Jack White

                  Last Tuesday night, it was the eve of a show that wasn't on my radar, as much as I hate to admit it. Had it not been for someone's granny passing away,(prayers go out to that family) I would have just gone on with my life without looking back never knowing what had passed. Long story short, a buddy of mine had an extra ticket. TO JACK WHITE. AT THE FOX. “Sure maybe I can pencil that in to my extremely busy Tuesday night schedule.” Psshh. “I'm there,” was my response. We sat across from the fabulous Fox Theatre with two sultry young ladies, both friends of his, and had a light dinner while we awaited the auditory face-melting tunes we had come to hear. We finished our entrees and j-walked across Peachtree. If you've never been to the Fox, you're missing out. Its ancient and has hosted some of the greats. It has some of the best acoustics in the universe. But, really the interior of the place is breath-taking. The ceiling is concave in shape and painted this midnight blue with ominous lighting all around to make it look like the night sky. Awesome. Seen many shows at the Fox in my day and knew this one would never be forgotten. I knew only bits & pieces about Jack White from the days of 'Seven Nation Army'. Also from the days of my buddy Scott Ross blaring 'The Raconteurs' (who are freaking awesome) in kitchens across the Square in beautiful Oxford, MS. 

a sea of blue

The stage and lighting scheme kept with the eery blue “night sky.” The scene was set and the lights went down as we scooted to our seats with 2 beers a piece. The band poured onto stage. Shouts of joy and hoots n' hollers filled the crowded air. From what I could see, Jack White was wearing some weathered tuxedo like getup, probably white but doused in ocean blue from the lights. Also from what I could see, he was the only dude on stage. A whole band made up of Sheila's! They didn't come to mess around either. The drummer, God bless her soul, might have been the daughter of late John Henry Bonham (Led Zeppelin for you non music-freaks). The drummer keeps the beat, keeps things rolling and on schedule for the rest of the band. Well this girl made the experience of the whole show. They have her placed stage right. (left for the audience) Up in the front. It was like she was the engineer of the steam locomotive pulling the rest of the freight train down the track. Truly great rhythm and style. Next to her, (they formed a semi circle towards the back of the stage), was a stand up bassist. Amplified of course but just the thing to go with their style of music. To her left, another good looking lady, playing pedal steel. Also perfect for this old-school country blues rock vibe they have going. On around to the other side of the circle was a tambourine playing, picture taking, funky 60s/70s dancing do-it-all type of girl that moved around the stage more than a nervous comedian. Next to her was the backup singer, a black girl with a perfectly smooth voice accompanied by the ability to belt out lyrics in great contrast to Jack White's raspy vocals. Finally to her left, was the pianist. Both traditional piano, and keyboard in use. Rotating front and back like a pilot of the Millennium Falcon. Ultimately, the middle of the semi circle is punctuated with the man himself. Rocking back and forth to tunes like “Freedom at 21,” and “Sixteen Saltines.” Bluesy rocking numbers that will make your head spin, or like me, rock back and forth with a shit-eating grin plastered across your mug.

After a long first set, many great tunes and a non-stop, non-sit down type of pace the band took a short break. We ran to the bar to grab a last call Bronson. We were the last two to get served. Maybe overserved. We made it back to our seats and awaited the encore. At the end of the previous set I noticed a roadie bringing on stage and plugging in the ever famous resonator (Jack's.) It's a guitar that was developed by musicians in the 20's to be louder than traditional acoustic guitars They ofcourse lost some popularity by the age of amplification. However, blues and bluegrass (which gave rise to country) took a liking to resonators and they're still around today. Anyway, getting off topic. I knew Jack White played a resonator, especially when he would play “Seven Nation Army.” A song that topped the charts in 2003 from White's original band with sister, Meg, The White Stripes. Long story short I called the encore and must give credit where it's due to Scott Ross that alluded me to it. 

 As the bass drum became ever more frequent, we knew this was it. The encore, the climax , the finale. White and company blasted into fret-jumping power jam that rocks your face off. With the crushing blows of chick # 1's drum patterns and Jack White's sinfully good sounding resonator, they tore the roof off the place and left everyone in awe, with smiles all around and a standing ovation from the fabulous fans at the Fox Theatre. What a way to spend a Tuesday night in Atlanta.   I leave you with a video of that encore (Not actually from the Fox, but you'll get the idea.)   Don't Forget the Link 

Jack White - Seven Nation Army Encore (Catch Hell Blues Intro)

A weekend in Blue Ridge.

North.  Away from civilization.  Away from the understated "hustle and bustle" of Atlanta's crowded infrastructure. “Sprint and Dent” is more like it. After a long work week nothing takes your head out of your bosses ass like a trip to the mountains. Ok, it’s hard to consider N. Georgia as ‘mountains’ after living in Jackson, but nonetheless, it ain’t the city. 

We climb in Mitch's 80's model Toyota Landcruiser, sans doors and hard top. Every spare inch is loaded down with fly rods, tackle, a 22, a gas can, a tow rope, 2 cases of Budweiser, my dog Leena and 3 eager gentlemen, myself included. We burned up the highway at the screaming top speed of 61 mph and headed into the hills North of Atlanta in search of something more simple.  After an hour and a half trip up I-575 we braved the Walmart in Ellijay, GA to get something to feast on, not knowing what kind of sustenance the cabin had awaiting us. Frozen pizza would be the 

easiest, most economical choice for our supper, considering the constraints of a mountain town and limited appliances at Granny’s cabin. Ellijay is just far enough out of the city to see some ‘necks out on a Friday night trip to Walmart, which was packed. We went down some windy mountain country roads and the pavement finally ended. Our turn down into a nearly washed out gravel driveway opened into a big yard. ‘A River Runs Through It’ came to mind simply because a river did run through it, the front yard. Upon our arrival, Mitch cut the lights and we were soon enveloped in complete darkness. Not city darkness with that orange haze that hangs over a populated area seen from afar. I mean the absence of all color. We creeped up under the porch and found the switch box. It worked. We built a fire and proceeded to drink whiskey and talk about man stuff. With so much entertainment I’m surprised the night ended as quickly as it did, or maybe we just ran out of whiskey.

When dawn broke, no I’m kidding. At about 10 we awoke to the best feeling weather outside I’d felt since leaving Jackson. I could see my breath. “Fall is officially here boys.” We explored the fridge the night before, and thawed out some sausages and cooked them up with some fried eggs for breakfast. Upon taking a dip in the cool mountain water, we discovered what shrinkage really meant. Mitch’s crazy ass even put on some swimteam goggles circa ’98 and did some “snorkeling.” Beautiful clear icy cold water running over our toes, there’s not quite a better feeling in the world. After a few Bud Heavy's and unloading a couple of clips from the 22 (target shooting using the first emptied Bud) we decided to take a 4-wheeler ride. My big ass, and Mitch and Griffin on the front and back of a tiny little Honda Foreman, you’ve never seen such a site. We cruised about 2 and a half miles to where the woods break into pasture land. Beautiful views of the Blueridge Mountain range. We could see clear into the next state. Leena chased us the entire way there, and with those tiny little legs she may not have made it back. Griffin scooped her up and we were on our way.

Back to the cabin. We popped a few more beers and watched mystified as Mitch began to tie some of his own flies. If you’ve never witnessed this, it’s quite interesting. Again, it made me mad I didn’t get a chance to fish while living in Jackson. But that’s beside the point. An array of peacock feathers and tiny black fluffs of thread all spun together on a tiny hook. Really an artisan perfecting his craft. Made me feel real American. Thank God for Mitch. After he tied a few we took to the creek to try and catch some trout (it’s pretty late in the season now.) We set off to a few honey holes and Mitch showed us where to cast, and where the trout would be hangin’ out. Quite a few more elements to concentrate on in fly fishing. Bass fishing in a lake, well you got your pole and your bobber and your beer and life is good. Fly fishing in a creek you got trees and rocks and other people and all kinds of good stuff to snag your hook on and lose your lure. I caught the first one. Mitch said it was a creek bass, not a trout. A real monster too. I could have fileted that sucker right there and had it on a salad or wrapped over some sticky rice if sushi is your forte. It felt good to get something on the line. It was an overcast day, drizzling rain from time to time. Perfect fishing weather, not too hot. Mitch landed the second, another creek bass. After a long hard thought, or maybe just an idea, we decided to go into town for dinner. Oh, and to find somewhere to watch Ga-Missouri. And the faint chance that we could find the Ole Miss game somewhere. Down the country roads, imminent death looms 2 feet to our right and left, we charged on in search of pizza.  We found it. And we found the Ole Miss game on TV eventually. In a small watering hole in downtown Blueridge, some german Beer Garten scribbled on a sign with two wooden blackbear carvings standing guard at the door. They filled our bellies with good cold flowing IPA kegbeer while the owner from Minnesottttta proceeded to get hammered on Chardonnay while entertaining his customers. After a few too many, we head on back up the road to camp. We fished the next morning and caught a few more each. We let them all go in the hopes they'd keep growing and have some babies and re-populate this fertile clearwater creek for next summer. All in all is was a great relaxing bros weekend. We packed up the cruiser and rolled back south to Atlanta. Speakers blaring. Back to reality.  

Nawlins

I shall write more frequently per your request, Tommy Douglas.

God bless I want to move here.  Everybody's cool as can be and so welcoming.  I sat next to this lady at the Tim McGraw/Kenny Chesney concert (we won free tickets at the bar last night) and she just kept saying, "Welcome to our city."  Over and over.  She was overjoyed to welcome us and seemed proud we'd chosen her esteemed city.  After finding out I was from Atlanta, and inherently a Falcons fan, she didn't hesitate to tell me she'd rather chop off both her arms than lose to the Falcons.  She said, "Just don't tell anyone that's where your from."  Seemed appropriate since we were in the superdome, the Saints home turf.  The city has such a buzz about it and seems to be busting at the seems with cool people doing even cooler shit.  I can't talk about the city pre-Katrina, because I never witnessed it.  People lost everything, lives included.  Nawlins will never be the same.  But that's part of the thriving spirit that makes me want to be a part of it.  There's such a sense of pride within the population here that it makes me want to just immerse myself and get lost in it.  Get to know everyone I can, regardless of where they're from, who they are, or what they're doing.  Sure it can be sketchy, but just keep an eye over my shoulder, look out for the ladies, and everything should run smoothly.  As with many places I've been, I've come to find out it's all about who you know.  Doesn't matter if you're in Atlanta or Oxford or Wilson, WY or here in Nawlins, meet as many people as possible and keep up with those acquaintances and it will get you places before you know it.  After spending nearly 10 days in the Big Easy, I've found it to be Big and Easy.  People I've seen at Panic shows, met in the Grove, at a wedding, or for example my neighbor at the concert.  These connections won't happen unless you get out there and make them happen.  As I wrote in an email today, I sparked my interest/love for live music and a hoppin' scene and a cold brew in Oxford, and every time I visited Nawlins, it stoked that fire.  I always talked about living here, Missy said she couldn't do it, would be too scared.  My how the tables have turned.  Here she is, living on the Miss'ippi River bend with nothing but good times and good people on the horizon.  I can't help but want to become an Orleanian.  Maybe it's fate.  Maybe I drank too many whiskeys tonight.  All I know is I can't wait to live amongst this rare breed of characters that roam the streets on their bikes and scooters, just livin' and rockin' it.  Take notice.  This is why the South is so awesome.  Nola don't care what you think, and they're having a damn good time doing it.  I leave you with this.  Something only the soul and funk of this place could produce:: The Meters ::: Fire On The Bayou
might as well throw this one in there Just Kissed My Baby

til' next time

td

Bonnaroo 2012

home sweet home

ROO CREW

 the ROO

A music festival with 80,000+ people, in Tennessee, in June?  I'll pass.  That's what I used to say when the idea of Bonaroo came up.  I had been to Wakarusa a few years prior.  While that is still a relatively large gathering of people, 25 maybe 30,000 in the cool Ozarks in Arkansas.  It's not almost 100k sweaty dirty people in field with no shade in sight.  There you have it, Bonnaroo described.  Oh, did I forget to mention that thousands of people come to break with reality and let it all hang out for a weekend down on some ol' Tennessee farmland.  A decision was made within our ranks to rent, travel and live in an RV for the weekend.  Never undertaken something such as this, but after seeing the 35 foot monster, I decided we'd be alright.  Of course, I was elected to drive this white beast to the fairgrounds from west of 

Birmingham.  Our trip began like any other, except I was captaining a 35 foot house on wheels complete with a fridge, stove top and crapper.  The drive began and at first the RV seemed a bit sketchy.  "Let's just get through this traffic," Missy says.  Fortunately, we had Ana Lampton and Griffin Smith following close behind in the truck.  Each RV is allowed one companion vehicle.  When the call came to "Pull over, I think ya'll have a flat," I knew it was too good to be true.  A weekend of fun, freedom, and music beginning on Thursday afternoon suddenly took a turn to negative town.  We pulled off the interstate in Warrior, AL into thank goodness what was a large enough service station to accomodate us and this great white RV.  I crawl up under the vehicle on the hot pavement to discover the inner tire on the right side had been successfully blown to shreds.  Great! Now what?  We call the office of El Monte RV rentals but they've been closed for 45 minutes by now.  Here we are, in the middle of Alabama, in a huge RV with a blown tire.  Some local bikers took a look and said, "yea, ya'll ain't gettin' far with that."  I decided to call the number painted across the back of the vehicle.  Finally, we got hooked up with a wrecker service that would come help us out.  Thank God the RV had a spare underneath it.  Some good ol' boys got there after about an hour and a half.  2 guys, probably not older than 18 fixed her up real nice for us, and it only cost 100 bucks.  After the fiasco we hit the road hard and kept truckin' all the way to Manchester.  We pulled in at about 1:30 at night, thinking we'd go right through the gates.  Griff had since switched to be my co-pilot.  So we have two middle aged dudes with beards in an RV at 1:30.. A sheriff deputy motioned us to go ahead and pull towards him, away from all the other lines.  The other lines that were manned by members of WET.  The Work Exchange Team.  Also known as volunteers that work to pay for their tickets.  Deputy Dog approached my window.  "Alright boys this here is how Bonnaroo works.  We're going to search your vehicle no matter what.  We're looking for drugs, fireworks, weapons, etc.  We'll give you a chance to tell us if you have anything illegal in the vehicle, and if its not a big deal, we'll let you go with a citation.  So what ya'll got in here?"  I said, "nothing sir, we're clean as a whistle."  I then was directed to stand infront of the RV like a damn criminal while 6 sheriff's deputies proceeded to enter the RV and rifle through it like we were suspected terrorists.  The most unnecessary, invasive, violating thing I've ever been through.  They ripped through our backpacks, undid hammocks, threw clothes on the ground, opened prescription medicine, smelled Nalgene bottles, and even put a lady sheriff on the vehicle to tear through the girls' bags.  It was quite ridiculous.  After disrespecting all of our belongings, they were displeased that they didn't find 1,000 lbs of marijuana or any Weapons of Mass Destruction, or roman candles, or bath salts.  I just stood with a huge smile on my face.  As he drew a star on the windshield, I asked, "is that our star of approval?" Deputy Dog responded with, "Have a good Bonnaroo."  HA.  We then pulled through the gates and received our wristbands for the weekend.  The volunteers said, "Ya'll are the first guys we've seen not get a citation for drugs."  High Five!  Upon entering we rolled into our campsite for the weekend, a giant field filled with other RVs of all shapes and sizes.  Dingy pop-up campers next to $300,000 tailgating monsters.  Friday morning came and the heat started early, about 7 a.m.   The thing I love about festivals is the camping.  You get to see a wide array of people from as far as New York to upstate Washington.  Dreads and deadheads and weirdos and people that just like to have a good time.  And surprisingly a lot of good looking ladies.  Some with armpit hair, but hey who am I to judge.  The first day of music was great.  The bands play on a schedule, but that's the other thing I like about a festival, you can do whatever you want.  Go see a band, go drink a beer, sit in a field, buy something, jam out, sleep, lay in a hammock, meet new people.  It's great.  We got to see The Infamous Stringdusters on Friday.  Saw them in Jackson, WY at the Pink Garter this winter.  Great live show presence.  They love to get the audience going.  Bluegrass. Banjos in your face.  I loved it.  The main stage played host to Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings.  Another favorite since seeing them at Double Decker in Oxford a few years ago.  Mostly soulful funky jams.  Great stuff.  Next up was quite unexpected.  But being from Atlanta I had to go see Ludacris at 4pm.  It was probably the wildest show of the weekend.  Never did I think I would see 40,000 people raging to "What's your Fantasy."  It was incredible.  They engaged the crowd like any of the best know festival bands would have.  Great light show as well, especially for a hip-hop show.  I am quite sad and ashamed to say that after a full day of music/driving/flat tires etc. we decided to take a nap, and in the process missed Radiohead.  I knew I would catch hell for this one.  Many friends of mine came to the Roo just to see Radiohead.  On a lighter note, we woke up to see Umphrey's Mcgee's set start at 2 a.m.  If you haven't seen them, I suggest it.  It's quite a production and their musicianship is unmatched.  Well, they started at 3 and played until 7:30.  Yes, that's a.m.  Absolutely awesome.  Saturday followed with Santigold.  Two girls butt-shaking like it's nobody's business.  Great for the main stage.  After a nap and some dinner.  (Hot dogs cooked over charcoal, pan fried scrambled eggs, mix in some black beans and salsa oh a perfectly assembled hippy-dinner.)  We left camp early to get a spot for the Chili Peppers.  Never seen them so I was excited as hell.  And they delivered.  Played a lot of old hits: Under The Bridge, Suck My Kiss, Give it Away,  as well as some stuff from Stadium Arcadium, which I enjoyed.  They had the audience's full attention.  Mine as well.  Sunday came, and with it came some welcomed cooler temperatures and light rain.  It wasn't enough to drive anyone away, just enough to keep you cool and damp all day.  Many left on Sunday, but that was counteracted with the surge of Phans coming in Sunday afternoon for Phish's 4 hour set to conclude the weekend.  Sunday was probably my favorite day.  We set up camp on some squishy foam mats we bought and just rode out the main stage most of the day.  The Beach Boys were awesome.  All the old people there during the weekend came out of the woodwork for the Beach Boys. Classics like Barbara Ann, Little Deuce Coupe, Surfin' USA, and Good Vibrations were songs that everyone could jam to, young and old alike.  It was wonderful.  Bon Iver followed.  Heard of them and heard their songs on the radio, and I really enjoyed it.  Perfect music to just kick back and enjoy the scenery.  Phish set the scene for the end to a perfect weekend.  More and more Phans descended on the main stage grounds to close it out with a bang.  Sometimes they play a lot of crowd pleasers but as a relatively new Phan, I was overjoyed.  Most of the songs they played: Possum, Tweezer, Rock & Roll, Rocky Top, The Moma Dance and Sample in a Jar were great for me.  Over the years I've heard these songs played by friends, seen them on a DVD, played in a bar etc.  They played like they meant it.  They knew everyone was there because all other bands sets were over so all eyes were on them and their final set to end the weekend.  All in all it was a wonderful weekend and I felt truly blessed to be able to be a part of it with the other 99,999 people that were there to enjoy the pure bliss that live music creates for the audience.  I HIGHLY suggest you add this to your bucket list.  Even if you're old.  A nice couple camped next to us, probably in their late 40's.  The husband was a doctor and his wife was an attorney.  Glad to have you folks.
td  

sunrise

sunset

Goin' Out West :::::: My time as a Pizza Chef

Listening to: The Howlin' Wolf London Sessions




          Fortunately,  I was able to score a job within the first week of moving out to Jackson.  Thanks to the help of a good friend Delaney Campbell,  I got in good with a local chef working at an upscale mountain dining mainstay in the Jackson community.  The restaurant, authentic italian cuisine, Il Villagio Osteria was nestled right into the bottom of a mountain side resort known as Hotel Terra.  Really super nice.  One of the more consistently popular and well run establishments in a place that seemed pretty tough to succeed (in the restaurant biz.)  It was hard to think about spending time at work in such beautiful surroundings, but you get over it fast.  It's all relative.  I came in for a "working interview" which translates to "lets see if you can not screw up too bad and we'll feed you dinner in the process."   Carter Light would be my boss.  Super cool guy, originally from Vermont that came here in search of something more just as I had.  He loved to cook and loved to hunt and fish.  Mention waterfowl around him and you were sure to have a new friend.  Plus he was young enough to still relate to all the young people in the restaurant.  Big plus for a boss.  Above the small parking deck and below the first floor of the hotel sits the restaurant and the kitchen and prep area.  Upon entering, two servers eat whatever was for lunch and giggle in the hallway as the dinner rush nears.  Throw on a chef coat and time to see how screwed you are before service.  (in reference to what all prep needed to be done to finish out the night.)  Sometimes there's a lot to do, sometimes there's nothing.  I would be working with one of three people.  All of whom couldn't have been any different.  There was Katie, who was a solid 7 months pregnant and still working hard despite her looming responsibility and protruding belly.  She was pretty intense.  She took a liking to my sarcastic sense of humor after a while though and I enjoyed working with her.  Next there was Fernando.  A mexican dude, hard worker.  Don't want to stereotype but since he held a more responsibility-related job, and not a dishwasher, he didn't have a very good attitude.  He made it seem like we all owed him  something.    The shifts I worked with Fernando went by quickly.  And finally, Mike.  Mike had rolled his SUV 10 or 12 times and was in a back brace.  Translation: "here carry all this heavy stuff."  My job ended up being pretty awesome.  It required minimal kitchen skills, but those who've done it know, cooking great pizza takes some practice.  Especially if you've got 6 pies at once in a 640 degree oven.  12 inch pies, all great quality toppings, and of course fresh mozz.  Whoa they were good.  It was a woodstone pizza oven outside of the kitchen in the bar/ lounge area.  Sweet, I thought.  Most kitchens are hidden from the restaurant i.e. the customers, so this meant I'd have to be on my A-game at all times.  A good and a bad thing.  No goofing off or listening to music too loud.

        Working in a restaurant in a resort town is a funny thing.  You see all these people come in with their families and enjoying their vacations in this incredibly beautiful place.  And here you are stuck at work in a marinara stained chef coat with a pregnant chick trying to tell you how to stretch dough.  Like I said, it's all relative.  Yea, I am at work, but I LIVE here.  It takes a few times of realizing this before you think about it and smile.  Or at least that's the feeling it brought to me.  I hate all things paparazzi and TMZ/celebrity gossip related, but it was sweet to see a few celebs escaping reality in The Tetons.   I saw Gary Cole a few times (not Gary Coleman,) (Bill Lumbergh from Office Space.) If anyone doesn't know who that is, it's your own fault.  I saw Quentin Tarantino, there filming a new flick in Grand Teton Natl. Park.   No big deal.  The restaurant industry was pretty good to me out west.  It got me on the slopes every day, kept my belly full, and a roof over my head.  Got a lot to be thankful for.  Friends, family, fresh pow, and pizza.  
#grateful

Goin' Out West ::::: the drive to Jackson Hole, WY :: January 15, 2012

Wow. Where to start?  When the decision came to move to Jackson, Wyoming for some party-work-ski-live time, it was unanimous.  I already had some buddies living out in the high country, and they were part of a lease already, so I said why not, see you guys in a couple weeks.  I decided to stay with family through the Christmas and New Year holiday which could have been a good decision or not depending on how you look at it.  From what I'd heard it had been a relatively mild winter in a place that is famous for record snowfalls.  I began my journey in the middle of January to what I would find not to be a lack of snow.  Leaving from Birmingham, I would venture on to pass through Tupelo, Memphis, Little Rock, Fort Smith, Muskogee, Tulsa all the way to Wichita, KS.  I stayed for the night with a family friend.  Her boyfriend Dave had a man cave in the basement.  We shared a few laughs and he came to tell me how he had done exactly what I was doing, a good old ski bum.  "I lived and worked the slopes in Telluride, Colorado for 26 years man," he said. After a few glasses of red I was out like a light, but just giddy about the trip to come.
5:00 a.m. came and I joined the hordes of truckers and commercial vehicles beating down the interstate and pointed my nose towards Colorado.  If you've ever driven through Kansas, I'm sorry.  For those that haven't stay away at all costs.  Sure I was all excited about getting to  see countryside yet unseen by my own two eyes, but wow, Kansas ain't much to look at.  Your drivin', drivin'... WINDMILL!  The simplest roadside shape will grab your attention in place of the miles and miles of farmland your immersed in.  It's 430+ miles just from Wichita to Denver.  Yea.  Finally you get to Colorado and you feel like your making some progress, sort of.  In Denver you can see the majestic rockies off in the distance.  Beautiful and breathtaking but it was a different mountain pass I was seeking, and to get there I had to get through 'Hoback Junction.'  Kind of like the native american backdrop of cities, towns and street names in Mississippi, the names get weirder and more outrageous the further west you go.  Pueblo, Cheyenne, Blackfoot, Muskogee to name a few.  I got to Denver around noon and had lunch with a good friend of mine, Ms. Chelsea Buell, a fellow Rebel and show-goer herself she was glad to see me come through and she got a free lunch out of it.  I rather enjoyed it.  A person across the country and doing her own thing, "Hey I know you lets have lunch."  Another turn to the North and off towards Jackson.  Crossing the state line in Wyoming was another point where it feels like you've made progress.  Nope, 8 hours til Jackson still. The roaming pastures and distant windmills gave way to rolling hills and yellow sandy looking sediment that rose toward the heavens with the tops just frosted with a light snow.  Mild winter rings in my head again as the temperature starts to drop.  It was probably  50-55 degrees in Denver, comfortable in a tee shirt in the sun.  It had dropped 15 degrees by the time I got to Laramie.  5 hours left.  Afternoon turned to dusk, and before dark I stopped to clean my windshield with hot water and put some more clothes on.  The intensity of the last 5 hours began to sink in.  Changed out of my Chacos(painstakingly), figured it was time.  Laramie actually had a higher elevation than the town of Jackson.  7100 feet vs. 6400 feet.  Anyway, it's the capitol and the University of Wyoming is there.  Maybe I'll check it out next time.  I put it to the floor and ascended into the mountains in the dark.  Hairpin turns and switchbacks kept me on my toes, but thanks be to God the roads were in pretty good shape.  A little sketchy outside Laramie in Hoback Junction but I managed.  I sure came at the right time of year considering we got dumped on the next 3 months.  Finally made it to Jackson, hit state road 22 towards Grand Teton National Park and turned into my destination at The Aspens.  What a long strange trip it had been.  WAY worth it.  The group met me with many beers in hand.  They had prematurely celebrated my arrival and had a few before I got there. Not to worry, there's always another Pabst in the fridge.

td

after dinner reflection

Mom was lucky enough to be given some fresh gulf shrimp by a friend at work yesterday night.  After momentarily salivating we planned our menu.  Peppers, tomatoes, vidalias, parmesan and feta, tossed together with thin spaghetti.  I didn't even have time to complain about peeling them before Pandora was switched on and an ice cold Bud was within an easy reach.  My favorite part of cooking dinner is what leads up to sitting down and eating.  All the parts coming together in perfect harmony to produce this meal that is there for two things, to keep us fat and happy and to bring people together.  That's what food's all about for me.  Like a back porch barbecue or crawfish boil for example, you do these things to bring people together, to provide for friends and family and for good times to be had.  Our gulf shrimp pasta turned out great.  Lemony and buttery, finger-lickin' good pasta.  A multi-grain baguette sliced with fresh garlic, herbs and lathered in rich butter.  All was well in Roswell on a Wednesday night in May.  Keep good days like this one coming, and it wont take much to make me a happy gent.