the day, but unfortunately the hat met an untimely demise, leading the child to be none too pleased. Kind of a dumb story through type, but to see it was too believe it. Grebe, Jay and I wound up passing out in a row on the floor of Sean Taylor's living room (sans buns). It was carpeted... worse slumbers have happened. The day night before, Grebe, Sean Taylor, and I were considering going to the Boardy Barn the following day. We awoke and realized that probably wasn't a great idea. It rained anyway, so it all worked out.

I probably should have mentioned that was only July 2nd. The fourth itself was mercifully much more mundane as we spent the evening in Astoria doing some grilling on a neighbor's grill (much more of an ordeal than it should have been). Jam sessions were abundant as we settled atop Ben and Jake's roof to take fireworks you could see from the city and a few in Astoria itself. A nice relaxing time with good friends.

I assure you I have so much more to say, it's simply getting late and I don't want to sacrifice details in my fit of fatigue. Look for a new post tomorrow.

Thanks for reading, it means a lot. I think it's pretty clear from the terrible jokes that sometimes surface on the screen that in a way I wrote in this blog for myself at first. To see 30-40 pageviews for each post is far more than I could ever have imagined. I'm so pleased that at a few of you seem to enjoy what I have to say, and you've added a whole new element to "Yesternow."

Thanks again.

Song of the Day: Lying In The Hands Of God- Dave Matthews Band

Jazz Song of the Day: Prickly Pair- The Flecktones