A stranger looking at my forearms would conclude that I am a) suicidal and b)
inept. Actually, a more accurate description would be c) more averse to
overheating than to abrasions. When we went to up to the property on Saturday to
relax and clear our more of the (fire-hazard) low growth, Rudder wore jeans and
boots, while I wore shorts and sndals. (This is why he's always the one to do the
hoedowns/tribal dances to crush down brush in the truck bed.) Not that more leg
and foot protection would have helped my arms but I've got matching cuts just
below my butt, from inadvisedly sitting on brush and low branches while trying to
maneuver a saw in some awkward areas. It's symptomatic of my general attitude
anyway -- when I'm going to be getting hot and sweaty I'd always rather wear less
clothing and let my skin take its chances. After all, it heals, and I don't seem
to scar easily. This is why you can generally tell on Monday how lively a weekend
I've had. I'm usually more or less cross-hatched after a rock climbing weekend.
This is an eventful week; I had an interview first thing this morning for
selection for an internal position that would get me some intersting training.
It's a follow-up from the one last Wednesday. The woman who
href="http://dichroic.diaryland.com/girlspit.html">saw me spit wasn't there
this time, but called in toward the end. (One other higher-up who was supposed to
be there also didn't make it -- I don't know if that's a sign they aren't
impressed with me, or just a sign of busy schedules. I prefer to belive the
latter, at least for now.) On Wednesday, I have a hair cut acheduled, and on
Thursday a baseline mammogram (just because I'm 35) first thing in the morning and
then a Great Big Sea concert that night. It turns out they're not alone; the show
is actually billed as "the Young Dubliners with Seven Nations and Great Big Sea. I
hope that "with" means GBS is playing more than just a short opening set, though
it would be nice if they were on first. This show starts just around the time
we're usually in bed, turning off the lights. (Rowers are generally not among the
great party animals of the day. Not past college, anyhow.) I expect I'll like the
other two bands, anyhow. A quick look at the web says they have the same sort of
kick-ass Celtic folk/rock fusion I like so much in GBS and Brother.
Fairport
Convention has a lot to answer for ... thank goodness. Lots of people have done it
since (the bands named above, for example), and lots have done it well, but
Fairport did it first. I'd still like to hear Richard Thompson perform live. Most
of his songs have a harder-edge these days, but you just have to hear the guitar
line and ballad story of 1952 Vincent Black Lightning to know where he
comes from.
Said James, "In my opinion there is nothing in this world
Beats a '52 Vincent and a red-headed girl.
Your Nortons and Grieveses and
Indians won't do,
They don't have a soul like the Vincent '52."
And he
reached for her hand and he slipped her the keys,
Said "I've got no further use
for these.
I see angels and aerials in leather and chrome
Coming to my
bedside to carry me home."
And he gave her one last kiss and died,
And he
gave her his Vincent to ride.