Great Big Sea: October 21st 2010 – Kent Stage

Yeah, I know. It’s been three weeks now and I’m just getting around to posting this. We’ve been through this before with plenty of other blogs, so we’ll skip the part where I apologize and get right to the… you know, the main part.
I left the college at 6 pm (well a little after 6, as I had forgotten my mp3 player and there was NO WAY I was making the trek without it). The drive there was surprisingly lonesome, long, wet and a bit nerve-racking, I think because it was so overcast and dreary, the sky kept spitting rain on me, and I was constantly second-guessing myself about whether or not I had missed my exit, which is something I always worry about. I’m usually good about not losing my way when I’m driving to a new place, but it doesn’t stop me from being nervous. Few things make you feel more lonesome than making a trip to a place you’ve never been, by yourself, wondering if you’re lost and just haven’t realized it yet. I was ecstatic when I finally saw Dad – I’d found myself thinking that I couldn’t wait to see him, and that I’d give him a huge hug when I saw him, which I did.
It seemed like the venue was really out of the way, but I discovered upon finally getting there that it was in the middle of a town similar to some of the communities I’ve been in near the lake. After one missed turn, a mistaken intersection and a rather harried conversation with Dad, we found one another and, after still more driving in circles, we found a parking space that was technically 2-hour parking but that nobody must have been paying attention to.
The venue had sort of an old-time feel to it, with a strong tie to history similar to the House of Blues but less sleek. We couldn’t appreciate it too much due to the volume of people packed into the place (sold out to the doors, thank you very much), but we did stop and talk to Glenn at the swag table. I showed him my “I ♥ BOB” shirt, and he laughed at me. I also showed him the picture on my phone of my autographed bodhrán (I got my bodhrán signed by Séan McCann… didn’t I tell you?).
It took me several minutes, naturally, to decide what I wanted. Of course I got a copy of Bob’s book Writing out the Notes, available from greatbigsea.com and Insomniac Press. The online price is $13.99, but of course the swag price was higher ($20). I really liked the grey tour shirts, but it seems like I get a shirt at every tour I go to. I spent a considerable amount of time (surprise) deciding between the hat and the shirt, and ultimately decided on getting the hat, on the grounds that I don’t have as many hats as I do shirts and that come summer it may be helpful to have one during an internship (crosses fingers).
We didn’t talk to Diane and Kevin much, as it was difficult to wade through the crowd, but I stood and watched the door at the back of the venue after we found our seats (8th row, Stage Murray). This was strictly for the purpose of watching for Diane and Kevin, and had absolutely NOTHING to do with me wanting to show off my “I ♥ BOB” shirt to as many people as possible without being obvious about it. And you should know that as I was standing there I noticed a boy and a girl, perhaps a few years younger than me, point and then pick their way down row 9 (apparently their seats were right behind ours). As they got close the boy raised his hand in the international manner of a high-five request, and said “I just wanted to congratulate you on the awesomeness of your shirt!”
So there you have it. There is SOMEONE OUT THERE THAT LOVES MY BOBSHIRT. SO ALL YOU PEOPLE WHO LIKE TO MAKE FUN OF MY BOBLOVE (Dad and Kevin), CAN JUST TAKE THAT. And when Kevin approached me a few minutes later to give me money for some t-shirts he was buying to help me out with an entrepreneurship class (ha! I spelled that without spell-check!). I made absolutely sure he knew about The High-Five Kid. (which is how I referred to him, like he was some kind of legendary hero),
Later in the week I discovered that The High-Five Kid is actually an accomplished guitar, accordion and bodhrán player named Alex. I found him on the Online Kitchen Party in the “Show Reviews” thread.
I had a Subway napkin in my purse that I pulled from to make impromptu earplugs. Dad turned me down when I offered it to him, but changed his mind later… after my first scream… and even then, he only put it in the ear that was closest to me. Silly Daddy.
Before I get to the set list and the bulleted show highlights, I want to say that, although it seems that everyone who was at the show touted it as the best they’d ever been to, I felt that it was slightly sub-par from what I’m used to. It was naturally just as fun as any Great Big Sea show, but I felt just a smidge underfulfilled for some reason.
That is all.

Set List! (I checked this against the primary copy someone posted on greatbigsea.com, so it should be accurate (and for the record, I did remember to charge both my phone and my camera this time):
Process Man
Captain Kidd
The Night Pat Murphy Died
When I’m Up
Lukey
Safe Upon the Shore
Charlie Horse
Nothing But a Song
Good People
River Driver
Dear Home Town
Yankee Sailor
80’s Medley (I Fought the Law, Summer of ’69, Hit Me With Your Best Shot, Don’t Stop Believing, Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This), 500 Miles, Bohemian Rhapsody)
Run Run Away
Intermission
(Long Life) Where Did You Go
Love Me Tonight (w/ “Tonight’s Gonna Be a Good Night” homage)
England
Beat the Drum
When I am King
General Taylor
The Scolding Wife
HELMETHEAD!!!!!!
Consequence Free
Mari Mac
Ordinary Day
Encore 1:
Wandering Ways
Excursion Around the Bay
Fortune Set
Encore 2:
Oh Yeah
“Ode to Ohio”
Old Black Rum

The abundant string of pineapple jokes puzzled me a bit – I wondered if there was some joke that I should have been aware of but was not. From what I can tell, the simple answer is that there was a pineapple on the stage, and the guys felt that it ought to be the source of the evening’s in-joke. The pineapple received several mentions and even some time in the spotlight during a musically irrelevant “pineapple solo”. Sean, of course, succeeded in taking everything Alan said and responding with something plausibly dirty.

______________Alan presents the pineapple to the crowd_____________

I got a video of “Yankee Sailor”, my favorite song from the new album, although I missed the first several chords as I was trying to decide if I wanted a video or not. Alan turned the spotlight over to Bob so he could introduce the song (still weird seeing him talk onstage). I also took a video of the second half of Mari-Mac, mostly for the purpose of annoying my mom with it. She detests that song. :-p

You would think that after 16 years together, Alan and Sean would have exhausted their options when it comes to ways to introduce “Paddy Murphy” onstage. Alan came up with this lovely invitation to the masses of Seanivores in the audience: “It’s Sean McCann! See him! Know him! Hear him! Touch him! Love him!”

_______________See! Know! Hear! Touch! Love!_______________

At a semi-quiet point near the beginning of the show, someone in the middle of the crowd shouted “MARI-MAC!!!” extra loud, to which Alan paused and replied, “I’m sorry, we don’t take requests… we only play the hits. Aaaaaaaaaaall of the greatest Great Big Sea hits!” This is of course a well-known jest at the fact that, in 16 years of band-dom, the guys have only had one genuine “hit” – Sea of No Cares. They did not do this one at this particular show. I can’t remember which song followed this proclamation.

_______________________Kris and Alan____________________

Alan’s outro to “Safe Upon the Shore” was priceless, and I think it was perhaps a sentiment that has been reflected in the minds of a lot of GBS fans after first hearing the tune: “Grand job with that song, boys [Sean and Murray]. The first time I heard that song, the first thing I thought was 'This is pretty cool… what a beautiful song,’ and then I thought 'JAYSUS, HE'S DEAD!”
I’ll take a moment here to say this: they sort of allude to the fact that the boy in the song is dead when they sing the chorus (“So give a sailor not your heart lest sorrow you do seek… Let true love not be torn apart by favors from the sea”). What I think is interesting is that the chorus is so blatantly fatalistic while verses are full of hope, yet the overall tone of the song never wavers. You feel a strong, hopeful pull right up to the point where it’s actually revealed that the sea has played a cruel trick on the fair maid by returning her lover’s corpse to her. I also love how with very few lyrics and absolutely no music, (Sean and Murray) make you believe that the sea is a living, breathing entity, capable of love, anger, deceit, patience, etc.
Alan congratulated us when the song was over, commenting on how perfectly tight-lipped everyone was (it was one of the few times we all sat down). Sean turned this praise into a dirty joke, and they carried on with the show.

______________Sean and Bob "Safe Upon the Shore"______________

I thought the end of General Taylor was a little tense, vocally. Sean usually belts it out with that strong tenor he has, and it can be unbelievably impressive, but… I don’t know. It felt weak, like he was trying to be loud without using the full strength of his beautiful vocal power. I think Dad and I exchanged a glance at that point, and I’m sure he was thinking the same thing.

There was a woman named Jenny in the audience celebrating her 32nd birthday. Alan and Sean had us all sing to her, then proceeded to sing the song "Jenny" to her. We, of course, sang the phone number part. Alan asked us if we knew any other songs about girls named Jenny. I shouted out, "FLIGHT OF THE CONCHORDS!!!!", prompting him to turn in my direction. "Flight of the Conchords, eh? They have a song called 'Jenny'? Oh, that's right, they do." He ultimately decided, however, that FotC's "Jenny" didn't fit with the mood he was trying to convey, and they didn't sing it. But how awesome would it be to see Sean and Alan do that song together? I vote that they cover it!

Alan and Sean talked about how they went jogging in a park earlier in the day, where (lo!) they ran into Murray (quite literally, it seems). This prompted Murray to mention how Alan's new, "post-Robin Hood" beardedness tends to frighten small children. Alan and Sean in turn complimented Murray's cleanshaven, "manscaped" face. More bawdiness ensued.

____________________"Manscaped Murray"___________________

During The Scolding Wife, Sean changed “caught me by the middle” to “caught me by the coconuts”. Séan is known for changing the lyrics of this line, and I’m sure there have been countless versions of it tailored for countless audiences over the years.

I wasn't keen on the video screen behind the band. They've never used, or needed, one in the past, plus the pictures were kind of grainy and in some cases distracting. When Kris was allowed the luxury of coming out from behind the drum set with the piano accordion, however, he took to wandering about and between the other guys, as is his wont. This time, however, he was dragging an extraordinarily long cable behind him, and thrusting the terminal end of it into everyone’s faces and instruments. Even though there were images being projected on the screen behind the band (which I, in my defense, didn’t notice – as I suggested, I’m not accustomed to GBS shows having screens), it took me forever to realize that he was carrying a scope-like camera around. ___________Kris threatens Sean with his handheld camera__________

The people beside me quite loudly (and possibly quite drunkenly) requested “HelmetHead” perhaps every second or third song. I am a stark-raving HalletHead, as everyone is well aware. I would be tickled in every way if I could see Bob sing more than one song in any given show, and although I appreciate their love of The Bob, is it possible that I got a bit annoyed with them? Well, maybe annoyed is the wrong word. When they finally did do HelmetHead Bob had an extra long accordion solo, which tickled me.

_____________________♥AccordionBob!!!!♥ _________________

Alan was amazed and delighted to discover that whenever he shouted the letters “O-H!”, the audience would invariably respond with “I-O!” Evidently he had never been exposed to this particular peculiarity of Ohioans, and took advantage of it several times during the band’s “Ode to Ohio”. At one point he asked us, “Does that work everywhere in Ohio or just here?” I imagine he’ll be filing that information away to use on later tours. I personally was amused by Bob’s reaction to this rabble-rousing – in addition to The Stern Look, Alan received a patented Bob Hallett “WTF!” look. I think Bob’s patience was commendable.

I really can’t bring myself to end a blog without a proper closing (that’s the academic in me, I suppose), but since I didn’t write one when I started the blog three weeks ago, and I don’t feel like writing one now…
I feel like listening to Great Big Sea now. So I’ll go do that. Plus I’ll get to work on some actual academic writing (which is overdue and is the main reason this blog is so late). Wish me luck!

Taking The Walk With Hanson
or: How I Got My Foot Blisters

It was an odd thing, to wake up on the morning of a Hanson show and think “I’m going to a Walk with Hanson today!” and not “HANSON SHOW TONIGHT!!! *squeeeeeeallllll!!!!!”. But I told myself, even back when I first saw the tour dates, that I may not go to it. The last show I went to drove home how difficult it is to go to a Hanson show anymore. Jennie and I were on our feet for hours without reprieve, and during that time I developed pronounced pain in my feet, knees, back, neck and head, more than at any show previous. The House is almost unbearably dry, perhaps to encourage the purchase of over-priced beverages, and hot and claustrophobic when crowded with Fansons (this is not so bad at a Great Big Sea show). Finally, while I adore the publicity-spreading-for-relatively-unknown-bands idea behind the boys’ opening acts, after standing for several hours already in a hot, dry, crowded room, every single time I find myself wishing sudden death on anything and anyone that stands between the Hanson brothers and the stage.
At first my plan was to become intentionally ignorant of the date of the show, to lessen the odds that I would be bouncing off the walls in anxiety, like a dog watching a meat truck drive by, when the big day came. Later on, however, after I determined definitely that I wouldn’t be going, and came to terms with it as much as could be expected, I realized that I could just go to The Walk before the show, then hit up the swag table, without actually going to the show itself. This was also an extremely unusual feeling, one that permeated my thoughts throughout the day described herein.
I logged onto hanson.net in the morning to make absolutely sure the time of The Walk hadn’t been changed (I didn’t want a repeat of last year!) and found that not only was it still scheduled for 5, but that my boys were set to do a morning show spot on the Robin Swoboda Show at 10am. I checked my cell and saw that the time was 10:32 am. I tuned in just in time to see David Moss making pulled pork for a Midwest-themed meal in honor of the band, and, to my amusement, heard the boys making noises off-camera in response to the food (seriously, they way they eat they should each weigh at least 300 pounds). They may have done three songs, but I only caught two after I tuned in. They did “Waiting For This” and “Carry You There” while I kept my thumb poised over the rewind button (how did I ever live without DVR?!?!). I found myself disappointed that there weren’t more fans in the audience to do the “Shout it out!” refrain.
I left early to check out the Oberlin College bookstore, planning to ask someone there if they hire non-residents so that I know whether or not I have a shot at getting a second job there when I go back home for winter break. The campus is so spread out, city street-wise, that I got easily confused. By the time I'd found what could have been the admissions building, I’d already had plenty of time to chicken out.
Not wanting to go back home and face the screaming children that now dwell in my house, I headed for North Ridgeville and got to Kristin’s early.
We took the spare time to stop at Half-Price Books. Even though I knew better, I let myself fancy that I wasn’t a poor college student who shouldn’t be buying things she doesn’t need. Although I exercised great restraint in the area of Purchasing Books About the Science Behind Jurassic Park, I did come away with a hardcover copy of “Letters to Jenny” by Piers Anthony and Rush Hour 2 on DVD. I know, all you people out there who know me are probably wondering how I lived for so long without having that movie on DVD. I do have it on VHS, mind you. I was just slow in upgrading, and also had a surprising amount of trouble finding it.

When we got to the venue there was a small crowd gathered. We walked several hundred feet past them until we came to a point where I feared we would be solicited by strangers if we went any further. So we changed course and wandered down the East 4th St. alley where the entrance to the House of Blues Restaurant is. On the corner at the opposite end of the street is Flannery’s Pub (where Gaelic Storm had their after-party last March). We stopped in to use their bathroom, which smelled quite ripe despite the “19 Action News Clean Plate Award” declaration stickered to the door at the entrance. I noticed immediately that I had never seen the pub so empty – there were perhaps 8 or 9 people there. Also, the place looked smaller when empty – it had taken me more than ten minutes to weasel my way up to the bar to get a glass of water after the Great Big Sea show two years ago.
After satisfying our bladders we moseyed back to the front of the House shortly before someone called for all Walkers to register before The Walk (last time I walked we did it after). I explained the process to Kristin, who throughout the day had many questions about the event (“Oh, we are taking off our shoes? Why is that?”) and the cause. Some of her questions, such as the aforementioned one, I knew Taylor would answer in all his megaphone-d glory once things got underway.
The boys came out at 5:14 pm – which is about 4:55 or so Hanson Time, so I suppose they were early by their own standards of punctuality – to a roaring and quickly congealing crowd. They were dressed exactly as I had seen them that morning – Taylor was in a yellow plaid flannel shirt with that ugly little orange-ish hat that he likes to wear:

Isaac was in the ever-present white dress shirt and dressy pants:


and Zac was wearing a leather jacket over a t-shirt with thick slate-colored stripes. How he did not overheat in that thing, I have no clue:


Kristin was most excited because it would be the closest she’d ever been to a celebrity. As The Walk got underway and we floated into a position behind Isaac, she was all but giddy.
I overheard a few interesting things as we were walking, but I was not taking notes because I have a severe overabundance of faith in my memory. The only one I can remember for certain is as follows: as we were making our way down East 4th, I heard a girl behind me say, “Look at those guys! They’re probably thinking, ‘Who are all those girls following? And more importantly, how can I get them to follow me like that?’” A dozen clever answers were swimming around in my head, but none of them came to fruition so I just kept my mouth shut and smiled to myself.
Isaac was given a megaphone this time, so he and Taylor each had one, and Zac relied on his ability to project should he need to say something. At the halfway point Taylor said something about being yelled at by a crazy guy with a megaphone, mentioning that Zac is usually the crazy guy yelling at him with a megaphone. Zac declared, in a loud voice, that he didn’t need one.
We walked with each brother in turn, surprisingly, as last time I pretty much kept close rank with Isaac for the whole Walk. Sometime before the halfway point, Isaac managed to sneak ahead while Taylor appeared somewhere behind us, by some wonderful Hanson-related magic.


After the halfway point we managed (where I took a video of Taylor speaking to the gathering), to my surprise, to find ourselves relatively close to Zac, although not nearly so close as we managed with his older brothers.

Note that he is posing for a picture with a fan in this picture. I saw all three of them doing this, which should have bolstered my confidence, even though they were strict about not posing for photos the last time I walked with them.
When Zac was propelled too far forward for us to have a hope of claiming we were walking “near” him, Isaac appeared, again as if by magic, about 20 feet behind us. I slowed my walking a bit (my prerogative) and actually found myself the courage to do some of that backwards-walking-picture-taking.
You can't see it in the pic because I cropped him out out of irritation, but there was a guy in the original shot with a camera in Isaac’s face. He took up space in front of all three of them at one time or another. I don’t know where he was from, but he was extremely skilled at walking backward… and was making it difficult for the rest of us to get good shots.
The terrain we navigated, shoelessly, was old hat to the boys, who traversed it all nonchalantly. In places in direct sunlight it was hot enough to be painful, but during his midway speech, Taylor told us, “I heard someone complaining, ‘It’s too hot here!’ and let me tell you this: You know nothing of heat until you’ve Walked in 100+ degree weather…” Also, though this has nothing to do with the walking conditions, he praised the fans for the efforts that have been made in the past three years to host our own Walks that the band was not involved in. They have apparently been taking place all over the world, from Chicago to London to Sydney to Tokyo, and according to hanson.net, band and Fansons have, as of the writing of this blog, walked over 36,000 miles collectively.
Besides the really hot places, we walked over asphalt, concrete, brick, stone, and these REALLY painful grates that most of us hopped over or skirted around. I made a point to watch Isaac’s reaction to one of these obstacles. Surprisingly (or not, because I’d half expected it), he walked over it like it wasn’t even there.
As for my own pain…
I noticed a sharpish pain in both my heels before we ever reached the halfway point, and recognized the local as the place on my heel where most of the pressure is concentrated when I take a step (indeed, if you were to examine the wear on any pair of shoes I own, you would notice that the heel is worn in a decidedly lop-sided manner). It wasn’t until we got back to the House that I suspected that there were actual blisters down there – when I felt like I had something stuck there but couldn’t find the culpable irritant, then when I took a step and it actually felt like there was some fluid being pushed around in there. Gah.
I can’t imagine how painful it must have been for them the first several days or weeks of the campaign, getting used to what must have been constant pain (in addition to blisters, I’ve noticed a fierce soreness in my calf muscles from walking without the support of shoes). Also, as I will mention later, their feet must have been constantly dirty, because let me tell ya – my feet are still not completely clean.
The doors were scheduled to open at 6, but at that time we were just finishing up – when I looked at my phone for the time and saw it was exactly 6, Taylor was still addressing the crowd outside the HOB.
Kristin and I waited about 10 minutes (remember, I wanted to hit the swag table), but by quarter after 6 they still hadn’t opened the doors. I was exceedingly hungry, having skipped a trip to Subway in hopes of finding a cheapish place near the HOB. Ha. Ha ha ha.
I realized that I didn’t have to get in as soon as they opened the doors. The table would be available all night until the show was over – another oddity about not going to the show itself. I realize that these may sound like obvious things to the average layreader, but they are novel ideas to me. I don’t HAVE to get into the venue as soon as they open the doors! Imagine that!
Thus reassured that nothing would be lost by it, we walked over (well, she walked; I sort of minced, due to my blisters) to the Corner Alley, a great bowling alley/bar/lounge right on the corner of Euclid and E 4th St. It is a wonderful place – open to anyone who wants to come it and hang out, yet it has a very clean and classy feel to it. The hostess and the bartenders were very friendly (it’s the same place I stopped at for water with Jennie after last year’s show). We saw a few people that we recognized from The Walk, and some that we didn’t but whom we recognized as Hanson fans by the I heart ISAAC and I heart ZAC shirts they were wearing. I almost asked them why they weren’t going to the show but I decided against it for whatever reason. Was probably mostly social phobia, but they also seemed a bit standoffish to me.
We were in time to take advantage of the happy hour specials, and though I had intended to go in for water and then find somewhere closer to home to eat, we ended up ordering a $5 pizza with red and green peppers. It was quite good, but could not TOUCH a Lu’s pizza for deliciousness. Kristin also ordered a triple chocolate mousse-type thing, which was more delicious than I expected it to be, since it’s surprisingly easy for me to become over-chocolated in the area of dessert dishes (we are exact opposites in this respect!).
Upon leaving the Corner Alley, which I am now shamelessly plugging for its great atmosphere and service, we got back to the venue before 7:30. I was exceedingly disappointed to find that the shirt I’d wanted was not available --> http://www.hanson.net/site/sections/337 (If you’re a fan, you’ll get what this shirt is about. If you’re not, go here --> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QswJz6IDAPg&feature=channel and here--> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_FRtQr9PDus for more information.)
I commend the woman working the swag table (and Kristin, for that matter) for putting up with my customary indecision, and for generally being fun and friendly in the face of it. Faced with an inability to buy a REFRESH t-shirt, I (eventually) bought an “I <3>So there I sat, having washed my feet (3 times) in the tub and rubbed them with some Aloe Vera-infused lotion, with the light off and Cindy trying to sleep, steaming about how after months of looking forward to this day only to have it all rendered pointless by two of the people who are supposed to be my biggest supporters.

*sigh*

I suppose that’s a bit of a negative note on which to end a blog.

I LOVE HANSON!!!!!

So I thought it might be fun to go through my old Myspace archives - those that I wrote before resuscitating my Blogger account - so that my Pre-Blogger exploits could be enjoyed by my entire Internet readership. I am sure both of you will enjoy this:

MySpace Archives Part 1 -

Great Big Sea concert - September 16, 2008

The phrase "Magnificently Spectacular" falls short

Oh.......... My......... GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
As my blog title states, human words of praise fall sadly short of describing what happened at the House of Blues Cleveland last Tuesday night. And it heralded what could quite possibly be the coolest thing that's ever happened to me. My pictures have been uploaded. Go check 'em out.
Here are some highlights, off the top of my head as I recall them, in no specific order:
I got to see my Daddy.
They did Gallows Pole again. As it was in Akron, it was beyond amazing. I found myself wishing that I had it in album or at least MP3 form, but realized that it would NOT be the same. It is powerful and mad, and, as Sean says, "evil". I doubt you could capture it on a CD. Unless, of course, they released another DVD *cough cough hint hint nudge nudge*.
As soon as Bob took his place for the first song, he saw me, noted my "I LOVE BOB" shirt, then smiled and raised his eyebrows to himself, possibly wondering what to expect from the crazy panty-flinging girl this time. If he guessed more panty-flinging, he was right.
In keeping with the ongoing "one guy does a solo on any given night" theme, Sean sang "Widow in the Window" from the Sea of No Cares record, a song that I've never seen live and that they haven't done in a while, at least.
Murray tried to lick Sean's ear.
Alan loves those sandwiches that Panini's makes with the potato chips in them. He says that Philly cheesesteak has nothing on Panini's sandwiches.
They did Walk on the Moon again. I cried. Again.
Sean likes to wear women's deodorant because it smells better than men's. He also likes to eat at the House of Blues restaurant because they feed him, water him, shower him and provide him with women's deodorant.
Kris is not just another pretty face.
Sean winked at me. And smiled at me on several occasions. I'm sure it was because he's a nice guy, and not because I was in the front row wearing a white t-shirt and bouncing like a madwoman.
I threw another pair of panties at Bob (again, purchased especially for the occasion and never worn). The last time they were white lace, this time I went for black zebra stripes. They both were size 5s (my panty size), because it's only appropriate. This time I opted for the 'flinging' release, as opposed to the previously used 'throwing' release, and accidentally got them suspended from his fiddle (the INSTRUMENT, you dirty-minded people). I was a bit embarrassed, but the crowd roared at this, and Sean loved it. He laughed and gave me an approving nod, and I spent the next four songs hoping that he wasn’t about to pick up his fiddle.
My camera behaved funny, causing a lot of my pictures to come out super red-orange and kinda fuzzy. I did get some decent ones, though, and they have already been posted on my page. Check them out, if you haven't already.
At the end of the show, Mr. Hallett approached the edge of the stage slowly and deliberately and presented me with his (his) set list and gave me a flirty wink (I can pretend it was flirty. You cannot prove me wrong. And if you can please get off of my cloud.) I may have passed out from sheer happiness.
I finally have a copy of "Up". The only album I am now missing is Great Big Sea.
I got a pamphlet at the House of Blues restaurant that has a picture of Great Big Sea on the top and a picture of Hanson on the bottom (I am going to see them there on the 29th). Again, sheer happiness.
They did Donkey Riding, Process Man, and Ferryland Sealer. For a third time, s h e e r h a p p i n e s s .
After the show was over and Dad got an Octopus shirt and a deck of playing cards, we headed back to my car on Prospect Avenue to get my bodhrán, then next door to Flannery's Pub, which was crowded and way too loud, though when I mentioned this to Dad, he thought it prudent to point out that the concert itself had been louder, but I say at least the concert was an explosively joyful noise, as opposed to the irritating cacophony in the bar. We wandered about there for a few minutes, trying to get close enough to the bar to ask for some water ("All I want is some water!!" I kept saying) because being a squealy HallettHead is hard on one's throat. Once we had accomplished that we made our way out to the bus and were stunned to find that Alan was already out there doing the meet & greet thing! As I approached I heard "Thanks for coming out, love" which may have been directed at someone else, but again if you feel that way GET OFFA MY CLOUD!
Dad got his cards signed ("I didn't even know we sold these," Alan told us with wonder, "but then, I don't really know what our t-shirts look like, either.") Dad said something about the show being awesome, and Alan shook his hand (and didn't let me forget later that he shook Alan Doyle's hand he shook Alan Doyle's hand Oh my God HE SHOOK ALAN DOYLE'S HAND!!) Dad had complained about being tired, as he had worked 11 hours the night before and was operating on 3 hours of sleep, but as soon as the guys took the stage he was as smiley as me. He even did some jumping, which I would have thought would have been hard on his back.
Anywho, Alan skipped out shortly after we got there. He sat on the other side of the fence that separated the road from the parking lot the bus was in and talked to some woman (I could see him. He was RIGHT THERE). I didn't want to interrupt him, but I really REALLY wanted a photo, and Dad was being accosted by an irritating and loud and aromatic homeless person. But when I started around the corner I was harassed by a guy in a yellow reflective jacket, who told me that the few steps I had traveled were not allowed and that I would have to return to the sidewalk. I still don't know what difference those three feet made, but I ended up leaving pictureless and feeling dejected, but reminded myself how AWESOME the show had been, especially all the Bob parts.
So we went back to my car, and I drove Dad to his parking garage. I got lost getting back to Prospect (I didn't want to go down Euclid, the official address of the HOB, because that wasn't where the bus was parked. HAD to see if Alan was still there.) Alan had since retired, but there were still roadies loading up the bus, and in a moment of insanity, I suddenly swerved into a parallel park across the street, thinking that I would hate myself forever for not at least giving it a try (I've been doing that a lot lately - acting before thinking so that I can't let myself get scared out of doing something - must be all this Walk on the Moon nonsense). I had nothing to lose, I reminded myself. I was going to bring my set list and get it signed, but figured that I had a good chance of returning unsuccessful. If I did find success, I decided that I would rather have success getting my bodhrán signed, as I've been waiting a long time for that.
So bodhrán case in hand, I strode across the street and stood there somewhat timidly (note: the place I was standing was significantly within the forbidden zone, but the crew didn't mind my being there, unlike the Yellow Jacket Guy). One of the guys came toward me on his way to the bus and said Hi to me. I said, "Hi... I know that the guys are supposed to be done for the night, but do you think I could get Sean to sign my drum for me?"
He said... "Sure."
Somewhat astonished, I handed him my bodhrán case, and added as an afterthought, "Tell them I'm the girl in the "I Bob shirt." He laughed at me skeptically, but I told him I was serious, he had to say it.
So glad I did. A minute later he re-emerged. With this:

And that, my friends, is when I died and went to heaven.

MY BIRTHDAY PARTY AT THE HOOLEY HOUSE – MENTOR, OHIO

MARCH 13th, 2010

So my birthday is tomorrow (March 18th), and I had been looking forward all year to having my party at the Hooley House (Brigid’s Cross’s new home in Mentor). Last year, immediately following the grand opening of the Hooley House, Brigid’s Cross played a St. Patrick’s Day concert there. The following evening (my birfday) they did what they called the Survivor Party (an extra excuse to drag out the festivities) named so because it would only be attended by St. Patty’s Day “survivors” – those that are not too hungover from the night before to go out again.
Last year I attended the Survivor Party – front row and center – with Kendra. It was the only thing I actually did for my birthday last year, and really the only thing I’d done in two years (I will not mention the depressing day that I turned twenty-one, when my stepfather had refused to talk to me for two weeks, let alone acknowledge my birthday, and I was stuck at home with him all evening). I was looking forward to doing it the Survivor Party again, but when I talked to Paul on St. Practice Day last month, he told me that they wouldn’t be having one, as he and Peggy have to leave for Florida early Thursday morning. They did, however, mention during that show that they would be throwing an anniversary party for the Hooley House the Saturday before, and that was my signal to scoot and shuffle my birthday plans to accommodate.
So at 7:36 pm on Saturday night (some friends were more punctual than others) we gathered on the first floor of Andrew’s Hall. I felt extra special being the one for whom the crowd was gathered in our dorm lobby, as it has become custom for us to gather in a lobby before going out to dinner together. Brittanie and Tiffanie made an awesome picture for my door whereon they drew a hand doing the Vulcan salute, then added the all-important phrase “Live Long and Prosper” in a lovely styled calligraphy. Upon close inspection, you can tell that it was drawn by hand, but at first glance it appears to have been printed out. Stellar-ness.
Kendra, Jennie, Nikki, Claire, Courtney, Becky, Nicole, Brittanie and Tiffanie and I set out in the rain at roughly five minutes to 8 to make the short trip to Mentor.
I became extremely nervous and uncomfortable when we got to the pub an hour and a half early to find that there were no tables available. I had contemplated calling ahead, but felt stunted by the phone call I had made last year to reserve a table for myself and my dad, only to discover that tables could not be reserved on concert evenings. However, the hostess informed us that we could have called ahead, leading me to conjecture that either I had spoken with an uninformed employee before, or the policy had changed. Also, it led me to feel stupid and incompetent.
Anywho, the hostess told us that it would be an hour wait (was more like half an hour, bless her), which is what made me feel all twitchy inside, plus we would have to sit in two separate booths until a table became available. I had a real and serious fear that my great evening out was going to flop. Jennie, however, lent an important hand by scouting a good location for us to wait, at the back of the bar where it was breezy and somewhat quiet-ish and we were more or less out of the flow of traffic. Here we were free to chat and take photos and, in Nicole’s case, glue our eyes to whatever sportscast happened to be playing over the bar. She must have been gleefully over stimulated by the excess of TV screens. Way to go, Hooley House! You know how to treat a lady!
After our wait, we were fetched by the hostess and relocated in two adjacent booths near the door, with a clear and close if somewhat sidelong view of the stage. I was actually rather pleased with the outcome of the seating arrangement – we were given two extra chairs to accommodate the extra people (we had ten), and I was able to sit at the end of one table and flit back and forth to socialize as I pleased. I returned the pager to the hostess and thanked her, letting her know that we were content with the booths and would not require a table.
I wrote several requests down on a napkin for myself, Claire and Kendra (and Nicole, who wanted to hear “The Devil Went Down to Georgia” but was for some reason embarrassed to have her name written on the napkin). I wanted to hear “Twelve” – but then, when do I NOT want to hear it? – as a birthday request, and “Lisdon Varne”; Claire voted for “Drunken Sailor”, her favorite Irish pub song; and Kendra opted for “The Dance” to satisfy her country side. I made sure to mention that “Devil” needed to get in there before 10pm, because that was the time Nicole, Becky, Courtney and Claire had to skip out. Claire had a horse show the next day – exciting in its own right, as it was a Western show at our equestrian center, plus she placed 6th in her class. Unfortunately, they played her request about 15 minutes after she left.
The remainder of this blog will be done in bulleted format, as I have noticed that paragraph format will make it look choppy. Also, since blog-writing is a form of pleasure writing for me, I think I shouldn’t feel the need to adhere to any formal format.

I noticed at this point how extensive the House’s birthday decorations were. There were balloons attached to the booths and a “Happy Birthday” strung over the stage. The concentration of decorations around our tables made it feel like it was decorated just for me, which tickled me anew.

I was thinking about trying to cobble together a set list from memory, but I really don’t feel like it. They started out with “The Night Pat Murphy Died”, which we of course know courtesy of Sean McCann. They did both of what I’ll call “The Irish Clapping Songs” (“Wild Rover” and “Whiskey in the Jar”), and “Fields of Athenry/Freebird”, thereby completing the Holy Trinity of Irish folk songs (those that you hear by default several times a day at any given Irish festival). Also on hand were show staples like “Katie Daley”, “Johnny Be Fair”, “Follow the Whale”, “Doin’ an Irish Polka”, “Orange Blossom Special”, “The Unicorn Song”, and that lovely medley that features Richie and Paul’s sexy Neil Diamond impressions. They spontaneously turned “The Dance” into a dollar dance for the bride-to-be that was celebrating her bachelorette party at the table in front of the stage.

My friends got a kick out of The Mailman Song. When you introduce people to a band and see them react positively, it’s almost like hearing it for the first time again.

My customary scream when Paul announced that they would be doing a Seven Nations tune was met with customary good humor. Peggy and Paul even poked at Richie to let me have a drink on the house, but to no avail (I ended up getting a Long Island Iced Tea, which was pretty good. Could have been a smidge sweeter, but then, I don’t really know the proper mechanics of alcoholic beverages). “Twelve” battled it out with Lisa Loeb’s “Stay” for quite a while before winning the title of My Favorite Song Ever. I never get tired of hearing it.

Later, when they did “Lisdon Varne” for me, Richie tickled me by saying, “I really don’t think I can sing this song until I hear that scream again…” I dutifully complied.

The Rooster’s performance was “Oldest Swinger in Town”, in honor of the bride-to-be. At this point I had to pee for like, the third time, and so unfortunately I missed the flashing he paid the audience mid-song. That’s right. All of my friends were subjected to Dick Goonan’s nipples while I was safely in the bathroom, waiting in line with a full bladder. Mwahahahaha…
Speaking of weddings: while he did not tell it at this show, Jennie wishes me to mention Paul’s “Irish wedding” joke, because she really liked it: What’s the difference between an Irish wedding and an Irish funeral? … one less drunk!!

The show ended around midnight, after which I got the Bakers to pose for a picture with me, by approaching Paul and letting him know that I had never taken a picture with them before *shock*. I even got a picture with The Rooster near the beginning of the show, and about an hour later he wandered over to our table to say hi. When he saw me, his eyes got wide, and he exclaimed, “Hey! I’ve seen you before! I got to take a picture with you earlier! Remember me?” or something to that effect. It was quite amusing. Richie skipped offstage and was running around the pub like a mad person (or a manager) after the show, so I didn’t grab him for a pic. And he’s probably lucky. But he won’t be so lucky on St. Patrick’s Day. Hee hee hee…

Gaelic Storm at the Cleveland House of Blues - March 11th, 2010


The day started out quite happily – I went to breakfast to find that the cafeteria was serving French toast, cream of wheat, and scrambled eggs that were neither dry nor soggy. Plus Richard was there to take up my tray for me so that Creeper didn’t try to flirt with me. Also, it was nearly 60 degrees outside and the sun was happy and sociable. Things were looking up for me.
Also important to mention, while we're talking about how my day went, is my riding class. My body was extra sore from Tuesday’s ride, but the weather was beautiful and warm and I was optimistic after my experience with Spot the class before. I have discovered the sometimes scary but usually rewarding tactic of trusting my body to know what it’s doing before my brain has a chance to tell me that I can’t do something. This is mostly true with my new foray into experiencing the canter. Bud says canter, you don’t think about it. You just do it. The first time it was quite freaky – I had never cantered Spot before, and he felt different from Oskar, and right before I slowed down I almost lost my balance around a turn. Second time, once I got my bearings, and the third (to fix the second where I messed up the dressage test we were working on) were largely non-scary, and I think I “WHOOOOOOO”d at least once. Walking on the moon with Spot (that's a reference to "Walk on the Moon" by Great Big Sea. Look it up on YouTube if you don't know of it yet).
But all that is pre-concert woo-ness. Onward to Gaelic Storm!!!

It took me roughly 10 minutes to travel the half a mile or so down E 9th Street between the Rt 2 exit and Prospect Ave, due to the customary aggravation of people who park their cars in traffic lanes. Extremely aggravating. Talked with Dad and Kevin each in turn – and each tried to call me while I was on the phone with the other. I’m just popular like that. Also, I received a text from Dad exclaiming that he had seen Steve Twigger in the street. He was thrilled, but said that there was no conversation, as Steve had appeared to be in a hurry.
In the restaurant, Kevin was astonishingly patient with my bouncy, adrenaline-fueled pushiness as time slowly ticked by in the restaurant. I can think of half a dozen people that would have tried to strangle me, but he instead took the opportunity to laugh at me and tease me relentlessly. Dad was mostly quiet, as usual, and Kevin told me that he had procured some gently used, “indoor-friendly” pipes for a good price. He suggested that I bring my bodhrán to the next family get-together so that we can jam. That is super-exciting for me. Finally, a traditional instrument that Diane will permit indoors and can accompany me! Or rather, I can accompany it.
Kevin got a jambalaya dish that was delicious but very spicy, and a Blue Moon and a Newcastle to wash away the spice. Dad got a burger that he ended up eating with a fork because it was too big for his mouth. I ordered teriyaki salmon, which sounded delicious. And it was, only I was unprepared for the questions imposed by our waitress. I have ordered fish in restaurants dozens of times, but never before had the server ask me how I wanted it cooked. I expressed confusion, to which she explained that people order salmon the way they order steak – rare to well-done. I required further explanation, and she asked me if I liked it pink in the middle. I naively pointed out that salmon is always pink in the middle. It’s SALMON. (Kevin feigned a bop on my head at that point, but I was genuinely perplexed.) Apparently, most people order theirs medium well. I told her to just have them cook it to the middle of the spectrum.
As I said, the flavor was absolutely delicious; it could be a real contender with Famous Dave’s grilled salmon (except that grilled salmon is the same price for a heck of a lot more food). The middle was softer than I would have preferred, and it made me a little nervous to eat it, but I figured that they wouldn’t serve it to me if it had the potential to kill me. I suffered no stomach pain, diarrhea, nausea, vomiting or gas, so I assume I didn’t get food poisoning.
What did bother me was the “vegetables”. When I see “vegetables” on a menu with no other indicator of vegetable species, I, like most people, assumed the natural cast would be present – carrots, broccoli, peas, etc. What came to my table were these ugly little mutated cabbage halves – brussel sprouts – that were barely cooked. I don’t really like beans, and I hate asparagus, so you can imagine my dismay. Nobody had warned me that there would be brussel sprouts.
I probably should have said something, and gotten some decent herbage to eat, but I instead foisted as many as I could off on Dad and Kevin, which wasn’t much.
Also, I think Dad was eyeing me warily as I perused the alcoholic beverage menu. I wanted to try the “Electric Lemonade”, but ultimately decided that alcohol is expensive and I didn’t really need it.
When we got into the House, after a brief wait in line wherein I introduced Dad to “Raised on Black and Tans”, the new GS download from their forthcoming album, he and Kevin scoped out a couple of barstools halfway back from the stage. Watching them wander about, trying out various angles, I was reminded of Sheldon Cooper determinedly scouring Penny’s apartment for an acceptable place to sit where the sunlight, ambient temperature, airflow, feng shui, and proximity to the television, other guests, windows, kitchen and exits were sufficient, and where the texture, cushion density, size and pattern of the furniture was adequate. Not that they were that finicky or anything. It just crossed my mind.
So since I was standing by myself, sort of second-row, I amused myself by texting Kevin. It did not take long for me to get sore from all the standing. Jeez, I’m getting old. The soreness did not hit my knees this time, but it did make itself heard in my back, shoulders, feet and, interestingly, my calves, which begged me to stretch them although I had no room to do it.
The guy waiting in the crowd behind me, whom I will refer to as “Polite Warning Guy”, apologized ahead of time for the possibility that the girls behind him would shove him into me once the band took the stage. I looked behind him and saw a mass of potential ugliness (several barely-post-pubescent girls jostling one another) and figured that it couldn’t be worse than last year – being shoved at by drunken girls that were dropping f-bombs like cookie crumbs and threatening to spill their beer on me.
I noticed about halfway through my wait that the people in front of me were the same trio that Dad and I waited with in line last year. I recognized the dad and his daughter first – the other guy (GBS-Mash-Man? Remember him?) looked like he’d lost weight and had a haircut that definitely suits him better than the one he had.
There was a girl sort of behind me and sort of next to me that was talking to Polite Warning Guy about the band. He asked where they were from, and she told him that they were all from Ireland except for Peter (???). I sort of wonder where the heck she gets her information from, since Patrick is the only band member, past and present, who is from Ireland. I almost turned around to correct her, and though he probably would have been grateful for the info, I felt like I would have been intruding in the conversation. But for the record, for those who are interested, The geographical diversity represented by Gaelic Storm is as follows:

Patrick: County Cork, Ireland
Steve T: Coventry, England
Pete: Ottawa, Canada
Ryan: Somewhere, New Jersey
Jesse: Suffolk, England
Previous band members:
Steve W: Olean, New York
Shep: London, England
Kathleen: Chicago, Illinois
Ellery: Cincinnati, Ohio
Samantha: Zambia, Africa
Tom: Ottawa, Canada

So… yeah. Definitely only one guy from Ireland in there.
Also, I heard Polite Warning Guy tell Confused Fangirl that he was only in town from Pittsburgh on business, on a week that just happened to coincide with the week that Gaelic Storm would be in town (he’d only seen them once before, 6 years back). An extremely lucky break for him.
There was also a significant amount of Peter-obsessing going on on either side of me, which was at times both amusing and irritating. The loud ones were obnoxious, although I could appreciate them rooting for him during an especially rollicking pipe solo.
As so often happens with opening acts at the House of Blues, I feel that the night’s openers got the short end of somebody’s stick. Fans at the House of Blues do not want to see opening acts. Fans at the House of Blues are sick of standing around. Their feet hurt from standing around so much. Their knees and backs hurt. They are sick of hearing the barely-post-pubescent drunkards around them shove one another around while they talk loudly and at length about what Joey did to Sophia on Jackie’s birthday after Dennis was found in Andrew’s bed. The air inside the venue is extremely dry, which causes them to become thirsty, and they do not wish to spend an absurd amount of money on water when the restaurant 100 feet away serves it for free, and in any case the only water that they give you in the venue is Dasani water, which tastes like it came from the ear canal of a large African ungulate. In most cases, they would rather chew on a live ferret than stand around longer than necessary while waiting for the band they paid to see to come out.
This wasn’t supposed to be a long rambling rant about the aggravation caused by the way things are done at the House of Blues, or about opening acts, and certainly not about this specific opening act. Perhaps I simply wanted to get that off my chest.
Onward.
I would definitely classify Oakhurst as bluegrass, although the band’s guitarist insisted that they were not bluegrass, really. After all, they had a drummer.
I need to say, call me crazy, that their guitarist/lead singer, “A.P.”, reminded me heavily of Captain Jonathon Archer of Star Trek fame. I cannot find pictures online to support this fanciful notion of mine, but perhaps I have some in my pictures from the show…
They did 8 or 9 songs. Unfortunately, their microphones were inadequately amplified and could barely be heard. They were okay, and I imagine Dad probably enjoyed them quite a bit, although I didn’t think to ask him afterward. I think I’m more entertained by artists that switch up their instruments during a show. Great Big Sea has spoiled me in that way.
Gaelic Storm set list!:

Beggarman
Johnny Jump Up
Bare in the Basin
Piña Colada in a Pint Glass
Death Ride to Durango
Me & the Moon
The Night I Punched Russell Crowe
Samurai Set
LOVER’S WRECK!!!!!
Raised on Black and Tans
Instrumental That I Didn’t Recognize
Johnny Tarr
Darcy’s Donkey (in the key of “spoon”)
Here Comes Chucky Tim
Floating the Flambeau
Slim Jim and the Seven Eleven Girl
Courtin’ in the Kitchen
What’s the Rumpus?
Kiss Me, I’m Irish

It seemed that there wasn’t quite as much onstage banter as there was last year.
In addition to being performed in the always delightful key of spoon (contains, according to Patrick, the only known spoon solo intro in music history), we were instructed to do the “Donkey Dance” during the instrumental section of “Darcy’s Donkey”. Patrick threatened that if he saw someone not doing it, he would point that person out to everyone, and he or she would subsequently be laughed at. I won’t describe the dance here, but suffice it to say that when the song was over Pat made sure to let all of us know how stupid we looked doing it, but that he was impressed because we were the first city to do it voluntarily. Also, apparently Pittsburgh could not get the hang of it. This may or may not be true, but we went with it anyway. I turned around to give Polite Warning Guy a Significant Look, and saw him laughing.
Patrick announced about four songs in that they would not be singing “Johnny Tarr” that evening, stating that after you’ve played every single day for the past 200 years like he has, you start to get sick of it. Steve replied, “Why would we do THAT song, anyway?” Cheeky devil. This was of course met with profound unhappiness, and Pat took a moment to muse about the traditionally fleeting nature of fandom. They did play it, of course, as you can see from my set list, but they did not do any other artist’s version of the song (Kenny Chesney, Nora Jones, Michael Jackson, Lynrd Skynrd, Snoop Dog, etc). Sadness.
I was thrilled to hear the opening chords of “Lover’s Wreck” (as you may have guessed by its exclaimed and capitalized status in my set list), but I was ultimately disappointed with the performance. It was good, but it was not better than good. The album version is very rough-sounding and powerful, and I didn’t feel like the percussion was given enough rein in the live performance. Also, two of the things I love about the song were sacrificed – the way the beat and counter-beat seem to flip back and forth within the chorus, which is one of the things that makes it so fun to play on the bodhrán, and the powerful madness of the third verse.
One of the most interesting parts of the show was the percussion solo stuck in the middle of the “Floating the Flambeau” set. I got a video of the song from about halfway through the percussion section, which featured Patrick and Steve on bodhráns and Ryan on the cajon. I can’t promise that it will be uploaded, as I’ve made that promise on a few occasions in the past only to find that things come up to stop me, or the upload fails for whatever reason. I shall attempt it. That is all I can say.
The dueling instruments character of the Samurai Set was made extra entertaining by the addition of a burly stage hand, who was fetched by Jessie, and later by Peter, to aid them each in disposing of the other so that the spotlight they felt their respective instruments deserved could be basked in.
I was right in the middle of the audience for “Me & the Moon”, but I appeared to be slightly Stage Patrick, so I took his side in the shout-off for the first time in the 4 times that I’ve seen them live. We won the match, but only by Patrick’s vote. I didn’t notice any great disparity in the volumes of the two sides.
I tried calling Mom when the song started, as I’d warned her I would, but she didn’t pick up. I ended up recording a snippet of the song on my phone and sending it to her, but I got no response. I did get a rather nice shot of the audience in the video, though.
“Here Comes Chucky Tim”, which will be on the new album, is a tribute to a man the band met at the Dublin Irish Festival last year. I cannot tell you the details because I can’t recall them, nor can I find any substantial reference to him in a Google-aided search.
I took a video of “Slim Jim and the Seven Eleven Girl”, for whatever reason (it came right after the stellar “Flambeau” set), and at one point attempted to get a shot of the audience. Steve decided that that moment would be a perfect one to wander to the edge of the stage and smile brilliantly in a camera-stealing kind of way, hoping to thrill me by personally acknowledging my video and actively participating in it. I was thrilled, indeed, but unfortunately after I swung my camera back around to him, he didn’t stay put long enough for the camera to refocus on his face. Simultaneous Yay and Grrrr.
I usually notice the sad state the floor is in after a show at the House of Blues, because it is necessary to scour the floor for potentially dropped items and to watch where one is going. The floor was absolutely saturated with spilled beer, and as I was making my way back to Dad (Kevin had had to skip out instantaneously after the curtain closed), I saw a girl who was complaining that someone had spilled beer in her hair. I guess I’d gotten lucky.
It took me forever to pick a shirt at the swag table, but I ultimately chose a brown shirt that had a slightly vintage look to it. http://gaelicstorm.s3.amazonaws.com/large2_1234.jpg
Dad got another brown one with a donkey in a pint glass and the phrase “EVERYBODY RAISE A GLASS TO DARCY’S ASS”. http://gaelicstorm.s3.amazonaws.com/large_1237.jpg

Kevin called me as we were making our way to the parking garage to let me know that he’d seen a license plate on Rt 71 that read “GR8BIGC”. This tickled me, but also saddened me, because it was an Ohio car. I wanted that vanity plate!!
As Gaelic Storm had officially declared Flannery’s to be the “Pub of the Month” on their website, I perhaps should have at least tried to get in to see the band there for the after party, but I knew that they place would be impossible to navigate. In retrospect I’m a little sorry that I didn’t try, but I probably would have gotten social phobic and nervous and unable to move around very well. Oh, well. Perhaps I will have more of a spine, and more desire and gumption, next year.

“In my sleeping mind she sings a sad and lonely lullaby
And when I wake, there’s just the ache that’ll haunt me till I die
When those winds of vanity no longer blow her west
I pray they’ll guide her home and put my heart to rest
A press-gang filled this Man-o-War, to make the black-mouthed cannon roar
Now all my trade is ball and blade and blood forever more
The sting of salt and spray, the oceans howl and squall
A stumbling wreck, I roam the deck at the Devil’s beck and call”
~ “Lover’s Wreck”