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”

HANSON W/ HELLOGOODBYE, STEEL TRAIN & SHERWOOD @ THE CLEVELAND HOUSE OF BLUES

I know, it’s been two and a half weeks and I’m just now getting around to posting this. I’ve been working on it and the related pictures steadily since the show, and they’re finally ready to see the light of day. The blog has been ready for quite a while, but I’ve been so busy that I’m just getting around to uploading the pictures.
As some of you know, I went to my (6th? 7th? I can’t remember anymore) Hanson concert on Tuesday, October 6 2009. The understanding I have with my readers is that I will post a concert recap blog. So, here she is!
Jennie and I got to the venue around 2:30 in anticipation of The Walk starting at 3 (that’s 3 o’clock Hanson Time, 3:20ish Standard Time). Jennie was fascinated by Cleveland’s pigeon population. “Those are the fattest birds I’ve ever seen!” she kept saying. “Take a picture! Take a picture!”

So we got in line and there were only a few people in line ahead of us. A guy from the HOB kept reminding us about Pass the Line, insisting that the Pass the Line people would be getting in before the Walk people. I’m not so sure he was correct about that, after my experience last year, and I don’t suppose we will ever really know who went in first. We did lose several people from our line, however, who found the lure of a place closer to the stage too enticing to pass up.
Some odd, smoking hippie chicks who were wearing foundation a full centimeter thick sat behind us and showed us pictures that they’d taken earlier in the day. This confused me, because I had thought that, like every Cleveland show before, The Walk was supposed to start at 3pm at the House of Blues. Evidently, unbeknownst to me, my boys had decided to host this year’s Walk at 1pm the Rock Hall instead. Long story short, we missed The Walk and I was extremely aggravated. Several other people were, too.
And yet we still love our boys.
I know this is a silly thing to say, but I have decided that I REALLY need to stop loving this band so much. I can’t remember the last time I was so exhausted, even after pulling a 13-hour day working horse shows last spring. Jennie and I were on our feet for about 10 hours straight, and my feet, knees and lower back were throwing out some major pain vibes by the time Steel Train took the stage. Also, the time I spent waiting for the real show to start really really really really would have been better served in my dorm room finishing up the midterm project that was due in my Equine Facilities class the next day.
And yet we still love our boys. We are blindly devoted. That’s all there is to it.
As for me, I feel like Jerry Fletcher in Conspiracy Theory. Remember the scene where he’s talking to Alice about Catcher in the Rye? And he says that whenever he walks into a book store he has to buy that book? And if he doesn’t find it he has to look for it so he can buy it? So that he can feel normal? And he doesn’t feel right if he doesn’t do it? That’s largely how I feel about Hanson shows. I can’t not go them. If there is a Hanson show going on in Cleveland and I know about it, I have to go to it or when that evening comes around and I’m not there, I’ll be bouncing off the walls and pacing and wondering and thinking and getting all uppity and it just doesn’t feel RIGHT to not go.
I could have made that sound crazier, but I don’t think I want to.
Anyway…
After Two Smelly Hippie Chicks With Too Much Foundation left, we were standing with a girl that I only know as Purple Hoodie because she didn’t tell us her name and for some reason we felt foolish asking. She was personable, but she was positively obsessed with trying to be as close to the stage as possible, and she left us after a while to try her hand at Pass the Line through the HOB restaurant. Jennie saw her in the crowd later, and evidently she was closer to the stage than we were. Perhaps the HOB guy knew what he was talking about after all.
After Purple Hoodie left, we met Drumstick (the girl who swiped Zac’s drumsticks and waved them dutifully in front of my camera last year) and her friend Mexico (who was crazy and did not wear long sleeves to wait in line outside in Cleveland in October). We talked to them quite a bit. Jennie kept squirming whenever people asked her what her favorite Hanson song, album, band member, etc was. I called her a “fresh convert” to help her out, and that sent the people asking the questions all aflutter with approval.
I felt a hunger headache coming on and was determined not to let it ruin my evening, so I walked a few hundred feet down the sidewalk to a place called Jimmy John’s to see what they had. It was a sub place, and the closest quick restaurant the HOB had to offer. I overpaid for a sub with turkey – that’s it, just turkey, though the menu made it look like it would at least come with cheese, for Chan’s sake! – and a cookie and rejoined Jennie, Drumstick and Mexico.

The doors opened at 6pm. At that time we had already been waiting 2 ½ hours.

We were like, right in the middle of the crowd, more or less centered but slightly Stage Taylor. Kind of where I was expecting to be last year. There was a really tall guy in front of us that every girl around us was complaining about. Naturally, most of the girls around me were my height or shorter. He ended up in front of Jennie. She complained a little, but is far too polite to have said anything to him directly.
So if you’re out there, Tall Guy in the Blue and White Striped Shirt Who Was at the Cleveland Hanson Show With His Wife, on behalf of everyone in the back half of the audience, I would like to say this: we do not like you.
Also, to Guy in the White Baseball Cap That Looked Mostly Unhappy To Be There – Jennie was watching you. You are attractive. Keep your cap on, she says.
I’ll say first that I was ultimately disappointed with HelloGoodbye (sorry sorry sorry!), but that Sherwood and Steel Train were at least good enough that I resolved to YouTube search them very soon. Evidently I had a thing for keyboard players that night, because Sherwood’s keyboard player tickled me (he looked like a young Andy Dick), and Steel Train and HelloGoodbye both had cute keyboardists. Steel Train’s lead singer also reminded me of Derek (a guy that you don’t know who goes to school with me).
Unfortunately for you, and for them, I do not feel like recapping the opening acts very much. I will mention, however, that I sat down (on the floor at the House of Blues) in between them because my back and feet were so sore. ACK!!!
I will say that Steel Train closed their performance with a mostly a capella song. I thought it was cool.

You could see the brothers watching the opening bands from behind the scenes, in a balcony area above the wings of the stage. I tried to get a pic, but was mostly unsuccessful. I did get one of Taylor, but it’s really REALLY bad.
After one of their more rollicking songs, HelloGoodbye professed to having a “Back to the Future moment”, and proceeded to play an erratic guitar lick a la Marty McFly. This tickled me, but the rest of the audience didn’t seem to care for their between-songs banter. This is something that, as a Great Big Sea fan, I see a lot, and tend to enjoy. Of course, there are other people – and here I refer generally to people but also specifically to Loud Rude Heckler Girl Who Was Standing Behind Me – who do not appreciate it. On the plus side, this pop culture moment caused someone in the back to shout a request. The song? “Earth Angel”. This tickled me even more. He attempted the first few chords, but then admitted to not really know the song.
I wanted Hanson to get out on stage and play already, too, but I really REALLY felt that there was no call to be rude to the bands that were opening. As such, Loud Rude Heckler Girl Who Was Standing Behind Me was extremely aggravating.
Later, a guy in the balcony shouted “FREEBIRD!!!” at some point during HelloGoodbye’s set. They told him that if he wanted to get on the stage and play Freebird for the audience, they would stop their set right then and let Hanson play. Needless to say, the audience squealed with delight. Also needless to say, he didn’t do it. He did get right up to the edge of the stage, though, and the stagehands were all waiting, ready to haul him up.
Also, one of their guitarists, who also played the ukulele and the electric mandolin, looked quite preppy in his Abercrombie sweater, compared to the blatant geekiness exuded by his bandmates. Song or two into the set, however, he removed the sweater and I found that he was laden with tattoos. As such, I took pictures of him for Cindy.
I swear Taylor was wearing the same grey pants he wore last year. And they are no more flattering on him now than they were last year.
Isaac’s hair has gotten fluffier. More sophisticated, I guess you could argue. I will get used to it, as I always have. And while we’re discussing hair, Zac has let his grow out a bit. I for one am loving it. Jennie is not. Fie on her, I say.

Set list!...

World’s On Fire (New EP song) (I’m really beginning to love this song. It’s extremely catchy. Also, as I was preparing to come home for Fall Break, I picked up my bodhrán and played along once I realized that the song is a jig. Much fun. I took a video of it.)
Thinking of You (First song off the first album. 12 ½ years ago. Damn.)
Where’s the Love (I think it was during this song that Jennie commented, “OMG The floor is bouncing!” Veteran Hanson fans know that this phenomenon is not uncommon for Hanson shows. Watch “Underneath Acoustic Live” for details.)
Great Divide
Got a Hold on Me
Been There Before
Penny & Me
A Minute Without You (ISAAAAAAAAC!!!!)
Blue Sky
Carry You There (New EP song)
Madeline (This song won the online vote in Cleveland for “song you’d like to hear”. I voted for River, but when I voted on Sunday, “Never Let Go” was in the lead. So this was a surprise to me.)
This Time Around
Use Me Up (New EP song) (Jennie liked this one a lot, but that one really long note in the chorus was just the right pitch to cause my ears to ring.)
These Walls (New EP song)
Can’t Stop
Crazy Beautiful
MMMBop (Jennie took a video of this to show Nikki, but the sound on her camera was really bad and most of what you hear is the crowd.)
Man From Milwaukee (I got a video of the “Mother Bird” part of the song. I will put it on my computer next week, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to get it on MySpace or YouTube.)
Watch Over Me (They did this song near the end of the show last year, too. They started it with Zac’s drums, and I mistook it for Every Word I Say.)
Lost Without Each Other

When Zac took the piano to sing “Use Me Up” and announced that he would be doing a new song, someone from the rear left of the crowd shouted “GEORGIA!” Zac turned around and said, “But… I don’t sing that song!” I should mention here that several days earlier Zac had posted this plaintive tweet on twitter.com: “Someone help they are trying to make me do a solo. –Z”
Poor little dude (as Mom would say).

For the acoustic set (Carry You There – These Walls), Zac was using one of those boxy drummy things that Ryan Lacey tore up the stage with at the Gaelic Storm concert. Zac, for once, was much more reserved than Ryan.
After the show, Jennie and I made our way to the swag tables (that’s what my uncle Kevin calls them – I have since discovered that that is not a well-known term for them, as everyone that I’ve used that word on has met it with a puzzled expression). Jennie really liked Steel Train, and wanted a t-shirt from their table, but embarrassed herself when she approached the Sherwood table and asked about the yellow shirt from the wrong band. She covered herself by insisting that her friend had her money (which was sort of true – she had given me a 20 to get her a Stand Up Stand Up t-shirt from the Hanson table) and scurried back to me, red-faced. After we finished at the Hanson table, me with the Stand Up Stand Up EP and a zippered hoodie (I FINALLY GOT A HANSON HOODIE YAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYY!!!!!), we slinked back to the Steel Train table. After some painful deliberation, Jennie chose the black galaxy shirt, which you can see here -----> Steel Train t-shirt
I also decided, when asking for the shirt, to let the guy behind the table know that Jennie wanted a picture with him, since she kept pointing out that he was the cutest one in the band. She was slightly embarrassed, but since he agreed, she let me take the picture anyway. I’m just evil like that. We went to The Corner Alley after we left the venue. We reviewed our pictures and videos, discussed the bands and the people we put up with in the audience. The bartender was pretty awesome, and we downed at least 2 glasses of ice water apiece. (As it was after the GBS concert, all I kept thinking was, “WATAH!! I NEED WATAH!!!!”) In case anyone is wondering, the bathrooms at The Corner Alley are in the basement at the back of the establishment. Also, they are dark.

Riverfront Irish Festival (June 13, 2009)

I originally posted this blog on MySpace the week after the festival, but couldn't get it to paste into Blogger on my mom's computer. So now that I have Internet access on my laptop at the college, Internet that doesn't suck, I am finally able to post it here. This makes me very happy. *bouncebouncebounce*

So here it is:

I started this blog yesterday on my laptop, and since the weather is so beautiful (there’s a wonderful thunderstorm outside my window) I thought I’d enjoy the rain and finish writing, since Cindy and Shawna are thirsting for blood and I’ve been feeling outlet-lessly creative lately.
I rearranged my room yesterday, but I don’t feel like talking about that, so I’ll move on to more interesting things.
I barely got sunburned at all at the Riverfront Irish festival, which I attended with Dad last weekend. I think, even without a brief review of my impressions of the day’s entertainment, that bit of achievement makes the day incredibly wonderful. I wore shorts and a tank top-sort of shirt, and remembered early on to put on sunscreen. As a result, I came out of it with only a minimum amount of redness. Yaybeans!!
As for the musicians, which you all know is the major attraction at one such festival, the first band we watched was That Irish Band, one that Dad and I had never seen before. We got there shortly after they started, and were thinking about grabbing a spot in the shade when I heard someone on stage announce that they were going to do a song “from a fantastic band called Great Big Sea”. At this I instinctively whooped, which drew the attention of several people, including some who weren’t standing on the stage. It’s amazing how I can be so horribly self-conscious in your average social gathering, but when I’m at a concert I abandon all thoughts of embarrassment and proudly support my favorite musicians (I also whooped when they mentioned Brigid’s Cross). So we sat and watched them do “Goin’ Up” and a few other songs that I do not wish to cudgel my brain into remembering. My impression was that they were certainly intent on making sure the audience had a good time, but a lot of their jokes felt staged. Also, I was not impressed with their bodhrán player; I firmly believe I could have done better. I was, however, impressed with the faster-than-the-speed-of-sound singing accomplished by… um… the guy on the right side of the stage. I don’t remember his name. I was also excited to hear that the band’s young fiddle player is a pupil of Paul Baker. She obviously recognizes astronomical skill when she sees it, and I wish her success. She can’t possibly avoid it if she’s learning from him.
We also had to watch the New Barleycorn, a very traditional duo that we’ve seen a few times before and that has a relatively dedicated following. They did “Whiskey in the Jar”, “Fields of Athenry”, “Danny Boy”, “Marion Bridge” and other such staples, but not, to my disappointment, “Black Velvet Band”. You would think I would get bored with them, two older gentlemen on stage with guitars, mandolins and banjos, but I find them to be quite entertaining. Onstage banter is important, as I mentioned before, and these guys have it down. Also, I think I like their music because it’s spontaneous yet refined, and their voices are powerful and blatantly Irish.
Another new band we checked out (at the behest of Rathkeltair frontman Neil Anderson), was The Kildares, yet another Irish rock ensemble. Despite their positive response from the crowd, I was mostly unimpressed. There was something very generic about them that put a damper on my enthusiasm – nothing in their performance seemed new and unique. Also, their guitarists and drummer received an unfair share of amplification, rendering the fiddler and the piper more or less impotent in affecting the band’s sound. I’m sure this was one major reason why they sounded so average to me. They didn’t sound bad, mind you, just… you know… whatever.
We finally saw an entire Rathkeltair performance, and I was delighted to find that the sound guys had evidently taken pity on us people with normal human ear canals and dialed down the decibel-age to something enjoyable and not painful. Rathkeltair is a band that Kevin urged us to see last year, and I like them well enough, so I’ll start out with my small bit of negativity, just to get it out of the way. Is it true that any rock band can become an “Irish” rock band just by adding a traditional instrument to their repertoire? Because that’s the message that I’m getting here.
Anyway, on to more positivity. The song I was hoping to hear, one that I heard last year and liked the sound of, was “Pound a Week Rise”, a song written by Ed Pickford in the 1960s expounding the evils of a government that promised Irish miners a raise but (naturally) didn’t come through after the miners gave them two years of hard, honest work. I recall from last year’s show (and the YouTube video that someone, bless his or her heart, uploaded), that Mr. Pickford was arrested for singing this song in public, which may be one reason for its popularity. I got my own video of it, and if I decide to trust Mom’s computer enough, maybe I’ll upload it next week. I am quite proud of it.
Overall, they had several memorable songs and I enjoyed their show, and so did Dad (moreso than I had expected). Quite possibly the highlight of the evening was when Neil and the Kildares' piper Matt Willis appeared onstage together in a double-team of bagpiping mayhem that had everyone riled up. Dad once expressed distaste and the rock sound of Needfire, but his strong fancy for songs that push powerfully driven melodies from traditional instruments and his intense preference for the atmosphere of a live show led him to love this performance, which seemed to last approximately as long as your standard human pregnancy. Neil and Matt must have lungs of steel to be able to play that long without passing out.
Naturally, though, the highlight of the festival for me was Brigid’s Cross, who did two shows on Saturday. Of course we didn’t miss either one. We got to the first one only 15 minutes early, as the New Barleycorn’s show at a different stage ran right up against Brigid’s Cross, and the tent and surrounding areas had already been filled by earlier-than-us-comers. So we stood off to the side Stage Paul and nonetheless enjoyed the show. They didn’t do “Twelve” (this is officially the first performance I’ve been to where they didn’t) but they did do “There Were Roses”, which I got a video of, many show staples, and two songs that I’d never heard. And we heard “Whiskey in the Jar” for the third time that day. Peggy sang “Johnny be Fair” sans “The Turnpike”, the instrumental that always ushers dancing on the part of Richie. Richie declared that he was too winded from his previous dance a few minutes earlier. Which I also got a video of. I love my new 4GB Sony Memory disk.
The second show was at the festival’s main stage, where Dad and I had scouted seats as soon as the previous band had left. It was raining by this time, and I was somewhat shivery from the waist down, still in shorts but with my Great Big Sea hoodie keeping my uppers warm. The weather was still pretty warm, but, you know, wet. The band started early for the sake of their soggy fans, and of course they played “Twelve”, and of course I screamed, and of course Richie said, “There she is”, and of course Paul made a joke. It’s just a thing we do.
The final video I wish to mention is of Richie doing his über-sexy Neil Diamond impression. It’s more than worth the drive to Riverfront to see, even if you don’t like Irish music.

So it's definitely almost the end of the semester (classes are over and I just have two more finals to take), and I'm all a-jumble with mixed emotions. It's not like I'm not looking forward to sharing a room with Kendra next semester. I mean, I'm sure we'll be able to cope with the differences in one another's sleep cycles, and we get along wonderfully (most of the time). But I'll definitely miss having all this space to myself (Mine! Mine!! ALL MINE!!!!) and my room looks so empty since Mom and Sixto came and made off with a bunch of my stuff. I'm excited about being home, but I know I'm going to have to clean my room at home or it'll drive me crazy. Which means doing a lot of hard work and throwing out a lot of stuff that I've kept for sentimental reasons over the years (and probably going head-to-head with more than one eight-legged creepy-crawly). I can't wait to get back to my old bookstore, but I still don't know if I have it in me to ask Claudette for that promotion, and even though it's silly, the idea of doing so fills me with anxiety. I'm looking forward to going to the gym with Mom this summer, and hopefully it'll make a difference for both of us.
Plus I won't get to see Mo all summer, and that seriously sucks.
But enough emotionally ambiguous riffraff. (And no, I don't need Aunt Joanne to tell me I used that word wrong.)
I just thought I'd let everyone out there in InternetLand know about what I did yesterday. First of all, it was without a doubt the nastiest, most disgusting and possibly the most vomit-inducing thing I've ever done. I had to take a thorough shower when I got back from the barn. I even brushed my teeth because my mouth felt gross. I washed my hands about 6 times and considered burning the clothes I was wearing.
Has anyone out there ever cleaned a gelding's sheath before? Put your hand down, Chelsea. I'm not talking about you.
So here's what happens: during the course of normal equine activities, a great deal of dirt and dust and other debris gets kicked up around the horse's belly. A certain percentage of this ish necessarily takes up residence in the horse's sheath-y region, mixing with all the various secretions that you find up there. In order to avoid infection and in some cases a great deal of pain for the horse, this region must be cleaned at least once a year (at the college barn we do it twice annually). Our horses are normally tranquilized for this, but Cami didn't want any of the horses doped up yesterday because we have a show going on this weekend. Tailspin was well-behaved for me regardless, but the one thing that I didn't like about the "No tranquilizer" rule was that... well... he didn't drop his man-parts for me. This meant that I had to go in after them. I will not go into detail because you probably do not want to know, but suffice it to say that this activity is one that makes cleaning a stall seem as pleasant as a Shiatsu massage. Imagine reaching into a part of a male horse that no sane person would willingly reach into and pulling out a greyish substance that feels like sticky Play-Doh and smells like a tire factory that has caught fire next to a road that has been freshly tarred and sprinkled with incredibly randy mildew spores.
If you've never done it before, you can't imagine what it's like. I will never be the same.In happier news, I also had to do my mane-braiding test-out this week, and I was told that I did a phenomenal job (it being my first official mane-braiding and all) and that I should seriously think about keeping practicing. Evidently I could eventually do it professionally. Perhaps I should perfect my hand with a pair of clippers too, and I could offer the whole package. Hey, if I could make some money at it, why not?
So what else has happened recently that's exciting? I posted my first YouTube video last week. That was pretty exciting. Here's the link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K2n9Uxyq6rU I recommend watching it in High Quality.
I grow weary of typing. That means this blog is finished.

WARNING: This Blog is a Waste of Your Time!!!!!

I have to leave for the barn in a few minutes, but I suddenly felt the urge to post a blog, even though I have nothing to say. I have considered, however, posting the article I wrote for the equine newsletter at my college, just to see what you guys think about it. And also to tranquilize Cindy and Shawna, who want me to post a blog about my trip to Florida. So here it is:

"On the last day of February this year, I and a few of my fellow students from Intro to Equine Activities went on a wonderful adventure. With Chelsea Olsen and Sarah Arpke as our guides and chaperones, we left the dreary, snow-swept runway of the Cleveland airport and took off for 6 days of warmth, sun, beaches, and horses. Whole bunches of horses.
"I had never been on a plane before, so that was a novel experience for me. But you are not reading this article to hear about the plane trip, so I will sidestep that portion of the trip and get on to the horse parts.
"On Tuesday we had arrangements to meet Betsy Steiner at her barn for some Equilates. For those of you who are not yet familiar with it, Equilates is a Pilates-like workout that emphasizes positions that the average horseback rider would find useful. It promotes both strength and flexibility and is reputed to strengthen that “core” part of one’s body that Professor Olsen is always talking about. The “posting trot” exercise was an especially wonderful one that left us grateful that none of us had to ride the next day. We completed the session with only a minimum amount of groaning.
"We spent some time at the Palm Beach International Equestrian Center, which is this HUGE (like, so big that it has its very own road) facility in Palm Beach that dwarfs anything we have in Ohio and features numerous rings, arenas, warm-ups, vendors of all sorts and at least one really nice bathroom. We happened to be there during the FTI Winter Equestrian Festival (January 7 - March 29, 2009), so we were in the midst of an absolute flurry of movement. I had never in my life seen so many horses in one place before. Now, being a strictly Western rider (indeed, I knew less than nothing about any English discipline before coming to Lake Erie), I unfortunately cannot satisfactorily explain what was going on around me at the equestrian center. I can say that we watched jumpers in a massive outdoor arena with gorgeous jumps that we definitely need to think about designing for our own shows.
"Friday saw us at the International Polo Club of Palm Beach, setting the dressage and practice arenas for Saturday’s show and meeting up with Mary Ross, the founder and chairman of the Challenge of the Americas. The Challenge is an annual show, 8 years running, that benefits the Breast Cancer Research Foundation.
"The Challenge itself was a surprisingly brief show. Exhibition rider Susan Jacoma started the evening off with a patriotic routine and was followed by Oded Shimoni and John Ingram’s “Dressage v. Reining” face-off. I really wish I’d been able to see more of that, but our first duty was as volunteers at the event, not spectators. Teams USA and International, at 6 members apiece, competed in a sort of equestrian dance-off to a medley of songs. It was difficult to see over the crowds of slightly inebriated socialites, but from the oohs and ahhs of the crowd, I would say it was pretty spectacular. We did see the Purina Mills (USA) team practice the day before the competition, and oh, yeah, it was pretty cool. Six horses performing half passes in opposite directions, through one another’s ranks and lining up in tandem; gaits matching changing music wonderfully; synchronized piaffes and passages that were way cooler than anything I can do on a horse.
"And so I would like to state for the record that I spent a night brushing elbows with the elite of Palm Beach.
"We did eventually have to come back home, however. But next time, I’m thinking about leaving that part out of the plans."

And I haven't heard a single thing from anyone about it. Chelsea, Brittany and Amy all read it and liked it, but Sarah and Karen, the people I sent it to for inclusion into the newsletter, have yet to respond. At all. It worries me a little. I mean, you'd think they'd at least tell me what they think of it, you know? So I'm listening to Bon Jovi on YouTube, and is it just me, or does the acoustic guitar music in "Blaze of Glory" sound a lot like the music from the "Firefly" theme song?And lookie at that! It's only ten after 9... I still have 20 minutes to putter around here... huh...
"I want to laaaaaaaaaaay you dowwwn in a beeeeeed of roooooses...
But toniiiiiiiiight I sleep on a beeeeeeeed of naaaaaaaiiiiiils...!!!!"
Again, I would like to apologize for this.
But hey, the blog title should have warned you well enough.
Maybe I'll post again soon.
TTYL

Gaelic Storm @ the House of Blues Cleveland 2-28-2009

So I started this blog in September of 06 (evidently) because I apparently expected that I would write something beyond that first silly post. I was incorrect. Silly me.

But I thought I'd pick it up again, since I regularly blog on MySpace, so that I can have a public forum in which to showcase my writing. As I said in my first post, I know this blog will probably not be seen by anyone, but the possibility remains that someone could find it. And I would be tickled to find out that someone out there, by which I mean someone who is not my sister or my cousin who figuratively bang on my door every other week demanding a new blog, is reading what I write. So if you do read, please, tickle me by leaving a comment.

I'll start this new public blogging process thusly:

Cad e an sceil a buachail?
Oh… what's that?. You don't speak Gaelic? I’m so sorry
WHAT’S THE RUMPUS?!?
Saturday the 28th of February marked my very first official Gaelic Storm concert. And when I say “official”, I mean “the first Gaelic Storm concert wherein we actually had to buy tickets to see just Gaelic Storm in a real venue, and where I knew the words to virtually every song they did”. This is as opposed to seeing them at an Irish festival, where you pay $10 to see a whole slew of Irish bands, and where I was at first like, “Who are we watching again?”, and then like, “Gaelic Storm… let’s watch them again!”, and then like, “What? Gaelic Storm’s not here this year? Now that I can actually sing some of their songs? Well, poop on them, then!”
But enough of my customary ramblings. You probably want to know how the evening went, don’t you? Otherwise you wouldn’t be reading this blog.
Dad drove us to the venue in his new car, where we had some aggravating trouble with his new iPod, which decided about 15 minutes in that it didn’t like our music and was going to play dumb when we tried to get it to play something. So my Mp3 player was a stand-in, and performed perfectly. So much for the awesomeness of the iPod.
At the House of Blues restaurant, to my major disappointment, I couldn’t find the dish I had the last time I was there (remember the chicken linguini in a tabasco garlic sauce from my Hanson blog?), so I ordered a barbeque chicken pizza. It was good, though if I were to order it again I would have them go easy on the cilantro. Our waitress was awesome. She noted Dad’s Great Big Sea hat and said, “Nice hat. Gotta love those Newfoundlanders!” Near the end of the meal she sat down with us and talked about being involved with the people who helped band break into the American market (or something like that). Dad told her that I love Bob and she said that he has just about the best sense of humor of anyone she’s met, but that it took her a long time to figure out what he was saying when he talked, because of his accent. And his monotone baritone, I guess.
So anyway, we got in line at around 6, and were the first ones there. After a short while we were joined by a group of three, a man, his 16-year old daughter, and another guy that could have been a brother or a friend and who was interesting to look at because he had facial features like Alan Doyle and Sean McCann and Bob Hallett all smushed into one person. Not their best features or their worst, necessarily, but I found it amusing.
We noticed an odd smell and saw smoke in the holding area of the HOB the moment we entered, and wondered what it was from. Half an hour or so into our wait an employee went running past us with a fire extinguisher, toward the exit at the end of the room. Evidently the restaurant next door smokes some of their food and an employee there had discarded some very hot wood in a plastic garbage bin. We were moved into the House of Blues proper while they got rid of the smoke, so they could open the far doors without freezing us. The people we were standing with were friendly, but not really sociable. So I mostly just talked to Dad.
They didn’t open the doors for us until 8 o’clock, which is actually when we were supposed to be let in, but for some reason I had been expecting to be let in at 7, since that’s when the doors opened for the other shows I’ve seen there. I took a position front and center, right where I figured Patrick Murphy’s microphone would be. What followed was what seemed like an eternity of waiting. It was just about almost as bad as a Hanson concert, waiting, waiting, for the band to come out… waiting, waiting, while people fill in behind you who think you enjoy having their bodies constantly bumping into you… waiting, waiting, while your feet and your back start to get stiff and sore before the show even starts… waiting, waiting, while a myriad of future venue dates flash across the giant projector screen in front of you… Oh, there’s an opening act, is there? A pipe and drum band? Cool, okay. Three songs and they’re done? Okay, cool… waiting, waiting, while people who are already drunk whoop and squall and get on your nerves… waiting, waiting, as you yawn, shift your weight and think, “When they come out, it will stop mattering how long it took for them to get here”… waiting, waiting, stuffing you ears with tissue, cotton, or in my case, a leftover dinner napkin, in anticipation of a tremendous amount of noise… waiting, waiting, nibbling on the piece of chocolate Dad gave you… waiting, waiting, resting your head on folded arms atop the no-man’s-land divider between the stage and the audience… waiting, waiting, hoping that the guy next to you won’t smell that bad for the entire show… waiting… waiting… waiting… waiting… waiting… waiting… waiting…
I couldn’t actually tell you what time it was when the band came out, but it was sometime between 9:15 and 9:30, I suppose. I recognized the song they started the show with – an instrumental from the Bring Your Wellies album called "Bare in the Basin". Much fun. Love Peter’s bagpipes.
I’m thinking on writing this blog in a manner similar to the one I used for the Great Big Sea concert last September. Rather than write in strict prose, I’ll bullet some highlights, in no particular order. First, the set list. I believe I have all the songs here, minus two or possibly three instrumentals that I didn’t know the titles to. Also, only the first six songs are actually in order, because as you know I cannot realistically think ahead for the life of me and my phone died in the middle of "Me & the Moon" (but I did get to send Mom a text when they started the song).
*side note* When I first learned the words to "Me & the Moon", I would sing it loudly when I was in the car with my mom, encouraging her to sing the “he brought the light!” part. I eventually got her to sing it with me albeit not always enthusiastically. I totally would have called her during this song if my phone hadn’t died. *end side note*
1) Bare in the Basin
2) Scalliwag
3) Born to Be a Bachelor
4) Punjab Paddy
5) Death Ride to Durango
6) Me & the Moon
7) Slim Jim & the Seven Eleven Girl
8) Beggarman
9) Darcy’s Donkey
10) Johnny Tarr
11) Johhny Jump Up
12) Drink the Night Away
13) Kelly’s Wellies
14) What’s the Rumpus?
15) Don’t Go For the One
16) I miss My Home
17) Courtin’ in the Kitchen
18) Floating the Flambeau
19) The Night I Punched Russell Crowe
20) Kiss Me, I’m Irish
I know the Kiss Me, I’m Irish was the last song, and “What’s the Rumpus? was like, the second-to-last, but as far as order goes, that’s all I’m really sure about. Also, I KNOW we heard them doing "Lover's Wreck" during the soundcheck, but I can't for the life of me remember if they did it during the show. And you'd think I'd remember, since that's, like, probably my favorite song on the new album.

As promised, here are the highlights:

~I was front-and-center… and in my “I Love Irish Boys” t-shirt.
~During the customary “Me & the Moon” audience shout-a-thon, Patrick’s side evidently “won” The Steve side, otherwise known as the “awesome” side, was gracious about their/our “defeat”.
~What’s the Rumpus? spent a good long while at the top of the World Billboard music charts, edging out Celtic Women. Patrick expressed great joy at this, as though he had been avenged for years of lagging behind them. He symbolically drop-kicked Celtic Women right there onstage.
~Post-Johnny Tarr, Patrick usurped the cowboy hat of someone in the 4th or 5th row so that he might do the popular Kenny Chesney version of the song. I had been thinking, as I drove home on Friday, that I should have been bringing my cowgirl hat with me, just in case. Alas, I did not, but I’m positive that it would have made its way onstage if I had remembered to bring it.
~Ryan Lacey is evidently both a Steelers fan and a Bears fan. Patrick was probably trying to get a rise out of the audience, and had chosen poor Ryan as the recipient of a wave of anti-Steelers sentiment.
~This show attracted the biggest crowd Gaelic Storm has ever seen at the Cleveland HOB.
~Since Jessie was a less-than-stationary fiddler, Patrick helped himself to her whiskey on two occasions while she was off gallivanting on another part of the stage. The first gulp merited him with a verbal reprimand, the second with a boot to the rear.
~The girls behind me began irritating me before the show even started, mostly because they were constantly bumping into me, but also because the girl that decided to wedge herself in behing me just before intermission was moving around enough that, many times, I feared she was going to dump her beer on me. And this wasn’t like Great Big Sea concert-style vertical movement – it was constant turning, hair whipping and holding her cup at a dangerous angle with one hand while she fiddled with her phone with the other (I know this because I turned around during intermission to see the crowd and to look for Carrie, who had texted me at the beginning of the show to tell me she was there.) I wanted to kill these girls before the second half of the show started, as they were also screaming insults at other people and tossing around some particularly loud profanity.
~It doesn’t sound like the band will be playing the Berea Irish Festival this year (again…), but they will be at the Dublin Irish Festival.
~A lunchbox in Ireland consists of a six pack of beer and a potato. Patrick has a backlog of potatoes sitting at his house from the 21 years he spent in 4th grade. His mother packed him a lunch every day.
~During one of the instrumentals, Peter and Jessie ‘battled’ one another at the center of the stage, each giving the other the boot when their time was up (I think that’s grammatically incorrect, but I don’t care).
~I noticed a small Spiderman action figure seated at the edge of the stage during intermission, which Patrick proceeded to pick up and put in his pocket later in the show. He left it there, peeking from his front jean pocket, for several songs before tossing it to someone in the front row.

~I squealed with glee (quite loudly as well) when they announced that they were going to play “Darcy’s Donkey”, a song about a drunken donkey who wins a horse race in Donegal. Patrick said that there really is a stuffed donkey carcass hanging on the wall at Jamesy’s Pub in Donegal, Ireland, and that he was inspired to write the song to explain how the donkey ended up there. When I squealed, he looked at me and said, “Oh, are you from Donegal?” I am sad to say I had no clever comeback until it was just a moment too late. You know how that is.
~Steve sat on Peter while he was trying to play his pipes. I have picture of this as well. Poor guy! There's Peter, playing his pipes, trying to be professional, when out of nowhere he gets gang-jumped by Patrick, Jessie and especially Steve!

~When he was introducing “Courtin’ in the Kitchen”, Patrick sent the song out to all the naughty girls in the audience, then proceeded to point us all out. (“You, and you, and you, and you, and you. Wait… is that all we have? *scream from someone in the back* Oh, you’re a naughty girl too? Okay, that makes six then. That’s pretty good. This song is for all of you.”)
~Yes I did just say “us”. I was Naughty Girl # 4.
~Once during “Kiss Me, I’m Irish”, Patrick came to the edge of the stage and I blew him a kiss. He blew one back, though with some difficulty, as the harmonica and the microphone were both in the way.

~Seeing Steve Twigger play the bodhrán was an odd thing. At one point he was onstage with just Patrick and Ryan, Patrick on the other bodhrán and Ryan on one of those wooden boxy things that you sit on and play. I don’t know what they’re called, but like I said, there’s a picture. Ryan is one wild, energetic drummer.
I also noticed that Ryan is a devout flip-flop wearer. He had small red marks on the insides of his feet that chronic flip-flop wearers get when their shoes don't fit perfectly and the straps rub. I've gotten them myself. They suck.

~For those of you who haven’t heard the story, and might be wondering, “The Night I Punched Russell Crowe” is about the time when Patrick Murphy was working as a bartender in California (shortly before the band was discovered by filmmaker James Cameron and given a spot in a little movie he made called “Titanic”) and Russell Crowe walked in with a cigarette. Patrick told him twice that he would have to get rid of it, but Crowe and his two bodyguards challenged him. Patrick told us that it wasn’t a fair fight… they should have at least 4 Australians to have a chance against an Irishman. He also said that his mother had always told him that if he ever got into a skirmish, the way to fight was to hit hard, hit fast, then run away as fast as you can. Which is exactly what he did. And that’s what the song is about.

The band had plans to meet fans in the lobby after the show for pictures and autographs, but Dad and I knew that the lobby was bound to be downright crazy and sardine-like in its packed-ness. As would Flannery’s Pub, where the band was also going to head for a few pints (as if they hadn’t had enough during the show itself). So we just hit the swag table and booted out of there, though I did talk Dad into taking a jaunt down to the parking lot where the GBS tour bus had been parked. We saw a van with a hitch. The Gaelic Storm Tour… Van?
Possibly..
“Let me tell you a little story about a man named Johnny Tarr
He was a hard-drinking son-of-a-preacher, always at the bar
Lager from the tap or shots of Paddy from the shelf
He could open his throttle and throw back a bottle as quick as the Devil himself
Johnny Tarr…”

Aaaahhh... the ability to publish nonsense on the web and not have to think about what to write because no one will read it anyway.
Just as my first-ever post I'll say this: Hanson and Jackie Chan = WOO HOO!!